Tumgik
#back double bicep
joemusclefan · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Dave Fisher
12 notes · View notes
terrible-hime · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
No stream today, mental break is needed
151 notes · View notes
icouldvekissed · 24 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
یزدان رحمت آبادی (Yazdan Rahmatabadi)
8 notes · View notes
beefysmorgasbord · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Flex!
61 notes · View notes
bicepsboomex · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
Muscle Flex
Like what you see?
3 notes · View notes
lycanretweet · 1 year
Text
So y'all listened to Cupcakke's FIFA anthem yet?
Tumblr media
13 notes · View notes
madammysteria · 2 years
Text
💪 Sunset posing 💪
Tumblr media
7 notes · View notes
seraphdreams · 5 months
Text
JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡
Tumblr media
TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.
there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.
and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.
his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.
inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.
“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.
it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.
“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.
“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.
pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.
maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”
with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.
it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.
your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.
“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”
GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.
when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.
gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.
“you ready to get started?”
your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.
of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.
after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.
“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”
his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.
“thank you,”
he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?
“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”
“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”
gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.
“i think .. i think i need you.”
with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.
it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.
his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.
yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,
“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”
CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.
a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.
he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.
“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.
there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.
the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.
yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.
“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”
oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.
he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.
violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.
“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.
choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.
you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.
it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.
though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.
staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.
from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.
“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”
it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.
GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.
you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.
geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.
“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.
you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”
if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.
“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?
or so you thought.
“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”
you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.
he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”
you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“
“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”
from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.
with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.
you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.
“if you do t-that, i might—“
and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.
“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”
Tumblr media
8K notes · View notes
joemusclefan · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Ronnie Coleman
13 notes · View notes
terrible-hime · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
143 notes · View notes
hattiestgal · 4 months
Note
If you don't mind my asking, how do you go about drawing fat? :3
JUST THE EXCUSE I WAS LOOKING FOR
So, for me personally, a lot of the time when I draw fat characters, I'm not looking to specifically capture the specifics of fat as much as the feel of fat. Bulkier, rounder shapes in the right places that has a feeling of weight to em! A lot of that is intuition and simplification at this point, but it all works on the same frame as just any ol' person. Like take this-
Tumblr media
For example. This is the basis for any body shape, not just the more average one that it may imply. Sure- it can be that average body shape:
Tumblr media
But also a fat one too!
Tumblr media
And a big part of that is knowing where fat usually tends to bunch up on the body, so lets take a look piece by piece! (Please keep in mind this is very simplified, and not completely precise in some parts)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
THE FACE: Cheeks (in purple) and especially the chin (in light blue) are the places where a lot of the fat is gonna wanna gather and round out on your face! Additionally, theres a small pocket of fat beneath the cranium on the backside of your head. It's small, but it is there. I believe fat can build up elsewhere like the bridge of your nose and forehead, but generally speaking, you're gonna have a whole lot more buildup in other places first.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
THE TORSO: A lot of the fat built up on the torso is gonna be sent to your tummy. More cushioning for vital organs, mostly out of the way, it just makes sense. Additionally, the lower backs fat builds up and joins with a patch of fat on your sides that forms what is typically referred to as the love handles to make that double belly look. Along with this, the immediate next target for the torso is the breasts, followed by the upper back!
Tumblr media
THE ARMS: For this limb, a VERY notable amount of the fat present builds up on the tricep and bicep areas, lessening once you get towards the flexor and extensor areas. You can almost think of the arm as a sort of triangular shape, wide side starting from the shoulder and tapering towards the hand, which itself mostly builds up fat around the back of the hand and the fingers. The shoulders themselves don't build up too much fat unless you got a lot
Tumblr media
THE LEGS: And finally, you can think of the legs having pretty similar curves to what you're probably already used to thinking. The front of the thighs getting a big buildup, along with the back of the calves, the other parts being flatter in turn. As far as the feet go- similarly to the hands, the top of the feet, along with the heels get most of the buildup, as fat on your soles would impede mobility. The glute, hip and crotch area will also especially build up fat, lending to the same triangular shape that you can see in the arm!
A big thing to note with fat is that it tends to taper off towards joints. Your knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, and all the other places are gonna have significantly less fat so that you remain mobile and flexible, as that's important!
Now that we have an idea of where fat builds up on the body, you might have something that looks kinda like this
Tumblr media
Which yes, does demonstrate a solid understanding of the places fat builds up, lacks the weight you're probably trying to convey, which brings us to out next point! Fat is well... heavy! Gravity is what gives fat much of it's shape, especially as you tread towards larger and larger bodies.
This is demonstrated really well on the arms especially-
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Those big ol' bits of fat'll really start to sag when left hanging, and they will squish like hell if they run into something. I like to think of these bits of fat as big ol' ovals that squash and stretch depending on if there's an obstacle in their way or not
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
These are the important shapes to remember when it comes to the weightiness of fat! If you take all of this into mind, you should be getting something a lot closer to that shape you've been after!
Tumblr media
Oh, and always remember that fat bodies come in all variety of shapes and sizes! Play around with a whole lot, and seek out all the resources you can! it'll really lend to your knowledge when it comes to this kinda stuff!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And as I always recommend when it comes to learning art- look at what your favorite artists do with fat bodies. See what you really like about the fat bodies they draw and try to replicate it in your own work, I promise you it's one of the most helpful things ever.
This is like the most basic of basics when it comes to drawing fat bodies though. If there's any additional thing about fat bodies, or maybe you want clarification on something, don't be afraid to ask! If there's enough to cover, I'll make an addition to this post!
3K notes · View notes
eddies-ashtray · 30 days
Text
The Taste of the Divine // Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Tumblr media
Masterlist
Synopsis: You get high with Eddie for the first time.
WC: 3.2k
Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors do not interact).
Content: Weed (in the form of gummies), intox. kink if you squint, you and Eddie are both high, descriptions of what it feels like to be high, kissing, fem receiving oral, spit play (kinda?).
A/N: Hi! It's been a minute, so let's hope I'm not too rusty, but I hope you enjoy ;)
♡*♡*♡
“Woah,” you say.
“What?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, his frizzy hair shifting over one shoulder with the motion.
“I can feel it behind my eyes,” you explain.  
Eddie grins at you lazily, his chest rumbling with a laugh as he says, “You are so stoned right now.”
An hour after you ate a couple blue raspberry THC gummies—effectively staining your tongue blue—you sit on Eddie’s bedroom floor, your backs pressed against the side of his bed. 
Only the lamp on the bedside table is switched on, blanketing the room in soft, yellow light. The gentle hue and the feel of his slightly rough duvet at your back give the room a sort of muted feel, making you feel like you’re inside a pillow fort.
“No, seriously,” you insist, softly tapping the back of your hand against his bicep. “It’s like, the back of my head feels…fuzzy?” you say it almost like it’s a question, trying to come up with the words. 
“Yeah?” Eddie hums, his tone gentle and understanding, but with a teasing lilt to it which makes your face burn up, sending tingles up your chest and neck that you’re not sure is a response to Eddie or the weed. 
“Yeah,” you agree with a nod, swallowing as you recognize the dryness in your throat. 
Eddie’s russet eyes flick down to your mouth for a moment, unconsciously flicking his tongue out to wet his pink pout. “Mouth dry?” 
You just nod, transfixed for just a moment by his tongue wetting his lips again. They shine in the lamplight, such a pretty shade of pink. 
You rub your thighs together, feeling like a cerulean wave has crested above your head, and you’re underwater, your whole body lax and calm as you float beneath the surface. 
It’s odd, the calmness in your body. The awareness of your limbs and how your face moves. And that wonderful fuzziness. It’s making everything softer, gentler. But there’s also the feeling of your soft thighs brushing together. The slight friction between your thighs makes the back of your head tingle, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs. 
It’s odd, but it’s good. New, but not unwelcome. 
When you meet Eddie’s eyes again, he feels closer. Or maybe he is closer? But you want him even closer. You’d beg him for closer, you think as his eyes impossibly darken, tracing their way down your features. 
You wonder what you look like to him. Are your eyes red? Do you look as spacey as you feel? Does he like it? 
Your limbs feel slightly heavy, your skin buzzing. Softness everywhere. 
“What else do you feel?” He whispers, his breath fanning across your mouth and chin. You crave the sight of his tongue to his lips. The touch of his tongue to yours. 
“I-”
God.
Your chest begins to rise and fall with quicker, shallow breaths. 
“Please.” It’s so quiet, you’re not sure if he’s heard you. But the look in his eyes is igniting a fire in your belly. 
He holds your gaze and you lose your breath.
Water surrounds you, dampening the sounds of the world. Softness envelopes you. An ache between your thighs, a craving unsatisfied. 
“Please, what?” Eddie laughs. 
When you don’t respond, only avert your gaze and rub your hands over your bare thighs (the summer heat has you in just a t-shirt and your underwear), you can sense understanding washing over him. 
“Are you feeling good?”
The question would be so normal. He’s just checking in with you, making sure you’re still okay. You trusted him enough to do this with him for the first time. You’d want to do this with no one else. 
But his tone suggests a double meaning.
Without your notice, there’s suddenly the feeling of his hand (rough from playing guitar) on your face. It feels so good you could go cross-eyed as you lean ever so slightly into his touch. 
“Do you feel it here?” 
You nod slightly, meeting his eyes again and forgetting yourself for a moment. 
His calloused fingers then trace a teasing path down your neck, past your pulse point, and his open palm lands just below your collarbone. His eyes follow the trail, and he can no doubt see and feel the quick rise and fall of your chest. 
The warmth of his hand seeps into your skin. 
“Here?” Eddie questions. 
The room falls away as you say, “Yeah.” But it comes out rough, a reminder of your dry mouth. 
Eddie hums, as if this is interesting to him, like someone has told him a fun fact he’s not sure that he cares about. His fingers continue their path down your chest, leaving a long trail of electricity in their wake. 
You survey his face as he watches his hand trail down, before ghosting his hand past your chest and stomach. 
Without even thinking about it, you gently split your thighs for him.
“Oh,” He says it like his heart ached the moment the plush of your thighs separated to accommodate his rough hand.
The inside of your thighs burn where his fingertips caress them, stoking the growing fire in your belly. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling. 
You close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. Over his hands barely grazing your body. Over his dark eyes on you, his wavy hair creating a shade around you. 
“There,” you agree before he utters the question. Your heart is beating rhythmically against your rib cage, begging for his touch as your skin tingles, everything slower. 
Everything is so warm. You want his fingers everywhere. 
“Touch me,” you breathe, and Eddie’s eyes dart up from your thighs to watch your face. 
He sighs like he’s pained by your plea, melting into you. His forehead meets your temple.
Now it’s his turn to catch his breath. He just breathes, the soft air cooling your warm cheek. 
After a moment, Eddie pulls himself from you, catching your eyes again as he moves back, but remains close. The scent of his shampoo and him invade your senses. 
“Where?” He questions. “Here?” But it's so gentle, as his hand smoothes over the curve of your thigh, and drifts so slowly up, his pinky just meeting the edge of your panties. 
A whimper slips past your lips as if he’s dripped hot wax onto your thigh, instead of the gentle caress he actually gives you. 
He fingers the fabric with his thumb. “These are cute,” Eddie muses, then pinches your thigh between his thumb and forefinger, right at the top where you’re most tender and soft. 
Your stomach somersaults and you can’t help but bring your right hand up to rest atop the back of his, where it rests between your legs. 
The feeling of his warmth, the hum in your veins. The need for more. You shift his hand downwards, letting him graze you over the cotton with his palm lying flat against your clothed pussy.   
Eddie sucks in a breath, his middle finger trailing up your slit over your underwear. He tsks softly as he presses into the wet patch. 
Warmth blooms in your chest and you feel like your heart is going to leap right out of your ribcage. 
His hands. So rough, but gentle against your skin. Those eyes, with pupils blown out from the weed and his desire that’s rolling off him in waves. His tone. Teasing and begging simultaneously. Like he wants to be a little mean, but he also wants you too much to play games for too long.
“Eddie-” 
But that’s all it takes before he cuts you off, capturing your mouth in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues. 
His presence takes you over, flooding your senses. His lips taste faintly of a lingering cigarette and your strawberry chapstick he must have borrowed. 
Smiling into the kiss, Eddie pushes forward, leaning into you until you begin lowering to the floor. One of his hands is on the carpet behind you and the other is at your hip as he slowly guides you to the floor. 
When your back meets the carpet, Eddie’s hair shields you once again, his lips never once having left yours. 
Eddie is a welcome weight on top of you, pushing you deeper under that cerulean wave as you wrap your arms around his neck. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss by licking hotly into your mouth. His tongue grazes yours and you moan into his mouth, back arching off the floor. 
Your head is still fuzzy from the weed, and getting fuzzier.
Groaning in displeasure when he lifts himself away from your mouth, you slide your hands out from around his neck. Hand trailing down his chest, you grab the end of his necklace and pull him back down to your mouth. 
The groan that vibrates in his chest and feeds the fire in your belly makes you ache between your thighs. Losing yourself in the way your mouths move together, his bottom lip slotted between your top one, you both become increasingly sloppy. 
It feels so good to kiss him like this, completely invading each other’s space. He gets so into it, like he could do just this forever and he’d be happy—elated. 
When Eddie pulls away again, he flicks your top lip with the tip of his tongue and you can feel yourself throb. He breathes heavily, fair cheeks stained pink, and his hair a little more messy than it was before. His frizz; a halo. 
But before you can pull him back down again, he plants a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. He’s on a mission, leaving kiss after sloppy kiss down your neck and chest.  
Enjoying the sensation of his lips on your skin, you loosen your hold on him, allowing him free range as your hands coast down his back. 
When he’s finally eye level with your tits, he diverges to the left one, flicking your nipple over your thin tank top with his wet tongue. You whine and thread your fingers through his hair, tug at his roots. Eddie grunts in response, but moves on quickly, pulling the fabric of your top loosely up your body so he can kiss the skin of your sternum and belly. 
Finally, you glance down at him, his dark eyes flickering to yours as he plants a final kiss to the dainty bow at the center of your panties.
Your hips flex beneath his hold as he squeezes your flesh before parting your thighs. The pressure of his calloused fingertips digging into your skin is delicious. You close your eyes, reveling in the sensation.
You can feel him move between your thighs, eliciting the soft sound of his body brushing against the carpet. 
“My mouth is so dry,” Eddie whispers, his breath ghosting against the soaked fabric. “And you’re so wet, angel.” 
You throw an elbow over your face, shielding your eyes, not out of embarrassment, but because you are so overwhelmed by him. 
It doesn’t help when his lips press against your panties, right where your clit is, and your legs twitch in surprise. All you can do is gasp, enjoying his teasing.  
Then there’s the feel of his hands coasting up and down your thighs. Your skin heats as you bite your lip, heart rate quickening.
Eddie places another sweet kiss to your pussy over the cotton, this one lower, drawing a whine out of you as you wiggle your hips impatiently. He teases his tongue against the wet patch and your hips buck involuntarily. You can feel him smirk against the skin of your thigh and you huff. 
He places one final quick kiss to your mound, before asking: “Can I take these off, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, Eddie,” is all you can manage, and it comes out strangled and muffled beneath your arm. 
But it's enough for him to tear your panties down your legs, and you kick them off as he dives back in, his arms encircling your thighs once you’ve got your feet planted on the floor by his shoulders. 
“Fuck, look at you…My pretty, sweet thing.” 
You cover your face with your hands, sweet humiliation warming your skin. 
You feel so exposed like this, open for him. It makes your heart race. But the weed clouding your brain means you’re not as self-conscious as you might have been otherwise. Not about the coarse hair between your legs or how wet you are despite how little he’s really touched you. 
Slowly, Eddie pulls your hands away from your face, and you rest them on your belly. 
The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. “Watch.”
He’s gentle at first, kissing the backs of your thighs, his eyes on yours. 
But as he trails his kisses closer and closer to your center, he nips at your inner thigh, causing you to whimper pathetically. 
And finally—finally—Eddie licks a thick stripe up your weeping cunt, and closes his eyes, losing himself in your taste. 
“Fuck!” you cry out as his mouth devours you, his tongue lapping at your wetness as he licks you from your leaking hole to your clit. 
Eddie pulls you impossibly closer, his grip tightening on your thighs, burying himself between your legs. He’s starved for it and your legs are already shaking. You’re so sensitive, and his tongue feels so warm, and it all feels just a little more. Just a little better. 
Tears prickle in your eyes at the sensations as you trail your hands down your belly and bury your hands deep in his hair. You groan as his nose bumps your clit. 
“More,” you beg, back arching just slightly off the floor.
Suddenly, his fingers join his tongue and he’s lapping at your hole enthusiastically while his thumb comes up to stroke your clit. Rubbing soft circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves, you practically squeal at the overwhelming feelings as your thighs clamp around his head. 
For minutes, Eddie never comes up for air. His tongue feels like heaven as it sheathes inside of you, pumping the wet muscle inside of your warmth. His ringed fingers are like a blessing as they toy with your pussy. 
He hums against your cunt, so content to be between your thighs.
The pleasure and the weed make everything hazy as you babble, “Feels so good. So good, Eddie…Please.”
Pulling back for just a moment, he breathes hard, chest rising and falling rapidly as he thumbs at your clit and you moan, rolling your head to the side as you catch his eyes. But they aren’t on you. They’re on your pussy and your face warms as he stares, mesmerized. 
Eddie’s hand comes to rest on your mound as he thumbs at your clit. Dimples carve into his cheeks as he smiles lazily when you twitch. “So messy for me.” 
You’re pouting down at him, out of breath when he spits thickly onto your already soaked cunt, the coolness of his saliva on your warm skin making your hips stutter and causing a gasp to slip past your lips. 
It’s too much and you have to look away again, dropping your head back and shutting your eyes. Just feeling. 
“Mmh,” Eddie hums before you feel him spreading his spit around your pussy with his thumb. 
“Please-” You whine, but it morphs into a moan as he quickly dives back in, licking and sucking, completely brazen in his love for your taste. But you’re just as brazen, hips rolling into his mouth, practically riding his face. Eddie takes it in stride, reaching up underneath your shirt with his only free hand to pinch your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back arches off the carpet and you gasp sharply. 
He kneads at your breast as his tongue and fingers become sloppy between your legs. Eddie shakes his head back and forth rapidly, no doubt staining his cheeks and chin with your wetness. All you can do is cry out, and moan, and babble on about how good he feels. 
Your orgasm builds, that delicious burning sensation swirling and growing in your belly. “Eddie. Eddie! Gonna-”
But you can’t even get the words out as he groans, the vibration sending shivers up your spine, only pushing you closer to the edge. 
Without pulling away fully, Eddie mutters roughly against your pussy, “Say it again.” 
It takes you a moment to process his words. And when you do you don’t fully understand. Until you do. 
Eddie is such a giver. He never tires of burying his face between your thighs and eating you out until you’re shaking in his arms, until you’re crying from the overstimulation as he goes in for seconds. 
But he likes receiving praise for it too. Likes to hear how good he’s making you feel. Likes to hear his name on your tongue. At this point it’s the only word you can remember anyway. 
“Eddie! Please, Eddie! Eddie,” You say his name like a prayer. 
He becomes an animal, going wild at the sound of his name leaving your lips. 
You’re so desperate to cum as you grind into his mouth, Eddie grunting, squeezing your breast in his hand, his other still working over your clit. You remove a hand from where it's tangled in his hair and cover the hand that kneads over your chest, back arching. 
When he begins the lethal combination of plunging his middle and ring finger into your tight, wet heat as he practically makes out with your pussy, you���re at your tipping point. The feeling of his lips kissing your clit, then his tongue darting out to have a proper taste as he sucks it into his mouth makes your brows furrow as you moan for him. 
One final thrust of his fingers inside of you and one last mean nip at your clit has your orgasm crashing over you, and your body convulses. Eddie continues to lick and fuck you with his tongue and fingers as you ride it out, cursing and moaning as you do. The feeling spreads everywhere, from your cunt, to your belly, to your chest, all the way down to your toes. 
Heat spreads beneath your skin as you slowly come down, chest heaving with shallow breaths. 
Eddie pulls away and you mewl when he playfully slaps the top of your cunt, making your clit flutter in sensitivity. 
Groaning lowly, Eddie climbs on top of you and you finally open your eyes. 
Your view is wonderful. His waves shield you from the lamplight, his mouth and cheeks glisten slightly as he grins down at you, and pieces of his fringe stick to his forehead which is covered in a light layer of sweat. 
Smiling languidly up at him, you reach up and brush his hair back from his face, the fire in your belly briefly heating up again at the feel of his hard cock nudging against your bare thigh. 
“Feel good?” 
Licking your lips, you nod, your body limp and tired. 
“Good,” Eddie whispers, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your mouth. You can still taste yourself on his tongue. 
He strokes your face lovingly with the back of his clean hand. “Still feeling floaty?” 
“Mhm,” you respond, completely blissed out, assuming he’s referring to the weed. 
He hums thoughtfully, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again, a mischievous glint sparkling in his.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers cheekily and you nod. 
Eddie leans down so his mouth is level with your right ear. “I wanna go again.” 
***
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please reblog!
<3
2K notes · View notes
vanteguccir · 21 days
Text
8 minutes of cute moments | Chris Sturniolo
Tumblr media
Chris Sturniolo x reader
Summary: Where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Chris and Y/N being in love.
Warning: None.
Requested?: Yes, by @lightsgore
Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
The fans of the triplets simply adored Y/N and Chris together, and that wasn't news. The number of comments and likes doubled whenever the girl appeared with her boyfriend in a random picture in a photo dump on Instagram or when her voice sounded in the background of a video.
But what they loved most was when a cute moment of the two of them together was captured during a video on the Sturniolo channel or in a fraction of seconds on Y/N's TikTok, and they made this clear by making thousands of compilations of these little moments, long enough to even post on YouTube.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
8 minutes of cute moments between Chris Sturniolo and his girlfriend, Y/N.
1st minute:
The triplets and Y/N were walking down the sidewalk near the arena in Boston, where they played hockey with Nate.
Nick was recording himself with his phone, talking about how he had almost slipped on the ice several times, when Chris and Y/N's voices sounded, interrupting him. He focused the front camera on the two behind him, surreptitiously recording them.
"... But baby, it wasn't my fault." Y/N complained, her lips forming a pout as her eyes focused on the floor.
"Babe, I asked you to record the game, right?" Chris asked, an amused smile on his face.
They walked side by side, the girl's right arm around her boyfriend's slightly sweaty waist, while Chris's left arm rested on Y/N's shoulders, his fingers caressing her left bicep lightly.
"Yes, and I recorded it!" Her voice came out high-pitched.
"Okay, and how many times did I make a goal?" The boy asked again, raising his right eyebrow.
"Three." Y/N replied in an obvious tone, raising her eyes to look into the blue ones she loved so much. "You kissed me every time you did it." She smiles proudly.
"Yes, and how many of those three did you record?"
"None." She looked down again, her pout deepening. "But-"
Chris threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the night, interrupting his girlfriend's defense.
He leaned down slightly, sealing his lips over Y/N's head, an amused smile still on his face. Oh, how he loved his girlfriend.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
2nd minute:
The triplets were filming the video "A night at the North Pole with Larray and Nai!". The camera was positioned in a strategic point so that the lens captured all the camping items around the room, as well as the brothers and the two guests.
Y/N was in her shared room with Chris, already dressed in her - his - pajamas and with her skincare done, ready for bed. But sleep never came.
She knew she had trouble sleeping without Chris after her body got used to the boy's presence pressed against hers every night for 5 years, so her mind didn't seem to give in, begging for the warmth that Chris's larger body provided.
After a few long minutes of turning from side to side, Y/N gave up trying. Sleep was taking over her, and she was feeling more and more stressed for not being able to go into dream land, so she decided to just go to her boyfriend.
Y/N rose from the bed, their duvet wrapped around her body like a cape. Her hands reached for the handle of the white door, closing it behind her and climbing the stairs in slow, silent steps caused by the fluffy socks that covered her feet.
Larray was the first to notice her - sitting facing the top of the stairs. He smiled, amused by his friend's condition; her eyes slightly closed from sleep, her hair high in a messy bun, and her hands gripping the edges of the duvet tightly.
Not many seconds passed, and Y/N's figure was finally caught by the camera, the girl having entered the frame.
"Hey, zombie girl." Nick joked when he noticed her, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
Y/N completely ignored him, walking towards her boyfriend from behind the triplets, not wanting to step on the food that was on the floor between the five of them.
Chris's face automatically lit up when he noticed her after hearing his brother, a big smile taking over as his eyes sparkled. He opened his arms, already waiting for his girlfriend's next move.
The girl smiled lazily back, planting her feet on the floor on either side of her boyfriend's hips, before lowering herself with Chris's help, sitting on his lap.
The brunette quickly wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her torso covered by the fluffy duvet. He hugged her tightly, laying his head in the crook of her neck and exhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo momentarily, before resting his chin on her shoulder, being able to see everything in front of him.
"Sleep, pretty girl."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
3rd minute:
Chris was playing Fortnite live on Twitch. His camera was on and focused on his upper body. His head was covered by the hood of his hoodie, pressed against his ears by the headphone, from where muffled sounds from the video game were coming out.
Within 30 minutes of streaming, Y/N's figure shyly appeared behind Chris. Her hands held a tray with some snacks and an already opened can of Pepsi.
She walked towards her boyfriend, curving her spine slightly forward so that her face came into his field of vision, alerting him to her presence.
The boy's blue eyes widened in excitement almost instantly, a smile stretching across his face as his right hand worked on pausing the game, using the soles of his feet against the floor to turn his body towards her.
"Hi bubba, I just came to drop off some snacks for you. It's been a while since you had dinner, I thought you could be hungry." Y/N counted in a low tone, momentarily forgetting that Chris's headphones were of the highest quality, meaning it caught her every word.
The couple didn't notice the chaos in the chat, too focused on each other.
Chris bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop his smile from growing any wider, taking the tray from Y/N's hands and placing it on the free space on his computer desk.
He lifted his chin slightly in the air so that he brought his lips closer to hers, sealing them in a quick kiss, his eyes shining with intense love.
"Thank you, babe." Chris thanked in an equally low tone, adjusting himself in his chair again, ready to go back to playing.
Y/N smiled, caressing his shoulder lightly before turning to leave the room.
"I love you." The brunette shouted quickly before his girlfriend could close the door, receiving an "I love you more" in return.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
4th minute:
The triplets and Y/N were at an Italian restaurant, having decided to go out to dinner together that day.
Y/N was talking to Matt about one of the random facts that the boy knew and blurted out of nowhere, the two deeply involved in the conversation.
The dishes had just been delivered by the waiter, who placed them respectively in front of the person who ordered, leaving shortly afterward.
Chris quickly pulled Y/N's plate towards himself, grabbing his own knife and fork and cutting the sirloin steak into small pieces and separating them from the pasta, knowing how much his girl hated cutting meat and how she always ate too quickly.
What he didn't notice was that Nick took out his phone the moment he started the gesture, closely recording his brother cutting his girlfriend's food, practicing the act of service.
After finishing, Chris lightly pushed the plate in front of his girl, turning around to start eating his own.
The girl smiled shyly, turning to Chris momentarily, sealing her lips over his cheek before murmuring a "thank you, babe" against his skin, turning her attention back to Matt.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
5th minute:
The triplets were in their car, recording another car video. Y/N was their special guest, sitting in the backseat next to Chris, who chose to sit there just to be close to his girlfriend.
Y/N had just taken a bite of the pepperoni pizza that Nick took from the trunk, finishing chewing quickly so she could bring her point of view on something Nick was saying, gesturing with her right hand while her left held the piece carefully.
Chris watched her closely, his eyes fixed on her side profile as he listened, nodding his head.
Something the fandom loved was how Y/N was the only person Chris didn't interrupt all the time, showing himself completely interested in hearing anything his girl was saying, regardless of whether it made sense or not.
At one point, the boy lowered his eyes, stretching his right arm and taking one of the napkins that was on the car console, bringing it to Y/N's mouth, lightly wiping the corner of her lip that was dirty with sauce, but without interrupting her.
Chris folded the napkin, leaving it on his lap, knowing he would have to use it again soon.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
6th minute:
"Look, boys, learn from Chris how to treat a girl right." Nick whispered from behind his phone.
He was standing behind the kitchen table, holding his cell in his right hand, the rear camera focused on the living room couch, where Y/N was.
The girl was lying on her side, her knees bent so that her thighs touched her chest. Her back was facing the room, while her face was lightly pressed against the back of the couch. A Fresh Love sweatshirt set covered her body, keeping her warm.
Small sighs escaped her half-open mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids, showing how deep her sleep was.
Chris, who was sitting with her feet on his lap seconds ago, was now standing in front of the couch, curving his spine down so that he could reach his girlfriend, slowly passing his arms under her neck and bent knees, pulling her up.
On instinct, Y/N raised her left arm, surrounding Chris's neck and laying her head on his chest, waking up for just a few seconds, caressing his covered skin with the tip of her nose.
"Shh, sleep baby. I'm right here." Chris murmured in a low tone, sealing her forehead lightly, stopping his movements as he watched her close her eyes again, falling back to sleep.
Chris moved slowly, hugging Y/N's body against his as he walked towards the stairs, not noticing Nick recording them from afar.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
7th minute:
Y/N was sitting on the puff in front of her makeshift dressing table. Her phone was resting on it horizontally while her front camera recorded herself.
She was talking about the new trend in the fashion world, having as a hobby making videos for TikTok about fashion and makeup. While the girl explained in detail, her hands worked on doing her nighttime skincare, gesturing, and changing products alternately.
Chris's figure appeared behind her a few seconds after she started it, his hands holding Y/N's hairbrush. He was already ready to sleep, his eyes half closed with sleep and his hair slightly messy.
A habit created by the couple was that, while Y/N did her skincare before bed, Chris would carefully comb her hair, having always had a great love for her locks.
The boy approached his girlfriend, smiling quickly at the camera before stopping behind Y/N. His free hand parted her hair so he could comb it without hurting her or leaving any part behind.
Chris raised his hand with the hairbrush, starting to do it gently, untangling the knots created throughout the day and aligning the strands.
His eyes met Y/N's from time to time through the mirror, a small smile resting on his lips, adorning his passionate features.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
8th minute:
It was the Versus Tour; Matt, Chris, and Nick were playing the last round of Giant Jenga when Chris spotted a fan with a sign held up.
"Wait, before we continue, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?" The brunette interrupted the group, holding his microphone with his right hand and pointing at the crowd with his left one, receiving absurdly loud screams in response.
Matt shrugged, looking at Nick, who nodded, making a go-ahead gesture with his hands.
"Hi! Can I read your sign?" Chris turned back to the audience, pointing to a specific girl. The girl's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock at being noticed by her idol, taking a few seconds to finally nod her head repeatedly. "Your sign says, "I'm only here for Y/N"-"
Loud screams interrupted Chris, fans going wild at the mention of his girlfriend's name. The brunette took the microphone away from his mouth, laughing in disbelief and looking at a specific area on the right side of the stage.
A fan, who was in the audience and recording the moment, focused the rear camera of her phone on the place where Chris looked, being able to capture the figure of Y/N, who was laughing loudly and clapping her hands in amusement, shaking her head.
"Well, I can't judge you. Everywhere I am, I only go for Y/N, too." Chris muttered into his microphone again, laughing as he received even louder screams in response.
His eyes met his girlfriend's, throwing an air kiss and an "I love you" with just a movement of his lips, before turning his attention back to the game.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Extra minute:
The triplets and Y/N were at their house with Nate and Madi. Everyone was in the living room, talking about random topics while a movie played on the television at low volume, serving as ambient sound. Some board games were scattered on the floor, next to unopened or already eaten snacks.
Chris was sitting on a puff in front of the big windows while Y/N was on his lap. She had her legs thrown to one side while her torso was on the other, sitting sideways on Chris's thighs with her right shoulder resting on his chest.
Chris's arms encircled her body, his right one holding her waist while his left one caressed her thighs lightly.
The girl was talking about a situation she witnessed between a group of third-party friends, always keeping her boyfriend updated on the gossip.
What they didn't know was that Madi was recording their cute moment.
As Y/N spoke, Chris looked into her eyes intently, his gaze so full of love that Madi thought she could see hearts in the place of his pupils.
The brunette nodded from time to time, making it clear that he had his attention on her and understood everything she was saying, an almost imperceptible smile resting on the corner of his lips.
The two seemed to be surrounded by a bubble created just for them, the entire outside world completely forgotten.
That was their dynamic, and the triplets fandom loved it.
༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋
And remember to treat people with kindness always!
Tumblr media
~ taglist:
@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo
(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)
2K notes · View notes
lewdmommie · 10 months
Text
One night stand
Tumblr media
Summary: y/n is forced to do some after hours training with König
🎀Warning🎀: 18+NSFW, Oral sex, raw sex, breeding, rough sex, fluff, slight angst,praise/degradation kink, size kink etc…
ClingyKönigxreader💗
Part 2.
Part 3
Word count: 4.k
“That was good but you’re leaving yourself open.” A gloved hand takes hold of your wrist. He lifts both arms, protecting your face. Your eyes dart up catching a brief moment of eye contact before he quickly looks away. Green. His eyes were green, you hadn’t noticed till now. König was sweet but he made sure to keep his distance from people—the fact that you were this close to him at all was a shock. Sgt. Ghost didn’t take kindly to your recent mistake on the last mission. He doubled your workload and put you on probation, because most of the Barracks were close friends of yours, he assigned you the quietest person on the team. Now you and König spend three hours a day training after hours. While your peers train together, you're mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Ghost doesn’t let you train during work hours in case your colleagues distract you. This was a punishment and he made that clear. “I’m sorry you have to do this with me everyday. This is my punishment, you shouldn’t have to suffer on my behalf.” He shakes his head at your apology.
“I don’t mind…I know how Ghost gets.” He places both hands on your hips, rotating your body. The truth is he really didn’t mind, most days he looked forward to seeing you. “Keep your core strong.” He instructs. His fingers travel up the curves of your body as he repositions you. His large hands warm up your waist as ungodly thoughts intrude your mind. The mask made it impossible for you to read his emotions, any expression came from his eyes (which he often hides). The only change you could see was the way his breath hitched as his finger accidentally grazes your breast. He was always so respectful when touching you, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Once your body is angled correctly he lets go, taking a few steps back. It almost seemed like he was avoiding the closeness. “Now attack me and defend.” He orders. You lunge forward —jabbing left, right,left,right. He blocks every punch effortlessly, guarding his face. He dodges, dipping low and charging at you. His arms wrap around your thighs hoisting you up. Your fingers interlock beating down on his back, trying to break his iron grip. He stumbles, arms loosening just enough to break free. Your feet hit the ground, König grunts as your fist connects clean with his jaw. “Uhn that one actually hurt…good job.” He waves a hand of surrender while rubbing his cheek through the mask. You run over to help. “Are you alright I’m so sorry-“ his hand shoots out, snatching your arm, spinning you. His solid arm tightens around your neck trapping you in a chokehold. His breathing is shallow, body tensing as your ass presses against him. You reach up and caress his forearm. He hadn’t realized just how small you were compared to him till now, his body engulfed the entirety of your frame. He notes how perfectly you fit in his arms and how easy it’d be to break you. Your head rests just below his pecs, the smell of your hair product wafts up his mask, he inhales the sweet scent. His bicep flexes, tightening his grip, your eyes flutter and a quiet moan falls from your lips. You loved that light headed airy feeling of being choked.
“N-never let your guard down.” He let’s go, gently pushing you away, putting a giant gap between the two of you. “Even if you think someone is done, be prepared to attack…” he trails off getting distracted by how sexy you look after an intense workout. How fast your breathing is, how your hair is messy with sweat, how your lips part as you catch your breath. He wanted to be the one to work you out.
“Oh whatever you cheated .” You laugh squatting down as you catch your breath. König crouches, grabbing his flask from the ground. His large, veiny hands twist the top off in one swipe. Unconsciously, he lifts the bottom of his mask to drink, showing you a glimpse of the lower half of his face. His jaw tenses, a trickle of water spills down his chin as he swallows. His adams apple bobs with each gulp. You gawk at the scene in front of you, thinking it has to be a daydream.
“Water?” He holds the flask to you.
“S-sure.” You ease to a sitting position on your knees reaching for the bottle. You stare at the rim that just grazed his lips. Does this count as an indirect kiss? You think. He watches you place your lips in the exact spot he’d drank from, flushed with excitement. He wonders if your lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be. How they’d feel melding with his…how they’d feel wrapped around his dick. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that would never happen and that you didn’t see him that way.
“Have you eaten?” He asks, looking at you with big green eyes.
“Sergeant told the cafeteria to only feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, so I haven’t eaten anything of value.” Your stomach grumbles on que.
“You must have really gotten on his bad side huh?” He offers you a hand,helping you to your feet.
“Unfortunately.” You dust off your pants and begin collecting your belongings.
“Since we wrapped up a bit early, how about I take you somewhere you can get real food.” He offers, packing his duffle bag.
“You know how tight ghost keeps the kitchen locked up…” you say with an annoyed tone.
“Who said anything about the kitchen?” His voice sounds mischievous.
“You don’t mean-?” You shake your head, stuffing your hat and jacket in the bag.
“Come on, he’ll never know I’ve worked with him long enough to know his blind spots.” He tilts his head expressively.
“Fine but if we get caught, you ordered me to go.” You hike your bag onto your shoulder, walking past him. He smiles behind you.
~
“Puedo pedir dos margaritas?(may I have two margaritas) Sí…un bistec nacho y un burrito de pollo(one steak nacho and one chicken burrito)Eso es todo, gracias(that's all thank you).” He says expertly, the waiter nods thanking you before going to pin the order up.
“Wow I’ve been deployed here longer than you and my Spanish is still choppy.” You toy with some lime slices on the table to keep yourself busy. König watches you closely, an amused look in his eye.
“I can speak a few languages but I’m not good at them all.” He looks you up and down, the lights from the club area illuminates your skin. Your hair is pulled in a now messy bun. Cute strands stick out from your training session. He is especially drawn to your lips, the way you lick and nibble your bottom lip when you’re nervous. His eyes dart away when you feel his gaze lingering and look up.
“What other languages do you speak?” You stare out into the dance floor, watching the locals swing and jump to the music. They looked carefree and happy, it’d been so long since you’ve felt good or even had a good time. Ghost saw a lot of potential in you so he stayed on your ass 24/7. Tough love is what he liked to call it.
“German is my first language.” He reveals.
“German? That’s so cool , say something in German.” He chuckles at your excitement.
“Ich möchte dich über diesen Tisch beugen und dich dazu bringen, mich ganz zu nehmen (I want to bend you over this table and make you take all of me)” he leans forward, green eyes boring into you as he says this,making sure you can hear him over the music. You had no idea what he just said but it made your thighs clench under the table.
“W-what does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you one day.” He shrugs. You toss a lime, it smacks his vest with a small thud.
“I thought friends don’t keep things from eachother.” You tease. The server brings out two large glasses with salted rims, there was no way you could finish this entire thing. He places the margaritas on either side of the table along with straws. König tears open his straw taking a long pull from his drink.
“Whoa it’s strong.” The fruity syrup barely covered the 3 shots of liquor . You indulge, sucking a mouth full of the frozen drink. It tastes strongly of strawberry slushie and tequila, the salted rim balances all the flavors with a sour finish. The alcohol must have been hitting him pretty fast because all he could imagine is him being that straw. How good the inside of your mouth must taste and feel.
“You’re right…I see why everyone is having such a good time.” You joke, taking another sip. A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, he loved the way you always spoke your mind. It’s one of the qualities that always got you in trouble with ghost. Nothing made him laugh more than watching you stress ghost out with your witty personality.
“I guess we’d better join the party.” He raises his glass for a toast before chugging half.
The server brings out hot plates of food, everything looked and smelled amazing. Your stomach growls at the sight of real food, the liquor (coupled with only eating sandwiches for a week) takes effect making you absolutely demolish your burrito. König shyly slips a few chips under his mask, he never ate around people since it usually required the mask to come off.
“This is soooo good.” You say having another bite.
“I love this place. I come here often.” He slides in another chip.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave base unauthorized or maybe that’s just me.” Ghost had a tendency of giving you extra rules for your troublesome rap sheet.
“We aren’t but if you don’t get caught, did it ever happen?” He laughs, taking the final sip of his drink.
“And they call me the troublemaker.” You say glancing at the dance floor again.
“Do you want to?” He asks.
“Want to what? Dance?…no I don’t uh I don’t dance.” You dismiss quickly.
“ I’ve seen you knock grown men out y/n, dancing can’t be much harder than that.”
“You know you’re much more social than usual.” You observe.
“Only when I’m with you.” He grabs your hand leading you to the crowd.
The music thumps with bass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. A sexy song plays through the huge speakers near the DJ station. People couple up, swaying their bodies to the beat. König slips an arm around your lower back pulling you close. You struggle to find the tempo, moving left to right awkwardly. He takes your hand, spinning you around. His eyes trace the line of your body before pulling you back into his chest. You giggle at how ridiculous you look compared to his smooth rhythm. Your foot slams down on his toe as you try to find the beat “I’m so sorry! I’m so bad at this maybe I should sit-“
“Let’s try this instead.” His knee forces your legs apart, giving him control of your movements. The feeling of his thigh pressed firmly against your heat makes your head spin.
“Follow my lead.” He commands.
His waist sways back and fourth, rocking your bodies in unison. You copy his actions, grinding your hips together, the grip on your waist tightens. The fabric of your pants rub creating friction between your legs, his cock reacts to the closeness, beating as if it was dancing along with them. finding the rhythm, your body starts to move on its own.
“Scheisse (Shit)” he groans as you turn around and twirl your ass on him. His head falls back as you start to swirl your hips down and back up slowly. His big hand slides over your stomach holding you as close as possible, his rock hard member strains through his thick camo pants. Your eyes close as you grind into him, his finger grazes the exposed skin peeking from under your shirt. He trails that same finger up your torso, between your breast and up your neck. His hand rests at the base of your throat keeping hold of you as your bodies whirl around the dance floor. He spins you back around to face him, for once he demands eye contact and you’re the one shying away. You stare at the floor, giant hands cup your face pulling you to meet his feverish gaze.
“Don’t look away from me.” König’s voice sounds different, More rugged. His shoulders hunch as he leans down to your height as he speaks. “Bitte komm mit mir nach Hause” he whispers in your ear.
“What’s that?”
“Please come home with me.” He breathes.
~
“How the hell did you convince Ghost to let you room by yourself ?” You ask, stepping past the threshold.
“ My social skills and big personality helped with that.” He jokes sarcastically. König wasn’t required to room with anyone thanks to his close connection to the sergeant, leaving the two of you completely alone in his quarters.
“Well I guess if you don’t talk much there isn’t much you could say to get in trouble.” You ponder.
“Yeah you should try it.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.
“Try what exactly?” You ask appalled , holding your chest dramatically.
“Not talking. That mouth of yours is dangerous.”
“Give me one example where I said something worth getting punished for.” Your arms cross.
“If I recall correctly you said and I quote ‘why would I listen to a dude named Simon?’ ” he says in a high pitch voice mimicking yours.
“First of all he wasn’t supposed to hear that, wrong place at the wrong time on his part and secondly Simon is a funny name, the jokes practically write themselves.” He pauses for a second before doubling over with laughter.
His keys clatter on the kitchen counter as he wipes his tears of laughter away. You set your bags near the couch and sway on your heels nervously, unsure whether to sit or stand. Strong hands settle on your shoulders working away the tension you’ve been holding for god knows how long. Your head rolls back into his touch, he kneads your muscles like dough relieving any and all stress. “That feels so good, König.” You groan, closing your eyes.
“Come with me.” He grasps your hand leading you down a hall , stopping at a closed door. He twists the knob revealing a very plain bedroom, a queen sized bed with black sheets, a desk, and stacks of paperwork are all that decorate the space. There are two extra doors, one leading to the closet and the other to the bathroom. You laugh at his clumsiness. He’s clearly tipsy as he staggers to the door.
He slips his gloves off and opens the cabinet below the sink, rummaging around and pulling things out onto the bathroom floor. Finally, he emerges with a pink topped bottle. “Baby oil” the label reads.
“Strip.” He says, unbuckling his bulletproof vest and laying it on the desk chair.
“S-strip?”
“Yes, so I can massage you. That is what you want isn’t it?” He removes his thick camouflage jacket revealing the snug black material of his undershirt.
His muscles bulge veiny and tight, stretching the fabric. It was true, you did want his hands all over you. Ever since you two started training together, you found yourself fantasizing about being split by that monster of a man. Your hands fumble with the buckle of your pants as you kick your boots off. He advances, towering a wapping 6'6”. You shift with anticipation, looking up at him with gleaming eyes. The tips of his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, swiping it over your head. Your scrunchie is taken along with it, freeing your hair (for my fellow natural haired girlies let’s just say you have braids or a wig). If you’d known you’d be stripping for someone tonight, you would have picked sexier underwear. He’s silent as he takes in how perfect you look in your plain gray and white bra/pantie combo.
“Lay on the bed.” He instructs unscrewing the baby oil top.
You listen, climbing up into the comfy cotton sheets, using your arms as pillows. He’s flustered at how obedient you are, since that wasn’t a side of you he’d seen before. The military couldn’t break you…but he would. He stands at the side of the bed admiring every dip and curve of your figure. Flipping the bottle upside down, Slick cool oil slides down your back. His thumbs rub circles along your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. His long fingers slip under your bra strap, he huffs in frustration.
“In the way-“ he unclasps it skillfully. Your face is burning with embarrassment, there was no way you were laying in Königs bed half naked. A shiver runs down your leg as he slides down the elastic waist of your panties. He begins working and kneading your lower back, squeezing the plush skin of your ass. The crotch of your panties were soaked, leaving a huge wet spot on the gray fabric. He inhales, your arousal was palatable, his dick pulsates at the scent of your glistening womanhood. Your panties glide down over your ankles as he slides them off, tossing them into the corner.
“Flip over.” He grunts, tossing you around.
Your breast fall from the unclamped bra, hard nipples on full display. König doesn’t hesitate yanking and pulling you to the edge of the bed.
“On your knees.” His voice is breathy and low.
your eyes stay on him as you shift onto your knees, hands holding your chest shyly. Gently he pulls them away, slipping the straps down and off your arms. Because of his height, you’re at perfect eye level with his throbbing erection. His breath hitches as your elegant fingers undo the zipper of his pants, his earthy green eyes flutter. His big hand cradles your cheek as he watches you work to release him from the shackles of those annoying pants. His cock burst free, slapping his lower stomach. Although you couldn’t see his face, the state of his arousal was evident. Veins root from base to tip, beating rhythmically along the upward curve of his sex. His tip is blushed and oozing with pre-cum, his breathing accelerates with need. You run your tongue up the length of his rock hard shaft, he grunts head lolling back. Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing him before opening nice and wide.
“Scheiße (Fuck)” he pants, caressing your cheek pulling your warm wet mouth down on his cock. It was even better than he’s imagined, his hand sets the pace rocking your head back and forth. Tears prick your eyes as he begins moving faster, fucking your throat. Each thrust deeper than the last, his hand moves to the base of your neck feeling how deep you can swallow him.
“You look so fucking pretty sucking my cock.” He wipes a stray tear with his thumb.
You gag as he pushes further, your throat muscles contract around him before he pulls back.
“Oh naughty naughty girl. You almost made me cum.” He teases, lightly pushing you back onto the bed. The mattress creaks from his massive size as he climbs between your legs, peering down at you. Your hand reaches under the mask, he firmly grips your wrist forcing it to the bed.
“Ask nicely.” He orders.
“Can I touch you…please.” You beg.
He releases your hand, it finds the bottom of the mask, sliding underneath to find the stubble of a 5 o'clock shadow and soft lips. Your finger strokes his lower lip, it is plump and warm.suddenly, his mouth opens nipping and sucking the skin of your curious finger. “Ah what are you-“ you moan arching your back. Pushing your hand away once more, he leans down, capturing your parted lips. Your lips dance in perfect harmony, melting into one another. He moans into your mouth, his jaw tenses as your tongue pushes through savoring the flavor that is König. The head of his dick pokes at your slippery slit begging for entry, you can feel how hot he is all over causing your temperature to rise.
“Open up for me, I’m gonna give you everything I have.” He groans, plunging inside with a flick of his hips. Your hands claw at the smooth skin of his back as you stretch around him, his girth almost too much to handle. You cry out as he thrust deeper “Just alittle more baby, you’re taking me so well…s’good s’fucking good.” He pants filling you to the brim. He stays still for a moment letting you adjust to his large size, the pressure in your pussy nearly makes you cum right then and there.
“I feel you twitching around me princess, you can’t cum yet, I’m not done breaking you.” He pulls back before slamming back in, hitting the back of your cervix with each thrust. There is a delicious ache in your belly as he impales you, the curve of his dick reaches places you didn’t even know existed.
“Ah ah s’to big I-I can’t I can’t.” You cry biting the skin of his chest to hold back your screams.
“You’re gonna take what…I…give…you.” He pounds with each word. He sits up pushing your knees to your chest forcing even deeper inside your velvety walls. This position gives him access to your stiff wet bud. With two fingers he spreads your creamy folds watching his dick pump in and out of you. Every thrust his cock emerges more coated than the last.
“Your pussy is so fucking gorgeous , look at that needy little clit.” He flicks your bud, rutting into you with all his strength. His long fingers grab your throat, your tongue lols out as he chokes you. He alternates the pressure taking you up and gently bringing you back down. “That pretty mouth isn’t so dangerous now.” Your quivering walls clench around him threatening to overflow.
“P-please I’m gonna…ah!” He pulls out, gripping your waist as he throws you around, roughly raising your ass to him. Before you can register the change he splits you apart once again, slapping your plush ass, leaving hot hand prints on your skin. Those giant hands push and pull you back on his cock, using your pussy to make himself cum.
“You have such a cute tummy.” He reaches around pressing on your lower belly feeling how full it is with his cock.
“You would make such a pretty mommy.” He praises fucking you faster and harder. That throws you over the edge, your body convulses and clamps down icing his dick with your sweetness.
His teeth clench with an inhuman growl as his rod twitches and throbs before shooting your insides with his hot seed.
~
“Late again huh, rookie? That’s an extra week.” You jump, turning around. Ghost stands over you. It was true last night’s events made it impossible to wake up at 5 am with the other soldiers. You ended up sneaking out of Königs bed in the middle of the night, hoping you could sneak back into your barracks undetected. The mission was success. You slipped into your bed at 2 a.m before anyone could realize you were gone. Unfortunately, that means you overslept, waking up three hours late.
“I was…sick.” You lie scrubbing the bathroom tiles diligently.
“Sick? You were fine yesterday.” He says with a flat tone.
“Must have eaten something bad, all those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must have taken a toll.” You grunt, rubbing your stomach.
“Next time you’re sick. You report it to me in advance.” He orders.
“How can I predict when I’m gonna be sick?-“
“Don’t question me.” He spins on his heels walking out the bathroom.
“Okay Simon.” You mock.
“What was that rookie?” He calls back.
“Nothing Sargeant!” You exclaim.
He walks away finally, leaving you with the smell of bleach and toilet water. Your arms ache from scrubbing. throwing the sponge in the bucket of cleaning solution, you sit back against the wall thinking about last night. All morning you avoided seeing König, ducking and dodging him in the halls. Every time you thought of him, your face burned with embarrassment, there is no way you could look him in the eye after that. For now your plan is to just lay low in hopes he was too drunk to remember anything. It was nothing. Just a drunken one night stand.
“There you are.” He charges forward looking down at you.
“H-here I am whats up König…do you need a copy of that report-“
“Why did you sneak out last night.” He interrupts.
“Psh me? Sneak out I didn’t sneak out. I just went for a walk…and ended up in my bed.” You reach into the bucket with gloved hands wringing the sponge out.
“Why couldn’t we sleep together?” He asks.
You fly to your feet in a panic “Shhh! What if someone hears you?”
“So what?” He tilts his head in confusion.
“Superior and subordinate relationships are strictly prohibited!” You whisper/yell.
“Right…hm, okay in here then.” He takes your hand leading you into the stall furthest from the door, The lock clicks behind you.
“Can’t this wait till after hours.” You say with an annoyed tone.
“I want an explanation.” His arm rests on the wall above your head.
“This. This is why I snuck off, to avoid whatever this is. Now I’m stuck in a bathroom stall talking about…feelings.” You hold your stomach making a pained face.
“This isn’t funny.” His voice is low.
“You’re right it isn’t but it is complicated .”
“Y/n? You in here?” A voice calls.
You mouth shit, covering what you assumed was his mouth through the mask.
“Yeah! I was just cleaning!” You call back.
“Who were you talking too?” She asks her foot steps advancing.
“No one! Here I come!” You let him go squinting your eyes.
“This isn’t over.” He whispers sharply, moving to the side.
“I can see that.” You grumble walking out the stall to greet your friend.
…to be continued?
4K notes · View notes
celestialwhoree · 2 months
Text
Ex bf!Simon pt.2 - nsfw 🖤✬
Simon keeps a hand on you the whole way home, in a far grumpier mood than he was when he picked you up at the beginning of the evening, his grip that little bit tighter around you.
"You're mad." You observe, pouting up at him once you've removed your helmet, crossing your arms as you wait for him to prop his bike up on the stand. "M' not mad, poppet." Simon reassures you, fingers brushing yours when you hand back the helmet, making a conscious effort to soften his features when he catches your wide eyed gaze.
As always, he walks you to the door of your flat with a hand on the small of your back, withdrawing your keys from his pocket where you'd put them for safekeeping.
He doesn't even think when he walks in behind you, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, just like he used to do back when you were still together.
"You look cold." He observes in that blunt way he always does, making you chuff. "Sorry?" You hum in response, turning to face him, rolling your eyes when you see his gaze locked unabashedly on your boobs, and the way your dress does a poor job of hiding the way your nipples have hardened on the windy trip home. "Perv." The insult rolls off your tongue easily, has him coming and grabbing you by the tops of your biceps, rubbing them with his own hands to warm you up. "Slut." He flings back just as easily. "You're making me horny." You deadpan, figuring you might as well make a joke of it. "You always were a little freak." Simon muses, distracting you as he noses at the base of your jaw, causing you to tip back your hear obediently.
You've barely even stumbled over the threshold of your bedroom when he's trying to navigate the complicated straps and clasps of your dress, grumbling to himself in the process. "You want some help there, Einstein?" You coo sarcastically as he practically herds you to your bed in the middle of the room. All it takes is a little taunting about how an experienced SAS Lieutenant can't work around some flimsy fabric and he's pushing you down under him, ripping it with his teeth. "Si!" You screech indignantly, all whilst he looks incredibly pleased with himself from where he's propped up on his forearms above you. "Y' look better with it off."
When he kisses down the dip between your boobs, one big hand coming up to knead at the doughey flesh, you're caught between a giggle and a moan, legs coming to wrap around his waist whilst he thumbs at the already damp crotch of your lacy underwear. "Already wet f'me?" He coos in that condescending way that has your thighs tightening around his broad hips. "Have been all night." You admit, feeling far less shame than you should at admitting that you still get horny from being in the same space as your ex. "Attagirl." He grunts lazily, giving you no warning when he slides a calloused hand into your panties, thumbing at your clit as though testing the waters. He can't help but grin as your back bows against the plushy mattress of your bed from the touch, the same as always.
You're already a whining mess from just his fingers alone, tummy coiled tight and face flushed in that way that he's missed so much. "Simon.." Your little needy mewls of his name have him kissing his way back up your stomach, loosely tangling his fingers with your own. "Want me to fuck you, baby?" He murmurs, genuinely wanting to make sure that you're comfortable.
He'd be perfectly happy to sit here for hours fingering and licking away at you without so much as freeing his painfully hard cock from the confines of his jeans.
"UhHuh." You babble pathetically, looking down at him with glassy eyes where he rests his chin on your hipbone, pressing appreciative little kisses there. "You sure?" He double checks, triple checks, even, just to be sure that you're happy, comfortable - always his priority. "Simon." You huff when he remains still at your waist. "Just checkin' poppet, don't want you getting all shy on me."
His dick is so hard it looks actually painful, and Simon smiles lazily as you gaze at him like the Adonis you've always seen him as. Beautiful in a way that you can't find the words to explain.
"I missed your dick." You mutter as he pumps his shaft a few times, not that he needs to considering how rock hard he is - just showing off, the cocky bastard. "Missed you too, baby." He teases back as he aligns his tip with your entrance, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He keeps one large hand at the curve of your waist as he pushes himself inside, stopping you from squirming away at the stretch, his thumb brushing soothing circles against the soft skin there. "Doin' so good. Look't you takin' me so well." He coos as you feel him bottom out, eyes squeezing shut, only opening after he sets a languorous pace with a few slow thrusts.
You only get whinier, more needy as he presses his nose below your ear, whispering praises of how perfect you are, how good you look under him.
He has you cumming at an almost embarrassing speed, needing no guidance when he hooks your knees over his shoulders, his tip rocking up against your g-spot repeatedly until he feels you squeeze around him with a little squeak that he remembers all too well.
He works you through it, getting closer to his own orgasm when you tighten around his length, gripping at the sheets and the hand he offers you as you tumble over the edge, missing the first time he asks you where you want him. "Need y' to tell me baby. Hm? Where'd you want it?" "Inside." You give a pathetically breathless whine, looking up at his furrowed brows and sweat glistened chest. "Y' sure? Need you to be sure." "M' on the pill." You murmur, eyes fluttering blissfully shut when he shoots ropes of thick cum up into you, watching adoringly as you take him.
He's oh so gentle when he pulls out, making his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, returning with a warm washcloth, peppering kisses on your thighs and lower belly as he wipes away the residue.
Simon sleeps with you tucked up against his chest that night, a hand settled protectively around your waist as he listens to the steady rise and fall of your breath, breathing in the smell of your shampoo.
⋆。‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.
1.1k of filth😚
Tagging those who wanted to be mentioned in a part 2, here u are my loves 💕
@whos-fran @mishaglass
3K notes · View notes
Text
Pickup Truck
Tumblr media
summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.
until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.
pairing: frankie morales x f!reader
ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.
frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.
wc: 9.8k
an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.
Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.
Scratch that. Nobody does.
Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.
Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.
And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.
Not until last week, anyway.
You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?
And how do you get out?
Tumblr media
Walk you home to see
Where you're livin' around
And I know this place
Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.
It’s his favourite moment of the night.
He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said. 
He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.
He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.
Frankie loves you.
And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.
Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled. 
Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him. 
You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.
So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.
And then you’d met Tanner.
He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you. 
‘This is me.’ You say.
But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out. 
Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten. 
This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.
The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.
He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.
Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -
A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.
When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.
When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.
Pour yourself on me
And you know I'm the one
That you won't forget
Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking. 
He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other. 
Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away. 
Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.
You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.
‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.
‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.
It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.
Boyfriend. Boyfriend.
You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice. 
Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.
If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.
No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.
And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.
When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.
And in your denim eyes
I see that something's awry
And I see you’re weak
You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out. 
At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner. 
Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.
It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand. 
You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.
Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.
‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’
Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.
‘Just okay?’ He asks. 
Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.
‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’
There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.
When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.
And he hates himself for it.
When he comes around
I see you're fixin' to shine
And my face won't speak
When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally. 
Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter. 
Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.
Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.
You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there. 
Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.
‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’
You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.
‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’ 
You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.
‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ 
When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.
Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.
‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him. 
‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him. 
‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.
Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street. 
Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.
He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.
But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping. 
No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.
So worried, they tell you.
They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.
But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -
‘You’re right. You’re right.’ 
It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.
Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -
Hate to be so emotional
I didn't aim to get physical
But when he pulled in and revved it up
I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’
And in the moonlight I throwed him down
Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around
A little piece of a bloody tooth
Just so you know I was thinking of you
Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes. 
A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down. 
Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?
‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.
‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’ 
Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.
‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.
Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.
‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.
He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging. 
‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.
He whirls around to the other man and spits -
‘Who the fuck are you?’
Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.
Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -
‘Santi’s one of my friends.’
Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope. 
The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.
Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.
Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -
‘Pope.’ 
And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.
Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.
‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’
You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.
‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.
‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’ 
You look at him through your eyelashes.
‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name. 
Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.
Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on. 
When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -
‘Well, well, well.’
Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch. 
You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim. 
Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.
The awful unveiling of your last secret.
Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle. 
You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.
You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.
Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.
Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.
Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.
Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches. 
He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.
He expected the wrong war from a soldier.
The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.
Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot. 
Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.
Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.
Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.
‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’
Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.
The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.
Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.
‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’
Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.
You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare. 
Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.
Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms. 
Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach. 
You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.
‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’
The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.
Trembling misery
And as cold as a hole
I hug your bones and skin
Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.
You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.
When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.
Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.
‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.
‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.
A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.
‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.
Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it. 
He closes his eyes.
An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering - 
And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.
There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.
Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’
‘You think I love him?’ You croak.
Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.
‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’
Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child. 
He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead. 
You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.
‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.
‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.
He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.
Crackling wood’s gone white
And my eye swole up now
I can see the light
Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed. 
The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable. 
You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put. 
He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.
‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’
But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.
In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.
You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.
The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.
And finally, he begins to cry.
He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.
But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.
When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.
And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.
But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.
He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -
‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.
You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…
A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips. 
And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.
You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed. 
You’re here.
You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.
He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.
You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.
‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’
You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.
‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’
Dangerous, dangerous question. 
Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.
‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’
You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.
His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -
‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’
Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.
‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 
A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.
‘I love you,’ he says.
‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.
‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’
He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.
Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt. 
He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.
‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.
‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -
‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain. 
You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.
‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.
‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’
‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.
‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’
‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.
‘Pinky promise.’ You say.
Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.
‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’
‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp. 
‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’ 
He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.
‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’
And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.
‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off. 
‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.
‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.
‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.
And Frankie does not need to be told twice.
He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.
‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.
‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.
‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘I just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’ 
‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.
‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.
‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.
‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.
You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.
‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.
‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock. 
He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.
‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’
So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.
He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.
‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’
And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -
‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.
‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.
You smile lazily at him.
‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.
You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.
He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.
When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.
Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.
When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.
A little piece of a bloody tooth
Just so you know I was thinking of you
2K notes · View notes