This Is So Sweet!

This is so sweet! 🥰🥰🥰

you're a prize

joel miller x f!reader

summary: it's date night, and joel takes you to the fair

wordcount: 1.9k warnings: allusion and minor mention of smut. no outbreak. established relationship. joel is cute and wants to win you something. an: written for @iamasaddie's zodiac sign edition writing challenge. i got the lovely joel, fair au and virgo. I ignored the word limit, I’m sorry!!! thank you to the @thetriumphantpanda for proofing this little baby for me.

The air smells sweet as you step out of his truck.

Popcorn, cotton candy, and fried treats waft through the air, mingling with the cooling evening breeze as you take in the colourful stalls and bright lights.

The sound of his door slamming brings your attention back to him. His face is tight, unreadable—chest slightly puffed out, his hands fidgeting with his belt before he runs a thumb along the tucked-in edges of his shirt. Fixing. Adjusting for perfection, as though this were your first date and not close to the hundredth. When his eyes finally meet yours, you grin a little wider, and his own smile begins to break through.

It had been Tommy’s idea—but you’d suspected it was actually Sarah’s. The masterplan being laid out when you’d made coffee, the promise of an empty home, a coincidentally timed advert in the newspaper about the fair being in town as you looked at Joel:

Wanna take me to the fair, Miller? Show me how teenage you would have wooed me.

Sometimes, you can’t quite believe he’s yours.

A thing you’d said when you’d begun getting ready, your outfit laid out, putting your necklace on when he’d walked into the bedroom, shirt open, jeans unfastened, belt hanging there—a sinful picture that somehow was real and yours.

It’s why you’d breathed it out, caught off guard, made the two of you leave far later than you’d told yourselves when he’d left this morning. Your eyes having dragged up and down his frame in the mirror before you pressed the very same words to his mouth. Hungry, all of a sudden desperate. Fabric dragged down his arms, jeans somewhere at his ankles—pulling and tugging, needing more until he was on his back and you found yourself sliding down his cock, finding all semblance of words unable to form.

Somehow, even now, an hour later, you have to pinch yourself.

Unable to wrap your head around the fact that your things are alongside his. That you wake up and sleep beside him. A chance encounter, a right-place-right-time, turned relationship.

A thing you know he thinks too—confirming as much when sleep threatens to take him, the veil of honesty at its thinnest as he murmurs about not deserving you, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you the first time you’d met.

He makes up for the handful of hours he can give you between working, parenting and sleeping, by writing poems between your thighs, scriptures against your skin, mouth and neck. Making promises he did his darndest to keep.

“You look good, Miller. Don’t worry.”

“Not worryin’.”

You make a soft noise to yourself, offering your hand as the strings of multicoloured bulbs draped between the parking lot and the stalls flicker on, casting a warm glow across his face as you smile at him.

Date nights happen so infrequently, that you’re not sure you remember how they go outside of takeout and movies on the sofa. Not that you complain, happily trade almost any evening for one of them.

“God, you’re handsome,” you whisper, tightening your fingers around his hand—looping them, feeling how much larger his is, than yours—as your other arm bends at the elbow, slinging around his neck. “Fuck I’m one lucky lady.”

He snorts, loudly. His eyes flick to the side before they land back on you, bashful, soft, as he clears his throat and you scrape your nails against his scalp. “Think I’m the lucky one.”

You smile, all uncontrollably as you inhale the scent of his aftershave. It’s all wooden-edged, peppery—just him. Reminded all of a sudden to the wisp of it the night prior, the fan having picked it up, blew it across the room as you turned a page in your book and heard him sigh, would do anythin’ for you.

“I could kiss you.”

Licking his lips, flicking his gaze from yours to your mouth and back. “Yeah?”

You wonder if he catches how it leaves his lips. How wrecked it sounds, how it’s more gravel than velvet, making heat bloom in your stomach as you draw a shape along his scalp.

“Could. But won’t. I think I need a corndog, maybe a ride on the Big Wheel. Real date night vibes first—not often we have some alone time. Don’t want to squander what Tommy has given us.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head, “Tommy.”

Grinning, you nudge into him when he tugs you to begin walking. Glancing up to notice how the sky is shifting in real-time from deep blue to velvet indigo—feeling him release your hand, to slide an arm around your waist. Guiding. Leading through shifting crowds.

You feel grateful, almost overwhelmed, as you take in the scene around you. On both sides, colourful stalls burst with energy, each humming excitedly. The ring toss calls to you with glistening glass bottles and the satisfying clink of rings, while the joyful pops of balloons from a nearby dart game fill the air.

It becomes apparent, quickly, you’re not sure where he’s leading you—not as you pass cheers that grab your attention, only jolting back to him when he comes to a stop at a stall. One less busy, the outer edge overflowing with giant stuffed animals and oddities—

“Hey look, it’s you.”

Your eyes narrow, flitting around, staring as he squeezes your hip.

“There,” he whispers.

All gruff, right into your ear. His breath dances along your cheek. Making your throat dry, making heat bloom between your legs when his chest becomes flush with your spine, and you follow where his finger is pointing, finding at the end of it—

“A sloth. Like you.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

His laugh ripples out of him, loud, cracking in places as he wraps an arm around your chest, keeping you pinned—letting you feel how it rumbles through him, vibrating your bones with it as you find it hard not to join him. Shaking your head, but smirking, staring up at him before he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

The same kind he leaves in the morning when he gets up before you; the same one he leaves on your skin when he walks in and finds dinner cooked, and the evidence of a hard day on your face. The same one that means three words, a thing you’re happy to take, each and every time.

“Gonna win it for you.”

“Joel, c’mon, you don’t need to do that, can just go on the ride, grab a snack and go—”

“I’ll be quick. Promise,” he replies, tightening his hold across your chest, mouth dropping back to your ear as children scream as they run past, “Lemme win you a prize, baby.”

Rolling your eyes, tongue in cheek as you stare at him. “What if you’re the only prize I need?”

He contemplates, in the way he always does—mouth scrunching up, nose twitching. “Still gonna win you a sloth.”

Folding your arms, you see little point in arguing. Resting your hip against the side, watching him familiarise himself with the goal: aim the rifle at the row of little metal flaps and shoot them down one by one—each having painted in little ducks on in faded yellows, and in your opinion had seen better days.

It's odd to see a rifle in his hand—wooden, smooth, worn from countless hands over the years. You're so used to seeing him with a tool of some kind or a coffee mug when he's at home.

Joel's first go isn’t too bad. The second, third and fourth, range from worse to about the same.

Each time, he grumbles—a little grunt here, a fuck there. It hissed, whispered—right under his throat with the passing reminder of children still running around the place—as you shift from leaning to standing, and arms folded to hanging loose at your sides.

“Joel, c’mon, let’s go play something else—”

“Goddammit, I can do this.”

Placing your hand on his forearm, feeling it twitch under, spotting the way his bicep twitches under the fabric of his shirt, you busily focus on his face. “Hey, I know you can. But, I want to go on The Big Wheel—maybe, make out a little, you know? Little over the clothes. See what it was like to date teenage Joel Miller.”

His jaw ticks—teeth running over his bottom lip as his nostrils flare as he inhales. His grip remains tight on the toy, fingers flexing over the trigger as your palm rubs in a line up and down his arm.

“One more go, promise.”

Smiling, you close your eyes and shrug—dropping your hand. “One more go.”

Stepping back, watching him nod to the man to reset the metal flaps, you have a thought. “Hey.”

Brown eyes meet yours—the bulbs of the stall reflecting in them, making them shimmer, shine. His face smoothed out, soft, as though work hadn’t been stressing him for weeks, as though bills hadn’t been keeping him awake.

“You win me that sloth, Miller, maybe I’ll ask the guy at the Big Wheel if we can stop at the top and admire the view.”

His eyes narrow, staring, your tongue dragging along your upper lip before your teeth bite on your lower and you tilt your head. Then, his eyes flash.

Head turning, cracking it on either side as he adjusts his stance and squares his shoulders—his grip different, almost more expert as you press your thighs together at the sight of his arm flexing again, his neck tensing.

Then, he knocks one down and your pulse hammers in your ears. The second makes you jump a little, as your heart skips a beat in your chest.

And you know he still has three attempts for the third, plenty of time. But you pinch your thigh through the fabric skating over them. Trying to level your breathing; trying to not move in anticipation. Fingers almost wanting to cross as you stare at him, admiring, unable to tear your eyes away from him—

Then the third rings out.

Metal clanging—a win announced, practically bellowing and vibrating through the air as he cheers when the bell is rung and you find yourself with your arms around his neck. You don’t think as you press a kiss—all painted in joy, happiness and pride—against his cheek. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest when your hand slides over it, rubbing, trying to soothe it as he shakes his head in disbelief when the toys is held out to him.

He takes it, his hand large and strong, the same one that just skillfully shot down metal ducks to win you a prize. As he hands it to you, his other arm slips gently around your waist.

“Told you I’d win you it.”

“My hero,” you smirk, tapping his nose with the sloth’s hand.

Feeling him pinch your side, forcing a giggle out, he drops his voice again, “C’mon, want my prize now.”

“Am I not your prize?” you tease, smiling, faking innocence as he stares—blinking, unsure what to say.

“Some parts of you more than others.”

Grinning, mouth falling open in shock, you hear him chuckle. “Good job I’m interested in finding out what winning tastes like.”

His eyes darken, lips parting as you watch him swallow, before he groans all in the back of his throat. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Wanna see how much it costs us to have five minutes at the top?”

Joel practically drags you towards the Big Wheel, the fair music blaring from it as you clutch the sloth toy tight to your waist, trying to keep up with him, grinning, from ear to ear.

Aww! Thank you! They definitely have a special place in my heart as well ❤️

Parents to Lovers Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

These are all stand alone one shots, they are listed here chronologically but posting wise it’s random. ❤️

Paint with Me: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Friday Night: First time Frankie tells you he loves you and finally meeting the boys.

Play Date Hookup: Frankie arrives early to pick up Missy. ✨NEW✨

Between Us: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Goober: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

Well, that was down right delicious! 🥵

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

I'm here on Pedro Camp sneak duties 🥸

I present a limerick.

 There was a young man from Savannah Who met his end in a curious manner He whittled a hole In a telephone pole And electrified his banana

🤣🤣🤣🤣

I absolutely love this limerick!

Love me a desperate Frankie 😍

heaven's a thing | frankie morales x f!reader

masterlist | frankie masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

pairing: sub!frankie morales x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: ~2k

summary: frankie loves when you go away for work. or, actually - he loves what you have planned for him when you come home. warnings etc: porn with absolutely no plot, smut, d/s dynamics, mami kink, orgasm denial, implied edging, sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, bondage, sexting, a sprinkling of humiliation kink, oral (m receiving), cum eating + sharing, unprotected piv sex, overstimulation, nipple play, hypothetical lactation kink (dw about it), we're biting the boy, pet names, reader wears lingerie, aftercare, frankie pov. no use of y/n.

a/n: not beta'd, we die like men. happy national catfish day to my favourite soldier. bye bye!

PART ONE | PART TWO

Frankie loves it when you go out of town for work.

Well–no. That’s not really true. 

When you’re gone, he feels like half a person, like huge chunks of his heart have been torn apart by shrapnel and the earth beneath his feet is one misstep away from turning to quicksand under his toes.

But if you never went away, he’d never get to know how good it feels when you finally come back. 

And anyway, you never really leave him without some sort of structure to uphold. You know what he needs. 

You can edge but don’t come. 

Send me a picture of that pretty cock.

Strip. Wait for me on the chair in the bedroom. Don’t touch. Mami will be home soon. 

That last one had just come over an hour ago now. He thinks. He’s lost track of time, if he’s honest, waiting for you on the kitchen chair you’d left in the middle of his room before you’d gone away. Naked, just like you’d asked.

Another forty-five minutes pass and now he knows you’re just torturing him on purpose. The realization only makes him harder. 

He’s aching by the time he hears your key turn in the lock downstairs.

“Hello?” you call, a knowing lilt in your voice.

“Up here,” Frankie replies hoarsely. 

Frankie listens–as best he can with all the blood rushing in his ears–to your slow, deliberate movements in the entryway. You take your time slipping off your coat and shoes, ascending the stairs one step at a time, stopping in the hallway bathroom on your way toward his bedroom just to keep him on the edge that much longer. 

When you finally find him, he knows he must look wrecked. Sweat beaded across his bare chest, cock hard and leaking against his heaving stomach. You’ve changed, donning some black lingerie number he’s not sure he’s seen before. He feels like he could come at just the sight of you, but you wouldn’t like that, so he doesn’t. 

Some mixture of desperation and missing you makes tears sprout in his eyes though, and then you smile at him all proud and a broken little sob escapes his throat.

“Hey, mami,” he breathes. 

Frankie watches you saunter into the room, closer and closer until you’re hinging at the waist and taking his face in your hands and then finally, finally kissing. He sighs into your parted lips, feeding you his tongue with a feverish kind of eagerness. You suck it between your teeth, comb your fingers back through his hair, gently scratching a path down the nape of his neck, along his arms down to his wrists. You stop there, gathering his hands behind the back of the chair and smiling against his lips when you swallow his responding gasp. You’re still kissing him as you effortlessly bind his wrists together with something soft and silky. 

When you’re done, you rest your palms on his thighs and sink your nails into his flesh and Frankie’s brain goes all fuzzy and hot. 

“Hi, baby,” you hum. You flick your tongue across his lips and Frankie shudders, cranes to catch your mouth again. But you pull back too soon–just out of reach.

“Ah-ah,” you chide him with a smirk. “You’ve been so patient, Frankie. Don’t spoil it now.”

“Sorry,” he chokes. The last thing he’s gunning for right now is a punishment. Any other day maybe, but not today. “Sorry, mami. Just missed you.”

You hum, bending to connect your lips to his sticky chest, inhaling deeply. And he senses it there, in the way you breathe him in with a contented little sigh; behind all your patience and unwavering control…he knows you missed him too.

“You look so pretty,” you whisper, just before you bite down on one of his nipples.

Frankie yelps, arching in place in search of more. You just giggle, unperturbed as you press his hips back down into his seat and draw a line with your tongue up his neck to his ear. 

“Were you a good boy while I was gone, baby?” you ask. Your fingers inch towards his cock, so close now. He’s panting like a fucking dog, can feel warmth spreading across his cheeks and chest. But you’re not done torturing him yet.

“Yes,” he vows, and it’s true. “I didn’t come. Waited for you.”

“I know,” you smile. You nip on his ear lobe and his dick pulses between your bodies. “‘Cause you’d tell me if you did, wouldn’t you? Good boys don’t lie, do they, Frankie?”

“No, mami.” He’s squirming now, can’t help it. You let him. “I swear. Please.”

His plea slips out before he can think any better of it. You’re just so fucking close to touching him and he missed you so much and he’s been aching to come for three long, lonely days and he can’t wait any longer, he can’t–

“Oh, poor boy,” you tut, mocking him with a pout to match his own as you sink to the floor between his legs. He can feel your breath on his cock and it makes goosebumps sprout across his thighs. 

“Look at you,” you muse, stealing his breath as you drag the tip of one finger along his throbbing length. You laugh and Frankie whines. “So hard for mami. I need you to hold on just a little longer for me, though. Okay?”

You don’t wait for him to agree. 

You’re toying with him, circling the wet head of his cock with your thumb, tracing patterns along his shaft, every movement featherlight and slow and so fucking cruel. 

Then you ghost your lips over the space just above his balls and Frankie fucking weeps. Your tongue mimics the patterns you’d drawn with your finger, a torturous up and down and up and down that sears his skin and sets his nerve endings on fire. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, resisting the urge to writhe. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. If he behaves you’ll give him more. If he behaves you’ll let him come. 

But you haven’t told him to stay quiet, so…he talks.

“Missed your mouth so fucking much, mami,” he rambles while you offer him barely more than fleeting kitten licks. “Missed your tongue–fuck–you’re so good to me. Make me feel so fucking good. Wanna give you all my cum, mami, want you to see how good I was. Waited–I fucking waited.”

You chuckle against him, moving to take one of his heavy balls in your mouth. 

“Did you save it all for me, baby boy?” you ask. “All this cum in here–that’s all for me?”

You swirl your tongue around his balls, sucking at him lightly before popping them out from between your wet lips. 

“Yeah,” Frankie groans. You smile up at him, holding his needy stare, and then at last, you wrap your fingers around his length.

“Yeah,” he repeats brokenly, crumbling before your eyes as you patiently start to stroke him in long, easy movements. “Yeah, mami, fuck–”

His head falls back behind him while you pump and pump and pump him, not in any rush at all.

“Look at me, Francisco,” you instruct him after several long moments of blissful torture. 

His head snaps up at once, but he quickly regrets it.

Your other hand is buried between your thighs and you’ve pulled your bra to the side, revealing one hardened nipple for him. He wants to bite it. 

He’s going to come. 

“Oh, fuck–are you touching your pussy, mami?” he asks in a flurry.

“Mhmm.”

He forgets whatever he’d been going to say next because then your mouth is on him again, pressing wet kisses to every inch of his cock. You focus your fist upwards, stroking him faster now, harder. 

You’re trying to make him come. 

“Mami, please, fuck, I’m so close–I can’t–”

“Shhh,” you breathe against him. “You can, mi cielo. You can come. My good boy. Show mami all that cum.”

You keep talking like that until he breaks, his pent-up orgasm shattering through all his disciplined resolve. His vision blurs as hot cum spurts from him wildly, painting his stomach and his thighs, your fist and your face. You giggle and moan at the needy sounds he makes, the way he just keeps coming even when he’s sure you’ve milked him dry. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants when the crest begins to crash and the tension in his tummy fades into a warm, golden glow. It’s all he can do just to watch in blissed-out wonder as you scoop up the spend on his skin with your tongue, tilt his head back with a hand in his hair and spit into his open mouth. 

You wait until he swallows and then you kiss him–hard.

You kiss him so fiercely, he doesn’t notice until it’s too late that you’re straddling him, notching the head of his oversensitive cock at your warm, wet entrance and dropping down, down, down.

He groans out a string of curses through gritted teeth, knowing better than to protest, even if the overstimulation is making fresh tears prick at his eyes. Even if his skin burns when you grind on him, rolling your hips till you find where it feels good, sighing in a way that lets him know you’ve waited for this just as long as he has. 

“You’re okay, Frankie,” you tell him firmly. “It’s mami’s turn now. Been dreaming about coming all over this big, pretty cock.”

He nods resolutely and then you get to work. 

He wishes he could help, but he’ll gladly take this too. This perfect view of you riding his oversensitive cock, tits poking out of your pretty lingerie, wet pussy swallowing him and making space for him inside you. He sees the cracks in your composure when you get like this, when you use him to get yourself off, desperate for release the closer you get. The stinging ache in his cock turns back to pleasure soon enough as you drip and stretch around him, the roll of your hips growing frantic as your near you impending edge.

He should wait for your instruction, but your tits are right there and he needs to offer you something. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah, baby, suck on mami’s tits,” you whine as he closes his lips around one of your perked nubs. He does as you ask, suckling at each of your nipples with a low, reverent groan, grateful at just the chance to taste you finally. Maybe later he’ll tell you how he’s imagining warm, white wetness spilling down his chin as he sucks and sucks and sucks at you. How the thought of drinking you down–swallowing everything you’d give him–makes his cock twitch between your walls. 

Later. Maybe. 

“I’m gonna come, Frankie,” you warn him.

“Please,” he sighs. You clutch at him like a life preserver, fingers hooked around the back of his skull, pressing his face between your breasts as your hips begin to stutter. Frankie smiles, smothered and spent, right where he belongs. “Please,” he says again, but he knows it’s too low for you to hear. 

He knows the moment it hits you. Knows the sounds you make and the way you clench around him, the wet gush of your cunt and the shake in your thighs. He’s right on the edge all over again, his own climax just within grasp if you’d only give him permission.

“Come with me, Frankie,” you moan, like you can read his mind. “Come again for mami.”

And so he does, spilling inside your still-pulsing pussy and riding out the waves with you.

When it ends, your lips are on his again, catching each of his appreciative, laboured breaths.

“I missed you,” you whisper softly and Frankie feels like he could cry again. 

When you’ve both come down, you ease off him carefully to free him from his restraints, and no sooner is Frankie scooping you up in his arms and crashing down into bed with you pressed into his chest.

“You did so good, Frankie,” you murmur, over and over as you pet the curls at the back of his neck. “You’re so patient. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, baby,” he sighs, squeezing you in a little tighter. “Thank you.”

Oh! Okay! Did not know this would thrill me and also make me want to get my husband at the same time 😵‍💫🥵

THE PARTY || Lucien Flores x f!reader || 580 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON, unspecified age gap, unprotected piv.

Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta reading😘

****

Your red lipstick is smeared all over his palm, but you’re not screaming anymore. Not with the way his thick cock slides in and out of your treacherously wet pussy.

“Yeah - yeah - yeah…” Lucien rasps into your ear with every thrust, “ya like it? Good girl.”

His strong fingers are digging into your left thigh leaving marks and pain in their wake as he’s holding your leg against his hip, opening you up for him to fuck. His fist bunches up the skirt of your red dress, the color of the flower he plucked off a bush for you just a few minutes ago. You thought he was sweet, not expecting him to turn into this monster, eyes boring into yours, gaze dark, carnal, hungry, as he’s ruthlessly using your pussy for his pleasure.

You should scream, must scream but can’t. Lucien’s pounding into you by the wall in a dark corner of the garden, and all you can do is whimper and take it like a good girl. Like he told you to.

You’re not sure anyone will hear you anyway, his violent act is concealed by the loud music of the party.

“Prancing around…tits almost out…swaying your sexy ass…been asking for it all night, little slut,”he’s growling in your ear as he slightly lifts your body against the wall, plunging his cock even deeper inside your channel. You cry out and start moaning clutching his silky shirt as his fat tip abuses your cervix with sharp strokes.

“Made me so hard…Fuck, you’re tight, baby.”

“Stop…,” you mewl helplessly but even you don’t believe yourself. Your mind has shut down some time ago, making you concentrate on the pleasure coursing through your body and relieving your psyche from the horror of his lewd act. At least for now.

Lucien laughs at your plea, the hoarse sound interrupted by his breathy moan as his cock finally erupts and he shoots his cum deep inside your burning core.

He pumps you full of his warm seed still rolling his hips as your pussy squelches around his pulsating length.

Finally he stills, pulls his cock out and lowers you down. Your shaky legs give up and you would surely fall if not for his strong arms catching you and holding you up.

He chuckles through the heavy panting,

“Fucked you good, huh?”

You try to stumble away from him but he pushes you back against the wall, pinning you to the cold hard surface yet again.

“Did you come? Don’t think so,” he says lifting up your skirt for the second time this night and you start sobbing.

“Shh, don’t cry…my girls always come.”

In a second his fingers are rubbing your hardened clit using his cum dripping out of your hole as lube and soon you unravel under his touch, shaking, moaning, hating him and your body for succumbing to his ministrations so easily.

Finally satisfied he slides his big hands up your sides and wraps them around your neck, thumbs gently rubbing your jaw. Cold blown eyes locked with yours, he gives your throat a light squeeze and makes your heart freeze with terror when he growls,

“One word about this and I’ll tell your dad his little girl seduced his best friend. I still have your nudes as proof.”

He gently kisses you, taste of champagne and cigarettes on his lips, and then whispers against the corner of your mouth before leaving,

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

*****

Thank you for reading💖

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated🌸

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