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#pre far from home
scarletjess · 2 years
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Peter and Steve after the final battle in Endgame (a flashback in the fic I'm writing)
Peter was on his way out of the ruined compound, covered in his and an alien’s blood, when he got pulled over by a tired looking man in red, white and blue. “Mr Rogers!” Peter said, startled. He tried to pull himself back together in the face of complete exhaustion. “Peter.” He greeted. “I can’t say I’ve heard a lot about you, but I have seen you before. There was a photo of you at Tony’s.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. “You two made up?” It was a stupid question, completely insignificant in the face of Mr Stark’s death, but he couldn’t help it.
“I went round just before Morgan was born. Thought it was time to move on.” Peter had a feeling it didn’t work.
“Morgan?”
“Tony’s daughter.” “Oh.” Peter didn’t know how to react to that. He seemed to not know a lot of things recently. He was a relic of the past.
“Anyway, son, I wanted to give you this.” He held out a flash drive. “We’re planning the wipe all the information on how everyone was brought back, too dangerous to leave out in the open, but I thought you’d want to know.” Gesturing at the drive once again.
“Didn’t realise you knew how to use these.” Peter nervously joked, and suddenly Steve was seeing someone else in Peter’s place.
“I didn’t,” he paused, “Nat taught me.”
Peter wondered if this is what ‘moving on’ looked like.
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talaok · 3 months
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Movie night
Summary: Peter's coming over for your weekly movie night, and you’ve decided you wanna confess your feelings for him, but as it turns out, he has similar plans
Warnings: Smut| unprotected p in v sex, praising, soft!Dom Peter
a/n: thanks to this request I might go back into my Peter Parker era honestly. Also, @wtvbabes (this is not the person that made the request)
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It was time for the weekly movie night with Peter, 
You had been doing it for so long that you didn't even remember how or when it started, it was now simply a part of your routine.
Every Friday night, at 6 o'clock you went to whatever house was free, ordered pizza, and watched a movie each of you had chosen.
It was routine, so you shouldn't have been nervous... except that this time, this time wasn't gonna be like the other times, this time you had made a promise to yourself that you were finally gonna come clean, that you were finally gonna confess your feelings.
You had been keeping it a secret for way too long, and you were tired... god, were you tired, it was exhausting pretending like you didn't want more, like you didn't wanna kiss him and hold his hand every time you were together, and perhaps it was the holiday spirit surrounding you, or perhaps it was the fact that Gemma, your other best friend, had given you a 30-minute talk about how you should just "stop being a little bitch and tell him already" after you had started your usual ramble about how perfect and great Peter was,
But you had made peace with yourself, if this was gonna ruin your entire friendship, if you were gonna lose him forever, then so be it, because at the end of the day, if you couldn't have him like you really wanted to, then there was no point in having him at all.
And just then, when you were repeating your script to the mirror for the thousandth time, the words coming out of your mouth not even making sense anymore, he knocked at the door.
For some reason, a gasp fled your throat, but after the familiar "hey, it's me" from the other side of the door all you could do was take a deep breath and fix your dress.
It's all gonna be ok, it's all gonna be ok
"hi" you smiled, opening the door
Your anxiety must have been all over your face because the way he frowned at you told you everything you needed to know.
"hi" he said, coming into the house as he inspected your face "is something wrong?" he asked "Please don't tell me your sister changed the password to her Netflix again"
You forced a smile to your lips "no, no everything is fine- let's just... sit down"
"ok..." he frowned, following you as you sat on the couch "did something happen, or-"
"no" you shut him down "I-I just wanted" You shook your head as you regretted your choice of words "no actually, I need to- uhm- to tell you something"
You watched his eyes widen slightly, but out of all the things he could have said, he chose the only one that made you even fucking more anxious.
"Really?" he smiled "That's funny 'cause I do too"
You swore you felt your heart stop beating.
What could he ever need to tell you?
"w-what?" 
Your voice didn't even sound like your own, it was just fear and stress finding a way to come out of your body.
"yeah" he nodded, watching you closely "so... you wanna go first or..."
"no, no, you go first" you spit out, making him chuckle
He still didn't get why you were acting so weird, but to be perfectly transparent, he was kind of freaking out internally himself, so he didn't really have the brain capacity to investigate further.
"Alright" he laughed "I'll go first"
His eyes focused behind you for a moment as he prepared for whatever was coming, and just then, did you notice that perhaps you weren't the only nervous one.
What is it?
Did something happen
Oh god, did he find a girlfriend?
Your heart was beating out of your chest and then just like that, he came out and said: "Y/n I like you" with a hopeful smile on his face, while yours completely stilled.
Actually not just your face, you as a whole went completely still, frozen at the words that had just come out of his mouth
Did I just imagine that?
Am I dreaming or something?
What the actual fuck is going on?
That was supposed to be my lin-
"y/n are you there?"
He was talking to you, you realized.
"w-w-what?" your eyes were wide open in shock 
"I know" he smiled, scratching the back of his neck, "I know it's out of the blue, and I really really hope this won't ruin anything, but... I've been feeling like this for a long time about you, and I just- I needed to tell you"
And then you could do nothing, absolutely nothing but throw your arms around him, hugging him so tight he probably couldn't breathe.
"y/n?" he murmured, hugging you back, but before he could say anything else you leaned away, still holding onto him as if he were a life jacket, and smiled like an idiot.
"I like you too Peter-" you grinned "I really really like you"
The smile on his face now matched yours, as his eyes sparked with joy
"you do?"
"of course I do!" you almost yelled from the excitement "that's-that's what I wanted to tell you! I can't believe this"
You looked into each other's eyes, both incredulous and unbelievably happy altogether, 
you were so close, but an inch between your faces, that what happened next was inevitable.
His lips were on yours, 
his lips were on yours and they felt every bit as good as you had spent hours and hours imagining.
And then for a moment, you both leaned away, looking at each other as soft silly laughs fled your throats.
"i can't believe this is real" he breathed, melting your heart right into a puddle
"I can't either"
And then his lips were back on yours, but this time... this time he was hungrier.
His tongue was exploring your mouth, and his hands were one holding your face, while the other started roaming your body, pulling soft whimpers from you as your arms remained locked behind his neck, your left hand gently playing with his hair,
And then in no time, without a clue of how or when, you were lying on the couch, and he was on top of you, his legs parting your thighs.
And you didn't need to know when it had happened, because all you knew was that you liked it, god you really fucking liked it.
His whole broad and strong body was engulfing yours, his scent was all around you, his hands were everywhere, and his mouth... his mouth was simply heavenly.
As embarrassing as it was, you couldn't control your body as you started grinding down onto his leg to try and relieve some of the need pooling between your legs.
"please" you pleaded, whimpering softly into the kiss.
"I like it when you beg, sweetheart"
And if you wanted him before, you now needed him
His lips moved to your neck, starting a slow trail from just below your ear, down until he found your shirt as an obstacle.
You didn't need to be told twice and helped him take it off of you in a second.
Your bra wasn't far behind.
"god, you're so beautiful" he praised, making you blush 
he bent down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it while his other hand played with the other one, making you lose your goddamn mind as you shut your eyes in ecstasy.
"oh my god" you moaned, one of your hands going to his hair as he switched up the breast he was taking care of.
Your panties were completely drenched
He continued his work as his hands traveled underneath your skirt, caressing your thighs in a way that was turning you into a putty mess in his hands.
His fingers gripped the edge of the fabric, and with the help of you raising your hips, only the sheer fabric of your panties divided him from where you begged for his attention
"Peter" you called, stopping him as he had seated himself in between your legs
"yes, sweetheart?"
"I-I've only ever done this once"
His features softened and one of his hands traveled to your face to cup your cheek as he left a soft kiss on your lips
"don't worry, I'll go slow," he promised "I'll take care of everything, you just relax, ok?"
"ok" You nodded softly "I trust you"
He smiled at that, kissing you again "Thank you"
And no more than a few seconds after that, you were completely bare before him.
"you're perfect sweetheart" he murmured "fucking perfect"
He left a kiss on your pussy, making you moan, before his lips were on you again, and you were more desperate than you had ever been.
Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, frantically trying to get it off of him.
"Peter please take this off"
He didn't need to be told twice.
His shirt was on the floor with the rest of your clothes in no time, and then came his pants.
He went back to kissing you, the kiss now a heated mess between your moans and his hunger.
"baby please" you whined, your hand going to his boxers 
"what do you want sweetheart?"
"you, please, all of you"
Your voice was so thin and so breathy it was almost incomprehensible
"what about me?" he asked, his mouth next to your ear "You want my cock sweetheart, is that what you want?"
"yes" you moaned, as his hand played with your clit "I'm begging you, please, I need you inside of me"
He freed his cock from the confines of his briefs, as he kept kissing your neck
"you're gonna be good?" he asked, his tip now collecting all your juices and making you squirm uncontrollably "you're gonna be good and take all of it?"
"yes" you breathed "yesplease, yes-"
And without so much as a warning, he had started to push into you
"told you I like hearing you beg"
You moaned so loud you surprised even yourself, and then he retracted his hips and pushed another inch of himself in you, and you were just about ready to die.
"O-oh my god, P-peter" you moaned
He made the same motion again, and you couldn't help but look down at where your bodies were meeting, and that's when you noticed,
"fuck you're so big" you breathed, watching as he thrust only half of his dick inside of you
"it's ok" he purred, kissing your neck sloppily "Just be a good girl and take it" he ordered, pushing in again "Take it all inside this tight little pussy"
A high-peached moan fled your mouth again, as your pussy stretched around him,
"just like that," he said, his hot breath fanning over your skin "That's a good girl"
He was now fully inside you, by some miracle, he had made himself fit, and he felt absolutely perfect.
"fuck you feel so good" he groaned, picking up his pace "so tight" he grunted, feeling your walls squeeze him better than anything ever before "like you were made for me" his thrusts somehow felt deeper now, resulting in even more moans and cries coming out of your mouth
"O-oh god" you whimpered, feeling him hit and hit and hit again that perfect spot inside of you.
"You're taking me so well sweetheart"
The couch was now shaking with each of his movements, while your brain had stopped working and all you could do was cry out as he brought heaven to you.
"look at you" he murmured, kissing your mouth "So beautiful" he praised "so fucking pretty" he groaned, as your walls tightened around him "squeezing me so good" 
His thrusts were so fucking deep you could feel them in your belly, and your orgasm was inevitably approaching
"such a good girl"
A louder moan left your throat at that, and he definitely noticed
"you like it when I call you that?" he asked, smirking devilishly "You like hearing that you're my good girl?"
Again, another cry, followed by a frantic nod now.
Your ability to talk had been lost a while ago.
"It's just what you are" he purred in your ear now "You're my good girl y/n, only mine"
And that, that sent you definitively over the edge.
A series of cries and moans resembling his name came out of your mouth as the best orgasm of your life took over your body completely.
He waited for you to come down from your high before he pulled out of you, spilling his seed all over your belly not a second later.
"fuck" he muttered, his head falling to the crook of your neck
You stayed there for a moment, waiting for your heartbeats and breathing to calm down,
And only then, only after you spent five minutes in the most comfortable silence, did he lean away to look at you.
"I love you, Peter"
You couldn't stop yourself from saying it, it was just the truth
And not a beat had passed, that he had already answered
"I love you, y/n"
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telesodalite · 1 year
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[A handful, or two]
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fluffypotatey · 5 months
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Fun part of imagining the start of macaque's devotion to wukong that it could be anything from saving his life to wukong smiling at him
or Wukong accusing him of following him because he saw through Macky hiding in his shadow or Wukong punched him in the face on reflex when Macky when to introduce himself or when Macky saw Wukong show off to humans that he can speak their language and was so fucking giddy about it or—
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jerrylandis · 11 months
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They should make a me that can read other people properly and communicate boundaries properly
#I just had a really weird and ultimately horrible evening LOOOOL. like I love trans people so much but sometimes the absolute stringent t4t#culture in certain spheres just goes like way too far. like this was meant to be a friendly group drinks environment but you guilted me into#staying later than I explicitly said I wanted to and then proceeded to flirt? I think? and he really touchy? despite me turning the#conversation around several times to the fact that I’m not really a very physical person and I like clear boundaries and like I’m basically#not very sexual! and don’t like staying out late and that my type is very different to what this person has going on!#like idk I was still under the impression that it was friendly but that they were just not reading me and they’re just naturally very touchy#which is true but then like at 1:30am when I’m like yeah I’m going to head home now can I help you with getting home like what route are you#taking it’s quite late? like don’t then just immediately stop being friendly and start acting like a kicked puppy! like I do not want to#invite you round to my house that was never never ever on the cards! you were supposed to be going out to an event like this was meant to be#the pre drinks and then I was going to go home but instead we ended up on some strange fucked up date that I didn’t want to be on and then#walked home crying because the person I want to be friends with is angry that I don’t want to fuck them just because they’re also trans! I#feel crazy like am I crazy. is this crazy#like maybe it’s irresponsible of me to not offer the sofa but there are other people staying at my house and more importantly I don’t like#peopl in my space! and I said this explicitly! god idk I just started to feel normal this past week or so like I wasn’t so insanely detached#from the world and from other people and relationships and emotions and then now I feel like a robot again like what the fuck#sorry for writing war and peace in the tags I just feel crazy
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afieldinengland · 2 months
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and i still believe the political history of the world of the thick of it diverges from ours after the end of the series, i.e. that oliver reeder got the party back in power. sorry mary drake you don't stand a chance against the truly new political animal (dangerous, callous turncoat who learned at malcolm's feet and knows that to lack a spine only makes one flexible)
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crtastrophic · 8 months
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fighting for my fucking life trying to convince my brain that it's fine (and normal and in fact probably beneficial for me in the long term) to spend money on furniture
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ride-a-dromedary · 1 year
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Cyrano de Bergerac can gracefully bound his way through a duel (though most duelists would call his rather rough and tumble hurricane style...different), and leap through hoops and over cannons, and weave impishly between shining beams of an enemy’s sword and grungy battlefields alike like no one’s business, but he never learned to dance proper and that is a hill I am willing to die on. 
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fructidors · 4 months
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the best thing about mountain goats shows is that you can go to several. if you want
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arachnidiots-a · 8 months
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tag drop (redo: general & peter)
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soonigiri · 11 months
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hi friends i hope you are all doing well and being kind to yourselves
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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months
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Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!
I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3
Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader
summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 
a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao
warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13
wc: 3.5k ish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.
Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 
Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 
Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 
It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 
"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 
"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."
Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 
"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 
"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"
"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 
"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."
"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."
"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 
"I could do this all day, princesa. " 
You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 
~~~
You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 
You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 
He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 
You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 
That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 
You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.
"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 
"You okay?" 
He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 
You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."
He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."
"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."
~~~
As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 
Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 
Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 
It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 
You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.
You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.
You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 
It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 
"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 
You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 
"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 
He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 
"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."
Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 
"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"
"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 
"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 
"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."
The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 
And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 
Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 
~~~
He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.
You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.
He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 
He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 
You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 
"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 
You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 
You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 
"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 
He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 
He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 
"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 
Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."
The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 
You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 
~~~
It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 
He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 
Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 
He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 
When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 
So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 
He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 
"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 
"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 
You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 
"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 
Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 
"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 
"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 
"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 
You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 
He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 
You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 
"Do you want to?" 
You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 
"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 
You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 
"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 
Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 
You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 
"Fuck, Miguel." 
"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 
You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 
"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 
"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."
His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 
" M-Miguel …"
He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 
" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 
You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 
"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."
"...fuuck you."
" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."
"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.
"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."
" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 
"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 
"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 
He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 
You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 
"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."
You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 
You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 
He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 
Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 
"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 
"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 
"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."
All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 
"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 
_
_
_
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fatehbaz · 10 months
Text
Good question:
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In the United States, many jails and prisons can and will charge you money for every single night that you spend imprisoned, for the entire duration of your incarceration, as if you were being billed for staying at a hotel. Even if you are incarcerated for years. Adding up to tens of thousands of dollars. What happens when you’re released?
In response to this:
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So.
You’re getting charged, like, ten dollars every time you even submit a request form to possibly be seen by a doctor or dentist.
You’re getting charged maybe five dollars for ten minutes on the phone.
Any time a friend or family tries to send you like five dollars so that you can buy some toothpaste or lotion, or maybe a snack from the commissary since you’re diabetic and the “meals” have left you malnourished, maybe half of that money gets taken as a “service fee” by the corporate contractor that the prison uses to manage your pre-paid debit card. So you’re already losing money every day just by being there.
What happens if you can’t pay?
In some places, after serving just a couple of years for drugs charges, almost 20 years after being released, the state can still hunt you down for over $80,000 that you “owe” as if it were a per-night room-and-board accommodations charge, like this recent highly-publicized case in Connecticut:
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Excerpt:
Two decades after her release from prison, [TB] feels she is still being punished. When her mother died two years ago, the state of Connecticut put a lien on the Stamford home she and her siblings inherited. It said she owed $83,762 to cover the cost of her 2 1/2 year imprisonment for drug crimes. [...] “I’m about to be homeless,” said [TB], 58, who in March [2022] became the lead plaintiff in a lawsuit challenging the state law that charges prisoners $249 a day for the cost of their incarceration. [...] All but two states have so-called “pay-to-stay” laws that make prisoners pay for their time behind bars [...]. Critics say it’s an unfair second penalty that hinders rehabilitation by putting former inmates in debt for life. Efforts have been underway in some places to scale back or eliminate such policies. Two states — Illinois and New Hampshire — have repealed their laws since 2019. [...] Pay-to-stay laws were put into place in many areas during the tough-on-crime era of the 1980s and ’90s, said Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology at University of Southern California who is leading a study of the practice. [...] Connecticut used to collect prison debt by attaching an automatic lien to every inmate, claiming half of any financial windfall they might receive for up to 20 years after they are released from prison [...].
Text by: Pat Eaton-Robb. “At $249 per day, prison stays leave ex-inmates deep in debt.” AP News / The Associated Press. 27 August 2022.
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Look at this:
To help her son, Cindy started depositing between $50 to $100 a week into Matthew’s account, money he could use to buy food from the prison commissary, such as packaged ramen noodles, cookies, or peanut butter and jelly to make sandwiches. Cindy said sending that money wasn’t necessarily an expense she could afford. “No one can,” she said. So far in the past month, she estimates she sent Matthew close to $300. But in reality, he only received half of that amount. The balance goes straight to the prison to pay off the $1,000 in “rent” that the prison charged Matthew for his prior incarceration. [...] A PA Post examination of six county budgets (Crawford, Dauphin, Lebanon, Lehigh, Venango and Indiana) showed that those counties’ prisons have collected more than $15 million from inmates — almost half is for daily room and board fees that are meant to cover at least a portion of the costs with housing and food. Prisoners who don’t work are still expected to pay. If they don’t, their bills are sent to collections agencies, which can report the debts to credit bureaus. [...] Between 2014 and 2017, the Indiana County Prison — which has an average inmate population of 87 people — collected nearly $3 million from its prisoners. In the past five years, Lebanon’s jail collected just over $2 million in housing and processing fees.
Text by: Joseph Darius Jaafari. “Paying rent to your jailers: Inmates are billed millions of dollars for their stays in Pa. prisons.” WHYY (PBS). 10 December 2019. Originally published at PA Post.
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Pay-to-stay, the practice of charging people to pay for their own jail or prison confinement, is being enforced unfairly by using criminal, civil and administrative law, according to a new Rutgers University-New Brunswick led study. The study [...] finds that charging pay-to-stay fees is triggered by criminal justice contact but possible due to the co-opting of civil and administrative institutions, like social service agencies and state treasuries that oversee benefits, which are outside the realm of criminal justice. “A person can be charged $20 to $80 a day for their incarceration,” said author Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology and a faculty affiliate of Rutgers' criminal justice program. “That per diem rate can lead to hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees when a person gets out of prison. To recoup fees, states use civil means such as lawsuits and wage garnishment against currently and formerly incarcerated people, and regularly use administrative means such as seizing employment pensions, tax refunds and public benefits to satisfy the debt.” [...] Civil penalties are enacted on family members if the defendant cannot pay and in states such as Florida, Nevada and Idaho can occur even after the original defendant is deceased. [...]
Text by: Megan Schumann. “States Unfairly Burdening Incarcerated People With “Pay-to-Stay” Fees.” Rutgers press release. 20 November 2020.
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So, to pay for your own imprisonment, states can:
-- hunt you down for decades (track you down 20 years later, charge you tens of thousands of dollars, and take your house away)
-- put a lien on your vehicle, house
-- garnish your paycheck/wages
-- seize your tax refund
-- send collections agencies after you
-- take your public assistance benefits
-- sue you in civil court
-- take money from your family even after you’re dead
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explicit-tae · 6 months
Text
Ungodly Hour (1)
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That time you - a broke college student - were willing to do just about anything for a hulu account after your brother kicks you off of his - (and Jungkook would do anything to have you).
Series Masterlist
Word count: 1.687
Warning: idk yall, i was bored, smut, college au, jungkook is thirsty, reader is somewhat slutty but with good reasons, dirty talking, swallowing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, riding, cumming,
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Your mouth wrapped around the tip of Jungkook’s cock, twirling the head in your mouth. You only slightly (maybe more than you want to admit) the way the salty pre-cum drips into your mouth as you suck. Even better were his moans - so soft and velvety; melodic. 
if anyone was to blame it had to be your brother - he was the nuisance in your life. It was as if he intended on making your life a complete mess.
You were a good person, daughter and sister. You did what you had to do - attend classes everyday. You went to work and then home without a care. You worked at a grocery store part time and made enough to pay your half of the rent. Sure, with the price of groceries now you couldn’t be bothered to buy any. But that’s where your parents came in. You craved independence from them but only for privacy. You made sure you were there every night for dinner and sometimes if you had time, breakfast in the mornings. 
Your brother was just upset that you accidentally bought an add-on on his hulu account - but how else were you supposed to watch what you wanted if he was too cheap to pay for anything further? It was bad enough you had to sit through 2 minute ads - it was the least he could do.
This is how you now found yourself sucking Jungkook off - the same man you had been dodging ever since the pair of you met. He gave off fuck boy vibes and the last thing you needed was that in your life - until you actually did need Jungkook. The irony.
Jungkook watches with hooded eyes at the beautiful sight of you. You had now grasped the length of his cock and began to pump him, focusing more on the tip of his head. He was glad the two of you were alone - seeing as you didn’t even have the decency to take him to your room and insisted on doing this on the couch. But Jungkook wasn’t a picky person - he prayed for times such as this. You were the play hard to get type and one thing he enjoyed was the chase. 
Jungkook places a hand on the back of your head and thrusts lighty into your mouth, groaning as he does so. You allowed it. You laid your tongue flat, eyes flickering up to watch his expression. Satisfaction bubbled deep inside of you at the sight of his lust-filled expression. Dark hooded eyes, gasping lips.
“I waited, fuck…so long for this.” Jungkook groans, pumping inside of your mouth a little faster. His thumb caresses your cheek. “I told you that I’d have you one day, didn’t I?” he says smugly. 
You groan a response, throat vibrating against his cock. That bastard, you thought. Jungkook did - he told you that one day your “play hard to get” act would crumble and when it did, he’d be there. But this couldn’t count - right? You were doing this for the greater good, after all. You had shows to watch and Jungkook just so happened to be the one that had a premium account.
You feel the tip of Jungkook’s cock tickling the back of your throat, testing to see how far you’d let him go. There’s a trail of saliva dripping from the corner of your lips and it drips slowly down your chin. Your mouth was heavy - wet and warm and inviting. You were determined to make him cum and he was determined to do just that. 
Jungkook’s hand grips your hair - you moan at the sensation. He pumps just a little faster, your slurps and gagging hitting his ears and he moans at just how filthy you were for him. 
“I’m about to cum.” Jungkook groans. His free hand wipes away a lone tear that releases from your eye. “You okay?” he asks, slowing his thrusts.
Your response was to bring him deeper into your mouth, blinking up at him. You slap his thigh harshly and that was all the permission he needed to fuck your throat. He shudders, feeling his toes curl. It didn’t help that your teary eyes watched his every move - and Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Even now while he took control, you remain just as stubborn; challenging him. “F-Fuck…” Jungkook grunts. “W-Where do I cum?”
Jungkook wants to slap himself, forgetting that you can’t exactly respond to him. But he’s unsure if cumming inside of your mouth would be too intimate - but then again, you could always spit it out and he would be fine with that. 
You gag, feeling your throat swell with the warm, salty substance. You inhale through your nose and moan. “L-Let me find-” Jungkook watches as you swallow and lick your lips - he feels his cheeks redden and his heart thump.
You wipe your eyes of the pathetic tears and hum. “Don’t get big headed.” you hiss.
Jungkook smirks and bats his eyelashes. “Never.” he says. “I already made you a profile on my hulu account.”
You watch as Jungkook takes out his phone to show you the account and like state, he did make you your own profile. You snort at the name - stargirl. “I’ll text you the information to get into it.”
You place your hands onto his thighs. Your eyes lower to his cock - it wasn’t completely erect, but it wasn’t softening, either. 
“I was told I would get peacock and hbo max.” you say to him. You didn’t want to tell him that you were wet and wanted to ride him, his head was already big enough. 
“I have hbo max as an add on with hulu.” Jungkook responds, eyes darkening at the thought of feeling you. 
“Hm. That’s too bad.” you tilt your head. “I wanted to ride you.”
“I can add disney.” Jungkook responds far too quickly, mentally cursing at how desperate he appeared.
Smirking, you nod your head. “Deal.”
Jungkook’s eyes are wide when you lift from your knees and kick off your shorts, panties flying with them. He’s erect once more at the sight of your slick trailing down your thighs. Your thighs trap him beneath you as you center yourself on him. “I’m not on any birth control.”
Jungkook gulps. His hands place themselves firmly on your hips. “I can pull out.” he nods. “Unless you want another streaming service as payment for me cumming inside of you.” he jokes - unless…
Jungkook smirks at you and you could only glare. You sit down on him completely and wipe the smirk from his lips. Your hands grip his shoulders as you begin to pound on him. It doesn’t take time for the entire sitting room is filled with your moans mixed with Jungkooks as well as skin slapping.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Jungkook murmurs, inching closer to capture your lips with his own. You never said anything against kissing is his defense.
You deepen the kiss, grinding against him. “Says the man who hasn’t stopped moaning since we started.”
Jungkook chuckles and does just that. His hands trail from your hips, to your thighs and upwards towards your breast. He grips both of your clothed breasts into his palms. “Pussy feels so good, I can’t help myself.”
You swallow your own moan back. You can’t let him know his words turn you on - he would never let you live it down. It’s bad enough you were fucking him for streaming services.
You shifted yourself, your feet firmly against the couch. You looked into his eyes as you began to bounce on him once more, satisfied that the man below you was a moaning mess - and broke eye contact first. His eyes begin to roll at the new found pleasure.
You decided that you wouldn’t hide your own pleasure anymore. Jungkook was big and this position only meant that his cock was hitting the right spot each time. 
“I know it feels good, baby.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality - and so does his thumb upon your clit. His thumb rubs hastily on it, enjoying the way your pussy tightens around his cock.
“It does.” Maybe you were growing weak - but only because it did feel good. That, and the way Jungkook’s voice grows deeper and more sultry as he speaks is an added turn on. 
“What happened to the playing hard to get girl I know?” Jungkook’s now thrusting upwards inside of you to meet you halfway.
You clench around him. “Fuck you.” you murmur.
“I intend to.” Jungkook manages to laugh, his thumb leaving your clit to hook beneath your thighs. He continues where you left off, stamina unmatched. He pounds into you with such need - as if this was what he had been waiting for for who knows how long.
Your arms wrap around his neck and allow him the control - just this once. Jungkook’s reveling in your submission, murmuring dirty words in your ears as he fucks you. You were so wet - slick gripping out of you and onto his thighs - that he knew neither of you would last long.
You bite your lip when you feel Jungkook’s hands on your ass. He squeezes it with such need, moaning beautifully in your ears as his thrusts turn sloppy. “Where do I cum?” he asks suddenly.
“Anywhere.” was your response.
Jungkook took your lack of direction as a sign. His fingers lean down from your ass to find your clit once more. He toys with it as he thrusts, hellbent on making sure you cum right along with him. He wasn’t going to last - not with the way you were squeezing his cock right now.
“S-Shit!” you hiss, feeling yourself come undone right as Jungkook pulls out of you, cum leaking on your ass.
Jungkook leans against the couch and pants. There was no way he was going to leave you alone after this - but that’s okay because he knows you’ll close up once more and play that game you’ve been playing. Jungkook loved the chase and deep down, so do you.
Series Masterlist
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theyluvkarolina · 16 days
Text
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍
Part One , Part Two ' ' 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓 ' '
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· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` no! you’re married to me! she’s the other woman! ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ Being in love with your friend is the best! Until your wort dream comes true.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ lando norris x friend!reader (one-sided love)
𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 ୨୧ none!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ angsty…?
𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ୨୧ The Other Woman - Lana Del Rey
𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ sheeee’sss baaaaacckkkkk!!! so sorry i’ve left you guys high and dry! this work isn’t my favorite but definitely improved in my eyes! for my other mclaren supporters, how are we feeling with the results so far? personally, we can always improve, but I’m very happy with how they have been so far! Especially Oscar! :) (OP81 fic coming soon! 😉 )
hmmmm kinda feeling to make a part two but I will let you all decide! ;))
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TWITTER
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INSTAGRAM
y/n.jpeg
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liked by, landonorris, maxverstappen1, ybsf_username and others
y/n.jpeg pre-race-week pizza day :)) someone is now banned from the kitchen after almost setting the AirBnB on fire.
1,234 comments
landonorris it’s not my fault it had a hard oven to use 🙄
→ y/n.jpeg says the one that left the pizza in the oven for MORE THAN TWO HOURS??? → username1 TWO HOURS???? → username2 don’t let that man cook ever again. → y/n.jpeg trust me, i plan on it → landonorris you just don’t know real gourmet dishes. → y/n.jpeg okay buddy 💀
maxverstappen1 i think chrales met his match for worst cook
→ charles_leclerc the next race it won’t be just a inchident. → maxvertsappen1 🤐 → username3 THAT’S CRAZY 😭😭
ybsf_username WE NEED TO HANG OUT SOON :(( i don’t want to see you spend time only with this stinky man
→ y/n.jpeg DW I GOT YOU 🙏🙏 → landonorris STINKY?!?!?!
iMessages
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TWITTER
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Instagram
y/n.jpeg has posted a story!
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[Caption!]: Me and Pookie #1 cheering for Pookie #2! (w/ @ ybsf_username)
y/n.jpeg
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liked by landonorris, ybsf_username charles_leclerc and others
tagged; ybsf_username and landonorris
y/n.jpeg congrats to my boy and everyone for the tremendous job they did! congrats to @ mclaren for their placement this race.
p.s. Y/Bsf/N and Lando met for the first time today! I think they like each other 🙃
2,345 comments
ybsf_username my gf is so pretty 😍😍😍
→ landonorris who said she’s your gf?? → ybsf_username why are you asking??? → username5 not them fighting over Y/N 💀
ybsf_username i hate him i’m gonna chop his weenie off
→ landonorris im feeling rather unsafe right now. → username4 LMAOOO
username5 SHES SO PRETTY
landonorris i don’t like your friend she’s scary.
y/n.jpeg
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liked by ybsf_username, landonorris, oscarpiastri and others
therealyn_ln they are friends now! nothing a little partying can’t fix 🥂
tagged; ybsf_username and landonorris
3,456 comments
ybsf_username okay he’s not the worst 🙄 🙄
→ therealyn_ln :)) → landonorris i’m honored → ybsf_username don’t think this would be a usual thing for me to admit mr. norris. → landonorris yes ma’am 🫡 → username11 I can’t be the only one sensing some romantic-ish tension here am i? → username12 time for your meds gram-gram!!
username6 oh god
username7 after the last post celebration post I don’t know what to expect…
username8 i’m so happy the duo is expanding into a trio
username9 someone check on Y/N
→ y/n.jpeg no need! I’m fine! → oscarpiastri how many drinks did you have again? → y/n.jpeg 12 why? → oscarpiastri yep we’re taking you home.
y/n.jpeg guys, is it normal to think you guy best friend is hot?
y/n.jpeg why don’t I like it that they are laughing together
y/n.jpeg i don’t want him to forget about me
**THESE COMMENTS HAVE BEEN DELETED….**
username10 i can’t be the only one that saw those comments… right?
y/n.jpeg i think i had too much to drink…
→ oscarpiastri you think?
TWITTER
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IMESSAGES
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INSTAGRAM
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liked by ybsf_username, georgerussell, landonorris and others
y/n.jpeg the vienna balls are pretty cool. absolutely loved it in austria! 3 days till race day :)
tagged; ybsf_username and landonorris
4,563 comments
username13 idk guys this rubs me the wrong way.
username14 this feels… so forcibly positive?
username15 she literally looks like the third wheel not even a friend :(
landonorris haha balls
→ ybsf_username you re literally so immature → landonorris piss off, suck these balls.
ybsf_username my girl looks so gorgeous
→ y/n.jpeg right back at you wifey → landonorris so does mine 🥴 *Liked by ybsf_username!* → ybsf_username no. → username16 uhm! → username17 Oh!!
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landonorris
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liked by ybsf_username
landonorris bone apple teeth as the french say
tagged; ybsf_username
5,231 comments
charles_leclerc that is not how you say it in french.
→ landonorris oui oui baguette Monsieur Leclerc → charles_leclerc 😐 → pierregasly 😐 → estebanocon 🥖 🍷
username18 who is that? where is y/n for pre-race-week pizza day? :(
→ username24 it’s never pre-race-week pizza day without y/n :(
username19 guys… that’s not Y/N’s hair color…
username20 call me crazy but i think that’s Y/Bsf/N
→ username21 that makes no sense… → username22 i mean, lately, lando has been spending more time with her… → username23 not only that, y/n looks like her own third-wheel to friends that just met each other. Have you seen their posts together over the past couple of weeks?
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y/n.jpeg girls grils glirs !!
tagged; franciscac.gomes, lilymhe, lailahasanovic, flavy.barla
2,874 comments
lailahasanovic the best 🩶
→ y/n.jpeg mwah mwah → mickschumacher :( → lailahasanovic still love you though lovey 🫶 → mickschumacher :)
lilymhe FUNTIME FUNTIME FUNTIME
y/n.jpeg guys don’t drink if you are under 18
y/n.jpeg or 21 if you are a weird american
→ logansargeant this feels aimed. → y/n.jpeg noooooo
y/n.jpeg guys i’m at my limit!!! and not with alcohol!!
→ username24 Y/N :((( → franciscac.gomes literally call me right now. we’ll have a pasta night! :) → y/n.jpeg what about pierre?? → franciscac.gomes he won’t mind! → pierregasly I won’t??? → franciscac.gomes now you won’t!
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y/n.jpeg pasta night with my girl is better than pizza :)
ps. thank you big brother pierre for the photos 🫶
tagged; franciscac.gomes
pierregasly anything for my girlfriend’s girlfriend
→ franciscac.gomes mwah mwah ❤️ → y/n.jpeg best honorary big brother → pierregasly normally I don’t like this… but I’ll let it slide. → franciscac.gomes 😼 😼 😼
username24 BIG BROTHER PIERRE!!
username25 i hope Y/N finds someone that loves her :(
alexandrasaintmleux sorry I couldn’t join :((
→ y/n.jpeg don’t worry alex 💕 it’ not our fault charles stole you from us
charles_leclerc what is the pasta recipe? it looks delicious 😋
→ y/n.jpeg one you can’t make and one you definitely can’t serve to alex. charles_leclerc enough. 😒 😒
y/n.jpeg men ain’t shit ladies!!
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swiftispunk · 14 days
Text
acts of service | frankie morales x f!reader
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masterlist | frankie masterlist | kofi | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
pairing: frankie morales x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 7.9k
summary: an unexpected admission leads frankie to make you an offer you can't refuse. this surely won't come with any consequences. OR you've never had your pussy ate and your best friend frankie helps you out. warnings etc: [pre-triple frontier] smut, childhood best friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love are lying to themselves and each other, shy!reader, kind of insecure!reader, pet names in both english and spanish, literal porn, piracy, the US military, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), a little handjob action, frankie morales has a huge cock, reader is curvy coded but i think anyone could read this fic, pov swapping, this has kind of a bittersweet ending i'm sorry. no use of y/n.
a/n: these two kind of just swept me up and took me on a ride. i headcanon this girlie eventually becomes frankie's "lady," which i tell you now bc i fear i might have accidentally made this sad. thank you @joelscruff for the beta and thank you @adamantiumspy for the notes on the spanish.
“I should get going soon, huh?”
“No.”
“Okay, then,” Frankie shrugs, requiring no more convincing than that.
He hadn’t really wanted to leave anyway. He was just trying to be polite. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about that with you, but still. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome or anything.
It's just that the times he gets back home are rare, and even rarer are the times he gets with you. His best friend. He doesn’t know if that’s still what you’d call him, but that’s his own stupid fault. Maybe he’s known you the longest but he knows you’ve been busy building your own life, a life far removed from the years you’d spent growing up together.
You’ve got all kinds of friends now. People he’s never met, people that came into your life while he’d been deployed. Hell, you’ve spent the better part of the last six months dating some guy you’d met on a dating app (he didn’t even know you could use those things for anything other than fucking) but that relationship had fallen apart before he’d even gotten the chance to meet the guy. Your first real boyfriend, as you’d put it.
It’s probably for the best anyway. Frankie’s sure he wouldn’t have liked him.
Frankie’s not sure he’ll like any guy you’re dating who’s not him.
But you don’t need to know that. He’d chosen this life, for better or for worse, and the last thing he’s going to do is burden you with his stupid, inescapable feelings when he knows he’s just gonna have to leave again anyway. 
So instead, he overstays his welcome. 
The bowl of popcorn you share sits half finished on the end table, your cozy little living room cast in the faint glow of a colourful glass-shaded floor lamp, that one you’d proudly boasted about finding at the antiques market. He remembers the ache in his chest when you’d sent him that picture, that painful longing for a simple life with you, complete with antiquing and brunch and nights like tonight; your feet in his lap, splayed out together on your sectional while Frankie flips aimlessly through your seemingly never-ending list of channels.
“Jesus, how much do you pay for this?” he demands, honestly just curious now as he clicks towards the channel-800 mark, waiting for the numbers to circle back to 1–which he really thinks should have happened by now. “Who even needs all these channels?”
He jumps past a slew of news stations that all appear to be from different countries, perfectly punctuating his point. 
Your sweet laughter fills the air. God, he loves that sound. He’s missed it.
“You think I pay for this?” you say. “Frank, this shit is like, so illegal.” 
“Excuse me?” He rounds on you, pausing his scrolling on what appears to be a soap opera from Indonesia, “So you’re a criminal?” 
“No,” you insist, making grabby hands for the remote, which he deliberately holds just out of your reach with a smirk. “My dad set it up, I don’t even know how it works. I only use it to watch Housewives, anyway.” 
“Sure,” he teases as you squirm a little closer, your legs draping over his thighs almost to the knee now. His cheeks warm at the proximity but he pushes down the butterflies in his stomach, twisting away from you as you reach across his body for the remote. “Next time I come home you’re gonna be running some kinda underground piracy ring on the dark web.” 
“Whatever.” You slump back into your spot on the couch, adorably mock-grumpy about it. But Frankie can still see the smile tugging at your lips. 
“No, seriously,” he presses on, “If I’m gone long enough, I’m gonna come back and find you in jail.” 
That quickly wipes the smile off your face. Your mouth forms into a hard line and a sharp twinge of guilt punches Frankie hard in the gut. 
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t go away for so long,” you grumble, and there’s no hint of teasing in your voice anymore.
Frankie’s own face falls and he swallows tightly against the sudden lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have fucking said anything. And worst of all, you keep looking at him with these big, sad eyes, like you’re heartbroken at the thought of him going away again and goddamnit if you keep that up, he might start to believe it means something more than it really does.
Whatever anguish he’s feeling inside must be showing pretty clearly on his face because before he can even open his mouth to make it right, you’re apologizing to him. 
“Sorry, I made it weird,” you quickly amend, shaking your head and forcing a smile. Like it’s your job to alleviate the tension in the room. You’re always doing that. Always making sure everyone else is comfortable. But Frankie’s not gonna let you get away with that. Because you have every reason to be mad at him and he knows it.
“Hey, no,” he sighs, sitting forward and anxiously rubbing at his scruff. “You didn’t make it weird. I’m sorry.”
He’s not sure what for. For leaving, for bringing it up, for loving you. The sympathetic smile you offer him feels less forced now, at least.
“It’s okay,” you nod. You take a deep breath through your nose and Frankie’s relieved to see you let your guard down again, your head falling back into the couch behind you as you exhale. Your eyelids flutter closed for a second and he feels almost envious of how relaxed you look. That is, until a cacophony of blood curdling screams begin erupting from the television and your head is quickly snapping up at the sound.
“What the fuck are we watching?” you demand, your voice coated with genuine laughter again.
“I think she just found out he was having an affair,” Frankie posits, trying his best to make sense of the drama currently unfolding on screen.
“I don’t know, she could be screaming about how much she loves that other woman’s outfit.”
“She’s crying.”
“Maybe she’s just passionate about fashion, Francisco.”
He snorts and for a few minutes, you watch in comfortable silence, taking turns guessing what the hell is going on until you give up and nudge at his leg with your socked toes.
“Keep looking,” you suggest. “I don’t know what else is on here, I’ve honestly never gone this high in the channels.”
“‘Kay,” he agrees easily with a smirk. He’s always loved how you let yourself get a little bossy with him. You’re not like that with everyone. You’re quiet with most people, always trying to make yourself smaller or sweeter or softer. But not with him. And that’s how he likes it. He’d never want you to pretend with him. 
He clicks his way higher and higher through the channels, waiting for something to catch his eye or yours. He quickly flies over a long string of radio channels, 60s, 70s, 80s, Easy Listening…he’s flicking through them so fast he doesn’t catch the moment the channel titles lining the bottom of the screen change to XXX–Adult, 24/7 Porn and you’re suddenly being slapped with the image of a woman laid out on a kitchen counter, bare beyond a pair of stilettos, moaning out obscenely while her male scene partner buries his face in her pussy.
“Oh, Jesus,” you groan. You cover your face with your hands, poking an eye out from between your fingers, a sight so fucking cute Frankie forgets for a second that he should probably change the channel.
The woman on screen cries out as the man between her legs devours her–a little overzealous, in Frankie’s opinion. Frankie swallows tightly, pushing down on the unconscious twist of arousal the sound inspires. He’d be lying if he said the images on screen combined with your legs still slung over his thighs weren’t having some kind of effect on him. 
“You’ve really got everything on this thing, huh?” he chuckles, working to keep his tone light. 
You keep peeking through your fingers at the screen and inexplicably, Frankie finds himself torn, hesitating with his hand on the dial. What would it be like to watch this with you? Would you want that? Why does it feel like crossing a line? Why does he kind of want to?
“Frankie, turn it off,” you beg and that easily settles it. If you don’t want it, then neither does he.
He mumbles a hurried, okay okay, continuing his exploration upwards through the channels but…it doesn’t stop. Just channel after channel of actors in various states of nudity and debauchery.  
“Fuck–there’s a lot,” he notes, more to himself than you.
He combs past a few orgies and some painfully inauthentic lesbian stuff. He knows he could just hop back to the guide instead of skimming through it all, but it’s kind of funny now to see just how much porn is baked into this highly illegal cable device your dad had apparently set up for you. 
He only pauses when you make a small comment, just as he comes upon another video of a man shouldered between a woman’s thighs, the camera zoomed in close to his face as he flicks his tongue over her clit.
“Ugh, why do they always have them doing that?” 
Frankie turns to face you, letting the video continue on in the background. Your hands aren’t covering your eyes anymore. Instead, you assess the scene with furrowed brows and your lips curled upwards in disgust. 
“What?” 
“Like, there’s no way either of them enjoy that,” you continue, waving your hand at the screen like he should just know what you’re referring to. 
Now Frankie frowns, turning back to the TV in case he’s missed something horribly wrong. But no…as far as he can tell, it’s just a man feverishly eating pussy. 
“You’re talking about him eating her out?” Frankie asks. 
“Yes!” 
You say it like it should be obvious. 
You watch together now, and Frankie tries his best to take in the scene pragmatically. Which is hard, considering the wet smack of the man’s lips against the woman’s pussy is making his ears burn and the blood rush to his cock.
The male actor is…enthusiastic. Lacking some finesse maybe, but certainly giving it his all. His eyes are closed, mouth glued to her cunt as he rocks his head back and forth. He’s on his knees in front of her, dick hard as a rock between his legs. Frankie can’t really see the problem, but you’re still cringing away beside him.   
“I mean, she’s over acting a bit but he seems to be enjoying it,” Frankie shrugs.
At that, you scoff.
“What?” 
“No guy actually enjoys that,” you say insistently.
His first reaction is shock; you’re a smart person and he’s never heard you say anything more wrong. But the initial disbelief quickly turns to rage the second it dawns on him that there’s no way you could have come to that conclusion on your own, which means someone else must have convinced you it was true. 
“Who the fuck told you that?” he demands. 
It comes out angrier than he intends.
“I–”
All at once, you shrink in on yourself, dropping your head and staring down at your hands. And all at once, Frankie feels like an asshole because he can tell you really fucking believe the lie.
“Nenita,” he says, softening his tone.
He turns the volume down on the TV and twists to face you full-on. The obscene images on screen play on in the background but they’re easier to ignore without the wanton moans of the actors. He wraps a hand around one of your wrists and you peer up at him shyly. 
“Who told you that?” he repeats. 
You take a deep breath.
“You remember that Tinder guy I told you about?”
Any attempt at softness dissipates in a second. Your voice is so timid and Frankie’s blood boils because you’re not supposed to sound that way with him. About a million furious thoughts cross his mind, like how much he’d love to fucking kill the loser who’d made you feel this way, who’d fed you the most absurd, bullshit lie just so he could deny you pleasure–
Jesus. Your first real boyfriend. How many times had you sucked his cock, maybe even let him fuck you and he–
The goddamn injustice of it all has him too mad to even respond. He just makes some noise between a huff and a scoff and squeezes his fingers tighter around your wrist. 
“I don’t know, that’s just what he said,” you go on quickly, always trying to diffuse the tension. You shake your head and look down at your hands again. “He said he didn’t like it and any guy who says he does is lying.”
“Well, I like it,” Frankie says reflexively and your eyes snap up to meet his at once. 
One thing about you and Frankie is that you rarely ever talk about sex. You’ve been with people, he’s been with people–you both know this. But you don’t…talk about it. Frankie’s not one to kiss and tell anyway, plus, maybe part of him had always thought that if he’d been too explicit about his experiences with other people, you might start to think he hadn’t been dreaming about you through every single one of them. 
It’s why this admission, here, in your apartment, on your couch, with some second rate porno playing in the background, has you staring at him wide-eyed. Because it feels like crossing a line.
But Frankie holds his ground, staring right back at you until he sees you nod. 
“I fucking love it,” he continues, like he needs you to really hear it. “And I’m not lying.”
You nod again, and even though you still don’t look fully convinced, he leans back into the couch, prepared to let it go but–
“Wait, so.” He sits upright again, and he really shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t go crossing yet another line but some sick, masochistic part of him needs to know. “Does that mean he never even–?”
You just give him this look before dropping your gaze back down to your lap and Frankie sighs, pulling his cap back to comb an exasperated hand through his curls instead of saying what he’d really like to say.
It probably is for the best he never got the chance to meet this guy.
“I mean, it’s fine, I didn’t want it anyway,” you insist with a shrug. “Or…I don’t even–I don’t even know if I like it.”
That’s fair, he guesses, but also–
“You probably just haven’t had anyone do it right.”
Every woman he’s ever been with had seemed to like it when he’d done it, anyway. He’s certain if he got his mouth on you…
Don’t even think about it.
But it���s too late; he already is thinking about it. Thinking about your messy little pussy and how warm and wet it would feel against his lips and how your sweet juices would stain his moustache and beard. How your soft thighs would feel pressed against his ears and how you’d writhe when you came for him. How he’d like to ruin you for anyone else so you’d never again have to doubt how much you loved it.
He’s thinking about it before you even quietly admit, “I haven’t had anyone do it at all.”
And the admission breaks his heart, because you deserve it. You deserve to feel good. He could make you feel good. 
He blurts out the offer before his brain can catch up in time to stop him–
“Can I?” he asks in a breathless rush. “Can I do it for you?”
Your eyes widen and something fiery burns in his belly, a tingling, nervous heat expanding outwards to his extremities with a kind of electric shock. Adrenaline, he realizes, coursing in his veins after crossing yet another uncrossable line.
“Frankie,” you breathe and he swears he can feel the same waves of anticipation that are currently flooding his senses rolling off of you in turn. 
“Just as a friend,” he lies, inching closer to you on the couch, experimentally resting his hand on your thigh. You both stare at it in wonder, shared breaths coming faster between you. 
“You can say no,” he whispers. Please don’t say no.
Your breath catches as he moves his hand higher, intoxicated by the warmth radiating between you. He gets as far as the soft crease of your thigh and then your hand is flying down to cover his, stopping him in his tracks.
“Frankie,” you repeat. He thinks you sound sad, and that’s not right. He lifts his stare from your conjoined hands to carefully watch your face, trying to make sense of the fear there, while you shake your head and nervously avoid his gaze. 
“You don’t need to do me any favours, Francisco,” you murmur.
“It’s not–” he starts, cutting himself off with a deep breath as he tries to collect his thoughts. 
A favour? Yeah, right. How can he find the right words to tell you he’s dreamt of this a million times? That even if he hadn’t been in love with you since he’d first laid eyes on you, getting the chance to eat you out would still be the sweetest fucking gift in the world?
He hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face up so he can see your eyes. You glance up at him from under your lashes, doleful and shy, shoulders bunched up to your ears. No. You’re not supposed to look like that with him, you’re not supposed to make yourself small for him.
He presses his fingers down into the meat of your thigh and your lips fall apart as a shallow breath passes through them.
“I want it too, querida,” he rasps. He can hear years and years of pining and desperation underscoring his words. He hopes you don’t. 
-
You’re treading on dangerous ground and you know it. 
I want it too, querida. 
His whispered words ring out between you and you allow yourself to believe that they’re true. Frankie wants it, he wants to see your pussy and he wants to put his mouth on it, he wants to give this thing that no one’s ever given you before–
As a friend. 
It’s fine, you can ignore that part. You can pretend. This is just a friend helping a friend and not the man you’ve always wished would love you back and it’s definitely not going to fuck you up forever to let him do this.
You’re too blinded by arousal to think straight, too caught up in the heat of the moment as he moves your legs off his lap and pulls you down so you’re lying on your back and he’s hovering above you. He slowly strokes his hands up and down your thighs over your leggings, like he’s trying to get a feel for you. And he kind of is, you think. He’s never touched you like this before, all reverent and patient with it as his thumbs near the apex of your thighs before trailing his touch back down to the tops of your knees, over and over until you’re so turned on you don’t even care how much of a mistake this is. 
“You’re so fucking hot,” he hums, almost to himself as his big hands curl around your hips and his fingers play just under the edge of your shirt. 
He sounds so genuine. There’s no way this is real. 
Instinctually, you roll your eyes. “Frankie, come on.”
“You are,” Frankie insists, reaching up beneath the hem of your shirt to glide his palms over your bare sides. He exhales shakily at the feeling of your naked flesh under his hands and your cunt throbs in response, your will to argue with him fading in an instant. 
Then he licks his lips, flitting his eyes up to your face as if to ask permission for whatever he’s going to do next. Whatever it is, you nod your acceptance. 
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, appearing to steel himself before he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and begins to tug them down your thighs and– 
Reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Frankie’s about to see you naked. Francisco Morales is about to see all your imperfections and your curls and your pussy. 
“Frankie, wait.” 
You clench your legs together and Frankie stops at once. He looks up at you like a wounded puppy, brown eyes all wide and unsure, eyebrows raised in questioning. 
Oh god, he’s so beautiful. He has no idea how beautiful you’ve always found him. Not a clue how inadequate you’d started to feel beside him when he’d begun to grow up into such a handsome, desirable young man while you’d stumbled awkwardly through your teen years, always feeling like you’d never be worthy of love or pleasure, least of all from Frankie.
Of course you know now that’s not true; you’ve had plenty of suitors and casual hookups since Frankie’d gone away. Although, you’d never felt comfortable enough with any of them to let them do this for you. And then your stupid ex had to go and make you feel so ashamed for even wanting it that you’d been forced to just accept your fate, that this just wasn’t something you were ever going to get to experience.
And while you have to admit there’s probably no one in the world you feel more comfortable with than Frankie, you’ve also spent years convincing yourself he would never love you the way you’ve always loved him. That he’d never look at you the way you’d always wished he would.
If he’d wanted to, surely he would have done it by now. Right?
“You want me to stop?” he asks. 
“I just–”
You do but you also really, really don’t. You throw an arm over your face, debilitating nerves co-mingling with the electrifying need coursing through you. You can’t fucking think. 
You take a long, steadying breath, prying your arm away from your face to find him still looking down at you with that stupid, beautiful face. 
You’re about to offer him an out but the earnestness in his eyes makes you say something honest instead. 
“What if you don’t like what you see?”
The confusion on his face dissolves into something like shock as he huffs out a disbelieving laugh. You frown, embarrassed, and Frankie quickly reins himself in.
“Corazón,” he says, working to sound more serious even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of his lips. He grabs your arm and much to your surprise, places your hand over his crotch. Your mouth falls open with a sudden gasp. 
“Feel that? Feel how fucking hard I am?” Frankie murmurs gruffly and you do. Even through his jeans, the thick, prominent outline of his cock is firm and solid under your touch. You don’t think you can speak without moaning, so you just bite your lip and nod in answer to his question. 
“Créeme,” he grunts, pressing your hand down into his bulge like he’s trying to prove his point. “I already like what I see. Are you gonna let me see me more?”
You nod frantically, the evidence of his arousal all the convincing you need for now.
“Yes?” he presses expectantly.
“Yes–yeah, Frankie.”
You think you hear him say, ‘kay, under his breath, and then he’s shifting, considering the couch around him like he’s trying to decide how he wants to do this. 
“C’mere,” he suggests, not really giving you much of a choice as he guides you towards the corner of the sectional, maneuvering your body until your legs are dangling off the end of the couch. He locates a cushion and places it under your neck and then he falls to his knees on the floor before you. 
You’re now face to face with the muted porn on your TV screen, the actors having now advanced from cunnilingus to rabid fucking. It’s kind of a debauched backdrop, you guess, but no more debauched than the sight of Frankie throwing his cap off and darting his tongue out between his plush lips as his fingers make their way under your waistband again. He starts to tug, and this time, you let him. 
“Lift up just a bit for me, babe,” he instructs you gently when the fabric bunches around your ass. You angle your hips up and Frankie hums appreciatively, carefully pulling away your leggings and underwear. He keeps his eyes on his hands while he strips you from the waist down, moving without an ounce of haste. 
You bring your knees together out of habit once you’re fully bare but Frankie isn’t even looking where you expect him to. He’s looking at your ankles and shins as he draws a line up your legs with his hands, that same up and down pattern he’d painted on your thighs earlier. 
“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he marvels softly.
Your heart rate quickens into overdrive when his hands eventually move up to rest on your knees. Something seems to overtake him then as his soft eyes darken and go a bit glassy, dull fingernails digging into your skin with barely-contained desperation. 
“Shit, baby,” he breathes, his voice almost a whine. He leans forward into you, teeth grazing at the flesh of your thigh as he peeks up at you from under his dark lashes. “Can I please look at your pussy?”
“Yeah, Frankie,” you squeak. How could ever say no when he sounds like that?
You urge your muscles to slacken as Frankie coaxes your knees apart, pulling back to look at you when he does. You can’t help it; you squeeze your eyes closed and hold your breath, waiting nervously for the moment he decides to end this.
“Fuck me,” Frankie groans. 
What does that mean? Is that good? 
“Holy shit, baby,” Frankie continues, shaking your leg a bit to get your attention and against your better judgment, you open your eyes. You look at him, rather than your own body laid out like this, because it’s easier that way. 
He’s ogling you, sitting back on his haunches with his hands on your knees, mouth agape as he takes in your pussy for the first time.
“You’re so wet,” he revels quietly, glancing up at you curiously. He looks…thrilled about it. “Do you always get this wet?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever been so wet in your entire fucking life actually.
“Mm-mm.”
Frankie smiles. 
“Just for me, huh?” he hums, then he’s looking at your pussy again and it’s like it entrances him. He growls, hinging to kiss your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose and you try not to get too embarrassed at the thought of him breathing in your scent. Anyway, he seems to like it, if the ragged sigh he exhales and his fluttering lashes are anything to go by.
“Oh my god, you’re gonna taste so fucking good,” he grits through his teeth.
You’ve imagined your first kiss with Frankie thousands of times. But you’ve never imagined it quite like this. Never imagined his lips on your knees or his scruff on your thighs, his fingers tracing the stretchmarks around your hips like he’s drawing a map across your skin. Every touch, every patient, adoring graze of his hands and his mouth and his teeth both calms and excites you. 
“Can I tell you something?” he whispers after several long moments. 
“Yeah.”
“You have a perfect pussy.” The smile in his voice is audible and it quickly breaks the spell.
“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, playfully kicking a leg out at him. “You don’t have to do all that.”
“Do what? I’m being so fucking serious,” he retorts, his sweet smiling fading. “It’s…so pretty. I’m not lying. Okay?”
You nod and choose to believe him. “Okay.”
It’s getting hard to argue with him now, as his hands glide up towards the apex of your thighs, spreading you open wider as he slowly nears your centre. Your heart pounds in your ears, chest light with anticipation as his thumbs brush your outer lips and your eyes snap shut again. 
“Can I touch you, baby?” he asks, his voice all low and husky in a way you’ve never heard him sound before. 
“Please.”
He sucks in a long breath, which you mirror unconsciously, and then he’s swiping two thick fingers through the seam of your folds, spreading wetness from your hole to your clit. 
“Oh,” Frankie sighs reverently as you melt under his curious touch. 
Your breaths come fast as he plays with your pussy, running his fingers up and down through the mess of it, getting to know you here just like he had with his hands on your body. This part you know, most men have at least put the effort in to finger you. But the fact that it’s Frankie touching you makes every sensation more electrifying and new. 
Never mind that no one’s ever touched you with as much patience and attentiveness as Frankie does, quietly observing every response his fingers elicit from you. He spreads your lips apart and pinches them back together, stroking your clit just enough to make you squirm before pulling away. 
You sneak an eye open just in time to catch him sucking his fingers clean, sighing long through his nose before he refocuses on your cunt. 
Well, he did say he loved it. Maybe you’re starting to believe him. 
He inches closer, broad shoulders finding space between your thighs.
“I’m gonna put my mouth on you now, hermosa,” he tells you. He reaches out to touch one finger to your dripping core. “Right here.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
“It’s so wet there, Frankie,” you protest weakly. Why would he want to put his mouth on the messiest part of you? You can’t understand it. Frankie just smiles. 
“I know, baby. I wanna taste you.”
You can only whimper in response, Frankie so close now you can feel his warm breath against your folds. He plants one last kiss to the crease of your thigh and then at last, closes the space between his lips and your pussy. 
You feel him lick a thin stripe through the wettest part of you, the slick contact sending an emphatic jolt to every nerve ending your body. He does it again, widening his tongue this time, and your responding gasp is cut off when Frankie fucking moans. What does that mean?
Your head snaps up and you stare down at him in horror. 
“What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?”
Frankie detaches his mouth from your cunt, confusion mapping the crease between his brows.
“Bad?” he repeats. You just blink back at him with uncertainty written all over your face and he seems to recognize you’re being serious. His features soften.
“No, querida,” he insists. “Just tastes like pussy. Really fucking good pussy. Did it feel good?”
You nod–you can’t lie. 
“Good. I’m gonna do it again. Just relax for me, okay?”
He waits until you nod again and your tense muscles have loosened, then he dives forward for a second time.
Now, you trust that the breathy moan he lets out is one of pleasure rather than disgust. It’s not that hard to believe either; Frankie glides his tongue through the seam of your folds with ravenous interest, up and down, in wide circles around your lips and curious flicks over your hole, peeking up at you with each careful ministration to ensure he’s on the right track.
And, Christ, you may not have any frame of reference but it certainly feels like he is. 
It’s so…wet. So dizzying and warm and all-encompassing. Then Frankie dares to spear his tongue inside you–once, twice, a third time–and you keen at the welcome intrusion, moaning out a sound so pornagraphic you could probably rival the woman currently being railed from behind on your TV right now. 
You feel–rather than really see–Frankie smile against you. 
“Does that feel good when I do that?” he asks and then he does it again. 
“Yes, Frankie.”
He hears the silent plea beneath your words and quickly gets back to work. 
With his tongue still dancing over your fluttering hole, Frankie closes his lips. 
And that’s–oh–that’s so much more overwhelming. His mouth consumes your pussy as his tongue laps and lathes at your core, drinking down everything your body gives him. His eyes close and his brows furrow while his lips move hungrily against you and you imagine this is what it would feel like to kiss him–hot and wet and sloppy and perfect. 
He continues like that, making out with your pussy until your hips involuntarily begin to rock up into his mouth in search of more. Frankie groans, sucking at your folds before pulling away with a wet pop. 
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he groans. He gazes bearlily at your pussy, his lips coated with arousal and saliva. You don’t miss the way he drops a hand to his bulge. 
“Oh, fuck,” he sighs. Usually so controlled and composed, Frankie sounds almost delirious now. “Baby, I’m gonna lick your clit now. Yeah?”
“Fuck yeah–yeah, please, Frankie.”
Frankie makes a wild, guttural noise, leaning in to press a kiss into your pussy. 
“Tell me, baby, tell me where you want my tongue.”
But then he’s teasing his mouth over your hole again, making speech nearly impossible as he swirls his tongue around your opening–like a preview of what he’s about to offer the most sensitive part of you. 
Desperation takes over and any lingering nerves fade away.
“My clit, Frankie,” you beg him. “Please lick my clit.”
The order has him moaning against you again, the vibration alone enough to make you dizzy even before he’s gripping both your thighs to spread you open further and his mouth is moving to find purchase over your nub. 
A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before spills from your parted lips as Frankie begins to deftly work your clit with his tongue. Sparks ignite in your belly at the sensation, so different than how it feels to have someone’s hands on you here. It’s slick and it’s intimate and it’s so much more…concentrated this way. Frankie presses into you harder and flattens his tongue, focusing on drawing precise little circles around your clit that have you seeing stars. 
Jesus–did he go to school for this or something? How does he know to apply just the right amount of pressure? How does he never falter in his rhythm or even stop to come up for air? How does it already feel like you could come at any second if he keeps doing what he’s doing right now?
Fully intent on your pleasure, his messy curls frame his flushed cheeks and his hooded eyes. He’s coaxing towards your end like he’s been fucking training for this his entire goddamn life.
You get lost in it, indulge in the feeling and the fact that it’s Frankie doing this for you. Frankie is making you feel this good. Frankie is going to make you come. 
You grab at his hair and push his face into your cunt, past the point of caring if he’d be upset about that as your orgasm blooms hot in your core. Frankie just groans appreciatively, laving at your clit and giving you just that much more when he puckers his lips and sucks at the tiny bundles of nerves. 
“Oh, Frankie, fuck–fuck, do that again–”
-
Bossy. He loves when you get bossy. You’re so close and, apparently, that makes you bossy.
He smiles. He doesn’t hesitate to do as you ask, sucking hungrily at your clit and swallowing down your salty-sweet flavour. When he feels your muscles begin to tighten he offers you his tongue again, sucking and licking, sucking and licking. He thinks about the man on screen earlier and takes a page out of his book, slowly moving his head from side to side as much as he can with your hands in his hair–and, yeah, you seem to like that, if your wild, needy moans and your breathless little gasps are anything to go by. 
He doesn’t want to leave here ever. He wants to drown and die with his face in your cunt and your hands in his hair. He wants his last breath to be coated with your scent so he can be buried in the ground with it, knowing his life had been worthwhile because at least he’d got to have you this way even one fucking time. 
But your pleas are growing stronger and your chest is heaving faster and Frankie knows it can’t last–because you’re going to come. Suddenly, that’s the only thing in the world that matters. 
“Like that, Frankie,” you cry, when he finds a new rhythm with his tongue, broad, coaxing strokes over your twitching pearl. Your eyes snap open and find his at once, beseeching him. “Don’t stop doing that, Frankie–I’m gonna come.”
He hums against you and heeds your orders, never stopping or slowing the movement of his tongue. You chant for him–yesyesyes–and Frankie just hums and hums his encouragement. 
Come on, baby, come on, baby, he thinks. Let me see what you look like when you come for me. Let me know this part of you. 
“Frankie!”
The drawn-out cry of his name is the last warning he gets before your pussy begins to pulse under his tongue. 
Your climax is even more beautiful than he imagined it’d be. 
You arch up into his mouth and his hands are quick to hold you there, licking you through it as you quiver with the force of it. Wetness gushes from your core and Frankie laps at it greedily, drunk on your taste and your sounds and your writhing form above him. 
Years of service to his country, and somehow he thinks this might be his proudest achievement. He’s never felt more gratified than he does watching you fall apart for him right now. 
Meanwhile, Frankie’s cock aches, leaking and hard in his boxers and begging to be touched. He’s already so close, he could probably come too if he just–
With his mouth still closed over your pussy and your body still shaking with the swells of your orgasm, Frankie begins to palm himself furiously through his jeans, chasing his own high before you can come down from yours. 
But it’s too late. You catch him red-handed. 
“Frankie–stop, honey, don’t come like that.” 
You pry him off your soaking cunt and Frankie doesn’t fight you. You’re sitting up, watching him, gaze smouldering and fixed on the hand he’s currently rubbing against his clothed cock. He should be embarrassed but he just wants to come. 
“How, baby?” he asks you brokenly. 
“Take it out.” 
“Fuck, fuck–” 
He hurries to obey, straightening up off the floor and fumbling hastily with his belt buckle. It takes him three tries to get his fingers to cooperate long enough to figure it out, unzipping his jeans and yanking them down his thighs, completely forgetting this is the first time you’re ever going to see his– 
“Oh my god,” you gasp the second his cock is free from his boxers and he’s wrapping a relieving hand around himself. He looks up at you, momentarily concerned until he sees your eyes are trained on his cock. 
And yeah, fine–sue him–his ego blooms for a second, watching your eyes widen at his size, breath leaving you in this adorable little sigh. 
“Frankie, you’re so–” 
“I know,” he interrupts. You share a smile, something so familiar, as Frankie strokes his cock over your cunt, something so decidedly unfamiliar. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck you with it this time.”
This time. Fuck. He hasn’t even finished doing this with you now and he’s already planning when he’s gonna get to do it again. As if he even knows if you want that, as if he’s not leaving again in just a few weeks–
“You can,” you say hurriedly and the offer pulls him off the edge of spiraling and right back into the moment, cock throbbing in his hand as his head falls forward into his chest with a groan. “Frankie, you can fuck me.” 
He shakes his head. 
“Gonna come in two seconds if I do that, babe.”
He’s also not sure he has the self control to fuck you right now without hurting you.
Plus he really is so fucking close. Your fingers explore his belly and Frankie pumps himself faster. He watches in a lustful haze as your hand moves to hover over his cock, almost curious about it. 
“Can I help you, Frankie?” you whisper. Jesus, do you even know how alluring your voice sounds? He’s gonna fucking explode if you keep talking to him like that. 
You lightly touch your fingers to the back of his hand–and he’s never said yes so fast in his life. 
“Yeah–fuck, yeah, baby, you wanna help?”
“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him sweetly as you take over.
“Oh, shit–fuck,” Frankie rasps the second you wrap your fingers around him. Then you start to stroke him in long, languid pumps and his eyelids involuntarily flutter.
“Yes, baby, just like that,” he sighs. He abandons the urge to come for a moment, letting his eyes slip closed and really trying his best to just savour the feeling of you touching him. His stomach lurches when he feels you swirl your thumb over his slit, smearing wet drops of precum around the head of his cock. His chest warms with something like pride at learning this about you, that you know what you’re doing when you get a cock in your hand. That you’re good at this. 
“Fuck…that’s so good, sweetheart,” he finds himself whispering just because he thinks you deserve to know. 
“Frankie.”
Your voice calls out to him through the fog of bliss and he dares himself to glance down at you. Still working over his length in deep, adoring strokes, you bite your lip and meet his stare with wide, faraway eyes of your own. He cups your cheek in his hand just because he can. 
“Hm?”
You smile and it’s so fucking beautiful and soft and you that he can’t help but smile right back. 
“You made me feel so fucking good,” you tell him earnestly. 
“Yeah?” Frankie strokes your cheekbone with his thumb and you tighten the grip of your fist around his cock. 
“Yeah,” you nod, just as your smile falters in lieu of something darker. “I want–I want you to come for me, Frankie. I want you to come on my pussy.”
“Jesus,” Frankie grits, nodding frantically as he shoos your hand away and takes his cock in his own hand again. “Yeah–yeah, okay.”
The request alone has him hurtling towards release and in a flurry of desperation, he reaches up under your shirt to palm at one of your tits with his free hand while he concentrates the pumps of his fist to the head of his cock. Your head falls back behind you when he gets one of your nipples between his fingers and you moan so pretty for him.
Fucking hell, he’s not gonna last.  
“You want me to come on your pussy, baby?” 
“Mhm.”
That pleading lilt in your voice makes tension coil in his core, heat rising up the back of his neck. He can hear the sound of his own heady grunting as he strokes and strokes himself for you, eager and impatient to give you what you’d asked for.
“Whose pussy is it?” he growls. 
He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe part of him just needs to know he’s really claimed this experience for you. That no one’s ever going to make you feel good as he had. 
Your eyes lock and you tell him exactly what he needs to hear–
“Y-yours, Frankie. It’s your pussy.”
“Yeah…yeah, it is–fuck!”
He comes with blinding force, his cock twitching violently in his grasp as he paints your mound and lower belly with white ropes of spend. Huffed breaths pass through his lips as the waves pass over him, his knees aching against your floor as he shudders and groans and milks himself over your pussy. His pussy. 
Once he’s emptied himself completely, his body still quaking with residual aftershocks, he hooks a hand behind your neck to pull you in closer. Sated, your features shrouded in bliss and gratitude…Frankie’s always loved you, but he’s never loved you more than he does right now. 
“Mi vida,” he breathes, clutching your face between his palms. “Can I kiss you?”
And even though it’s beyond backwards, to share your first kiss with your tang on his tongue and his cum on your skin, you nod, leaning into him willingly as he finally, finally presses his lips to yours. 
Somehow, even after waiting years for this, he finds it in himself to kiss you slow. You don’t seem to be in any rush either, sighing as you part your lips for him and let him spill his tongue between them. You press yourself closer, wrap your arms around his neck to deepen it and a glimmering warmth trickles down his spine. 
Breathless and charged, there’s a change in atmosphere, and suddenly everything feels painfully fragile. Like the moment he breaks this kiss, the earth will crack open under him and he’ll be pulled down into its molten core and it’ll never be like this again. 
So he just kisses and kisses and kisses you, finding his way back onto the couch and holding you hostage against his lips. But you make no attempt at escape. You just mould your lips against his and fist your hands into the fabric of his shirt and kiss him right back with just as much force and finality. 
He wants to tell you everything, but he doesn’t know how or if that would even be the right thing to do. 
I love you. I still have to leave. 
No. He can’t do that to you. 
“See how good your pussy tastes?” he asks between kisses instead. You laugh against his lips, but when he opens his eyes to see your face, he finds your eyes are wet with tears.
Shit.
“You know that’s not why I’m kissing you so much, Frankie.”
Reluctantly, he breaks away. He holds your face between his hands, his lips hovering just above yours. 
“Why are you?” he whispers. Is it the same reason he can’t stop? Is it that same feeling of impermanence he can’t seem to shake? 
The tears in your eyes spill over and pool in the webs of his fingers. 
“Because I’ve always wanted to,” you tell him shakily. And as quickly as his heart swells with the confession does it deflate with your next words, “And I don’t know when I’ll get to do it again.”
Frankie sighs, his forehead colliding with yours. 
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. For so many things but mostly–
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, Frankie,” you assure him, scratching your fingernails into his scalp and slanting your head to steal another salty-wet kiss. He thinks he feels you smile, and it almost soothes the ache. “It’s okay now.”
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