Jules.ᐟ

Pregnant? The moment the words leave your mouth, it feels like time just…stops. Whether or not he’d planned this, it doesn’t matter. The reality of the situation hits a lot harder than he’d been expecting. He’s happy! Sure! But he’ll probably bluescreen for a minute or two before snapping back into reality. Fuck – he’s gonna be a dad? He doesn’t know the first thing about babies…aside from acting like one– 

After he snaps out of the slight daze, though, all his attention is placed on you. “Are you okay? Is– it… okay?” He’ll quietly rub your back and shush you if you’re crying, he knows it’s stressful for you but not taking it back now, right? (don’t bring up abortion unless you want him to tie you to a bed til the baby gets here.)

It dawns on him very quickly he isn’t only responsible for taking care of the baby once it arrives, but you as well. I think it’d start with morning sickness, honestly. He wakes up one morning to find you hunched over the toilet dry heaving and is like “Oh. Shit–”

Franco is pretty bad at comfort. He never really got it growing up, so don’t expect any mushy words about how strong and brave you are. But he will sit with you and hold your hair back if you need it. He’s good at being physically present! Just…being emotionally present isn’t something he gets.

If you tell him you need something, he’ll get it for you with minimal questions. He might grumble a bit but if you even try to get up and do it yourself he’ll snap and tell you to sit your butt down. You’re carrying his baby, after all. What kinda man would he be if he made his pregnant S/O get up and get their own things? The sexism goes from about a 6 on the scale to an 8 overnight. Suddenly, you’re too fragile to do anything on your own.

He treats you like you’re made of glass. You can see it on his face when he touches you, how his hands tremble a bit before resting on the curve of your waist. He’s terrified of hurting you because he knows the kinda man he is. He knows what he does to people. And he couldn’t stomach the thought of hurting you or the baby.

He also fights with you less. It isn’t uncommon to bicker and argue with Franco, he’s an asshole. But, ever since you got pregnant? Suddenly he’s more inclined to just shut his fat mouth. He’ll start saying something mean, cut himself off, and just walk away instead. If you ask him about it it’ll just piss him off, so take the blessings where you can and don’t acknowledge the strange behavior.

Speaking of strange behavior… he’s suddenly very attuned to your facial expressions and vocal cues. Franco doesn’t know a whole lot about pregnancy, that’s female crap… but he knows you, and he knows you like the back of his hand. Your tone wavered a bit? He’s pulling you onto his lap because he knows you’re about to cry. You won’t meet his eyes? Nausea, he’ll go get a bucket and some crackers. Your lip trembled? You must be hungry, let him go get you something.

He’ll feed you like crazy. Not just because he thinks it’d be cute if you got a little softer but because he’s absolutely convinced you do genuinely need to eat for two. “What do you mean that’s just a sayin’? No it ain’t. Just shut up and eat! You ain’t gonna starve my kid!”

You’re responsible for telling him things you’re not allowed to have, by the way. And even then, he’s still gonna argue with you. He genuinely doesn’t understand why you can’t have certain foods, and every time you try to explain that whatever you eat goes right to the baby… he just kinda zones out. “Yeah yeah, no deli-meat or alcohol. Whatever, doll.”

Just because you gotta give it up doesn’t mean he’s gonna. Don’t even try to ask him to stop drinking, he’ll burst a blood vessel. You want him to stop drinking? You wanna punish him just cause you can’t have any? Fat chance. Expect him to be just as intoxicated as he usually is. The only thing that really changes on that front is he at least has the decency to not smoke around you anymore.

Don’t bring up the smoking thing though. He gets really embarrassed if you acknowledge the fact he always leaves the room/waits til you’re asleep to enjoy a cigar.

He always goes to appointments with you. Both because he does genuinely care about you and the baby, but also because he just really doesn’t trust doctors with you. What if they try to do some weird experiments on you or something? He isn’t gonna take that chance. He’ll stand quietly beside you with his arms crossed, dissecting every interaction. The moment you’re uncomfortable he’s speaking up. You might be too nice to tell a doctor to fuck off but he sure isn’t.

The only time he’s ever really respectful is when the baby’s health is being brought up, and that’s only because it’s the only thing he can think about at that moment. He won’t ever admit it out loud but he’s terrified of the baby coming out like him. He might have some complicated feelings on children/being a father but he’d never want his child to suffer the same way he did. Physically and emotionally.

Ultrasounds really didn’t become common til around the 70’s iirc, so, unfortunately it feels like a coin toss at times. The most important thing to him, though, is that it’s healthy and growing normally. Which, it is. Thankfully.

Expect him to be a bit cuddly after appointments. Quiet, but cuddly. He’ll just wanna hold you for a bit, maybe take a nap together. He knows how tired you are, you blinked too many times, clear sign you need a nap. 

Once you start to show is when things really set in for him. Sure, the pregnancy is always lingering in the back of his mind but it’s easy sometimes to forget you’re actually carrying a baby inside you, y’know? Seeing the physical evidence of it makes it more real. And– shockingly? He loves it.

The moment he sees your tummy beginning to round out, he’s all over you. If you thought he was clingy before you ain’t seen nothing yet. His hands always tend to linger at your waist, admiring the shape of you like he’d carved you from stone himself. He’s in awe of just how pretty you look… yet still so afraid he’s gonna hurt you.

Suddenly, he refuses to argue with you at all. Before, he’d at least bicker a bit before deciding to call it quits and drop it. But now? He’s far more willing to just let shit go than ever before. Is he still as hot headed as usual? Yeah. But he absolutely refuses to lose his temper with you. “What if the baby hears or somethin’?” his excuse to write off the sudden change of heart. He can’t just admit he hates seeing you cry. Especially now.

Eventually things just kinda become routine. He remembers the things you’re craving, knows all your little cues, knows when to back off vs when to push you. The only thing he doesn’t have under control is your mood swings. 

Hormones can really mess you up at times. One minute you’re totally fine, the next you’re sobbing over a song on the radio, then screaming at Franco for daring to turn the thing off. It's the only thing he can’t predict and it’s incredibly frustrating for him. He’ll try his best to comfort you the best he can, but most of the time it ends with him needing to leave the room. The urge to just grab you and shake you gets too overwhelming… be grateful he’s holding back, yeah?

He holds back in other aspects as well. In the bedroom he holds back a lot. Not because he wants to, but because he loves you and he’s so scared of hurting you. The running theme here is Franco is scared of himself lmao.

He stops forcing himself onto you. Shocking, I know. Usually he has no issue keeping your relationship free-use (dub/non, your pick). But…he just can’t stomach it anymore. If you were anyone else, he’d have no problem. But you’re you. You’re his doll. The mother of his baby. He can’t do that to you…

Suddenly your sex life goes from rough plowings and tears to “Is this okay?...Can I touch here…? …does this hurt?” It’s nice being tended to, and he’s extra careful the closer you get to your due date…even if it’s really hard for him to ignore how gorgeous you look.

If you’d let him, he’d be screwing you all the time. How could he not want you like this? Your breasts nice and full, your stomach rounded out, your curves a bit softer… he’ll never let you feel insecure, not even for a second. Don’t start the “I’m fat” stuff with him, he’ll spend hours worshiping your body to prove to you you’re still just as gorgeous to him as always.

Speaking of body worship…not really body worship but the closer you get to your due date the more fixated on your belly he becomes. Lots of kisses, and rubbing. Sometimes he’ll even talk to the baby if he’s feeling sappy enough. He’ll only do it if you’re asleep (or pretending to be) though. Sometimes you can hear him murmuring little things like “Don’t kick your mama so hard.” and “Wonder how you’re doin’ in there…”

The day inevitably arrives though. And labor is…labor. Honestly? I think it’d be a blur for  him. Suddenly he remembers his own mother, how she died giving birth to him and how scared he is the same thing is gonna happen to you. Fuck. Could he ever forgive himself if he killed you? Even if unintentionally? 

Thankfully (And because this isn’t angst), things go smoothly, and soon he’s watching you cuddle a tiny screaming pink blob against your chest. It’s a girl!!

Franco barbi is a girl dad YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. He was secretly hoping for a girl. The thought of having to share you with a hypothetical son made him wanna rip (what was left of) his hair out. So, he’s relieved when it’s a baby girl… So much so that he cries! Openly! Full blown sobs of relief! Don’t. Don’t acknowledge it… just let him get it out of his system, he needed a good cry.

It really doesn’t matter what your daughter looks like, whether she has the same disabilities as her father or whether she’s able-bodied. He doesn’t care. She’s the most adorable little thing he’s ever laid eyes on and he’ll fucking kill anyone who dares to hurt her. Good luck letting any sort of doctors or nurses near her, Franco isn’t against ripping someone apart with his bare hands if it means his little girl is safe.

He just…man, he’s bad at the whole being a dad thing. You can try to help him all you want but his inner dude bro has him zone out and forget everything you said. “That’s all shit for women, doll…” He says, yet still tries to help change and feed her. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’d be holding her. He loves cuddling the baby!

He will help out if you’re sleeping though. Even if he’s awful at changing diapers, or remembering to burp her, he still does it because waking you up feels like a crime to him. You just pushed a whole baby out of you… why on god’s green earth would he wake you up and make you take care of the kid when he’s right here?

Once you’re both back home, that doesn’t change. He’ll pretend to grumble about “doing everything” yet still do it and refuse to let you help. Don’t even try arguing with him over it, he’ll immediately shut you down. He doesn’t wanna hear it, you need to heal.

You also need to feed the baby…if you do decide to breast feed. He won’t argue with you if you don’t wanna breast feed the baby… but you will be breast feeding him. He’s a sick man, and he’s waited 40 whole weeks for those boobs to start producing. He WILL be getting a taste.

It’s always late at night when you’re both in bed together, when the baby’s asleep in the nursery and he knows she’ll be down for a while. The last thing he wants is to get started then hear wailing coming from the other room… kills the mood. So he’s patient enough to wait his turn.

He never forces anything further than just…let me suck your boobs (shockingly). He’s willing to get himself off quietly, no need for you to help. This is enough for him. He’s happy with this, trust him. Like– yes, he misses being inside you, but he also is aware of the fact you’re healing and he really can’t indulge. He can wait the six weeks…it won’t kill him.

Overall his personality really does just…tone down. At least, with you. And your daughter! I think in a way having a family comes easy for him at times. He knows what his father was like, so he has a blueprint on what not to do… is he perfect? No. He’s still the monster he’s always been. But he’s gonna do his damndest to make sure your daughter is loved and happy.

Daddy! Coyle, who makes you take care of him when he’s having a crappy day. He’ll have you fetch him a drink, or bring him his cigarettes, or even light the damn thing for him if he’s feeling extra lazy. He knows he’s supposed to be the caregiver, but, having you act so submissive/subservient towards him gets him off. Be a good baby and fetch daddy his slippers, yeah? He works hard to keep you happy. It’s the least you can do for him.

Daddy! Coyle, who’ll “accidentally” burn you with his cigarettes if he’s feeling particularly prickly. He’ll always do it when you’re not looking, jabbing the lit end right against your soft skin and twisting so it leaves a welt. Of course he’ll feign innocence, kiss your boo-boo better and tell you he was aiming for the ash tray…but after the 100th time, you realize it’s definitely on purpose. 

Daddy! Coyle, who secretly enjoys it when you try to run away/hide from him, because he knows there isn’t any way out of here for you. No shuttle to run to, no exit door to slip through. You’re stuck here with him, and eventually he’s gonna find you. And when he does? He’ll teach you not to run away again.

Daddy! Coyle, who makes sure you understand your place beneath him in the most literal way. When he finally catches you, he’ll fuck you right where he found you til the only thing coming out of your mouth is “i’m sorry”. Even then, he won’t stop. He’s gonna keep going. He’s gotta drill this lesson into your head somehow, right? What better way to do that than with his cock.

Daddy! Coyle, who likes when you cock-warm him. Sometimes, all he really wants is to cuddle up with his baby and have his dick nice n’ deep inside you. He’d love holding you on his lap, your back pressed to his chest with his hand rubbing circles to your stomach. He’ll press down on occasion, murmur something filthy about “feeling himself through your tummy” regardless of whether that’s true or not. Just, try not to squirm. Unless you want this to be a punishment?

Daddy! Coyle, who’d punish you for squirming by using his baton to rub your clit/cock. It’s a silent threat, but a heavy one. Keep moving and see what happens. The cold metal feels good against your heated skin, it’s so hard not to squirm with the extra stimulation and he knows it. That’s why he does it. He wants you to give him an excuse to turn the damn thing on.

Daddy! Coyle, who might even fuck you with the baton if he has a good enough reason to justify it. He’ll stuff the handle into you, wires and all, watching you clench and whine as he pumps it into you slowly. At first, you don’t think he’d turn it on…til you cum, and suddenly your entire body is seizing from the electric shocks. He’ll tell you it was an accident, but, just like every other “accident” you know it was on purpose.

Daddy! Coyle, who despite it all is actually good at aftercare? He has enough of a brain in that head of his to know being too mean is only gonna push you away permanently. And he doesn’t want that. So, he’ll pamper you once he’s done using your body…clean you up, kiss you and tell you he loves you, praise you for being so good for him knowing he’s confusing your poor little brain.

A/N: kinda short! but also maybe not really?? I had fun with this!! I'm sorry i'm so late!! Hopefully these are yummers to the coyle enjoyers lmao. Thank you for the asks! <3

Breeding isn’t really something he thinks about outside of the bedroom. It’s just one of those things that slips out during sex that doesn’t hold any weight for him, y’know? You know by now franco has a tendency to babble about things while you’re going at it, and it isn’t uncommon to hear him grumble about getting you pregnant while fucking into you. It’s only really after you miss a period that the reality of the situation dawns upon you both, and now he is genuinely forced to think about it.

I don’t think he never really thought about it before out of cruelty or carelessness, just…he’s never really been with someone long enough for pregnancy to even be a concern? Like, most of the women he’s been with before only lasted a few months at best and a few hours at worst. Most of the time they’d end up saying the wrong thing, and they’d get their faces blown off in return. Can’t worry about pregnancy if they’re dead, right? 

And even if he didn’t kill a handful of the women he was sleeping with, if they got pregnant he’d probably just chuck a stack of bills at them and tell them to get rid of it. He’s never really loved anyone like he’s loved you. Sure, he’s a piece of shit asshole and treats you terribly at times…but you’re the only person who’s ever shown interest in him, not the things he can provide. In sinyala, his name doesn’t matter. He has no money, nothing to spoil you with. So the fact you’ve stuck around only bonds him closer to you…he does love you, he’s awful at showing it, but he loves you.

So, he’s just as worried as you are when your period is late. Like…fuck. Is he really cut out for this fatherhood crap? What if he fails the baby, or worse, fails you? Or…even worse than that, what if you die in childbirth just like his mother had?? He goes through all the stages of grief over the course of like…a day. At least, until you get a quick check-up from a nurse and they confirm you aren’t pregnant.

It’s a relief! Thank God!! He’d be a terrible father! So- why does he feel so…dissapointed?? He’d expected to be just as relieved as you, maybe even a bit more cautious when having sex. Instead he just feels…sad. It clicks then that he did actually want you to have his baby. And now it’s the only thing he can think about. The thought of it…your body changing to support the life he’d planted inside you, it strokes his ego in just the right way. Knowing he’d be manly enough to get you pregnant…nobody could call him “bambino” anymore if he was a father, right? So…expect his libido to skyrocket.

He wants you all the time. Regardless of whether or not his body is cooperating with him. I think usually when he’s having a bad day impotency wise he just…won’t engage with you out of embarrassment. But, it doesn’t really matter anymore. So long as he can blow a load you’re just gonna have to deal with him fucking you while soft. Sorry!

He also doesn’t really care how you personally feel about it. You can tell him you don’t want kids all you want, that won’t change anything…aside from maybe making him a bit more aggressive. Why wouldn’t you want a baby? Is it that you don’t want a baby in general, or specifically his baby? It makes him insecure, and an insecure franco is a dangerous franco. Will he kill you? No. But he’s gonna double his efforts in order to show you that having a baby isn’t so bad. Women have babies all the time! You’ll be fine.

If you do want a baby? Great! If you don’t? He doesn’t care! He’s gonna breed you! Don’t even try thinking about secretly getting on birth control either. Nothing you do is gonna slip under his radar, and he really isn’t against ripping out any implant you tried to get. (YEOUCH) He doesn’t care if it hurts, let that be a lesson to not pull that shit again. He has his sweet moments though…like propping up your hips with some pillows after he cums inside you to help his sperm reach your womb. It might seem a little silly but it gives him peace of mind! And, if you’re crying, he’ll at least soothe you a bit. Just- don’t cry too much…too much crying gets him mad. 

You’ll be a good mommy. No need for the tears! Just let him take care of it, yea?

A/N: Uuu i could honestly ramble a lot more about pregnancy/dad hcs for Franco but i don’t wanna derail too much. If anyone wants to send me an ask for that, though... (looks at y'all with big heart eyes...) lmao hopefully this is okay. Sorry for being gone!!

We know Franco likes Mother Gooseberry from all their prime-time voice lines together; he has a lot of lines where it really does seem like his type is bigger, more full bodied women. But, personally, I really don’t think that’s his only type. Angelina Barbi was a fairly average/slim woman, and Franco was incredibly attracted to her (disclaimer: Angelina is a can of worms I don’t wanna open, so I'm leaving it at that. But, no matter how you look at their dynamic, it’s undeniable he was attracted to her.)

And, all the prostitutes that Clyde Perry talks to in the comic, they all have an experience with Franco. At some point he’d asked for all of them, and all of them are physically different from one another (I feel like that was purposeful). So, I don't think physical appearance matters to him all that much. He just wants a lady that’ll pay attention to him!! (translation: put up with him). Which is why Jenny was his favorite…not just because she was a bigger woman, but because “Jenny’s the only one who can handle him.” 

So…circling back to being petite. I don’t think Franco would care all too much. He’d still be attracted to you, so long as you give him the attention he wants and put up with his vicious mood swings. If anything, he might get a little ego-boost out of being taller than you (even if only by a little bit). He loves mommies and he loves being emasculated…but only on his terms. Being a bit smaller than he is makes it harder to feel insecure about himself. Which is what you want. An insecure Franco is a dangerous Franco,,...

Knowing how to walk in heels also gives you brownie points with Franco lol. Is it a secret he has a heel kink? Has anyone else been brave enough to talk about the fact Franco likes heels?? No clue, but i’m about to talk about it!! Sorry if you don’t like feet stuff…tis the truth. Franco likes heels! So you’d get him drooling just from that alone. Especially if you’re doing a trial in heels– pretty sure that would be the breaking point for him and he’d HAVE to kidnap you. Where the hell else is he gonna find a woman who can run across broken glass and guts in heels? Doesn’t even matter if they’re smaller heels or six-inch Louboutins, he’s impressed regardless.

Mm… I think I may have said it in a previous work, but Franco in my personal HCs speaks Italian during sex semi-naturally. He isn’t really good at being vulnerable with his feelings, even in bed, so I think it’s easier for him to just babble all the sappy stuff he’s too uncomfortable to say aloud when you can’t understand him. But…if you spoke Italian…you’d be able to understand him, even if it’s only a little bit.

And…it feels good? Weirdly enough? I think he’d initially believe it’d feel awkward all over again knowing you can understand him, but he actually would probably really enjoy it. Correct me if i’m wrong but english is a fairly straightforward language, words don’t carry the same weight that they do in other languages. Like, "I love you" in English is said fairly casually at times while “I love you” in Italian (ti amo) is solely romantic and carries a heavier weight to it.

It’s easier for him to say what he wants to say and have it carry the weight he’s trying to convey with fewer words. Which…gets a big thumbs up from il bambino lmao.

But it isn’t just that. Hearing you speak the language gets him going pretty easily. Even if you’re new to the language and all you can do is babble broken pleas for more…he still really enjoys it. So much so that yea, i think he would demand you speak it with him during sex. Like, fully won’t get you off unless you tell him what you want in Italian kinda demanding. It’s a learning opportunity! Or, an excuse to do some good ol’ fashioned orgasm denial…your pick!!

He wasn’t in a better mood when he came back. Guess you should’ve figured he wouldn’t be, you knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the trial exit in time before all the reagents went through the turnstile gate. By the time he’d gotten all the way to the fake subway, only one reagent was still lingering. Why? To throw a bottle at his head before leaving. He’d angrily retold the whole story to you while you picked the glass from his head and cleaned him up, whining about how much it hurt as if he hadn’t beaten your face into the pavement only about an hour prior. The irony of it almost made you laugh…almost. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

If you had the balls to call him out on it, you’re sure he’d tell you that this was an entirely different situation. He’d punished you, you were deserving of his poor treatment because you’d deliberately disobeyed him when he’d told you to stay put. The reagent that threw a bottle at his head only did so to be a prick…after all, he didn’t do anything wrong. He was just playing his part. Just doing what Easterman wanted him to do.

He’d have nothing but justifications, reasons for why you deserved the bruises but he didn’t deserve the cuts. The resentment felt suffocating, lying next to him in bed was even harder than it usually was. He was sleeping like a baby while you were up staring at the ceiling imagining what might happen if you just…rolled over, wrapped your fingers around his thick neck, and squeezed til something popped. You wondered if he’d try and push you off him, claw at your wrists til you bled in some frantic attempt to get you off him so he wouldn’t die beneath you…or if maybe it’d finally click for him that he deserved it too.

Your gaze slowly shifted, going from mapping out each little bump of asbestos on the popcorn ceiling to staring at the man beside you. He looked so peaceful. It felt infuriating. You watched his bare chest rise and fall with each breath, the room silent aside from the occasional snore rumbling in the back of his throat. Maybe a pillow over his face would do the trick…but then you wouldn’t be able to see the light leaving his eyes, or the fear on his face when he finally realizes he’d pushed you too far. The homicidal thoughts used to scare you, but they didn’t any more. It felt almost cathartic imagining your captor dying by your hands. Cathartic and…oddly arousing.

Maybe being in his hell hole had turned the rational part of your brain to complete mush and you were beginning to adopt his more taboo tastes, or maybe the desire to harm had always been there. Just, nobody had ever been deserving of it before him. Nobody had ever made that side of you come out…not like him. Not like he could. He made you angry, yet so– aroused. And you were finally at the end of your rope with him.

Rope. You’re up before you have the chance to talk yourself out of this, bare feet padding across the matted shag carpet floor. You try not to think about the wet spots beneath the soles of your feet as you make your way around the bed, crouching by his nightstand and slowly pulling open the drawer. Your fingers twitch. He didn’t keep much in the nightstand, just some extra shells and teeth, and a hank of rope to use when you got too squirmy. You reach in, brushing the rope for only a second before you hear him stir.

He shifts, and you stop breathing. If he caught you like this, you’d be fucked. He wouldn’t believe you if you said you were only looking for rope, likely choosing to believe you were for his Lupara to blow his head off while he slept. You didn’t want to imagine the consequences of it…didn’t even want to look at where he laid in fear he already had his eyes on you. You swear you can feel it through the darkness, his intense gaze boring into the side of your skull. You’re just about to look when- he rolls over. He wasn’t awake. You get to live to see another day.

Maybe attempting to tie up a trained hitman in his sleep was a stupid idea. You’ve seemed to have nothing but stupid ideas recently though. Might as well keep the shitshow rolling, right? You grab the rope, quietly shutting the drawer before standing and towering over him…staring at him, remembering everything in your life that’s led you up to this moment. You could back out, drop the rope and go back to sleep, maybe play into the role he so desperately wanted you to fill. But you were tired of it, tired of him, tired of being expected to lie down and accept this abuse from such a tiny pathetic man.

You feel the anger burning you from the inside out, from the pit of your belly to the tips of your fingers. He deserved to be scared. He deserved to be used, the same way he uses you. Your mind is made up, and you lunge, jumping onto the king sized bed and scrambling to grab his arms just as his eyes fly open and he realizes what you’re doing. He does exactly what you thought he would, kicking and fighting back, trying to stop you from restraining him. Maybe it’s dumb luck…or maybe he was losing on purpose, either way, you manage to get his hands tied tightly behind his back. No way to escape you, no way to get away.

“What the fuck’re you doin’?! You crazy bitch– Get off me!!” He spits curses at you, sputtering and turning pink from the anger. The shame of being restrained. You do nothing, straddling his nude lap before kicking the blankets away and grabbing his face by the cheeks.

“Shut up.” It’s simple, no shouting needed for the threat to be heard. Your voice is dripping with venom, and for a minute, it makes him pause…he looks– confused? Brows knitting together in an entirely different way, like he’d just seen a cat bark. Like he didn’t think you’d have it in you to do something like this. Your grip tightens and he hisses, but it doesn’t take long to feel it.

Beneath your ass, something twitches. You pause just the same as him, brows furrowing as you both stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. He was…hard? Already? You felt another twitch, before he tries pressing his hips up into your own, desperate for some sort of friction. Or, desperate to get a rise out of you.

It works. Soon your hand is pulling back from his face, palm flattening before you smack him square across the cheek. He grunts, bucking, and you can’t tell if it was a pained reaction or something more. “You’re fucking pathetic.” You spit, ignoring the way the warmth in your stomach spreads down to your cunt. “You’re seriously getting off to this?” Hypocritical? Maybe. But this wasn’t about you. It was about him. 

You strike him again, the same way he’d struck you. You watch him flinch, lips parted as he sucks in a few sharp breaths and tries to keep his noises to a minimum. The anger has melted away, leaving nothing more than a submissive shell behind. A shell you wanted to crush beneath the ball of your heel.

Your hips roll slowly, bare ass pushing back up against his twitching cock, teasing him as his cheek grows red and his eyes begin to well up with tears. The slaps quickly turn to punches, hands balling into fists as you hurl insult after insult at him. He was a loser, a sad pathetic short-dicked loser who can’t keep it up so he takes it out on you. A good for nothing embarrassment, whose dad should’ve killed him while he had the chance.

You don’t stop when he begins to openly cry, or when you feel something crunch beneath your fist, or even when he begins to bleed from his lip, and his cheeks begin to bruise. He never stopped for you, never gave you the decency to stop punching when you were crying like this. Why would he deserve a kindness he’s never shown you? Plus, there was something so intoxicating about this, in the way he looked at you. Looking at you like he was scared of you.

For once, the roles were reversed, and you were loving every minute. The anger, the heat in your stomach was beginning to spread lower, pulsing with each thump of your heart. Your attention shifts away from hitting him, hands moving to rest over his neck for support as you grind yourself down on his lap with breathy moans and heavy eyelids. It felt good, being in control.

His hips were bucking ever so slightly as you tightened your grip around his neck, choking him as you lift your hips to angle his cock up towards his tummy. “Does this feel good?” The venom is still there, enough to make him flinch beneath you before nodding his head with a whimper, struggling to take in air and still sobbing from the humiliation.

“I asked you a question. Are you that stupid? You can’t even reply?” You press your hips down with a bit more pressure, feeling his tip nestle right between your folds where your neglected clit was pleading for attention. With a soft moan you shift, rocking your hips side to side instead. He sputters, a few warm dribbles of precum coating your folds as his poor brain struggles to think of a response. 

“Mommy– feels..good… please– don’t stop…” He’s babbling, pathetic and small and completely at your mercy. “Mommy… oh– mommy…–” His eyes squeeze shut and his back arches up, a sob tearing from his throat as he grows desperate to regain a bit of control. You slam him back down into the mattress by his neck, all your weight pressed to his throat as your hips move just a bit faster.

The walls of the honeymoon suite echo with the wet squelch of your humping, the noise mixing with your quiet moans and his needy crying. You could feel that coil deep inside you again, tightening into a knot that squeezed desperately around nothing. It’d be too easy to ride him, too easy to use him like a glorified dildo. But as appealing as the thought sounded, you knew he’d blow his load long before you’d ever get the chance to.

So, you stop abruptly, moving off his lap and leaving him hiccuping at the loss. You were gonna fuck his face like how he’d fucked yours.

“Don’t fucking bite me.” You hiss, and he just nods. He didn’t wanna risk you pulling away and ending things early while his balls were still aching between his thighs. With an awkward shuffle you scoot up Franco’s restrained body, knees on either side of his oversized head as you hover your cunt above his face. His breath is hot, warm, and it really doesn’t take any coaxing for you to sit yourself down and get comfortable. The moment your pussy is smushed to his mouth, he’s eating you out like you’re his last meal. A sharp moan leaves your lips, head falling back as your thighs begin to tremble. His tongue presses flat to your labia, tasting you, rubbing against your entrance before making its way up to your clit. He alternates sucking and circling the bud with his tongue, and you move one hand to grip at his messy blond hair.

“Does that taste good…? Huh?... tasting yourself on my pussy?” You knew he can’t answer but the grunt you get from his full mouth is more than enough to tell you he’s in heaven. You grip the tufts of blond between your fingers, panting harder as your hips begin to rock. He holds his tongue flat, teary eyes looking up at you from under your mound, admiring just how pretty you look like this. Taking what you want from him like this.

The room suddenly feels much hotter than before, your skin growing tacky from the sweat, coaxing you into taking off your pajama shirt much to Franco’s delight. You hear the sound he makes, the vibration of his grunts making your eyes roll back into your skull. He was hypnotized…watching your tits bounce as you ride his face, his cock sitting neglected between his thighs. He redoubles his efforts, lapping at your folds, focusing on your clit in a desperate attempt to get you to cum. A desperate attempt to please you in hopes you’ll throw him a bone and fuck him properly.

It works. Of course it does. He’s skilled with his tongue, he barely has to try to get you worked up like this. But, it isn’t only that. It’s the sight of him that does it. You feel that coil finally begin to unravel, abs clenching as you gasp and cry. It hits hard, everything crashing down around you as your vision begins to blur and all you can feel is his tongue lapping up the juices squirting from your cunt. Your hands fly for the headboard, gripping the tufted wood so hard you’re sure it’ll snap beneath your grip as you grind and hump Franco’s mouth frantically, trying to ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

When your pace finally slows, and you lift yourself up…the man beneath you is a complete mess. A string of slick connects your clit to his tongue, the juices on his chin glimmering in the low light. He pants, just as out of breath as you, eyes wide and pleading. He doesn’t even have to say it for you to know what he wants. And, honestly, in the haze of need it’s what you want too.

“...You wanna fuck me?” You murmur, lips curling into a tired smile. A cruel smile. “Or…you want me to fuck you? Is that it?” He nods, licking the juices from his chin as you move to sit back on his chest.

“Please…mommy- My cock is fuckin’ killing me…” You hum at his plea, acknowledging it but not giving a response. His cock was killing him? Good. Maybe he’d think twice next time before blue balling you. Your head turns to look over your shoulder…and sure enough, he’s still hard.

“Wow. Didn’t think you could keep it up this long. Usually it goes away after the first five minutes.” The insult stings and you hear him grumble, but he doesn’t argue or insult you back, too afraid of what might happen if he makes you mad. His dick does give a little twitch though, bobbing up against his belly, a few tiny dribbles of precum coating the little happy trail beneath his navel.

“Please…please mommy- I’ve been a good boy mommy. Please-” He lays the pleas on thick, squirming his hips for some sort of relief. You just hum again, as if your mind wasn’t made up yet. He whines at that, the needy sound going straight to your core. “Please fuck me- God- Please just fuck me already!!” 

You say nothing as you shimmy back down to straddle his lap, watching how his breathing gets shorter knowing he’s finally gonna get what he needs. You grab at his shaft, squeezing your fingers around the thick length, before lining it up against your weeping entrance and pushing yourself down. You grunt right along with him. 

You feel the stretch, your walls being pulled apart by his girthy cock in a way that has your toes curling against the bed sheets. Despite how wet you are, it still takes your pussy a bit of coaxing to help you get all the way down, smushing your pelvis to his own as you feel him twitching right up against your g-spot. You always seem to underestimate him…his cock was average, in every sense of the word. But the girth? The girth is always what gets you.

“Fuck…” You sigh, and he can’t help but crack a shit-eating grin at your blissed out face.

“You haven’t even moved an’ you’re already fucked out, huh doll?” He grumbles, and your hand promptly finds his mouth to cover it. You didn’t need to hear his goading right now. Stroking his own ego wasn’t gonna help you cum.

You rock your hips slowly, the same pace as before when you’d only been grinding against one another. He moans into your palm, and you moan out loud. It felt heavenly, everything still tingly from your previous orgasm as you ride him. Each nudge deep inside you has you seeing stars, clamping down around him and squeezing just as his own eyes begin to roll back.

You wanna take this slow, draw it out a bit more, torture him til he’s crying again. But you wanna cum. You want him to cum inside you.

“Are you close?” You pant out, shifting once again to put your feet flat on the bed. The moment you shift to bouncing, he’s completely gone. You never thought it’d be possible to see Franco look like this, like he was the one getting his guts rearranged instead of you. He just nods, eyelids fluttering as his muffled cries of bliss vibrate against your palm. “Gonna– fuck… gonna cum in me? Gonna breed your mommy’s pussy?”

You feel him throb extra hard at that, and it makes you grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you…? You’d like it if I let you breed me…” You don’t take your hand off his mouth. You don’t need to. His bucking to meet your bounces tells you everything.

“Fuck…Gonna- let you knock me up with this pathetic dick…” You grumble, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. The coil was tightening again, your breathing picking up as you felt yourself getting ready to fall over the edge. And just when you’re about to cum, he does first.

He spasms beneath you, tears welling up in his eyes again from the overstimulation as you feel him throbbing rhythmically deep inside your pussy. Warmth begins to bloom and spread, ropes of sperm coating your gooey walls, making a little squish sound when you push your hips back down to his own and force him as deep as possible.

You moaning grows breathy and you’re following right behind, cumming for a second time with a squeak and a shutter. It's less intense, doesn’t last as long, but it still feels just as good massaging and milking the cum from his balls. 

By the time you’re lifting your hips and pulling your hand from his mouth, you’re both a complete mess down there. Sticky, oozing cum, sweaty and hot. A shower sounded nice… the ensuite was the only place that had running water, and even if you had to wash yourself with those crappy little motel soaps, it was still better than nothing.

“Mn. I’m gonna go clean up, alright?” You give him a little smile, patting his cheek before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed to get up.

“You– wait what? You’re just gonna fuckin’ leave me here?!” He shouts at you. Right back to his prickly self…that didn’t take him very long. He thrashes against the mattress as you stand on wobbly legs, cursing at you the entire time. “You fuckin’ cunt! Untie me!! My arms are killin’ me here! You can’t just leave me like this!!” 

“Oh. But I can.” You purr. Cruel? Yeah. Funny? Also yeah. “Have fun being tied up.” You snicker before padding across the room to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and drowning out the sound of his angry shouting. You’d probably be dealing with a very angry Franco later…but, for now, the revenge was worth it.