There has been a lot of wild things you’ve seen in this new town but none can compare to this sunny day..
“I’ve decided that out of the two of yew,” he said, his gaze drifting between you both before locking onto you. “Imma marry you.”
You batted your lashes, completely confused.
“She don’t want nothin’ to do with yew, Coyle,” your friend spat, slapping his hand away. “All you’ll do is treat her like the dirt under your hole-filled boots, and that ain’t no way to treat a girl!”
Coyle scoffed. Without another word he lunged, twisting his fingers into her pigtails and yanking her clean off the concrete steps. “Well, I sure as shit ain’t choosing you, Anne.” He squeezed her cheeks hard enough to make her lips fish-mouth. “No man wants a pig who squeals too much.”
“Let go!”
“Make me!”
“Wait a minute!” You yell, “ That ain’t no way to treat a girl!” You grabbed his wrist, trying to pry his fingers loose. “Gentlemen are supposed to be kind and caring—”
“Ain’t no reason to be a gentleman to a hog!” he shouted into Anne's ear, laughing as she winced then threw a wink your way. “But a pretty thang like you won’t ever get this type of treatment.”
“Your ma’s a hog,” Anne muttered under her breath.
Coyle’s jaw clenched and wrenched her hair back further.
“Please stop! You're going to rip her braids out of her skull!” you pleaded.
Realizing he wasn't going to listen, you grabbed a handful of his white tee and yanked with all your might. The cotton strained but didn't tear; instead, the sudden force broke his grip on Anne, sending him tumbling backward and landing on top of you. You weren’t sure if it was the weight forcing the air out of your lungs or being so close to another body before.
“Well,” Coyle said, flipping himself over. “That sounds like a loud and clear answer tah me.” He smirked.
Definitely the weight.
A hot blush crept up your face as his hands started to snake down to yours. trailing along your forearms. His chipped nails dug into your skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake.
Next thing you knew, he was flung off you. Anne scrambled into view, her hair looking like a chicken had given her a serious run for her money. She quickly hauled you to your feet, grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the road, putting as much distance between you and Coyle as possible.
You hadn't expected the boys in this town to be so forward.
Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw Coyle dusting off his army pants. He watched you disappear down the street with a wide grin, looking entirely too pleased with himself—like he’d actually accomplished something.
Franco hadn't spared a single glance at the lingerie, panties, or bras while you two browsed the district. His face was far too famous for a public mall, but these high-end, secret exclusive boutiques offered next-season fashion long before it hit the public. It was a luxury that always felt so thrilling to indulge in.
If only he seemed to care.
On your way out his once loose grip clamped around your wrist. You looked over to find him completely still, his eyes wider than normal. “Franco?” He bit his bottom lip. You raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze to a small shoe boutique near the exit. The neon sign buzzed in vibrant shades of pink and purple. “Trixie’s Treats,” you read out loud. That broke him out of his trance.
Franco dragged you toward the window. The boutique displayed every kind of footwear imaginable from sleek pumps to flats to tiger print flip-flops with matching ankle bracelets—
but their current showcase featured louboutins.
They were all so glossy, glittery, and sharp enough to pierce a persons eye out.
You spent nearly two hours inside. Franco insisted you try on every single pair of heels he could get his hands on, not worrying about the bill. He watched you pace, catwalk, and strut across the showroom floor, his eyes locked onto the movement of your feet.
It was exhausting but the weight of his undivided attention made you feel special again so you'd happily do a few spins and heel taps if he asked.
You went home with over 140 new pairs of heels ready to break in.
You stumble along the walkway, the world dissolving into a blur of blinding light that your veil fails to block out.
Your head feels fuzzy, as if filled with stuffing, forcing your gaze anywhere but forward but you walked, the red carpet being only thing keeping you in a straight line. Then come the steps.
Why are you going upstairs again?
The thought vanishes as a rough hand yanks you forward, forcing you to skip the first two steps before depositing you directly in front of a priest. You can't process a single word hes saying;
your entire focus is narrowed down to wondering where you are.
A cold grip clamps around your waist, keeping you in place. Someone speaks your name, but your neck feels paralyzed. The exhaustion is overwhelming. All you wanted was sleep. Hearing no reply, meaty fingers seize your chin, tilting your face up and down, before letting go.
Then you were turned. The light that was once too bright became blinding once your veil was lifted.
“Too bright,” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes. “Too bright.”
“Flattery,” a voice snickered, “gets you everywhere.”
Something cold and wet latched itself onto your lips. The feeling was so intense making you feel more dizzy than before. The pews erupted with applause the moment you stumbled back, gasping for air.
Everything is spinning now.
Colors floating in the air and vibrations in your feet from the voices all around you.
What’s going on?
“—Kiss leave you breathless?”
Who is that?
You forced yourself to open your eyes, and the world started to tilt. Suddenly, you were looking at the ceiling. Your feet were off the ground, yet you were somehow still moving. You saw Saint Mary up above;
her tears twinkling from the reflection of the windowpanes.
Was she crying for me?
…Not everyone remembers their wedding day but you recall the pictures of your parents' wedding photos mother had tried to hide.
You weren't the first bride to be carried out the church—mouth foaming, eyes rolled back alongside a happy husband— and you certainly won’t be the last.
Franco: Boy, I sure do wish there was a hot smoking momma, with breast the size of Mount Everest, would come and soothe the suckling ache I have right now…
Looks over at gooseberry hiding behind the bathroom stall
Hiiii ! I just wanna say I love your work and I have a request (pls ignore if you aren't aking requests!!!)
Can you do Coyle and wifey reader babying him when he's sick (he totally gives off "i can go to work just fine" with a high-grade fever lol)
Thanks :>
Stubborn baby
“You want me to change your diaper?”
“Hey—”
“Want me to do it for you? Is that it?”
“I ain’t wearin' no damn diaper,” he spat, though the bite in his voice was weakened by his exhaustion.
“Then stop acting like a big baby,” you huffed, taking your seat beside him. Before he could mount a protest, you caught his signature glare by shoving a spoonful of hearty soup into his mouth.
It pained you to see him like this. Not because of his physical limitations- -but because of how much he whined the moment you tried to help. As his wife, you took your duty to care for him very seriously, but his hard-headedness made everything a battle of wills.
“Is it good?”
He nodded, smacking his lips as he let the taste of the savory chicken broth settle. You leaned forward, pressing a palm to his forehead; he was sweaty and radiating heat. Reaching for the bucket of cool water, you fished out a rag and wrung it out—leaving it damp enough to be refreshing,
but not so wet that it would drip.
As you wiped away the grime of the fever, he finally ran out of energy to fight you. He fell silent, leaning into the touch as you patted him down.
It truly was a rare sight to see him stripped of his hardworking persona. In fact, he seemed calmer now than he had in days. Without his hat and glasses, his features were vulnerable: his shiny scalp, his lazy eye, and a face heavy with drowsiness.
He looked as though he were on the verge of passing out.
You smiled softly, savoring this rare moment.
“My poor big baby,” you cooed. You pressed a kiss to his lips, ignoring his faint grumble, then moved to his cheek. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take good care of you. Rest.”
He looked at you for a long beat, letting the words sink in. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut.
You continued the cool rag bath while he slipped toward sleep. It would take a lot of work to get him back on his feet,
but at least while he was down, you could dote on him to your heart’s content.
I'm honestly surprised that you haven't done anything with boobjobs regarding Franco. The thing where someone smashed their tits together to create a cock sleeve. Bonus points if the girl is lactating. Using milk as lube would literally be heaven for that man
can you pls write something about franco having a female partner with inverted nipples?<33
You stand stiffly, face scrunched as he continues to stare at you as if you’d appeared out of thin air. Or perhaps the fact your standing infront of him topless is adding to that shock.
Slowly, he lifts an arm and pokes you directly in the center of your boob.
“An innie?” he whispers.
“Excuse me?”
Ignoring your response he digs deeper, as if trying to fish out a coin out of a slot. He pinches the flesh, rolling it between his fingers in an attempt to coax the small teat out. You bite your bottom lip; his clawing stings, yet there’s a tingling sensation that comes with it..
Then comes the sudden suction.
The sensation startles you, but he steadies you by the arms, pushing his face deeper as he begins to nibble at your areola. He’s acting like he’s discovered a hidden treasure and his tongue is eager to dig it out.
He pulls back—slowly, your skin stretching with him until he lets go with a wet pop.
“Ahh,” he groans, catching your breast and giving it a playful shake. “There she is.”
Your nipple—swollen, irritated, and very much present—is now fully peaked. The breeze sweeps across your damp skin, sending a fresh shiver through you.
“And there goes the other one,” he coos, pressing a kiss to its twin. “Decided to come out and play, huh?”
“And rather than making the smart choice to get yourself a blanket, you decided to push yourself up against us?” Otto grunted.
“You're big and have the body heat of two ovens.” You wrap your naked self around their warm flesh. It was always the warmest in between. That’s where the bodies melded, caving in just slightly to provide a small space of flesh perfectly suited for you to snuggle in to.
“We are not your human heaters,” Arora huffed but didn’t make any move to shoo you away.
“You might as well be. Not enough blood flow to keep the body warm so I always need to rely on you two to do that.” You sigh happily as you push your face into the heated skin. “It’s the best.”
“Don’t go digging too deep,” Arora warned.
“Might get swallowed up.” Otto finished.
“That, I wouldn’t mind.” You smiled, cuddling in closer.
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