#Even Santiago he was turned in a moment of fear

[pacipinka]

*taps mic* is this thing on? Yeah okay so every vampire in the vampire chronicles is turned at critical a moment in their lives and beyond just the body they are in when they are turned, their mentality stays at that standstill for their entire immortality, Lestat was turned against his will, he was clinging onto Magnus begging him to be freed, so he’s constantly seeking freedom and only finding loneliness and thus turning back to people again and again, however he can’t STAND being told what to do, since he desires agency in his life so desperately, Armand was turned after years and years of abuse and lack of control but such a desire for genuine love, by a man he ‘loved’ so wholly who he felt was barring his love from him, he needs control in his life, he needs a ‘master’ but he does not desire it, it does not fulfill him, he is trapped in a room but the door is unlocked! Louis was mourning his brother, he felt like an utter failure and so he’s always seeking family, seeking people he can care for, he can coddle, he can prove he is good too, but he loves people who either cannot stand coddeling and need a sense of looseness to live (Lestat) or people who grow out of coddling who prove to Louis he will always fail the people he loves (Claudia), Claudias turning, in many MANY ways mirrors lestats in that it was against her will, she was stolen from her home, and in her immortality she desires freedom but unlike Lestat does not have the agency/ form to get it, she will always be small, she will always be looked down on, even by Lestat who cannot deny how much she is just like him *taps mic* ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!! NONE OF THEM CAN BREAK THE CYCLE!!! TO BREAK IT WOULD BE TO UNDO THE VERY FIBER OF THEIR IMMORTAL SELVES!! THE CYCLE IS THE BLOOD THEY DRINK IT IS THE HEART IN THEIR CHEST AND IT ROLLS AND ROLLS DOWN THE MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS OF THEIR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AND IT CAN NEVER BE STOPPED BECAUSE THEY WILL NEVER STOP LOVING EACH OTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!

[theworldsownoptimist]

Armand is already setting himself up as a Judas figure in the sense that he was a coward who failed his beloved God in a moment of weakness. It's "human" failing, one that he can admit to whilst still underlining his vulnerability. I was laughing about Louis and Armand having a Judas painting in their bedroom last month, but it makes sense that it would be so prominent because that's the narrative that's dominated their marriage. But when you start to look at the story being presented to us (and with prior knowledge from the books) it quickly falls apart.

He didn't read the minds of the coven because he was distracted, but he'd know if Claudia and Louis eavesdropped on his conversation with Madeleine. Santiago is plotting right in front of him and doing a bad job of hiding it, but he doesn't notice despite picking up on Claudia laughing. He feared the coven would kill him even though we've already seen him knock them all out without breaking a sweat. He's not present at Madeleine's turning because he disproves, but this is also a convenient way to cover his own back. He claims to need protection from Daniel and his questions after we watched him throw him around like a ragdoll in last week's flashback. All of the excuses he gives go back to emphasising his self-described weakness. He's just a poor, unworthy disciple who made an awful mistake he has to atone for. The elephant in the room isn't that Armand is a Judas figure, but that he was far too involved and far too powerful to convincingly inhabit that role.

[creative-heart]

"In the arms of love"| Enzo Vogrincic

Lucia’s notes: This One Shot was fueled by my lovely @lastflowrr who said she heard the song “Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby” by Cigarettes after sex and wanted to see it in writing. So here goes nothing. I hope you enjoy it, especially my girl Lucy. I also suggest you listen to the song while reading this. 😘😘

+18 MDNI: Please stop reading after the cut if you don't want to read the smut part.

Content Warning: Mention of past relationship trauma, Sex scene, a short mention of heavy social drinking, some degrading name calling.

Word Count: 1.2k

Enzo knew from the moment you two got together for the first time, that getting you to overcome your fears and traumas wouldn’t be easy and he had been trying for the past three years to help you get past what you had lived through. The dark-haired man had to admit, that he liked the little dynamic you had established for yourselves, he didn’t mind being a little bit of a dominant person when it came to you and apparently, it helped you stay centered.

When he saw the way you were drinking at the party in Mati’s house, he knew he needed to tread lightly with you or it could go southways. So he approaches you from behind wrapping his long arms around the middle of your body and whispers “Be careful now baby girl, if you get too drunk I won’t be able to fuck you when we get back, and then I will have to punish you won’t I?” and as soon as you hear those words coming from his lips you can feel your skin filling up with goosebumps, and even through the fog of your brain courtesy of the alcohol you’ve consumed already you are now burning with the anticipation his words brought into the mix. You know full well that Enzo means what he said and so you nod softly before turning around and looking up into his now dark brown eyes biting your lips “I’ll be good, I promise”. The only problem with this is, that you kind of enjoy it when he punishes you because you know he would never actually hurt you, as he’s repeated to you tirelessly, nothing’s gonna hurt you, as long as you’re with him, you’ll be just fine; you know this is true, you trust this man with your life.

When you walk away from his embrace, you’ve already devised a plan for how you will push his buttons and test how serious he is about the punishing part. The first step of this plan is locating the guy you know is going to drive him the craziest you flirt with; you slowly scan the room until you find your target, sweet Santi is sitting on the couch having a beer and you make your way to him, your hips swaying honestly a little more than they should, you sit down next to him your leg crossed in a way your knees are brushing slightly. “Hi Santi, did you do something different to your hair? it looks exceptionally good tonight” You smile playfully playing with his blonde curls. You can already see two things happening, first, Santiago’s already blushing like crazy, and second, you can feel Enzo’s glare drilling into you from across the room.

Of course, it doesn’t take more than 5 minutes for your boyfriend to make his way to you and bend down to talk to you at a volume he knows no one else will hear above the blasting music “What did I say about behaving baby? now we’re gonna have to go home and I’ll have to do something about this” You can already hear the lust filling his voice and you can’t help but bite your lip looking up at him, you can’t help it, you love being a bit of a brat sometimes. Even if you know this may come at a price.

As soon as you walk into the apartment your back is against the wall and your hands are up and out of the way held by one of Enzo’s big hands, the other resting on your hips squeezing just enough to make you feel it. “You enjoy making me jealous by flirting with my friends, don’t you princess?” It’s the tone of his voice matched with the sweetness of the pet names he uses which makes you weak at the knees, your breath hitching at the back of your throat as you nod softly looking at him through your lashes. “No no, use your words, baby girl, you know I like hearing your voice”. Just as you’re about to talk back you feel his right knee pressed up gently against your center and through your opened mouth instead of words comes a whiny, needy moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your eyelids close you feel the grip of his hand on your hip tightening and you know that  to be your final warning so you force the words out of your mouth “Yes Enzo, I enjoy it” you say barely above a whisper. 

Just as you finish saying that Enzo picks you up tossing you firmly yet gently over his shoulder walking straight to your bedroom “well then… I guess that means there’s no orgasm for you tonight then, that’s what you get for being a little slut” He puts you down on the bed taking your clothes off before folding them neatly on the chair beside your bed. “Come on babyyy” you whine aching for some release between your legs, when he catches you  through the corner of his eye he turns his head clicking his tongue admonishingly shaking his head. Once you’re both in your underwear he grabs your legs behind your knees bringing you to the edge of the bed and without breaking eye contact with you kneels down between your legs “now… you know not to flirt with my friends, it’s not respectful to me” he says in his low sultry voice in between kisses up your inner thighs just before depositing the last one right on your already pulsating nub. When you feel his mouth making contact with your already slick aching center you close your eyes a loud moan flowing from your lip before you can even stop it digging your nails on the heels of your hands leaving crescent shapes on them knowing better than to tug at your boyfriend’s hair.

Enzo might enjoy this a little bit too much if he’s honest with himself, but there’s something about having you like that, laying on the bed and at the mercy of his skillful fingers and mouth begging for some release that just drives him crazy. He’s been at this for almost an hour now, his fingers moving in and out of your dripping center which so lusciously tightens around them as he accompanies each thrust of his digits with alternating sucking and lapping at your throbbing core and once more when he feels your breath hitching in the back of your throat and you trying to move your hips into him trying to look some release and pulls away before you can get the so coveted release you so much desire. As he gets back up to his full height he looks at you seeing how distraught you look and smiles softly “Come on babygirl, let’s get you into the shower, a nice warm soothing shower to get you better”.

Before you can protest he’s disappeared into the bathroom running the water, once  he’s back by the bed Enzo  picks you up in his arms cradling you against his chest and walks to the shower standing under the water gently placing you down as he proceeds to wash your hair and body making sure to give you a soothing massage until he feels you relax under his touch. It's become a habit now, after one of these sessions of yours, he likes taking care and pampering you, he knows sometimes he can get a bit taken away in the situation and more than anything, he wants you to remember nothing’s gonna hurt you as long as you’re with him.

Lucia's notes: I relly hope you enjoyed this little one shot, as usual, reqs are still open for a bit longer until I get in the mood to start my new series.

Taglist: @madame-fear @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

[soulofapatrick]

Party Favours - Raphael Santiago x female reader 

Summary: One of Magnus’ parties leads to the unexpected 

Words: 1.8k 

Warnings: beginnings of a panic attack 

Y/N’s POV

Alec’s dragging me through the door of Magnus’ apartment, his grip firm but gentle, drawing a sigh of resignation from me. I don’t put up much of a fight, not because I particularly enjoy parties, but because I love Alec so much. 

He’s always been there for me, a constant presence in my life. Two years older than me, he’s not just a brother figure, but also a father figure in many ways. His protective instincts kick in whenever he senses my hesitation or reluctance. 

I squeeze his hand in reassurance, offering a small smile as we step into the vibrant chaos of the loft. The music pounds in my ears, the chatter of voices blending into a dizzying hum. Downwards and Shadowhunters mingle together, their differences monetarily forgotten in the revelry. 

Alec leads me further into the room, his expression a mixture of determination and excitement. I follow along dutifully, trusting him to guide me through the sea of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensations. Despite  my reservations, there's a part of me that's grateful for Alec's insistence. He knows how much these gatherings mean to Magnus, how important it is for us to show our support for him.

We weave through the crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces – Izzy's infectious laughter, Jace's cocky grin, Magnus' sparkling eyes. They all seem to be in their element, revelling in the festivities with a sense of abandon I can't quite muster. But, Alec is by my side, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. And for that, I am grateful. With him beside me, I know I can face whatever the night may bring, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone. 

As we navigate through the crowd, Magnus slinks over with the grace of a cat, his eyes alight with mischief as he greets us. His magnetic presence draws attention wherever he goes, and tonight is no exception. 

“Ah Alec, my dear boy,” Magnus purrs, his voice laced with amusement, “Might I steal you away for a moment? There's someone I simply must introduce you to.”

Alec glances at me, silently seeking my approval. I offer him a reassuring smile, nodding my consent. Magnus and Alec share a unique bond, one that transcends mere friendship, and I would never dream of standing in the way of that.

“Of course , Magnus," Alec replies, turning to me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "I'll be back soon.”

As Magnus leads Alec away with a flourish, a pang of loneliness tugs at my heart. I watch them disappear into the crowd, feeling a twinge of envy for the easy camaraderie they share. But I quickly push aside those feelings, reminding myself that Alec deserves to enjoy himself, especially in the company of someone as captivating as Magnus.

Alone now, I shift uncomfortably in the too-short dress Izzy insisted I wear. The fabric clings to my skin like a second layer, its tightness making each breath feel constricted. The pulsating energy of the party presses in on me from all sides, overwhelming my senses with a cacophony of noise and movement. 

As the minutes tick by, the intensity of the crowd becomes almost suffocating. Conversations blend into an indistinguishable buzz, laughter rings in my ears like chimes in a storm, and the kaleidoscope of colours and faces whirl around me in a dizzying blur.

Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my consciousness, a cold knot of fear tightening in my chest. I feel like I'm drowning in the sea of people, struggling to keep my head above water as I desperately search for an escape. With trembling hands, I push my way through the throng, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the tide of bodies. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm matching the pulse of the music that reverberates through the loft. 

Just when I feel like I can��t take another moment of the overwhelming chaos, an icy grip clamps around my wrist, drawing me sharply from the crowd and into the hallways with lightning speed. Instinctively, I try to wrench my hand free, my heart hammering in my chest as I spin around to confront my captor. 

But before I can even form a coherent thought, I find myself face to face with Raphael Santiago, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that takes my breath away. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, washing away the fear and panic that had threatened to consume me only moments before. 

“Raphael,” I gasp, my voice barely more than a whisper as I practically collapse into his solid chest, seeking refuge in the safety of his embrace. 

His arms wrap around me instinctively, holding me close as if to shield me from the chaos of the world outside. For a long moment we stand there together in the quiet stillness of the hallway, the only sound the slightly muffled thumping music in the next room. 

Feeling a sense of calm wash over me in Raphael's embrace, I let out a shaky breath, allowing myself to relax for the first time since arriving at the party. With his steady presence by my side, the overwhelming panic begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through me like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

As the tension slowly melts away, Raphael gently guides me towards the spare room I had been heading towards earlier. With each step, I feel a sense of gratitude welling up inside me, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. 

But as we step into the dimly lit room, my cheeks flush with embarrassment when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The black dress Izzy had insisted I wear barely reaches past my ass, leaving little to the imagination, while the plunging neckline barely covers my cleavage. Paired with the knee-high boots that add a significant amount of height to my frame, I can't help but feel exposed and vulnerable. 

I tug self-consciously at the hem of the dress, trying in vain to cover a little more skin. I can feel Raphael’s eyes on me, his gaze warm with amusement as he takes in my discomfort.

“You look beautiful Birdie,” He murmurs, using the nickname he gave me the first time he met me, his voice soft but sincere as he steps up behind me, eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror. 

His hands cold as ice, settle on my hips, their touch sending a shockwave of awareness through me. There’s an eerie chill to his fingertips, a stark reminder of his undead nature, as they trace delicate patterns on my skin. When his lips press against my jugular, there’s no warmth, only what should be the unsettling sensation of death brushing against my skin but it’s Raphael. My pulse jumps beneath his touch, his lips curving into a smirk against my neck. 

Flushed with heat, I feel a rush of flustered embarrassment washing over me. It’s not just Raphael’s proximity that sets my heart racing, but the realisation of the feelings I've harboured for him for so long. Despite the impossibility of it all, the boundaries that separate our worlds, I've never been able to shake the ache in my chest whenever he's near. Shadowhunters can’t date downworlders and the law is the law but sometimes laws have to be broken. Izzy’s been sleeping with Meliorn…

As I stand there, lost in the intensity of Raphael's gaze, my thoughts drift to Alec and Magnus, two souls who could be so happy together if not for the unjust laws that govern our world. The bitterness of the truth sends a surge of frustration through me, and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. 

“Fuck this…” I mutter, my voice laced with defiance as I spin around in Raphael's grip, determination burning in my eyes. 

Before he can react, I grab his face with both hands, pulling him into a kiss I've wanted for so long. His initial surprise is evident, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into the kiss with a raw, unbridled passion. For a moment, time seems to stand still as our lips meet, the world fading away around us as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment. His kiss is electrifying, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through me as I lose myself in the sensation of his touch.

Suddenly, I feel myself falling, the sensation of weightlessness overwhelming me as I land on the bed with a soft thud. Raphael hovers over me, his eyes dark with desire as he leans down to capture my lips once more. His kiss is fierce and possessive, a silent declaration of the longing we've both denied for so long. In that moment, as our bodies entwine in a tangle of limbs and desire, I know that there's no turning back. 

As our lips remain locked in a fervent embrace, Raphael's kiss becomes a whirlwind of passion and longing. Every brush of his lips against mine sends sparks flying, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. But just as I feel myself becoming lost in the intensity of the moment, he breaks the kiss, allowing me to catch my breath.

I inhale deeply, the rush of air filling my lungs as I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes, dark with desire, bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. And in that moment, as our bodies remain entwined on the bed, I realise just how long he's been waiting for this.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "But I needed to wait for you to make the first move.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning and unspoken desire. In the silence that follows, I feel a surge of warmth spreading through me, knowing that he's waited for me all this time, just as I've waited for him.

With a shaky breath, I reach up to trace the contours of his face, my fingers trembling with anticipation. His gaze softens at my touch, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. 

“Better late than never.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[the-little-ewok]

I've never done a request before! Could you do tummy kisses with a plus size reader? I'm always down for nsfw but you decide where it goes! Please and thank you 😁

- @mandinlore

Every inch of you

Santiago Garcia X Plus size F!Reader

Rating : E / 18+

Word count : 2300 (ish)

Warnings : Reader is plus size, Explicit, Oral (f- receiving), lack of body confidence, insecurities, love bites, one actual bite, quick fingering, soft Santi being soft. And I do mean soft. (Yea it's cliché. I have no regrets)

Prompt/Summary : Tummy kisses/ Santiago helps show you how perfect you are

A/N : Keep the prompts short, she says, ease yourself back into writing she says…. Hahahaha enjoy your 2k ;) I got carried away. @mandinlore

Also thank you for requesting plus size! As a curvy girl myself, I absolutely loved writing this!

Side note - if anyone (who has prompts outstanding or wants to send new requests) wants a specific reader (plus size, short girl, specific job etc) please don't feel shy about asking! I'll do my best to write it!

"Cariño, you gotta tell me what's wrong? We can take things slow if that's what you want. You already know you're in control here. But, is something else wrong?" Santi sighs, sitting back on the couch after you pushed him away, yet again, before things could go too far. You couldn't blame his reaction, not after you had been hot and cold for weeks now.

Everytime he had tried to take things further, into anything that involves you removing clothing, you had made excuses to stop. He'd always backed off without complaint, reassuring you that he'll wait until you're ready, but you know he's starting to suspect there's more that you're hiding. God damn over observant Santiago Garcia. His military training served him too well in that.

The truth was, it wasn't that you didn't want things to go too far. In fact, you wanted very much to have his body pressed up against yours, his mouth against your skin, his cock buried deep inside you.

But for that to happen he had to see your body. And that was what scared you the most.

"Hey." His voice, and his fingers gripping your chin, turning your face to force you to look at him, rips you from your thoughts.

Meeting his questioning gaze you're struck, and not for the first time, by how pretty he is. Especially now — hair tousled by your fingers, eyes bright with lust, lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

It makes you want to drag him back down onto the couch and lose yourself in his kisses once more.

"Tell me where your head is at," he pleads, his gaze soft. "Whatever it is, we can talk about it.

"I don't want to take it slow," you whisper, swallowing hard, sliding your vision away from him, even as he holds your face. You focus your eyes on the coffee table, the empty glasses and half eaten snacks, the movie still playing quietly in the background. You had stopped watching some time ago when you caught him watching you more than the film.

"There's a but coming, right?" Santi prompts when you lapse into silence.

"It's just…"

It's just I don't want you to be disappointed.

It's just I don't look like your exes.

It's just I don't think you'll want me.

You trail off, struggling to find the words to explain your fears.

"It's just, what?" Santi presses, his tone still gentle as ever.

"Idontwantyoutoseeme," you mumble out quickly, flicking your eyes back to him for a split second before you look away again.

Santi lets out a sigh, although it's not one of impatience, or disappointment. It sounds more like he might be… relieved.

"That's what you're worried about? Jesus, you scared me." He gives a small chuckle, shaking his head as he takes your face in both his hands, which forces your gaze back to his. For a long moment, he studies you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You are beautiful," he states simply before his hands drop to your waist and he shifts, leaning over you and guiding you back to lie down against the couch, once more taking up his position over you, nestling himself between your thighs.

"Have you noticed what you do to me?" He asks, hammering home his point by pressing the bulge in his pants up against your core, making you gasp, despite the anxiety coiled tight in your stomach.

"With my clothes on maybe," you mumble, unable to quiet the vicious thoughts still seeping through.

"I want to see you. I want to see all of you. You don't have to hide from me," he whispers against the shell of your ear, dipping his head to place a trail of kisses down your neck.

"I don't think you'll like what you see." Even as the fear builds you can't stop the moan that steals its way from your lips as he seals his lips against your neck, sucking a mark there.

"Can I be the judge of that?" He asks, leaning up on his arms to look at you. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Your response comes with no hesitation. You don't even have to think about it. You do, wholeheartedly, entirely, trust him. He's done more than enough to earn that trust from you.

"I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want to do, but please trust me when I say I will love every inch of you."

The sincerity in his voice makes tears prick your eyes.

You swallow hard, still arguing with the voice in the back of your mind that tells you you aren't good enough for him, that he won't want you.

Santiago waits patiently while you muddle through your thoughts.

After a long moment, what feels like a millennia of debating, you give him a nod, and watch his smile transform into one of absolute pride.

"If you're uncomfortable at any time, stop me, okay?" He requests, and you nod again, not trusting your voice not to waiver if you answered.

He captures your lips once more in a long, slow, passionate kiss. His tongue mapping out every corner of your mouth, sliding along yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, keeping you breathless.

This time when his hands begin to tug the hem of your shirt up, you don't stop him.

He unpeels each layer of your clothes carefully, waiting for you to relax before he moves on to the next, almost maddeningly slow in his actions. Still, you appreciate his patience.

When you're finally fully bared, what feels like an age later, he sits back, dropping your panties to the floor as his eyes roam the flesh laid out before him.

You feel sick, dizzy with anxiety, waiting for him to realise how bad you look, how much he doesn't want you, to make excuses for you to leave.

Santiago does none of those things.

Instead, he lets out a low groan.

"Shit, you are incredible."

You could almost think he was lying, just to make you feel better, but as you look up at him, his eyes hooded, pupils blown wide, licking his lips like you were a meal he's been waiting all day for, you could actually kid yourself into believing him.

You squirm under his unwavering gaze, your hands automatically going to cover your stomach, twisting away from him.

Santi`s eyebrows pull together in a deep frown, shaking his head.

"Don't do that. Don't ever do that again. Not with me," he scolds you softly as he pries your hands away from your body, pinning them down to the couch.

Leaning over you he captures your lips, his kisses tender and loving. His hands wander your body slowly, mapping each curve as he grinds himself against your core. Each slow roll of his hips pushes the zipper of his jeans up against your clit, drawing muffled moans from your lips. Each sound you make he swallows as though they were a vintage wine, something to be savoured.

"Want to make you feel good," he slurs, finally giving you a moment to breathe. "Can I make you feel good?"

Still unable to form words, you nod, probably a little too enthusiastically, causing Santi's eyes to crinkle as he grins.

"Yeah?" He confirms, moving his kisses down to your breasts, peppering them with soft brushes of his lips. "Baby gonna be good and let me kiss her all over?"

You can feel the slick wetness pooling between your legs, the heat blazing across your skin, the blood roaring in your ears, and the ever present anxiety nipping at your thoughts, a constant companion which never seems to quiet.

Well, that is until Santi bites your nipple, turning your yelp at the sharp pain, into a moan as he soothes it with his tongue.

After that, all your thoughts, good and bad, begin to get a little hazy.

"Mmmm I like that noise," he hums, lathering your other breast with the same attention, making you struggle to catch your breath with the pleasure he was already wringing from you.

As his kisses trail lower, his lips pressing against the plush of your stomach, you can't help but try to curl in on yourself, trying to hide as much as you can in the small space of the couch.

It's a pointless endeavour. Santi's mouth pays particular attention to every part you try to twist away, or subtly hide as you move your arms.

He spends an age trailing soft kisses all the way across your stomach, before working his way back to your naval, and then down, leaving tiny love bites in his wake. A trail marking you as his over all the places you hate, before he stops, head between your already trembling thighs, looking up at you.

When your eyes meet his, he grins before he dips his head, holding your gaze as he thrusts his tongue deep inside you.

Your head slams back against the arm of the couch, your eyes squeezing shut, the image of his face buried in your pussy blazing behind your eyelids. You choke back a moan as his tongue loops up around your clit, before back down to taste you again.

"Keep making noises like that and we're going to have a problem," he warns, warm breath fanning out across your already heated skin, making you squirm with the stimulation.

You have no idea what problem he's talking about, and as his tongue slides through your folds, up to circle your clit a second time, you really couldn't care less about it either.

Your back arches as you chase the warm pleasure of his mouth, a groan of his name falling from your lips. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts on your pussy like a starved man.

Curses and praises fall freely from your lips, accompanied by whimpers and moans as he expertly coaxes you closer and closer to the edge, all your anxieties silenced by the overwhelming pleasure that stops you from concentrating on anything else.

Santi groans, a noise that vibrates through your entire core, and pushes you dangerously close to the edge. When one of his hands disappears from your thigh, you can't help but open your eyes to glance down at him, your breath catching.

His eyes are closed, a look of pure bliss you haven't seen before on his face, as his tongue laps languidly at your slick cunt, while he palms his hard cock through his pants.

You throw your head back once more with a whine, unable to continue to watch him as he chooses that moment to seal his lips over your clit and suck, hard.

The vision of him, the overwhelming pleasure, the heat of his mouth, is too much, and you come undone with a strangled cry, your body trembling, and your vision going white as the pleasure crests and crashes over you.

Even through the roaring noise of blood in your ears, and the way your orgasm makes your mind fuzzy, you still catch the tail end of Santiago's gasped curse, followed by a low, broken groan. You can't help but think it sounds suspiciously like….

You don't even get to fully finish the thought before your body shudders in desire. That couldn't be the case when you haven't even touched him.

Then again the look on his face before…

When you can finally feel your limbs again you lean up on your elbows to look down your body at him, as he, somewhat awkwardly, sits back on his heels, a wet patch blooming out on his pants.

"Santi…did you…?" You swallow, trailing off as he looks somewhat abashed.

"Um, yeah," he admits, an unmistakable blush forming on his cheeks.

"Because of….me?" You ask quietly, feeling a strange sense of pride that, even as you are, you were able to do that to him.

"Oh, enjoying this, are we?" Santi laughs teasingly, relaxing a little when he sees your wide eyed surprise and the smile you're trying to bite down.

Putting his arms either side of you, he cages you in, as he runs his nose up the length of your neck. Even the lightest of touches makes your body shiver with desire.

"Maybe…a bit," you admit, a little distractedly as he places a kiss below your ear, pressing his body against yours, clearly knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

"Good," he mumbles into your skin. "Although next time I cum I want to be buried inside you."

He whispers it so sinfully low in your ear, you swear you could cum again just from his words.

Your breath catches and you can feel Santiago's smug smile against your neck, where he's still busy pressing soft kisses.

"I'm a little bit disappointed though," you manage to swallow out, trying to ignore the way his hand is skimming across your sweat damp skin, down the outside of your thigh, before slowly working its way back up.

Santi pulls back to look at you so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't put his back out.

"Disappointed?"

You can't quite tell if it's outrage or concern, that laces his tone, but whichever it is, you can't stop the laugh that bubbles up and out of your mouth, only making him frown more deeply.

"Cariño," he starts, stopping when you put a hand over his mouth to interrupt him.

"I'm disappointed I didn't get to see you."

It takes a moment for him to catch up, still clearly trying to work out what he has done wrong to disappoint you, but the moment it clicks his face transforms into a wolfish grin.

"Well, give me half an hour and I'll show you anything you want," he winks. "For now I guess I'll go back to admiring you." His eyes flicker once more down your body, surveying you like prey.

It makes your pussy clench.

"You really mean it don't you?" You whisper as he tilts his head in question. "You do like me the way I am?"

"I really mean it," he confirms seriously, "you are perfect."

He doesn't give you much time to think too hard about his confirmation, or really anything at all. Leaning back into you he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, clearly working on making you forget your own name.

You wrap one hand around the back of his neck, holding him to you as the other slips down his back to playfully squeeze his ass, drawing a low growl from the man above you.

Santiago is quick enough to get his revenge, slipping a hand between your bodies to brush his fingers against your clit.

You let out a gasp, and shudder with the over stimulation, as his fingers draw tight circles against your sensitive nub.

"You said half an hour," you practically whimper, unable to stop your hips canting up against his hand.

"For me. I didn't say you get a break." He smirks, slipping a finger into your wet heat, drawing another broken sound from you. "I want you to make those pretty sounds for me again… and again… and again."

-------------

If you enjoyed this please, please, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Reblogs and feedback are so important to content creators. It keeps us creating!

Special thank you to my patient, most lovely beta, who puts up with every smutty Santi thought that enters my brain @beldroxramscal

I no longer run a taglist. If you are 18+ please follow my blog and check the master list for updates. More fics are coming 👀

[volterran-wine]

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ: “ I don’t have anything specific in find but I need more Santiago headcanons Please -🔮”

It it always a joy to receive requests for our dear Santiago. Though his popularity has grown slightly on my blog, he is far from the most popular man in the palazzo. Though, I hope my continued peddling of piping hot Santiago content will convert the masses. I know this request took a good while to get to you dear CrystalBall!Anon, but I hope it greets you well.

!𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! None.

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐎

Now, where do you even begin in order to explain a vampire like Santiago in the most appropriate manner. If I were to use a single word it would be “Enigma”, it is the only one that I can fully agree with.

In a sense, he is one of the secret “weapons” among The Volturi. Not like Jane & Alec, but in the sense that very few vampires outside the coven takes him seriously besides the general respect vampires have for guards. Santiago comes off as a very friendly and jovial type, he does not particularly flaunt his smarts or expertise, because that does not benefit him in the long run. All of this to keep one thing shrouded in mystery; Santiago is a mighty good fighter. There are few ungifted vampires that can take him in hand to hand combat, the ones in the Palazzo being Felix, Caius and Marcus. In a similar vein that Afton (Santiago’s unofficial official best friend.) operates, Santiago has ensured that he almost always have the upper hand. Nobody sees an underdog coming after all.

I have previously spoken of how Vampires in my worldbuilding do not all sparkle in the traditional sense, it is more like a glow and luminescence that is uniquie to every individual depending a lot on what ethnicity and race that they are, and the paritcular strain of venom that ends up turning them. Santiago happens to glow like the most beautiful bronze statue you can imagine, with a tint of green if the light hits him correctly. It is a sight many have marvelled at. 

Santiago speaks five languages; Portuguese, Spanish, English, Italian and Latin (most of it through Caius’ cursing during drills).

At the moment he has the second most cluttered room in the palazzo, he only loses out to Alec who is eternally a thirteen year old boy in many regards. Demetri and Santiago are in fact the same level of messy but the tracker claims it is an aesthetic and blames part of it on the cats that frequent his room. Santiago is not convinced.

A fun fact is that Santiago is the only person in the coven who has an inkling of what chocolate tastes like. Import of cacao to Europe did not occur until 1500 AD or so, a time when all Volturi members had already been immortal for a good while. 

One time Santiago and Afton was sent out on a mission together to spy on a coven that opposed The Volturi to some extent. The pair were gone for quite a few days, Demetri kept reassuring his masters that the two were still well and alive despite being in the enemies camp. Two days later Santiago would return with two of the opposing covens members as recruits for the lower guard. He had managed to befriend them and had the coven stand down. Ever since he has been part of the vampires who get sent in if The Volturi has to calm a situation down peacefully when fear of exposure is imminent. 

Santiago is the fifth tallest vampire behind Felix, Afton, Marcus and Caius. Though Afton is a fair bit taller than him, he could bring the vampire to the ground with his eyes closed.

Santiago is the only coven member who has had his head ripped off and re-attached again. It was a surreal experience he is not fond of talking about. 

[nalyra-dreaming]

With Ben Daniels' comment about Louis and Armand it reminded me that in the book Santiago goes so far as to say that he liked or felt attracted to Louis

Does he now?

In the scene where he says he "likes" Louis he tries to get him to tell him Lestat's name, because he knows something is afoot.

“But then a voice came softly to me on the air, too faint for mortals: ‘How is this so? How did you wrong him?’ “I turned round so sharp that my breath left me. A vampire sat near me, so near as to almost brush my shoulder with the tip of his boot, his legs drawn up close to him, his hands clasped around them. For a moment I thought my eyes deceived me. It was the trickster vampire, whom Armand had called Santiago. “Yet nothing in his manner indicated his former self, that devilish, hateful self that I had seen, even only a few hours ago when he had reached out for me and Armand had struck him. He was staring at me over his drawn-up knees, his hair dishevelled, his mouth slack and without cunning. “ ‘It makes no difference to anyone else,’ I said to him, the fear in me subsiding. “ ‘But you said a name; I heard you say a name,’ he said. “ ‘A name I don’t want to say again,’ I answered, looking away from him. I could see now how he’d fooled me, why his shadow had not fallen over mine; he crouched in my shadow. The vision of him slithering down those stone stairs to sit behind me was slightly disturbing. Everything about him was disturbing, and I reminded myself that he could in no way be trusted. It seemed to me then that Armand, with his hypnotic power, aimed in some way for the maximum truth in presentation of himself: he had drawn out of me without words my state of mind. But this vampire was a liar. And I could feel his power, a crude, pounding power that was almost as strong as Armand’s. “ ‘You come to Paris in search of us, and then you sit alone on the stairs...’ he said, in a conciliatory tone. ‘Why don’t you come up with us? Why don’t you speak to us and talk to us of this person whose name you spoke; I know who it was, I know the name.’ “ ‘You don’t know, couldn’t know. It was a mortal,’ I said now, more from instinct than conviction. The thought of Lestat disturbed me, the thought that this creature should know of Lestat’s death. “ ‘You came here to ponder mortals, justice done to mortals?’ he asked; but there was no reproach or mockery in his tone. “ ‘I came to be alone, let me not oend you. It’s a fact,’ I murmured. “ ‘But alone in this frame of mind, when you don’t even hear my steps....I like you. I want you to come upstairs.’ And as he said this, he slowly pulled me to my feet beside him. “At that moment the door of Armand’s cell threw a long light into the passage. I heard him coming, and Santiago let me go.

That is the scene where Santiago says it. That... isn't "liking" imho. This isn't being attracted. This is trying to wheedle something out of Louis. To get the name.

And Louis knew instinctively that Santiago was a liar... and up to no good.

[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║ XIX

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: once a month you and frankie play a game.

warnings: pray/predator, chase kink, piv, gun kink, facial, lotta pet names used by frankie, dirty talking

a/n: it's not mentioned specifically but there is a safeword in place, this is a consensual scenario. enjoy xx

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, the tips of your fingers tingling with fear, numb from the cold. Your lungs feel like they might explode at any given moment. They convulse as you inhale shuddering breaths, the air chilling your organs. Running becomes more difficult with every passing moment, the maze you’re in doing little in showing you the way out. He’s not that far away, you can sense his deep brown eyes observing your every move, taking across your skin like the prey that you are. 

Once a month you two played this game. Santiago, the fucking magician that he is, knew someone that owned a maze. It’s a horrific place, and you’re hundred percent sure that The Shining was filmed here. No one could convince you otherwise. 

Your feet slow down, coming to a halt. Another dead end. Chewing your bottom lip raw, you look up, all you can see is the dark cloudy sky. A series of loud caws echo within the maze, it makes you tremble and urges you to go back the way you came from. Just as you’re about to turn, you see a dark silhouette passing by. You jump, fear coating your skin in the form of cold sweat. The click of a gun follows and you immediately start to run the other direction, not caring if you’d already taken that path or not. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” you hear Frankie call out, his voice low laced with an unspoken threat. “I would’ve already caught you if I wanted to,” 

He means that. However, it isn’t your fault. The only thing you know is how to run, and even that you can barely do with such little exercise that goes on in your life. Frankie is a trained soldier, and a good one at that, you don’t stand a chance against his skills and  experience. You swallow, the knot in your throat growing as you desperately try to ignore the ache between your legs. You enjoy seeing him like this, it’s thrilling. There was just something so enticing about seeing him so in control, fully in his element. 

You will your legs to move faster but stumble instead, catching yourself at the very last moment. Your chest heaves, hurting and throbbing as you take in deep breaths. You feel sick, stomach churning uncontrollably. You feel disoriented as you run, every path you choose seeming familiar but not at the same time. Your mind tricks you into thinking that the moist soil underneath you starts to slip, the maze spinning and spinning. His steps grow closer, or maybe he’s already ahead of you. You don’t know. 

“I can smell the fear clinging to your skin. Being afraid isn’t going to help you sweetheart!” 

Where is his voice coming from? Is he behind you? In front of you? Shit. 

You lose this race every time, just once you would want to win. Just once you want to see that finish line–

Another turn and you see it, the iron gate. Ivy fills the emptiness between bars, roses mid-bloom scattered across the dark green. If it was any other moment you would revel in their beauty, take a mental picture, but you can’t stop when you’re already so close. Your calves tremble. You don’t hear nor feel Frankie anymore. Doubt curls around your mind like the ivy does to the gate, is this actually the exit? You’ve never seen it before so you don’t really have a base of reference. 

A slow cap rings into the night, the sound nothing bu mocking. Goosebumps lick your chilled, yet still warm, skin. You shudder at the sound, slowly turning as your heart beats like a bird in a cage. You see Frankie right behind you, his head tilted, a cruel-mocking smile tugging at his flush lips. The gun hangs loosely on his back, the strap covering a part of his chest. What a shame, you think as your gaze lingers on the strap. 

“You almost made it,” he teases, taking a step forward. “Congrats,” 

“I can still make it. You still haven’t captured me,” 

There’s an unbridled challenge in your tone, you tilt your chin up. The wind blows cold between you, his smile grows and you watch as his thick fingers curl around the strap around his shoulder. He gestures towards the gate with his chin, his grin never wavering. 

“Go on then, try to make it.” 

Your heart stills. The tone of his voice is enough to strengthen the pull your body already has towards him. You almost move towards him instead, your mind deeming that you’re already fighting a lost battle. His eyes glimmer with amusement, his eyebrows knitted together, it completes his look of pity. 

And only then you snap out of it. 

You run towards the gate, skin bursting with sweat, you feel the grime and dirt that clings to your skin. It disgusts you but you don’t care. Every nerve in your body is screaming for you to push forward, to run faster. You reach forward, a phantom sensation of iron touching your fingertips makes you smile– 

Your world shifts and the air is forced out of your lungs. The gate disappears. You feel his rifle on your throat, his chest flushed tightly against your back. You struggle but it’s in vain, his grip as strong as steel. Frankie hums, the curve of his nose brushing the side of your face, he inhales your scent and pulls you closer to him, you let out a whine. 

“So close,” he keens. “Yet so far,” 

He grinds his hips into your ass, a hushed gasp falling from your lips as you feel the hard outline of his cock. The gate forgotten, you lean into him, your body seeking to feel more of him. 

“I love watching you run, mi pájaro bonita,” his tongue touches your neck, a shiver climbs up your spine. “However, I think I like having you trapped in my arms a bit more,”  

You find yourself suddenly laying on the ground, the soil cold underneath your heated body. Frankie towers over you, still standing tall as he keeps the rifle upright between your legs. When your gaze flickers up to meet his, you can barely see the color of his eyes. 

“Make yourself wet for me,” 

When you stay completely still, he presses the gun further into your arousal, you whimper at the friction, your pussy already throbbing from the chase. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” 

You quickly shake your head, his tongue similar to what he used when he was still a soldier. Biting your bottom lip, you raise your hips, grinding up into the weapon with trembling legs. The pressure makes your eyes roll back, arousal staining the seam of your underwear. Frankie’s hungry gaze prompts you to move faster, and you thrust your hips accordingly. Each time you slide up the barrel of the gun, light bursts within your eyelids, little black dots hovering in your vision when you open them. Your moans become louder, breathier. For a split second you drag your heavy gaze up to him, a gasp parting your lips at the same time, with a growl he starts to move the rifle up and down, adding more pleasure to your already aching pussy. 

“Frankie–” you mewl, your back arches. “Please fuck me–” 

His nostrils flare as he breathes, exhaling from his mouth. You roll your hips, your gaze falling to the rifle, you see it shine with your slick. Your head falls and you stifle a moan with the back of your hand. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he rasps. “So pretty…You like it when I chase you around baby? You like it when I tease you with my gun?” 

A whimper escapes your throat and you furiously nod, lips still hidden behind your hand. Annoyed, Frankie clicks his jaw, head tilting to the side. 

“Words baby,” he hisses. “Let me see those pretty lips,” 

Shaking, you remove your hand. 

“I-I love it when you chase me around…and when you tease me with your gun,” 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. Frankie lets his gun fall to the ground and kneels between your legs. He tugs down your jeans, thumb notched between your wet falls. Frankie hums with approval. “So wet, want me to fuck you with my big cock now amor?” 

“Please…” 

When he’s inside you the world around you stops. Everything is a rainbow of blurred shapes and colors except for him, sparks fly across your mudded skin at the way he stretches you wide, a tingle of pain pooling between your legs and spreading throughout the rest of your body. It feels impeccable. Frankie lets go of his body, his full weight heavy on top of you, a feeling akin to a heavy blanket. His skin smells of sweat and gunpowder. As he thrusts into you, you inhale him again and again, reveling in the way he groans into your ear. 

It doesn’t take you long for you to shatter underneath him, the adrenaline and the pleasure combining into one mind numbing firework. Your body lifts from the patchy earth, arms wrapping around the column of his neck as your muscles go taut. His hard thrusts fades into a soothing grinding of his hips, his eyelids flutter as you squeeze his cock and gush around him. 

“You were just waiting for my cock to cum weren’t you?” he asks between pants and you whimper. With a smile Frnakie leans in to nuzzle your neck. “So good to me, always. Can I cum on your pretty face sweet girl?” 

“Yes,” 

Frankie chuckles at the way you pout when he pulls out of you, his cock still hard and heavy as he makes his way up to straddle your chest. The tip of his cock is a mouthwatering red, you stick your tongue out, watching with a lust filled gaze as he fists himself only an inch away from your face. His head falls back, your eyes follow the way his veins meander down his neck, his muscles tense as he groans. You swear it’s the most beautiful sound you hear. 

“Mine,” you hear him say from underneath his breath. “Mine, mine, mine–” 

He sounds hysteric, animalistic, it makes you shudder. 

“I’m yours,” you whisper, his gaze drops to you and you repeat. “I’m yours, now mark me, baby– Please,” 

His hips stutter as he cum, a loud moan following as thick ropes of cum stain your face. You feel his seed heavy on your eyelashes, on your lips, on your cheeks– You dart your tongue out to taste him, and as you do the feeling of his lips follow. 

Frankie kisses you deeply, tongue swirling in your mouth and sucking yours between his lips. You openly moan into his mouth, your insides shivering with the memory of his cock. 

He pulls away and you feel him wipe away the cum from your face, when you finally open your eyes, he decorates your skin with fleeting soft kisses. Your lips part with a giggle. 

“You’re tickling me– Stop!” 

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking down at you. “You lost, you remember this month's bet right?” 

You roll your eyes but your lips give away your good mood. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be cooking for two weeks,” 

“I still think it would be fair if we made it a month,” 

“Nothing about this is fair, in which universe do you think that I could ever outrun you?” 

“Hey you were actually close this time,” 

“Yeah you allowed me,” you place a hand on his cheek, thumb drawing slow circles across his damp skin. “I’ve read history before you know, you’re acting like one of those monarchs that gives their people hope on purpose so they keep submitting,” 

“How about I tie one hand behind my back next time,” 

“That sounds intriguing but you have nothing to worry about Frankie,” you lift yourself up to kiss him. “I love doing this, I don’t ever want to stop,” 

“Hmm, I’m happy to hear that,” 

“The tying your hand thing sounds fun thought, if we do that I can consider doing the punishment for a month if I lose," 

“You got yourself a deal.” 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

[prvtocol]

💭 + vaas

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic. ( accepting !! )

Vaas, the president of the Night City gang, Los Piratas, and Brianne’s extortionist. The one who pinned her in a protection racket making her pay over 80,000 eddies a month to avoid being one of the gang’s victims. She and her security would have probably gotten fast-scrolled into a gore XBD if she refused or tried anything. I have an updated hc post about her extortion so I’ll not rehash it but I don’t think I’ve actually written about their "relationship" which lasted from 2076 to 2079 when he disappears after a cyberpsychotic outburst to never be seen or heard from again.

So why does she love Vaas? It’s complicated. 😩

After months of planning, Vaas and his righthand man Santiago killed her security guard and driver and hijacked her and her vehicle after a fundraising gala, thus an effective route to ensure her willingness to pay. And in their interactions following, Vaas made sure she feared him. Her compliance, doing exactly what he wanted, was the reason the gang targeted her. A rich, pliable corpo ripe for extorting. 

Because of the key access she gave him to pick up payments, he’d be there when she’d walk in the AV door just sitting at her couch or table, cleaning his mantis blades of blood, flipping through her premium news channels and papers, or enjoying the spa, and she’d interact with him like it was normal even if she knew it wasn’t. And her being her amenable self, he started being a bit more amenable back. It wasn’t so bad. Despite reminders to not cross him, she became less wary of his presence. He could always make her laugh. His smile was infectious. Then somewhere along the way, she’d come home to an empty house and wish he was there. Perhaps it was her loneliness making itself known; his presence brought something new to a life that got monotonous. He was her company and she needed a little company, especially after being transferred away from her family in London the year before.

Folding to his sexual advances initially felt like a mistake. She told herself every time he got too close, to not let him any closer. She’d move his hand off her thigh, turn her face from his, and step out of his circle, but in those moments she’d feel a hitch inside. It was that of being wanted in a way unknown to her. Maybe it was the stress at work, that creeping mortal feeling that her time was up, her attraction to bad boys, or his company feeling like more than it was. It wasn’t how she imagined her first time and of course, she felt shame after. Used. Foolish. There was no gentleness. No affection. And then she thought maybe that would be it; he’d not come around anymore except for the cash because he got what he wanted all along. But that wasn’t the case. He still took whatever she would give him. This intimate part of their relationship remained, taking on its own rhythm and it became not only about his pleasure.

And she hardly ever said no. Not to him, not to the gang parties he threw at her estate, trashing the grounds, not to the drugs (at least the less hard ones), or to the use of her vault to store gang contraband. She tended his wounds when he showed up bloody at her door. Watched over him when he decided her place was right to binge on drugs and alcohol. Cooked his meals. Ordered takeout. Filled the fridge and bar with what he liked. Bought him things to make his stays comfortable (starting with a pair of swim trunks, an electric toothbrush, and a grooming set; he had his own sink in her bathroom). She's cleaned his apartment whenever she might find herself there and when she was stuck there in hiding after being dismissed from the corp. She is a nurturer by heart and she cared for him as if it was her job. It took her mind off of things going on at work. And he took her into the city she never got to know outside her corp buildings. He let her ride on the back of his motorcycle, unhinged from her constant strangle of security to feel some sort of ironic freedom. He’d push her to do things she never imagined, bad things like stealing a liquor bottle, but it made her feel alive. He’d supply her with drugs to sleep when nothing else worked. And he didn’t let her down when she was dismissed from Arasaka and headhunted; the gang’s protection racket saved her life.

He didn’t love her. She wasn’t considered his girlfriend. He slept with others. He was never her emotional support in a way one would assume though his company did wonders. She knew he saw her as foolish; his dumb little corpy wrapped around his finger. There was no relationship label for an extortionist and his victim. Stockholm Syndrome sure, but under these circumstances, is it any surprise that Brianne, a selfless woman with a kind heart, befriended him and came to care about him too? A man who, in her eyes, was broken.

The bandages on his fingers, the scars across his head and on his body, she’d see him broken and beaten, knew of the risks he’d put himself in, and then see him angrily recoil from a kind touch. His past remained a mystery but she knew it must be full of pain. When he rejected her gentleness, she believed he’d been hurt. She wished she could fix him by giving him what he probably never had, or perhaps did and it was taken from him.

She didn’t know about his cyberpsychosis until he was gone; always believed it was the drugs and his depression eating his mind away. He became more dependent, and she’d watched helplessly as he inhaled whatever drug before passing out on his side of the bed. Of course, if she said anything, he’d get angry and his anger was terrifying. He trashed her house many times, but he never hurt her. But when his condition got worse, she wasn’t so sure she was safe anymore.

Three years is a long time to have someone in your life. Long enough for it to become status quo. Of course, she felt stuck; the protection racket being her captor and savior from Arasaka. She feared pushing him away and holding him closer. Even if it wouldn't make a difference. Even if it made her sad and his rejection emotionally depleted, she had no choice but to accept it. He wasn't going to change for her or anybody.

When he disappeared from the streets (taken during a cyberpsychotic outburst), it was after not seeing him for well over a month since his condition got so bad he wouldn't visit her. It felt like a hole in her heart. The thought of him being alive somewhere, alone and in pain, his mind tearing him apart, it was so hard to bear. She would never wish him any harm, and she would save him if she could despite herself. She loved him in her own unfair way.

[showmey0urfangs]

Excerpt from Un Vampire À Paris

My take on the scene from the book, aka Santiago being a creeper

A voice came from behind him, too faint for human ears:

“Who are you speaking to?”  

Louis startled and turned around so sharply that his neck cracked. A vampire sat behind him, his legs drawn up close to him, his hands clasped around them.

It was the trickster vampire from earlier, and he was sitting so near that the tip of his boot almost brushed Louis’s shoulder.

Yet nothing in his demeanour betrayed his earlier self—that devilish, hateful being that Louis had seen only a few hours ago, when he had viciously tormented that human girl on stage for the audience’s amusement, or when he had violently shoved Louis and Armand had struck him.

He was now staring at Louis over his drawn-up knees, his shoulder length black hair disheveled, his face affable and open, without a trace of cunning in his eyes.

“No one,” Louis replied on instinct. How long had this vampire been sitting here, watching him?

“I could have sworn I hear you say a name just now,” the trickster mused.

Louis turned away from him. He found the thought of this creature sitting so close to him disturbing, in fact Louis found everything about him disturbing. He knew that the other vampire could in no way be trusted despite his falsely friendly appearance. He was a liar and a master at simulating emotions, Louis had witnesses as much during the play.

“Your young sister told us you come to all the way to Paris in search of us,” the vampire said, in a mollifying tone.  “And yet you sit here alone on the stairs…Why don’t you come down to us? Why don’t you speak to us, talk to us about whatever troubles you so much.” The trickster leaned forward.  “Armand may well be the oldest, but he is not the only one with knowledge to share,” he added in a whisper that send a cold shiver down Louis’s spine.

Louis recoiled at the idea of ever confiding his fears to this vampire. He was utterly repulsed by the thought of ever being in any kind of close intimacy with this vile creature as he had been with Armand just a few moments ago.

“I was just resting for a little while,” Louis murmured. “I’ll be down in a moment,”

“Hmm. Yes, I’m sure you need to rest,” the trickster mused with a false air of concern, putting a hand on Louis’s shoulder “You are so frail, and your senses so dull that you didn’t even hear my steps or feel my presence behind you until I spoke. It’s really a wonder, how you and your… sister have managed to survive this long” Another cold shiver went through Louis. “Tell me beautiful one,” the trickster whispered right in Louis’s ear, “where is your maker? I am curious about this vampire who would create such frail fledglings and leave them to wonder alone so far from home.”

There was that question again. Who was their maker and why was he not with them. Louis suspected that answering that would mean danger for him and Claudia.  

“You should stay with us,” the trickster vampire continued. “We can protect you.” And as he said this, he slowly pulled Louis to his feet beside him, leaning in so close that Louis could feel his breath on the side of his face.

Louis wanted to push him back or move away, but he could do nothing against the other vampire’s crude, raw power that felt almost as strong as Armand’s.

***

Let me know what you think.

I can't wait to see Ben Daniels as Santiago next season, he plays villains so well.

[senatushq]

NAME. Prospero AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Demigod ( Tiefling ) ABILITIES. Dark Arts & Fire Manipulation OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Santiago Cabrera

biography

Prospero had not been the first tiefling to be born from the union of an elf and a demon. He had been the second born in his small family in a small village that really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. His father was of no importance to anyone other than the fact that he was a demon walking amongst the land they had inhabited. However, it would barely make a difference considering the people they lived around on a daily basis. Everyone was supernatural to an extent, but his parents had wanted a simpler life. Or at least his mother did. His father had different plans for how their life should turn out.

What once was a small village had turned into a kingdom that Prospero would always look at with wonder in his eyes. The grandeur of the architecture, the skies that sparkled above and the dirt that covered his feet always brought a smile to his face. It was a wonder why an abomination like him would always be in such a good mood, but Prospero had tried to look on the bright side. That was all he had when his brother was the complete opposite. His brother had been born several decades before he had and had more time to be bitter towards everything in the world. Meanwhile, Prospero had ended up trying to hone his magic that came to him naturally.

His mother had been a sun elf so it only seemed fitting that his ability would deal with fire manipulation. It had merely started with burning a few things he held dear to him. Sometimes it would be some toy that his mother had crafted for him as they sat in the privacy of his room. Sometimes it would be an insect that he saw crawling across the floor. Every time that had happened, it felt like his mother had given him a look. However, that look that she gave Prospero was never the same as the one she would give to his brother. There had been a change in the man he had called brother a long time ago, but it seemed even more noticeable now. Prospero wouldn't be able to tell that change had happened until things took a turn for the worst. He hadn't expected it to happen and he wanted to say he was surprised by his brother's actions, but he simply wasn't.

Prospero's brother had not been gifted with fire manipulation, but he had been gifted with something much more vile than that. The two brothers had always been so different, but their abilities were still volatile in nature. And that volatile nature flowed through his brother's veins and struck their father down. Prospero could remember the look on his father's face as their eyes met, blood trickling down his chin as a hole punched its way through his chest. He hadn't known at the time that his father had been completely eviscerated from the inside out with no way of inhabiting another body. After his gaze had lifted from that of his father's, they had met his brother's own cold one. A finger had lifted in his direction and it had felt like his feet had turned into cement. He hadn't realized he was running until he felt his hand in his mother's own.

Before he could even realize what he was doing himself, he had closed his eyes and they were in an entirely different place. Prospero had still felt like his feet were cemented to the floor, but he could remember the look in his mother's eyes as she held onto his face and told him of what had become of his brother, of her son. A god had taken a hold of him and they would do the same to Prospero if they got a hold of him, too. It was at that moment that he had felt the first bit of fear in his life for what would become of him. He had always thought himself safe under the watchful eye of his mother, but this was a god. They had killed his father and now they wanted him, too. He wasn't sure what the intention would be, but he could imagine that his hand would be forced to kill his own mother if that god was let in.

Regardless of that fear, he had tried to stay strong. His mother was doing her best to save him from spies that had clearly been sent to bring him in to his brother. She was stronger than he could ever be and he always wanted to make sure he was just as strong and he hoped he would be able to become even stronger. So he worked at making himself someone that could be feared by a god. Prospero wanted that god to suffer for taking his family away from him. His mother was still there, but they had been cut in half so much so that he could only feel resentment towards the gods. Were they not supposed to be people that looked out for them? It had turned out that they could only be vengeful and only looking out for themselves. That thought alone had awoken something dark within Prospero. From a young age, he had thought the bredth of his abilities only extended towards fire manipulation. His mother would be the one to tell him that there was a darkness within him that she tried to bury within him by taking away those memories in the midst of his sleep. The one thing she always knew though was that that darkness would take a hold of him no matter how hard she tried to shield him from it.

The best revenge is to not be like your enemy.

That was what his mother had told him, but Prospero had not listened. The magic that flowed within his veins had been pushed so far down that he had not been able to control it when the day came to face down the god that wore his brother's face. His mother had begged and pleaded for him to not go, but Prospero had willingly let himself get captured by those spies in order to get closer to his brother. What he did not expect when he got there was for his mother to be there, too. She had tried her best to let them take her instead. Prospero knew that wouldn't work though. She had always been saving him and now it felt like it was his time to save her. It seemed that one split second of thought had been her downfall though. Within a mere second, her throat had been cut open, ichor flowing from the wound and to the floor between them. That moment had been all he needed to lose all rational thought completely. The god was laughing at the moment and Prospero only saw red. With every bit of his being, the dark magic that he had never even known was truly there flew out of his body along with the fire manipulation that he had been accustomed to.

There was a brief moment of silence as the laugh that had fallen from his brother's lips abruptly ended and the other demigod's body fell the to the floor. That energy that had come from the god was now gone and replaced with absolutely nothing. Instead of focusing on that though, Prospero focused on the way that magic had felt in his hands when he had used it. The way the other demigod's body contorted and the way the fire burned the body from the inside out along with the rest of the people in the room with them. The only person left standing had been Prospero at that moment surrounding by bodies that had been eviscerated. When he looked down at one of the people that had been holding him, he caught their eye. He only turned his head for a brief moment to see his mother's body on the floor again before he looked back at the person on the floor. The fire burned its way through their throat to their head that melted its way through bone and skin and left a headless corpse in its wake. Prospero looked away and then moved to pick up his mother's limp body from the floor, stepping over the many bodies in his way as he exited.

He hadn't known he would have to bury his entire family, but Prospero had made a choice to use that darkness within him for good reason. Being a bad person was not something he wanted to be and he wouldn't let himself become that. However, there were people in the world that sacrificed everything for power. His brother had let that god in and it had taken family away from him for the rest of his life. That never meant that Prospero would let that rule his life though. With that god back in Uthenera where they belonged, he looked down at the grave he'd made for his mother, a separate one next to it for where he wished he could have put his father. Tears had not fallen that day, but he swore he would have been able to do so if he had not been so torn apart by what had transpired. The trauma had wormed its way through his veins just like the darkness and only fueled the hate he felt towards those that simply wanted power. It only fueled the hate he had towards those gods that took advantage of those people and promised them something that they simply would not give. They would all perish and Prospero would make sure of that.

So that was what he did with his life. Prospero had been alive so long that it felt like that was all he had ever done. Justice was something he was fond of making come to fruition, but it was never without a cost. With every spell he used, with every bit of magic that flowed from his fingertips, he felt his mind be slowly lost to him. His mind had never truly been his own. He'd felt that from the moment his mother had told him that a god had taken his brother, her son, from them. And it seemed it would never be his own for as long as he lived. Prospero would try though. Well, that was until he ended up being inhabited by a god from his place on a beach. It was upsetting to a degree he couldn't even quite fathom. Fifteen years, that god had taken control of him and made him do things he would never have dreamed of. And then everything that had happened was gone in an instant and he was back on that beach again.

The best revenge is to not be like your enemy.

That was what his mother had told him. But what if he was the villain? What if he wasn't the hero? Who would he be if not just an empty shell for the gods to take over whenever they wanted? No, Prospero would be much more than that. He wouldn't be someone that could be taken advantage of. He would not let himself just be full of despair. Prospero would make the gods wish that they had killed him when they had the chance. And that would be justice.

personality

+ charming, independent, witty - reckless, resentful, destructive

played by kenyer. est. she/her.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Surprise chapter 1

here is the first chapter of the first fic in my loumand mafia au

Here is their thing; Louis pretends not to know Armand is in the mafia, Armand pretends to let him.  

Louis sits at one end of the long mahogany table and Armand at the other.  He has his hair slicked back and dark liner around his eyes.  He has that look in his eye, like a predator that spotted a wounded gazelle.  He’s wearing  one of his crisp white shirts that he never manages to get blood on, even though Louis’ seen him slip noiselessly into the bathroom at night and wash blood from his hands in the sink.

Hands that he lets slide over his body and take him apart.  Sometimes he imagines blood smeared on him, Armand’s guilt rubbed all over him.  Only guilty in that he is guilty of a crime, because Armand feels no shame, no remorse.  So Louis is left to feel it instead. 

“I don’t revel in violence,” Armand has often said, “but sometimes it’s necessary, my dear.”

“I don’t like it in the house,” he blurted one day at dinner after Armand came in from his office, cheeks flushed with color.  He had that cold, dispassionate look in his eye he got when he took a life.  

Armand blinked at him and said “What?”

“The killing,” Louis said, “I don’t like it in the house.”

“You want me to stop killing in the house.”

“Yes.”

Armand had tilted his head and looked at Louis for a long moment, then said “As you wish.”

And from that day on there had been no killing inside the house, though sometimes people were taken into the yard.  Now, that dangerous look is turned on him and while Louis knows Armand would never hurt him, fighting with him is a special kind of psychological warfare.  He hunches in on himself under Armand’s gaze.  

He says nothing.  This is what he does, in the wake of Armand’s anger; he withdrawals and goes silent.  Louis closes himself off and waits for Armand to pry him open when his anger has faded to a softer thing.  Armand can be as bitterly silent in turn, and they could have long, icy silences that lasted weeks before one of them would break.

Louis pushes his food around his plate and Armand glances down sharply.  “Louis, have you eaten today?”

Louis can’t remember.  He doesn’t think so.  “I had a cup of coffee this morning.”

“Eat your food, then we’ll talk.”  Armand’s using his listen-to-me voice, the one he usually reserves for the bedroom.  It irritates Louis, for Armand to think he can just seduce him into listening.  

“I’m not hungry,” Louis says and Armand’s fingers drum against the table.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry, Louis.  I told you to eat,” Armand’s voice is cold and utterly indifferent.

Sometimes, when Louis gets in a funk, he forgets to eat.  He just doesn’t get hungry, so he doesn’t bother to eat.  So Armand makes sure he gets three square meals a day, usually by having a Chef on hand to prepare something.  At least, until Louis told him he didn’t like it, some person just in their home all the time.  Now he prepares breakfast and lunch for the next day and puts them in the refrigerator.  

“Can we just skip to the part where you tell me I made you look bad, or something?”

Armand sighs gently.  “You are my husband; you may ask for anything at any time.”

Louis frowns.  “You’re not supposed to kill them in the house.”

Armand’s fingers drum on the table again, the only sign of his impatience.  His expression is impenetrable.  “We were outside, darling.”

Technically, they were outside.  But the backdoor was open and Louis could see the man down on his knees, could see the fear in his eyes.  He felt sorry for him, is all.  So he had shouted stop, after Armand issued the order to shoot.  It was Santiago and Eleni, and Santiago had never liked Louis.  Louis had confronted Armand about it after they were married; didn’t he know Santiago was in love with him?  

Of course, Armand knew.  He explained that it made Santiago unflinchingly loyal. Louis had said he didn’t like it, so Armand had offered to kill Santiago, if it would please Louis.  And Louis hadn’t wanted all that, but he found himself satisfied that Armand should offer.  

Eleni had been the one to hesitate and shout out “Boss?”

Armand had ordered them to stop and both had, though it was a close thing for Santiago.  Armand had let the man live, though the look he sent Louis’ way let Louis know he was in trouble.

Louis says nothing.  Armand watches him for a long moment, doing nothing to break the silence.  Louis realizes he’s waiting for him to eat.  He takes a small bite of pasta.  Chews.  Swallows.  His stomach turns.  

“I hope you understand, Louis, that you only prolonged the inevitable,” Armand says, and his voice is like silk.  “You spared a man’s life today, but the first man to call me soft for it will have to be made an example of.”

Louis jerks his head up and looks at Armand.  “No one would say you’re soft.  They’re too scared of you.”

Armand smiles slightly.  “That’s because I’m scary.”

Right.  And sparing a man’s life on the whim of his husband wasn’t scary.  “You could have just killed him anyway.”

“Have I ever denied you anything, my dear?”

He hasn’t, is the thing.  Armand gives him whatever he asks for.  Louis doesn’t want to argue with him.  “...I won’t ask again, that what you want to hear?”

His tone sounds petulant even to his own ears.  Louis wishes he hadn’t bothered to interfere.  He and Armand wouldn’t be having this conversation

“I have things to work on,” Armand says, rising from his seat.  “Come see in my office when you’ve finished your food.”

Armand crosses the distance between them and presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead.  It’s a reassuring gesture, one he didn’t have to do.  His office is the other direction, so he’s gone out of his way to show Louis affection.  It likely means he’s already over the earlier infraction.  

Louis tips his head up in silent request for a proper kiss.  Armand kisses him, chaste and proper, until he slips his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip and Louis gasps.  Then he slides his tongue into his mouth and kisses him till he’s delirious.  

Louis chases his mouth when he pulls back, but Armand presses a hand on his shoulder and holds him in his seat.  “Eat first, then my office.”

Then he bends so his mouth is near Louis’ ear and whispers something filthy in Italian.  He’s been paying for Louis to take lessons, as if being fluent in two languages isn’t enough already.  Louis only knows that it’s filthy because Armand has that tone.  Armand brushes a kiss against his throat and backs away.

“Armand, I don’t know what that means.”

Armand smirks at him.  “Then it will be a surprise.”

Louis likes surprises.

[ohheyitsokay]

ask

this takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, but this one is filthy yall. it’s here, the first poly frontier smutfic. strong language, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving) kissing, voyeurism, somophilia, sex toys (note: not all of these at the same time)

also, poly dynamics, but only mentions group sex in this one

summary: kinks and building trusts with the boys individually

>>

“Hey baby, come here for a moment?”

The call floats to you, deep and unassuming, but a bit too far away for you to hear the undercurrents of his tone.

It’s strange, for Benny to be calling you like this – you thought he was getting ready for bed, and he knows you were just about to get into the shower. For these reasons alone, you entertain him, calling “One moment!” and grabbing your still-dry towel to venture along.

Your feet are near silent on the floors as you pad to the room, tilting your head when you find it empty. The others are off helping Santi’s uncle for a project, and Ben had volunteered to stay, rewarding his sacrifice with a weekend full of time with you.

But Benny isn’t in the bedroom. His voice wasn’t quite faint enough to have been outside wanting to show you something silly, so you check the kitchen, expecting to find him cooking a late-night snack. There too is void of your gentle giant, however, and you hear him laugh from the living room.

“Ben? What –”

Your lover was waiting for you to walk through the door and is suddenly, insistently pressing into you. Then your mind catches up with your eyes and you kiss him, his soft lips moving against yours with familiar determination.

Of all the things you’d been imagining, expecting, none of them were him, bare as the day he was born, his blue eyes dark with arousal. He guides you towards the couch, and you barely register a soft blanket laid out just for you. You would notice how hard he tried to make it flat, the way he tucked it in so it wouldn't rumble or slide, but his cock is hard and pressing against your hip.

It's as natural as breathing, to loose yourself in the way he can't seem to be even an inch away from you, the way his body is almost steaming with warmth like embers. Something catches in tour throat, some pinpoint of a thought as frustrating as a rock in your shoe, and you try to shove it out of your mind. He tugs at your body, turning and twisting you both so you tumble down.

The kiss breaks when you fall, and your eyes fly open, opting to look at the windows instead of the man pulling your towel away from your body. There, like a rock in your shoe, is the expanse of darkness, and flickers of reflection like watching eyes.

And his movements freeze, before he covers you again, his face pulling away just enough for you to see the line between his eyebrows. He had asked you, a few nights ago if you’d be alright with trying it, trying… a little bit of exposure, even to the cool black darkness of the land outside, and you had readily agreed. It seemed sexy, a touch of harmless danger, and well within what you should be comfortable with, given your multitude of lovers. And you can feel heat licking at you, the raw excitement of trying something a little new with him, and it was undeniable, how quickly you came undone before him.

But alongside the rush of ache and wanting was a sharp line of fear, as unwelcome as a trickle of sweat down the spine.

He hums at your silence, an understanding noise more than a grumble, and you feel a third feeling: guilt, as he moves to stand.

“Wait, Ben, it’s… it’s fine.” The windows, still dark and unchanging, pull your eyes, and you look up towards him instead, your hand pulling at his skin. Obediently he kisses you, and your anxiety softens when he smiled against your mouth.

“It’s not, love, but that’s cool,” he tries to coax you up, knowing well he would win. “It’s not like you’re any less fucking gorgeous in the bedroom.” It was one of those jokes he made, one of those truths he spoke, matter of fact, making your heart swell like the crest of a wave. You tried, it didn’t work, and while it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest – in fact, the delay of your hands on him was the most inconvenient part – you hesitate.

It wasn’t a lie, before. You want him, this. 

“Wait,” you try again, unfolding your towel and his eyes rake over you involuntarily. You angle the cloth so you’re still shielded, but on full display for him, and you see him twitch gratefully at your bravery. And he knows you, sees the determination in your eyes, and relents, too hungry for you to slow down.

The air is cool, but heating rapidly, and there’s a softness behind the heat that tells you that you've won.

Briskly, he yanks most of the curtains closed, guarding you from the most intimidating ones before returning, sinking onto you like nothing in the world could keep him from tasting you.

In-between kisses he pulls the blanket corner over most of you, discarding the towel and whispering about taking it step by step. His reassuring sentences trail into quiet affirmations when you agree, and then trickle into nothing as his mouth finds it’s way down your body.

It should be sweet, the way his mouth sucks at the underside of your breast, the playful lick he leaves around your nipple, but it is. It is because his hands hold the blanket just so you're for him, and his eyes flicker to yours, despite his focus, checking in.

And he covers you again without you asking, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

It makes you wish, somehow, it would be reasonable to hold his hand.

When his tongue finds it’s home along the folds of your cunt, and you watch him rut against the cushions with a groan, you stop thinking about anything. He's made a little world for you, somehow, a little adventure for you and him.

Hands curling into the soft thick of his hair, you feel him flick and lick around you clit and you can’t help but think you should’ve stopping thinking long ago. And as he presses two of those perfect fingers into you, you think you hear him whisper to focus on him.

You think you manage to reconfirm your trust before your orgasm hits you.

Benny fucks you like the two of you are in your own little world. Maybe that’s why he likes this so much, likes the idea that no matter what circumstances, he can encompass you, carve a home for the two of you between reality. He thrusts a little wildly, a little inconsistently, and you know for a fact he’s not trying to prove anything, not letting defensive thoughts enter your little world. All he’s thinking about is you, the way he can see your breasts bounce even beneath the blanket, the way your tight heat is almost swallowing him, and the way you’re looking at him, finally, with half-lidded eyes, like you’re only thinking about him too. The way he’s hitting that spot again and again, the way he knows you, the way he’s using his strength to almost desperately make you feel like nothing else in the world matters more than this, now. 

You are, and without thinking, your eyes snap closed as you gasp.

-

It's quiet, darkness like a blanket over your home, draping itself into every corner of your room. Above that, above the heavy folds of nighttime magic, something else.

It feels like fog, spider webs and cotton and thick, thick caramel. Dreams poking through like the tips of pine trees spearing out of grey morning mist.

You’re sleeping.

Or at least you think you are – you can feel a comforting weight surrounding your body, warm walls of men sleeping soundly nearby.

But… but there’s something else, too, something hot like lava, seeping around the edges of you mind. It's slick in places, slippery like lips and tongues and sloppy touches and something else entirely in others, something firm. Subtle but insistent.

And something.... tall, sturdy forest trees, linen and leather and aftershave. Santi.

A click of the wrist and swathes of spiderwebs are swept away. He's half on top of you, his hand guiding his cock against your folds so it rubs your clit with every sleepy thrust.

You're... soaking wet, like he been teasing you longer than you can remember, and you're aching for him like you're inches from cumming, hard. Slowly, softly he shifts you, and a thought slips in your mind that he’s being more careful than you expected when you’d talked about this yesterday. You start to get those inches, a perfect stretch of his tip pressing into you, and your dream mind wonders if he’s trying not to wake you. 

It’s impossible to tell if you’re conscious or not - you’re aware, but your body feels aflame, encompassed by him, hyper focused on only him. You try to tell him “Yes, Santi, more -” you try to beg a little, “please, keep -” but only a tiny whine escapes.

And he’s pulling away, a rush of hot air clouding over your shoulder blades. You whine again in protest, still too tired to reach for him, forgetting the nearby men. Santi kisses your spine your shoulder, the shell of your ear. It’s tender, the most temped feeling yet to breach the moment. 

 You’re aware of him, because it’s Santi. That’s why you told him this was okay, that’s why you trusted him. But that’s also why you know him, know he’s hesitating, not for you to sleep, but for you too wake. 

It’s effort, clawing your way through the cotton, but you focus on his hand, still drawing feather-light lines over your waiting cunt. You focus on his other hand, gently smoothing over your skin, softly, subconsciously appreciating every inch of flesh. And you crack an eye, before realizing it’s well and truly night still, and reaching back for him blindly. 

“I said it was okay, Pope,” your whisper still croaks a bit, and you wince.

You feel him soften when your hand finds his neck, pulling him back onto you.

“Yesterday.” His voice is but a breath, and you think you understand.

“Okay,” you find your quiet voice, now laced with your arousal, and he shudders at it. “Okay,” you try again. “It’s now, Santi, please.”  His cock, still hard, presses against your folds like he’s entranced by you, like keeping his skin from yours was the greatest effort.

The words tumble out of you - you hardly notice them, keeping them just shy of silent. They’re for him, for now, the other’s will get their turn when he chooses, like you talked about. And he gives in, pressing deep with a breathless groan. It’s a stretch, how full he makes you feel, but not as much as you expected, confirming. His hands... one braces his weight, so he can begin to rock, and the other finds your lips, filling your mouth with two of his fingers, insisting on your silence.

And you relax, surrendering yourself for him, hand moving to weakly hold his wrist. Each time he slows, and you can feel anxiety spike just a little, you squeeze him gently, reminding him again and again, you trust him.

He whispers, “I’ve got you,” and “I fucking love you baby,” and you think you get it. Why he likes this, because you do too. 

Fucking Santi makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He alternates between quick, deliberate ruts and those slow strokes where he almost completely leaves you before he thrusts as deep as he can go, and yet still. He makes you feel like a lucid dream, like everything is a little too good to be true. You feel full of him, surrounded by him, like you’re floating but you��ll never fall. His stubble scrapes against your skin and he holds you like this fuck is part of a dream he’s building for the two of you. There’s this thing about Santiago, this... love that burns with intensity like soot and sweat and you almost taste it on his fingers.

You trust him completely, and he trusts you just as much.

-

Frankie’s breath is hot against your breast, his eyes still clear as he presses a slow open-mouthed kiss to the swell of it.

Your mind as been sputtering out since this afternoon – when Frankie admitted he bought you a vibrator without asking, because your old one had gotten lost. The very idea of him, Frankie, thinking of that and… using it on you had your mind filled with adoringly lustful daydreams.

And here he is, hovering fully clothed above you, as though he hadn’t been thinking about pressing it against your clit as he filled you.

Unfortunately for you, he’s talking like he isn’t quite thinking about it even now, as you’d practically town off your own clothes for him.

“Answer me, baby,” he rumbles, and you whine.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Those deep brown eyes darken a little, and the creases in their corners deepen ever-so-slightly. Pulling back, he regards you: clothes pressing crumpled wrinkles into the skin of your back, most of you bare just for him. And he looks at the little vibrator in his hands, runs the silicon over the lines along your legs, slow, thoughtful.

It moves, following his words as he talks.

“I see these gorgeous tits, all…” he swallows appreciatively, “All of you out for me.” He’s slow, almost torturing you, but it’s sweet – his dedication to your affirmation. If it were anyone else, it would be purely to tease, purely to see how undone you are, but it’s him.

You can see it, even as he slides closer and closer to giving in, his intensity to make sure everything is clean and cut.

“I see your pretty, desperate face,” he flips the vibrator, watching as your eyes for honestly as they flicker towards it imploringly. He lowers it, using his free hand to push your panties to the side, shifting a little in spite of himself. “You’re fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart.” It’s not on but it’s there, hovering inches from your core and you relent.

“Yes, Frankie,” you almost laugh at how obviously you want this. He turns it on, and you try not to whimper, laughter dying under the flood of your arousal. “Yes, it’s always been okay, not just now, I promise.” Your sweet Catfish relaxes, finally, his shoulders almost drooping now that you’ve confirmed he’s not, in fact, overstepping by buying toys for you.

“I can use it on you, us?” The last, tiny doubt is in his eyes, and you do laugh. As much as you want this, have been wanting this for what feels like hours, you pull him into a chaste kiss.

“Yes, Frankie. This all okay with you?” He laughs too, almost shuddering.

“Yeah,” he kisses you hard, his own arousal finally overtaking him, “Fuck. Yeah.”

Your wait is over, abruptly, as he yanks clothes off with efficiency, almost immediately pushing the vibrator to an equally intense buzz. It wracks through you, shaking into your very core as he experiments for long moments, gliding it from your slick folds to your aching clit. His eyes feel like his fingers, running over your face, your skin, your trembling sex, and you know what he’s watching for. It takes him no time at all, to find a spot that makes you feel like you’re going to cry from the pleasure, not time at all to realize the only thing left is for you to be filled.

You try to ask him, words rushed and tumbling, if he wants you to use it on him, but he shakes his head and presses the tip of his leaking cock against you, toy unwavering from it’s place. And even now, he keeps you waiting, just long enough for you to gasp, please before he pushes inside of you.

And your first orgasm hit you immediately, his groan ringing in your ears. You always stretch around Frankie, the sheer girth of him filling you completely, and this is near ethereal.

He slows the vibe, waiting, concentrating as he tries not to overstimulate you, and you have the overwhelming thought that Francisco Morales is perfect, and he seems to agree.

Just as abruptly, he clicks it off and tosses it away, leaning over to encompass you more.

When your hips roll and you whisper, “Go ahead,” he almost growls his response:

“My turn.”

He means it too, and it’s just like him - to think of you pleasure like selfish, selfless love. Moments of insecurity and wrong moves are long gone, replaced with the confidence of a man who knows no thing could fuck you better. And he loves you, thinks you’re strong and sexy and sweet and soft and he simply doesn’t feel like distracting himself from swallowing you whole.

Frankie pushes into you with steady determination, watching, watching for every little song he makes your body sing. You came him want to grab every handful of you he can get and hold on as long as he can. He wants to see you come undone, and wants to be the one who made it so, wants to let himself pour into you and let his forehead fall on yours and kiss you slow. Because this isn’t about just you or just him, but this special thing the two of you have, that he’ll never stop being in awe of.

And now he knows.

-

“Will...” you concentrate on saying his name, gasping it out like it’s you’re final breath. He rumbles in response, and you lose your words all over again.

Your Ironhead is buried deep in your heat, not moving an inch and he holds you against his chest.

“We’ve been talking about it, and I’m almost sure we can make it work.” 

He’s working hard to keep his voice even, even harder to keep from pounding into you. Only because you’ve known him for years can you tell, because as long as you’ve been fucking, he’s been working on building your patience.

“Will,” you try again. Allowing himself a quiet groan, he begins moving his hand against your clit again. Almost writhing, you fight to keep you question in your mind, hating how he’s just barely coming undone after all this time.

"Why are we talking about this right now?"

His chuckle is tight, like the wrap of your soaking sex around him is finally making him question his choices.

"This was the plan?" He asks - he's asking, even though he knows it's true. You'd talked about it before, worked up to you taking the length him while for awhile, keeping his cock warm to see how long he could last.

But you're two orgasms in and it's unreasonable how desperately you need him to move, just thrust a little, to find that spot he's near memorized, to do something.

And you don't know how to say that when all you can feel is him, Will, Will, Will. He's hard, almost harder than you've ever felt, his sturdy thighs tense beneath your own, and his arms keep you grounded. He's everywhere and it's phenomenal, truly, but something has to change.

"I - " you take a slow, even breath, before giving up on words and finding his wrist to grip hopelessly.

It's instantaneous, how he springs like he's been waiting for your signal, and he lifts you off of him with effort, concern in his eyes.

"Too much." It's not a question.

You hum, gathering your scattered thoughts to kiss him slowly.

"Not enough," you say, smiling at him, too in love to be particularly shy. Surprised, he tilts his head, looking you over.

"William Miller," you kiss him again. "Please fuck me?"

He groans a little, before his broad hands are guiding you back onto his length, and you both shudder. Will sets an unreasonably fast pace and you make a noise, clinging to him for dear life, relief flooding your system alongside the pleasure.

He remembers talking is only in his top three ways to communicate with you, one of the others being interpreting the gasps he makes hitch into your throat. There’s thoughts running through his wind, warm like satisfaction as he remembers himself, remembers you, and how beautiful, wonderful, capable you are. The idea that you’ve disappointed him isn’t one of those thoughts, because he can’t be bothered with the falsity, couldn’t comprehend your honestly being anything less than perfect.

And he can see the way your pussy takes the length of him again and again, getting slicker by the second. He can see the way your legs wriggle and tremble, weak with pleasure but asking him - begging him for more. There’s this expression on your face, one he’s been seeing long enough to know its because of him. It’s relief, it’s the moment that he finds that perfect thing, whatever you need, hits it just right. There’s almost nothing that makes him more proud, and he knows it, sees it in your eyebrows, feels it in your hands on his skin, and it’s all he needs.

Every moment is necessary, like pieces to a puzzle, every word fits into place.

The last few found are your ankles digging into flesh, the pulse of you together, his name on your lips.... and then he stops thinking.

-

It was work, eliminating unrequited moments, but you all did it diligently. 

Extra dates, careful timing, intentional love.

No letting jealousy build.

And moments.

Kissing Will like you need him more than air, feeling Santi split you open, cracking an eye to see Frankie tugging Ben into the closest guestroom. 

Hearing laughter and muffled moans pour out from the shower like the steam, and sliding off to the kitchen to get a snack while you wait.

The softness of Frankie bringing you down, Will cleaning you off while the others go another round. Steady, undistracted eyes and tired limbs pulling you to rest.

It’s work, but none of you would have it any other way.

<<

>>

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[tropes-and-tales]

My Best Friend’s Girl, Part Six

Characters:  Santiago “Pope” Garcia and F!Reader

WC:  5770

Other Pieces:  This is part of a series, which can be found here.

CW:  Language, fluff, angst.  Smut, so 18+ only.

AN:  Frankie doesn’t look to good in this story - I know it.  I’ve taken liberties with his character, but never fear:  I have a Frankie story on the horizon, so he’ll get his due.

________________

Pope hasn’t lived with a woman…well, since he was a teenager in his mom’s house.  So he expects there to be awkward moments with you, but it’s laughable how seamless it is, the two of you living together in Colombia.

He is nervous as hell the first few days, worried that you’ll change your mind.  You have an open-ended return ticket, so you could leave at any moment.  He wines and dines you those first few days, brings home elaborate meals, expensive bottles of wine until you frown at him one night.

“Santi, this is great but…it’s a little much, don’t you think?”

He mumbles something about wanting to impress you, but you wave him off.  

“You can relax.  I’m here, aren’t I?  I’m already impressed with you.”

And that’s all it takes to settle into living with you.  As you get comfortable in his neighborhood, you go out more.  You run errands, get food.  You cook most of your dinners now – never anything elaborate, but still – it’s something Pope hasn’t had for a long time.  Home-cooked meals.  Not really even when he lived with his mom, who worked two jobs and generally left him to his own devices, which meant that he ate a lot of boxed mac and cheese and microwaved burritos.

He works during the day; you write.  In the evenings, it’s better than he ever imagined:  dinner and then time together.  Sometimes you settle on the couch and watch TV, which is either soapy telenovelas or American syndicated shows dubbed in Spanish.  Sometimes you have him read pages of your new novel.  Sometimes he talks about his job, though he keeps the darker parts of his work to himself.

Just as often that the two of you end up in bed early, ravenous for each other, your appetites never abating for each other.  Those moments are when you learn the most about each other, both during sex and after.  

During sex:  Pope learns that you are ticklish on the hinges of your elbows, the crease that delineates your upper arm from your lower.  He learns that when he tickles you, you squeal and then laugh, sometimes so hard that you snort, which makes him laugh.  

He learns that even the barest hint of edging makes you cry in frustration, so he only tries it once and never again.  

He learns that you don’t like doggy style, some remnant from a rough ex-boyfriend – and he learns that you trust him enough to attempt it again.  He does so well, is so gentle, that you revise your opinion of it and actually enjoy it.

Also during sex:  Pope learns that you’ve never had a lover go down on you.

“Are you serious?” he asks, so aghast that you hit him with the pillow, your face scarlet from embarrassment.  “No one’s ever eaten you out?”

“First of all, gross,” you tell him.  “I hate that phrase.”

Pope rolls his eyes good-naturedly.  “Okay, okay.  Sorry, famous writer with all the fancy words.  You’ve never had a gentleman friend taste from the sweet nectar betwixt your thighs?“  

It earns him another swat with the pillow, but you’re laughing when you hit him.  Then it turns into an honest-to-god pillow fight, which he easily wins, and then he’s over you, pinning your wrists above your head as you struggle against his hold.  You whine for him to release you, but he doesn’t until you promise to let him go down on you at some point in the near future.

After sex:  he just learns more about you.  He opens up about his own life.  You trade stories, anecdotes.  Pope realizes that you know more about him than probably anyone now, and he could guess that he’s the same for you.

Late one night, you tell him about your jail-break from the troubled teen camp.  It was in Arizona, in the desert, and the escape had been as much about getting help as not dying there.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whisper in the dark.  “I just wanted to die in the desert, under the night sky.  Not in that fucking camp.”

Pope is glad it’s dark in the room when you tell him.  You can’t see the tears that rise in his eyes.

He tells you about his time in Special Ops.  Not everything, not the classified stuff, but enough for you to guess at a lot of it.  Many times, he comes close to crying when he lets some of that darkness out of himself – the way you drag his head so that it’s nestled against your chest, the way your finger-comb through his curls and kiss the top of his head and murmur that it’s okay.  

Pope has never felt so taken care of.  So loved.  After he said it that first day, and after you repeated it, it was like an avalanche.  You say it to him all the time, and every time you do, it sets the same warm flush through his body.  And he can guess you feel the way, judging by how happily you grin at him when he tells you he loves you too.

-----

Some of the lies come out too, but Pope grits his teeth and deals with it.  It’s his own fault, after all.

The first lie is the Marta lie.  You tell him one day that you met his landlady, and then you tilt your head, remembering.  “Didn’t you date a woman named Marta here?”

Pope could keep the lie going, but he wants to be honest with you.  He ducks his head, ashamed, and admits that he made up a fake girlfriend.

You furrow your brow.  “You…lied about dating someone?  Why?”

He knew it was stupid back when he did it, and it sounds even stupider now when he tries to explain it.  “I was trying to figure out if you really liked me or not.”

“By lying about dating someone?”

Pope sighs.  “It was uncharted territory.”

That makes your lips twitch in a ghost of a smile.  “How so?”

“Having feelings for someone,” he admits.  “Being jealous of Frankie because I was in love with you, and you were in love with him.”

“I was falling out of love with him by then.”

“Still, querida…”

The second lie is the time he met you in Mexico, that single afternoon he had with you.  He had lied and pretended he was coming through Mexico anyway, but he just wanted to see you and had made a special trip.  When he confesses to that lie, it makes you cluck your tongue at him – but you pull him into your arms.

“I wish you could have just told me, Santi.  I really liked you then.”

He scoffs at that.  “Well, I didn’t know that at the time.”  He stands there a moment, allows you to stroke his head in that comforting way you have, and then he asks, a happy hopefulness in his voice, “you liked me then?”

It’s another night in bed when he walks you through his timeline of feelings for you, which is easy:  it was love at first sight.  He describes how it hit him like a missile, how grumpy he was to find himself knocked on his heels by a girl who only had eyes for his best friend.

Then you walk him through your feelings for him, which is more complicated, but still…some of it is surprising to Pope.

“You know,” you tell him, “Frankie used to talk about you.  He talked about all of the guys, but he’d always tell me about you specifically.  Pope Garcia and all his women.  Informants and one night stands and girls he picked up in bars when you had a weekend pass.”

Pope grits his teeth at that, but then you add, “so I was a little skeptical about you.  I thought, ‘there’s no way this guy is that good-looking.’  But you were.  You are.”

It’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his ego.  “Really?”

You shift your head to kiss his shoulder.  “Yes, really.  You know you're handsome.  Don’t play coy with me, solider.”

“I didn’t think you felt that way.”

Another shift, and you kiss the side of his neck, right underneath his ear.  “Oh, I thought you were handsome the moment I met you at the airport.  I remember thinking, ‘yeah, I get it now.  All of Pope’s ladies.  It makes sense.’”

Pope remembers meeting you at the airport, and it paints the scene in a new light:  you, desperately in love with Frankie, but still appraising Pope.  Finding him handsome.

He’d grill you about it more, but you are feeling amorous, murmuring more praise with each kiss you press against him, slipping your hands under his t-shirt and then tugging it off of him.  And then there’s no talking for a long while – just the soft sighs and murmured affirmations of two people loving each other.

But another night, Pope asks when you first felt something for him.  He can feel you shift in his arms, and you think it over for a while before you answer.

“Honestly?  Remember the club we went to?”

Pope remembers – you and the guys with Frankie and Sara, some loud, dark club in Miami.  You had worn a sexy black dress, and you had generally been miserable the whole time.

“You got me a drink from the bar, remember?” You continue.  “You got me a water and made some joke about me being a cheap date.  And we sort of joked around, and you put your arm around me.  Called me ‘sweetheart.’”

“I remember, querida.”

“That was probably the first time I felt something.  Like, a little dip in my stomach.”  You turn and glance at him in the darkness, probably only able to make out a bit of him in the faint light coming in through the window.  “I was still hung up on Frankie, of course, but…I thought, ‘this Pope guy isn’t half bad.’”

“Not half bad,” he echoes.  “That’s better than what you usually call me.”

“What’s that?”

“You usually call me ‘trouble.’”

You laugh, lay a smacking kiss on his mouth that makes him laugh too.  “That’s because you are also trouble, Santiago Garcia.  Nothing but trouble.”

“You love it.”

You kiss him again, and this time, it’s more lingering.  There’s more heat behind it.  “I absolutely do.”

-----

After a month, something happens.  You are in your little office in the evening, a rare evening apart because you are on a roll, just churning out pages of your novel.  And Pope gets a video call – from Frankie.

“Hey,” he answers in surprise.  He and Frankie exchange texts, emails, but his friend never calls.

“Hey,” Frankie replies, and he’s grinning so broadly that Pope knows something is up.  They exchange small talk, but Pope can tell that his friend is chomping at the bit to tell him something , practically jittering across his screen –

“Sara is pregnant,” he blurts out, and Pope plasters a smile on his face as his stomach turns at the thought of you finding out.

“Congratulations, man.”

Frankie goes on and on, gives Pope far more intel into Sara’s gynecological health than he ever wanted to hear, and near the end of the call, you wander into the room and arch an eyebrow at Pope, who mouths “it’s Frankie” to you.  Frankie catches the motion and gives him a sly grin.

“Got yourself a little Colombian piece, Pope?” he asks, and Pope does a patented move with his head that is half nod, half shake and wholly noncommittal.

A moment later, they sign off, and you raise your eyebrows at him again.  Pope sighs – it’ll probably hurt you to hear it, but he can’t hide it from you.

“Sara is pregnant.”

Of all the reactions he imagines you giving, a sharp bark of laughter isn’t one of them.  But it startles a smile out of Pope, and you roll your eyes and say, “god, can you imagine?  That kid is gonna grow up in the Miami club scene.”

He laughs at that too, and he only feels a little bad for Frankie, teasing his future child.

“Kid’s gonna demand bottle service at the club,” he replies.

You groan at that, roll your eyes again.  “Gross, Santi.  Dad jokes, from you?  I no longer love you.”

He pouts, sticks out his lower lip, gives you the saddest puppy-dog eyes he can muster until you sigh and come over to him, put your arms around his neck and tell him that you guess you can forgive him –

“You ever think about kids?” he asks you suddenly, and you look at him a long beat before you answer.

“Honestly, not really,” you tell him.  “What about you?”

“Can I tell you something without you thinking I’m dumb?” he asks, and you tell him of course, he can tell you anything.

“I could go either way on kids,” he continues.  “But I think part of me would feel guilty, inflicting that pain on the woman I love.  I’d feel awful, having to watch all of that for nine months.  Watching her suffer when I can’t do much to help.  Unless she really wanted it, I’d never push for it, you know?”

“Why would I think that’s dumb?” you ask.  “That sounds really sweet, actually.”

“Well don’t tell anyone that I’m sweet.  I have an image to maintain.”

You laugh and ruffle his hair.  “Oh, I’m telling everyone.  The world is gonna know that Santiago Garcia is a big ol’ softy.”

-----

You leave after two months.

You don’t want to leave.  It’s apparent, the way you drag your feet to book your flight home, how you wait until the last minute to pack.  But you have finished the first draft of your novel, and you have a meeting with your agent about some possible Hollywood producers wanting to buy the film rights to your memoir, and you can’t put it off anymore.

The last night, Pope finally convinces you to let him go down on you.  Which he has to frame delicately, since you have a whole host of phrases and words that are verboten.  Sometimes he uses your forbidden words anyway, just to get a rise out of you, because when you are mock-mad at him, you try to wrestle him – which always leads to more intimate activities.

“Are you moist, querida?” he would ask you sometimes, and he could maintain a straight face at your squawk of outrage at the word you told him should only be used for describing cakes and sponges.  

But that last night, he asks if he can finally go down on you, and you bite your lip before you agree.  But you’re hesitant.

“Santi, you don’t have to,” you tell him.

“Oh, sweetheart – I want to.”  He tells you in no uncertain terms how he want to be the first man to taste you (which technically, he already is), the first man to slide his tongue into you.  It doesn’t need to be said that he wants to be the first, and also the last.

He watches you until you nod, and then he takes his time, stretches every last moment with you.  He strips you slowly, kisses every inch of skin as it’s revealed to him.  Your neck, your shoulders, your arms.  Your chest, and he spends a long while at your breasts, palming them and suckling against you, biting down against your nipples until you squirm against his mouth.

He kisses his way down your body – your ribs and belly, your hips.  He runs his tongue right along the waistband of your panties, and he feels the hitched breath you pull in when he does.  It makes him smile against you, and you feel it.

“Something funny?”

He shakes his head as he hooks his thumbs under your panties, and you lift your hips enough so that he can ease them off.  “Nothing funny.  Just thinking about how much you’re gonna want this in the future, once I’m done with you.”

It earns him a snort, and he wonders if you realize how he’s distracting you with his quips, trying to settle your nerves.  He crawls between your legs, slips a pillow under your hips to tilt your lower body up, but you don’t seem hesitant.  Instead, you say, “you’re that confident, are you?”

He is, and he shows you.  He takes his time.  He savors his last night with you, kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs.  He sucks a mark onto each one, some caveman part of his brain wanting to mark you before you leave him.  And then he gets to work, pushing your legs apart and putting them over his shoulders, then spreading you open and putting his mouth to you.  

Pope’s always been a man who enjoys oral sex – giving and receiving – but Christ almighty, it is worth it to hear the noises you make.  To feel how your body responds to his tongue, his fingers – how you whine in the back of your throat, needy as hell, and how your heels dig into his back.  How you come against his tongue, the slick arousal that he swallows down.  

And he doesn’t stop; he draws another one from you, and as your second orgasm approaches you get pushy – you reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair, tug against him, and it’s so fucking hot that he nearly comes too.

After you come again, Pope works his way back up your body, and the expression on your face is pure lust-drunk bliss.  As you calm down, though, you turn your attention to him, gift him the same worshipful treatment.  You kiss him all over, and you gently push him onto his back.  You start to make your own way down his body, but he stops you.

“Some other time, querida,” he pleads softly.  “I want to be inside you.”

You take the condom and roll it onto him, make a weak joke about finally making good use of all the practice you got with bananas in your high school sex ed class.  Then you ease yourself onto him, taking your time the way he had, savoring every moment before you leave.  

You ride him slowly, a gentle pace, and you end each downward thrust with a little swivel to your hips that makes Pope’s vision go white with how good you feel.  He’s not going to last as long as he wants, and he wants to feel you come against him one last time, wants to feel the way you grip his cock when your pleasure overtakes you.  He reaches down to give you that extra bit of stimulation, his thumb rubbing little circles against your clit.

You usually gasp his name when you come, but the moment feels heavier.  There’s more meaning, the specter of your departure is there in the room with you.  When you come this time, you fumble to reach down, grab the back of his head, lean down to kiss him.  And then you give over to your orgasm, but you groan against his mouth, “fuck, I love you so much,” and even if you didn’t have a vice-grip on his cock, even if you weren’t riding him through your aftershocks – your words are enough to make him come too.

Pope doesn’t sleep for even a second that night.  He spends it all just holding you to him, drinking in every light snore, every sleepy grumble.  You’re leaving, and he has no idea when he’ll see you again.

*****

Being back in Florida is surreal.

You have a week at home, and then you fly to Los Angeles to meet with a production company that wants to buy the rights to your story.  It’s boggling, the money they are offering, and you think that if you do it right, if you are smart, it – along with your settlement money – could be enough to live off of for the rest of your life.

You shoot Santi a text.  His reply is immediate:  I always wanted to be a kept man.

You go back to Florida.  You keep working on your fixer-upper of a home.  You finish the bathroom; you lay the tile on your own.  You paint, you put in most of the new fixtures.  You move onto the kitchen, and you hire the Miller brothers to help out in their spare time.

You don’t tell them why you are suddenly so focused on getting more rooms done – the important rooms.  The rooms that a single person could work around if they weren’t fully functional, but…if someone were to possibly, eventually, maybe move in with you….

You can admit it to yourself:  you want the house to be ready if Santi ever moves back to the States.  You loved your time with him in Colombia.  It was shocking, how natural it felt, just living with him.  But there’s one thing between you still –

“How long do you want to keep this a secret?” you ask him on one of your calls.  It was hot, the sneaking around, the way your burgeoning relationship was just between the two of you.  But at some point, you got tired of keeping the secret, and you didn’t want to hide forever.

“How do you want to tell everyone?” he counters.  “Mass email?  Conference call?”

“I was thinking I could just write a book and publish it.  Let people read it and find out that way,” you dead-pan, and Santi laughs.

“Whenever and however you want, querida,” he says.  “I don’t want to hide this anymore either.”

-----

It’s never your intention to drop it on Frankie the way you do.  Things….well, things have a way of spiraling out of control sometimes.

There is a part of you that is irked by Frankie’s silence.  He never once reaches out, never says a single word about your book.  You aren’t even sure if he read it.  You know he’s busy with impending fatherhood, but it makes you sad how much you overestimated your friendship with him.

You bite back your irritation, and you go to his house one Saturday afternoon.  You have a gift for his baby, just a gift basket with baby stuff, but you want to keep that line of communication open with him.  You don’t want the bridge to be burned between you forever, and besides, he’s Santiago’s best friend.  You don’t want to cause a riff between them.

Frankie opens the door at your second knock, and you think he seems…off.  But how can you know anymore?  You haven’t seen him in months, and you haven’t really be around him much since he met and married Sara.

“I come bearing gifts,” you joke lamely as you hold up the basket, and he scrubs his face with his hands before he nods and lets you in.

“Sara’s not here,” he says, and you follow him into his home.  You’ve never been here before, and you look everything over on the sly.  This could have been your life, in some alternate universe maybe.  The thought doesn’t make you sad – you’ve been over Frankie for a while now, but it’s good to reinforce that certainty from time to time.

“Want a beer?” he offers, but you shake your head and just watch him as he pulls a bottle from the fridge, twists the cap off.  Takes a deep swig and studies you.

“Haven’t seen you around much.”  It’s a true statement, but his tone is almost challenging.  You try to brush it off.

“Well, my mother is really angry,” you joke.  “So I’ve been lying low.”

His eyes soften at that, and for a moment, you see the old Frankie.  The sweet boy next door that you fell in love with and dreamed about.  “I know,” he says quietly.  “I read your book.”

“Ah.”

There’s a long moment of silence – you watching him, him picking at the label on the beer bottle.  “I didn’t know even a fraction of the stuff that happened in your book.”  He glances over at you.  “I wasn’t much of a friend, was I?”

You shrug.  “You were a kid too.”

“I was older than you when you…went away.  And I never even asked where you’d been…”

You shrug again.  “No one could have guessed where I was.”

He takes a sip of beer and shifts his eyes to the floor.  “Are you…doing better?  Nowadays, I mean?  I haven’t, uh, really kept in touch.”  He scoffs and shakes his head at himself.  “Not much of a friend now either, am I?”

You can’t quite think of what to say to that because he’s right – he hasn’t been much of a friend.  But you don’t say it.  You only say something vague, about life happening, and you shift the conversation to Sara and the baby.

“That’s exciting,” you offer. ��“Papa Frankie.”

He laughs at that, and there’s a relieved note to it, the building tension dispelled a little.  “Yeah, it’s good.”

“Your mom must be so happy to be a grandma.”

“She is,” he nods.  “It’s funny how she’s finally treating me like an adult, now that I have a kid on the way.”

You give a non-committal hum, nearly ready to turn and leave, but Frankie fixes you with a curious gaze.  “What about you, Bean?  You got anyone in your life now that you’re a famous author?”

It’s his dumb nickname for you that makes your hackles go up a little, but there’s something about his tone that is a little mean.  A little teasing, but not in a friendly way.  It’s not unlike how he used to rib you in the early stages of his and Sara’s relationship, how he used to needle you about putting more effort into finding someone –

“Actually, yes,” you tell him.  “There is someone.”

You can’t read the expression that crosses his face.  “Really?”

You nod.  “Yeah.  It’s, uh….it’s Pope, actually.”

Frankie’s nostrils flare a little, and he nods as if to himself.  “That’s great,” he says, and you know he’s lying – those flaring nostrils are a tell of his.  He used to lie all the time when you were kids, cheating at games while his nose gave him away.  “How long has that been going on?”

“Since the holidays.  Since….a few days after my mom’s Christmas party.”

Later on, you’ll realize what makes Frankie turn mean in that moment.  At the moment, you think it’s jealousy, and maybe some of it is.  It’s only later that you’ll piece together what is right in front of you at this moment:  the twitchy behavior, the red eyes, the mean little comments.  The fact that Frankie, instead of gaining a few pounds like the other guys, is skinnier than he was even when he was in basic training.

All of that understanding will come later.  For now, his meanness has no apparent cause.

Frankie’s eyes take on a sly quality, and he smiles before he can school himself with a concerned frown.  “After the Christmas party?” he asks in a tone dripping with mock-concern.  “Oh, Bean…I don’t want to be the one to tell you, but Pope was hooking up with a girl on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, it’s not – “

He cuts you off.  “Pope’s always been kind of a dog like that,” and he can’t even hide his glee at trying to wreck the relationship.  His smile is pure smarm, and it sets your temper alight.  Pope was not a dog.  Or maybe he was – he was certainly loving and playful, and you didn’t doubt his loyalty for a second.

“New Year’s Eve?” you reply, and you match his smarmy smile with your own.  “Miami, right?  The Miami Sun Hotel?”

His own grin falls, and you add, “yeah, he was hooking up with me.”  A beat.  “Twice.”

You turn on your heel to leave, furious at Frankie’s shitty behavior, and he calls out something cruel in an attempt to get the last shot in.

“You gonna write him a love letter too when it all falls apart?”

“Don’t need to,” you toss over your shoulder as you stride through his living room and reach the front door.  “I spent the last few months in Medellín, so he knows exactly how I feel about him.”

And then you’re out the door, back in your car, and you never see how your words hit him.  You don’t see how he scrubs his hands over his face again, and how – this new information laying heavy on his heart, the realization at how he’s treated you – he goes to lighten it a little with the baggie of cocaine he keeps hidden away in his sock drawer.

*****

You call Pope that evening, and he can tell from your tone that something is wrong.

“What’s wrong, querida?” he asks, and your eyes are red-rimmed, as if you’ve been crying.

“I told Frankie,” you reply.  “About us.  It wasn’t how I intended it to go…”  You take a deep breath and walk him through the sorry scene, and Pope feels awful that he wasn’t there with you.

“I’m so sorry, Santi,” you tell him.  “I know he’s your best friend.  I didn’t mean to – “

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.  “Honestly, it’s fine.”  He tells you that he thinks Frankie’s outburst is less about the two of you.  He thinks it may be the stress of impending fatherhood, or maybe he and Sara are fighting again.  Maybe it’s money troubles – certainly he has to budget closely, and he knows that Tom complains about not making enough.  The stress of a growing family may be getting to him.

“There’s something going on with Fish,” he tells you.

“At least it’s out in the open now,” you offer weakly.

“Now we can hold hands in public, like a couple of saps,” he agrees, and you laugh at him.  

-----

That’s the issue though – when will he see you again?  One month passes, then another, and after those couple of months together, being apart feels that much worse.

Pope has always played it close to the vest with women, but he never had a girl he could see a life with.  Until you.  He doesn’t want to play it cool, play hard to get or whatever player shit guys are supposed to do.  He wants to be with you all the time, wants to fall asleep beside you.

As it stands, he’s in Colombia at least for most of the rest of the year.  His contract is up at the end of October, and he had planned to renew it, but now he knows he won’t.  He has no clue what he’ll do for work, and he has to broach that subject with you at some point.  He wonders if you’ll judge him, think him a freeloader or a bum who can’t provide.

Pope doesn’t know why he worries about it.  You seem to accept him exactly as he is.  And the proof of that comes just a few days later, in the form of a thick envelope.

It’s curious – you still send him little care packages, but you never write to him anymore other than texts.  Mostly, you have video calls every other day.

He sits down with a beer at his kitchen table, and he opens the envelope carefully.  It’s like that first letter you sent him, the slow way he makes himself move so that he can savor it.  He imagines you in your tumbledown house, writing it out, licking the envelope.  Most of the front of the envelope is covered in stamps, overkill to make sure it makes it to him all the way in Colombia.

Inside are pages of a handwritten letter, but there’s a sticky note on the front that says “READ ME FIRST” that makes him smile.  The note says,

I’d like to consider the letter I wrote Frankie a rough first draft, and this letter is the better, polished version – for you.  Don’t ever doubt how I feel about you.  And maybe you came second, but you will never be second best.

P.S. I wrote this with your fountain pen!

When Pope reads your letter, he’s glad you aren’t there to see it.  He’s almost completely comfortable with you, but fuck – your letter makes him weep.  Ugly, choking sobs that leave him unable to breathe through his nose, swollen as it is.

That letter you wrote Frankie – Pope was always so jealous of it.  Always imagined a world where someone – ideally, you – felt that way about him.  Always was angry at how Frankie responded to it by showing it around, like it was something to mock instead of something to cherish.

Pope will never, ever show your letter to anyone.  He’ll treasure it always – in Colombia, he will pull it out every night, re-read it so that it feels like you are there with him.  Back in the States, later on when he basically has it memorized anyway, he will tuck it away with other treasured mementos.

The letter seals it for him.  He’s coming home to the States.  Coming home to you.

On one of your video calls, he tells you.  He sketches out his plans to get a cheap rental in a nearby town, maybe, because he doesn’t want to make an assumption, but you cut him off with an angry-sounding growl.

“Seriously, Garcia?  Are you shitting me right now?”  He watches you shake your head at him through his computer screen.  “Why do you think I’ve had los hermanos Miller helping me get the house in order?”

“Oh, los hermanos.”  He whistles appreciatively.  “Someone made good use of their time in Colombia.”

You flip him off (the gesture translating easily between English and Spanish), but then you turn serious.  “I mean it, Santiago.  We have most of the rooms remodeled.  Even a guest room, if you want your own space.”

“Maybe,” he jokes back, a little weak at the thought of you preparing your home for him, willing to make it a home for both of you.  “Might want my own room in case I meet a nice girl….”

“Good.  I’ve been sorta harboring a crush on Benny so….”  You let your parry trail off, and your smile is pure mischief.

“That’s generous of you.  Benny has a tiny dick, so it’s nice of you to give him a chance.”

Your peal of laughter is like a balm to his soul.  “Liar.”

“Seriously, querida.”  He holds his thumb and forefinger a fraction apart to demonstrate.  “It’s like a Tic-Tac.”

“Stop it!”

“I’ve showered with him enough to know.”

You shake your head at him, still chuckling.  “Well, let me know how much time I have to set up the welcome wagon for you.”  Your laughter dies off, but your lopsided smile never fades.  “It’ll be good to have you home finally.”

Pope agrees:  it’ll be good to be back in the States, but more than that – it’ll be good to be back with you.  You’re his home now, after all.

~~~Tag List~~~ @marvelousmermaid   @bookishofalder   @hkmultifandom   @cannedsoupsucks   @brandyllyn​   @lawfulgranola​   @shakespeareanwannabe   @greenvita   @enbiadventress​   @rae-rae-patcha​   @happybeepsbuddyy​   @wasicskosgirl​   @comphersjost​   @dinoswierdmom​   @sherala007   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads​

[mellowswriting]

hey!! can I make a frankie morales request with nsfw prompts “I know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and I'm so sorry if I get hard." and "No I do not always cum in my pants, that was the first time." pls??? thank u!!

just friends

pairing || Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

word count || 2,362

warnings || alcohol consumption, Frankie and reader are both drunk and in loooove, grinding, thigh riding

a/n || I had to tweak the prompt slightly to make it work better, but I hope it still works! shoutout to @peterpstuff for not only giving great requests, but for being so supportive and sweet! 

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

The little get together had been impromptu, but maybe that was what made it so much fun. You were expecting a quiet night in with some reruns and takeout, maybe some wine if you felt like it - but then three of your four best friends showed up on your doorstep with liquor in hand and you let them in with a grin and a disbelieving shake of your head. Benny had turned in early for the night after a long day of training for his upcoming fight, but apparently Will, Frankie, and Santiago weren’t content with doing the same.

You didn’t bother changing out of the thin exercise shorts you were wearing as you relaxed before they arrived. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen you like that before. Besides, maybe you wanted a certain someone to let his eyes linger on the way your ass looked in the tight fabric. There was no denying your attraction to Frankie. He was an amazing friend, the kind of person you could rely on for anything from an impromptu good time to picking you up during hard times. Combined with his ridiculous good looks, and how could you not love him?

The problem you faced was the most common among those who fell in love with their best friend - the idea of risking your friendship made your stomach turn. Every time you thought you could muster the courage to tell him, the fear of having that easygoing friendship wither into something fraught with discomfort had you backing off in the blink of an eye - but lately something had changed.

Frankie’s hugs were held a beat longer than usual. He was touching you more often, letting his arm curl over your shoulders on nights out with the boys and even partaking in the play-fighting usually reserved for when you and Benny were feeling particularly chaotic. Something self indulgent and needy whispered in the back of your mind that he was in the exact same place as you, that he was desperately in love with his best friend and couldn’t find a way to say it.

You tried to dismiss it before it could take root and grow into something that would take over your every waking moment, but it only grew louder every time you were in his presence. It was in the way he smiled at you from across your living room, the way his fingers lingered against your own when he handed you a shot, the way his eyes softened every time they met yours.

The liquor absolutely wasn’t helping you rein in your racing thoughts.

Even with the commotion caused by Will and Santi, you and Frankie were off in your own little world of conversation broken up by drunken giggling at your friends’ craziness. He would lean closer every now and then so you could hear his low voice over the music Santi was blaring and the more you drank, the more you were tempted to just… close the gap. Lean in and kiss him. And kiss him some more. And some more.

You could feel his gaze lingering on your face but you kept your eyes on Will holding a bottle of liquor high above his head and trying to fend off Santi, who was practically trying to scale him to get to it. The ridiculousness unfolding in front of you wasn’t enough to distract you from the warmth Frankie was radiating, from just how close his thigh was to pressing against yours, and holy shit, you felt like some nervous, fumbling teenager.

Yeah, that was enough alcohol for you. It was smart to stop while you were ahead before you let baser impulses take hold or before the boys broke your coffee table… again. You stood from your cross-legged position on the couch, immediately missing Frankie’s presence next to you, and broke up their little playful fight. It was time to get everyone back to their respective beds and fast tracked to nursing the hangovers you would all surely have.

“You’re such a good friend, gumdrop.” Santi slurred, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you walked him to the Uber you called for him and Will. You rolled your eyes as you opened the car door to get his clingy ass to sit down, but his arms hooked around your waist and dragged you into a bone crushing hug that ended with a kiss to your forehead.

Santi always was a lovey-dovey drunk.

“Okay, okay, you dork, get in the damn car.” You teased.

Once both of them were packed up and headed off, you went back inside with Frankie to wait for another Uber to be available. That little voice in the back of your head piped up once more, stressing the fact that you were alone now, that you were both drunk and alone together and who knew what would happen? You tried to ignore it as you ventured to the kitchen for a glass of water, the solution to your suddenly dry throat produced by your nervousness. It made no sense. Frankie was your best friend, your person. There was no need to be nervous around him, but yet… there you were.

You shook your head, trying to force the thoughts away as you went back to relax with your friend - only to find him sitting in your spot. Sure, the recliner was an option and the rest of the couch was open, but you always curled up against the right arm of the couch. You pouted. “Frankie, you’re in my spot.”

Frankie glanced up at you from whatever trashy show he indulged in while drunk, his tongue flicking against his bottom lip absentmindedly. There was something… different in his eyes. “You can still sit here.”

He patted his thigh and your breath caught in your throat, fighting the impulse to quite literally throw yourself into his lap. Were you really going to do it? You could always blame it on the alcohol if things went awry. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as you’ve hyped it up to be. Maybe it was worth the risk. With burning cheeks, you let yourself ease into his lap, your thighs on either side of his.

“God, you’re so warm, Frankie.” You mumbled, letting yourself give in and bury yourself against his chest to soak in the body heat he radiated. It wasn’t until that moment that you realized how chilled your skin had become - those damn shorts didn’t do much to keep you warm - and you shivered slightly against him.

“Ya cold, sweetheart?” Frankie rubbed his hands over your thighs when you nodded and you groaned involuntarily, trying to muffle the embarrassing sound in his shirt. “It’s okay, I’ll keep you warm.”

The longer you sat curled up against him, the more relaxed you became. The combination of his woodsy scent, his warmth, the feeling of his hands rubbing your thighs and your back - it was making you more drunk than the damn liquor had. You pressed closer, nuzzling your cheek against his chest without thinking, and hummed happily. All higher thought was abandoned at the fact that you were finally getting to snuggle him like you wanted. You weren’t going to let anxious thoughts ruin that moment for you.

Frankie cleared his throat, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he spoke in an embarrassed, almost uncertain tone. “I know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and I'm so sorry if I get hard."

You tensed slightly against him. This was it. This was the moment, probably the only one you would get. If you didn’t take it, you knew Frankie would drop it forever. He was a gentleman that way - not once would he pressure anyone into anything, but especially not you. The simple idea of him becoming hard beneath you, because of you, had a sharp thrill shooting up your spine. Slowly, you sat up and tentatively met his gaze, your own nerves mirrored in his pretty brown eyes.

“Are we really, though?” You asked, swallowing harshly. “Just friends?”

Frankie nervously licked his bottom lip again before he whispered, “We don’t have to be.”

That was all you needed, those few words of confirmation that told you no, you weren’t crazy to see the yearning in his eyes everytime he looked at you. You weren’t crazy to match that yearning with an intensity that took your breath away. It was all you needed to buck up the courage, lean in, and kiss your best friend. It was a soft little thing, that first kiss. His beard was rough against your palm where you cupped his cheek and you could feel the tightening of his hands on your hips.

Franke was the first to pull away, a disbelieving little grin on his face as he really let himself take in that this really was happening. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Then do it again.” You meant for it to sound charming, but it came out more like a sweet beg, one he gave into without a second thought.

Frankie kissed you like a man starving, like you were the only thing that would cure his hunger, and you weren’t any better. His lips were as soft as they were ravenous, just as you imagined they would feel, and he tasted of the whiskey he had sipped all night. You curled your fingers into his shirt, grasping tightly to keep yourself anchored through the lightheaded realization that you were finally getting what you were wanting after for so long. The flush press of your body against him made Frankie grind up against you unthinkingly.

“Shit, sorry,” He mumbled, resting his head back against the cushions to catch his breath, his ears tinged red as a blush creeped up his neck. It was too tempting, the sight of his neck so free of marks and kisses. Frankie inhaled sharply as you pressed your lips to the underside of his jaw and it spurred you on to trail more kisses down his neck, your tongue teasing and licking until you got more of those addicting little sounds of pleasure. “I-I don’t wanna rush you, we don’t have to -”

Frankie cut himself off with a groan at the feeling of your teeth sinking into his shoulder and you chuckled before saying, “There’s no rush, Frankie. We can just do this.” You grinded down against him, shivering at the feeling of his cock still trapped in his jeans.

“Okay, okay…” Frankie mumbled as he held you steady in his lap and began rocking his hips along with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that had moans filling the air and drowning out the droning of the tv behind you. “Fuck, you feel good… these fucking shorts, I swear to god.”

“Wore them just for you,” You confessed, your breath hitching when his hips stuttered in their rhythm, beyond grateful for the thin material that let you find the friction against him. Frankie’s hands traveled from your hips to your ass, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh greedily. “I wanna make you cum, Frankie.”

“Shit, you can’t say that…” Frankie chuckled breathily, his eyes screwing shut when your pace quickened, and he suddenly took over the desperate grinding, dragging you down against him with a choked groan.

“Cum for me, baby,” You whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe.

His low groan-gasp was something you would play over in your head for the rest of your life. Pride tingled through you at the dazed look in his eyes as he came down from his high, eased along by your kisses and kitten licks. You didn’t think he could look any better, but post-orgasm was a whole new type of handsome.

“I don’t always cum in my pants, you know.” Frankie said, his following chuckle tinged with embarrassment. “That was the first time.”

“That was fucking hot.” You purred.

“Yeah?” He kneaded at your thighs with love drunk hands, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he repositioned you to straddle one of his thighs instead of both. “I bet you’d look even hotter. C’mon baby, ride my thigh.”

A thrill shot through you, his words fanning the flames of your arousal, and you obeyed without a second thought. The rough fabric of his jeans was the perfect friction through your thin shorts, pleasure and alcohol mingling and flowing through you in a perfect storm that left you shamelessly grinding and seeking the orgasm hanging right in your sights. Frankie guided you down to kiss you, more tongue than any finesse in your needy, drunken state, but you couldn’t keep up with it. You fell forward to hide your face into his neck, cheeks burning with the heat of pleasure and disbelief that you were finally doing this with the man you love - but you hadn’t even said it yet.

“Love you,” You mumbled, your hips stuttering as you grew closer to release, and you pressed the gentlest of kisses to his neck. “I love you, Frankie.”

Frankie’s hand found your chin and pulled you up to study your face for just a moment before yanking you into a harsh kiss that melted into something deep, something desperate and intense and full of love, and you broke. A groan broke the kiss and Frankie leaned back to take in the sight of you washed out in pleasure, encouraging you with one hand massaging your thigh. You trembled against him, curling into his chest to catch your breath and revel in the sweet combination of drunk orgasms and Frankie’s warmth.

“I love you, too, y’know.” Frankie said, sounding just as tired as you felt.

“Stay the night?” You offered, bracing one hand against his chest for balance as you sat back to look at him. He smiled softly at you and nodded, and your heart leapt in your chest.

It took a while to actually get to your bedroom between the needy kisses and curious hands, but that was okay. You had all the time in the world.

{Taglist} 

@iamburdened  @everyhowlmarksthedead  @jenrebloggingfics @xserenax-13 @paintballkid711 @leonieb @lazybeeches @withasideofmeg @greeneyedblondie44 @chattychell @ew-erin @artsymaddie @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @jitterbugs927 @lemonlime09 @la-lunaluna @silverstarsandsuns @luminescentlily @freeshavocadoooo @i-ship-it-ironically @wyn-dixie @notabotiswear @theorganasolo @the-witty-pen-name @northernpunk @andruxx @bloodsuckingbastards @coldlilheart @gracie7209 @green-socks @lord-of-restingbiface @asta-lily @amneris12 @xgoldenjenny @mummifymecaptain @thevoiceinyourheadx @a-skov @clydesducktape @himbotroy @wigwitch @marvelousmermaid @over300books @raisuniverse @castleamc @darnitdraco @xjsteph @janebby @cannedsoupsucks @itssmashedavo @mtjoi @triggerhappyflygirl @tobealosstwanderer @insiespeckagain

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Request: In the Woods (Caius Volturi x Reader)

WARNING: Dark themes!

It had to be something of pure luck that you had escaped. By even more luck, you had stumbled upon the Cullen's, your coven before you were forced into the Volturi. All thanks to Caius that is. You clung to Carlisle's collar. "Please...don't let me go back there...don't let them take me." If you could have cried you would have and Carlisle's heart ached for you. 

Alice inhaled sharply, a vision gripping her and pulling her from reality. "I'll kill myself!" You screamed catching the Cullen's and the Volturi off guard, no one more than Caius who growled, taking a step forward. The vision changed suddenly. You locked eyes with Vladimir, relief rushing across your face. The scattered bodies of the decapitated Cullen's surrounding you. Caius snarled. You sprinted towards Vladimir who in turn sprinted towards you. Many guards gave chase as even Caius himself ran after you. You smiled as Vladimir grabbed your head and pulled. There was a 'clink!' and Caius scream before the vision changed once more. Vladimir laughed, holding up your head and showing Stefan what he had done. Stefan's face lit up, laughing before your head was tossed into the nearby fire. The vision changed again with what only could be described as a war. The Romanians had brought their all allies; the Denali, the Amazons, even the Egyptians. Rows upon rows of vampires just as the Volturi had the numbers to match.  Alice was thrown back into reality, the vision ending and the message was clear. They couldn't let you leave the Volturi. For the sake of every vampire in existence and for your own life, you had to be with Caius. 

 The guards turned their heads to see their three masters behind them. They silently waited for the order. Aro looked to Caius, who wore a cold expression. "Get them." Caius demanded through a clenched jaw. The leaders had briefed them of the guards of their task and the conditions they expected you to be returned. 

Alice caught Carlisle's arm, Edward not far behind her. "We have a problem. We can't take (Y/N) with us. If we do, we'll be dead. I saw it. We need to be tactical about this-" "Even if that means we can't bring them with us today." Edward finished. "You can't just leave me!" You cried out. "We're family!" Alice was about to say something when Alice's eyes glazed over for a moment, stiffening. Jasper was quick to his mates side, taking her arms. Edward turned to Carlisle. "Carlisle-" Alice blinked. "They're looking for them now! They just sent out the guard!" You cried out. "Please, don't leave me here!" Carlisle was quick. "(Y/N), run that way, keep running don't wait for us, don't look back.” You did so, panicked. Running as fast as you could. "Do you really think they'll outrun the guard?" Emmett asked as Esme took Carlisle's hand. "We can only do so much. This is their best chance." "And ours." Alice added. 

Everything had gone quiet, or at least, it was quiet for a forest. Other than your footsteps, animals and wind. Thanks to vampirism, you could see in the dark. If you were human, you'd have no chance. You finally stopped to get your bearings. You had kept straight ahead, like Carlisle had said. However you had no idea how far the forest exit was. You didn't feel alone in the forest with every passing moment. You knew it wouldn't be long before the Volturi caught up. 

Felix, Demetri, Santiago, the twins and Afton stood at the tree line. "Afton, go straight ahead." Demetri ordered. "Make sure you won't be seen." Within the blink of an eye, Afton was gone and then a whir as he rushed ahead. "We'll cover the left and secure the Cullen's." Jane said. "I'll take the right side." Felix smirked, rolling his shoulders. "I'll follow behind Afton." Demetri said. "They'll be blocked by all exits." 

"We are not using Chelsea." Caius said firmly. "There is nothing wrong with our bond. They love me. I know they do. It's their fear and disdain for what we do that stops them." "Brother if we tie, their bind stronger to you- this won't be a problem." Aro tried. "No, it won't. I will not mess with their feelings like that." Caius said sharply. "Yet you are willing to alter their happiness?" Marcus slowly turned his head to Caius. "It's a lesser of two evils. If they understood, I wouldn't have to." Caius replied with gritted teeth. "If you're certain, we'll have Corin sent to (Y/N) as soon as you see necessary." Aro told Caius who curtly nodded. 

There was a crunch behind you. Your head whipped around to find Santiago. "Santiago..." You breathed. "Hello, (Y/N)." Santiago said simply. "I'd have hoped to see you on better circumstances." You slowly moved back and he moved forwards in retaliation. "Is he here?" You asked shakily. "He is waiting for us." Santiago replied. "Who is 'us'?" You asked stiffly. "The guard, myself and you." He answered. You shook your head. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not going back there." Santiago sighed. "Then what choice do I have? We've been ordered to retrieve you alive but that doesn't mean we can't hurt you." Santiago said and he moved slowly towards you. "You've upset Caius quite a bit, (Y/N)." 

Santiago lunged, grabbing you by the arms. You tore yourself out of his grip and pushed him back with a snarl. He growled as he moved again, he was quicker. Angrier. You cried out in pain when you suddenly felt pain in the side of your neck and head. You felt the cracks slowly travel along the area. You fell to your knees, hand to your neck as your vision blurred momentarily. 

Something within you snapped as Santiago moved forward once more. You rolled away from him before jumping to your feet and throwing everything you had into a punch. Clink! Your jaw dropped as Santiago's head detached and fell to the ground. You couldn't believe it. You had never hurt a vampire before and you nearly killed Santiago with one hit. You had no idea what to do in that moment. It's not like you didn't like Santiago, could you just leave him and hope someone finds him? You groaned, rubbing the back of your neck and feeling the cracks beginning to heal. 

Suddenly, a scent hit your nostrils as you heard clapping behind you. You spun on your heels to be faced with Felix who was slowly approaching. "Did you just rip off Santiago's head?" Felix asked, looking at the decapitated body of Santiago, his head a few feet away. "Uh, no?" You furrowed your brow. It was a bold-faced lie. Although Felix wasn't known for his brain. "I'm not even angry, I'm just impressed. He's one of our best-as you know. How did you do that?" "I punched him in the head." You replied. "You punched him in the head!? Damn. That must have been one hell of a punch."  "I didn't mean to...I was afraid." You said quietly. "No!" Felix said sharply. "Stand your ground. Stick up for yourself, kid! Don't crumble now!" Felix moved forward, standing next to Santiago's body and giving his shoulder a quick nudge with his foot. Felix sighed. "Although that is quite a number you've done to my friend, (Y/N)." "Felix..." You ground out. "Why are you here?" "I came here to being you back. " Suddenly, before you could even think about it. You lashed out, punching Felix in the face. His head whipped to the side as he grunted, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat. He lifted his head to look at you. You nearly jumped when Felix suddenly yelled loudly. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" You took off running. "Come on, (Y/N)! Woo!" Felix gave chase. 

After some time Felix caught up with you. What made matters worse was that you had were completely lost. You had tried everything, running into bushes, plants, trees. Everything to create distance or even make him confused but his eyes were trained on you and he was always right behind you. As you moved back, Felix moved forward. "You don't have to do this." You pleaded. "Actually, yeah. I do. Don't worry, I won't bring you back to Caius with your hair an absolute mess." Felix reached out smoothing and fixing your hair. "You really don't deserve this, kid. You know orders though. Caius wants to make sure you'll never pull a stunt like this again." You had no fighting experience. Caius didn't think it necessary. Felix, on the other hand, had fighting as both a hobby and his profession for centuries. So you did the only thing you could think to do. As juvenile as it was...it had a chance of working. 

You aimed high, right between his legs. He immediately groaned, crumpling to his knees and doubled over.  You took off running once more. "That was a perfect shot." Felix groaned. Suddenly Demetri was beside Felix. "What are you doing!? They're getting away!" "They got me in the crown jewels, what do you want from me?" Felix groaned back. Demetri sighed in frustration before he took off running after you. 

You stopped running, changing to a walk to try and reserve some kind of energy. Your neck reminding you to go easy. You should have fed before you left but you couldn't wait. You had your opportunity and took it. However it wasn't long before your senses caught into something. As far as your eyes were concerned, you were alone. Although your ears sensed otherwise. You couldn't let on that you knew someone was behind you and threw a 'meaningless' glance over your shoulder, you saw nothing as expected. That left you with only one conclusion given the footsteps behind you were slightly out of time with your own. It wouldn't be enough for a human to have picked up but your vampire senses latched onto it. You didn't dare stop walking, if you did, the person would likely strike. Although this wasn't just any person. It was a guard. You were more than certain that Afton Volturi was behind you. 

You closed your eyes, concentrating hard on the footsteps. He was arms length. Gradually getting closer as he almost matched your footsteps. You stopped a few feet away from a twig. The same twig, snapped behind you. "There you are." You whispered before throwing your fist back ad hard as you could. It hit him. He, still invisible, fell to the ground with a small groan. You wasted no time kicking leaves at him. Finally, you had an outline. Before he could move, you pounced, hitting him with everything you had. "Show yourself!" You demanded over and over again until he did so. Cracks were all over his face and that was when you stopped your brutal assault. "Good choice, you wouldn't have made it back to Chelsea, otherwise." You growled. "You can ask Santiago about that later." Afton choked on his short, laugh. "No wonder he chose you." He said as best he could manage. "You're just like him." Something about being compared to how awful Caius was made something within you snap. You growled and snapped his neck just as quickly. You let Afton off easy, perhaps too easy but if you did anymore damage, you'd only prove him right. 

However you barely got a hundred yards away before you were yanked from behind. Demetri had caught up to you quickly and grabbed you by the neck. "You think you're winning. You think that you'll get out of here but you won't. You will only have the consequences of your actions because your precious Cullen's will pay the price for it." You panicked. "N-No. Don't hurt them." You managed out. "You hurt them, (Y/N). This is all your fault." You kicked his stomach, hard, making him double over and let you go. You took off running. Although even with that kick, he was still catching up to you. He's faster than you. That was hard to forget in that moment. He was expecting you to take sharp corners or try to outrun him. He picked up speed. You did the only thing you could think off that would use his speed to his advantage.  Just as he was about to grab you, you flung yourself to the ground curling into a ball. Demetri tripped over you immediately, landing before you. That was when you took off running once more. This time to your left. That didn't last long either as it seemed you had run right into Alec. You took a sharp right. 

Just as you lost Demetri and Alec, you seemed to had found Felix who was immediately calling after you. "No, no, no, no!" You muttered hurriedly to yourself, determined to find an escape route. "You know I've actually missed you, (Y/N)!" Felix called out, slowly approaching you. "You've punched me in the face and kicked me where it hurts and now I like you more! How weird is that!?"  You sat with Caius on a couch, head resting upon his shoulder when a thought occurred to you. When had you become so happy? You recalled being miserable. Wishing you could cry for just maybe that would release some of the built up tension and pain you were enduring. Yet one day it did. All of your misery had just stopped which left you only the feeling of content. For unexplainable reasons that thought itched at you. As thought you were trying to remember something important. You raised your head slowly. "What is it, my love?" Caius asked softly. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders and his hand traced idle patterns upon your shoulder blade. "I'm trying to remember something." You said quietly. "From when you were human?" He asked. It was the most logical answer. Once turned into a vampire, your memory was perfect at recalling every moment. There was no forgetting even the smallest details as a vampire. Slowly you shook your head. "No...I just..." You trailed off looking around."... everything is perfect." You finally found the correct words. Caius cracked a smile. "Well isn't that a good thing? You deserve nothing less, my love." "But it's not realistic." You retorted. "Since when is everything in the world so perfect? It just occurred to me that one day I was simply happier than I had ever been, when before I had been miserable." "You've adapted to the circumstances. You understand now." "Do I though?" You shot back. "I don't know what changed. I..." Caius stopped tracing patterns along your back, his expression unreadable. "...I think something is wrong." You finished. 

Alec, Demetri and Afton were behind you. Felix to your right. That meant only Santiago and Jane were unaccounted for and there were only two guards. You sprinted away as fast as you can and much to your surprise, briefly, they didn't follow. That's when you reminded yourself that they were toying with you. The cliff you were sprinting towards had become a beacon of hope. The guard had made a mistake. They enjoyed the hunt too much and made mistakes. Or at least that's what you had thought until Jane moved into your line of sight and stood between you and the cliff. You stopped immediately.  

"It wasn't a bad idea." Jane said. "Jumping off the cliff but it's an easy escape route. Too easy." "Jane..." You whispered under your breath. "Unfortunately for you, I stand in your way." Jane said simply. "Why are you doing this to me?" You said weakly. "I have my orders." She replied, her tone full of innocence that simply wasn’t real. Not for Jane. "Do us both a favour and come with me quietly." "No." You said firmly. "Good. I never liked cooperative ones. It's a bore." Jane said. 

You lay against Caius' chest. One hand rested upon his chest, his own overlapping yours and his other hand idly drew patterns upon your bare spine and shoulder blade. It was the first time you had ever been intimate with him and given what you could have sworn was a sound like a purr in the back of his throat, Caius was pleased. You looked up at him. Sure enough, his eyes were soft, a small smile upon his face. "You look happy." You said softly. Caius turned his head towards you. "I am happy." "Why?" You asked. "Other than what just took place?" Caius smirked. "I have you in my bed, in my arms no less. For eternity it'll be you and I. How could I not be happy about that?" 

You screamed as agony rushed through your head and down every part of your body. You tried to remember that Jane's gift was simply an illusion. You weren't actually hurt. Jane was manipulating you into thinking you were. Every fibre of your being told you to go limp, curl up and hope for the agony to subside. It hushed your mind, begging you to do anything for the pain to stop. You couldn't listen to it. No matter how much that instinct screamed at you, you couldn't listen. Your survival depended on that. For a brief moment, you recalled how Jane stood over you, on the cliff. Your mind clouded by the agony, you reminded yourself once more you could move and you had to. You had to do something. Under any circumstances, you could not give in. So you didn't and did the first thing that came to mind. It took almost all of your brain power to move against the pain and kick Jane hard in the stomach. She was caught off guard as she stumbled back, falling off the edge with a yelp. Suddenly the pain was gone and your muscles begged you to rest. However there wasn't any time for that. You groaned as you moved to a stand. Your muscles protest before they too seemed realise that nothing was wrong. You wasted no time taking off running. By that time, you barely caught Jane's scream. "Alec!" 

You finally stopped running. You needed a plan. Something to stop you walking into your own demise. You needed to think back upon everything. As it stood you had seen Jane, Santiago, Afton, Demetri and Felix. Jane screamed for Alec. There was no doubt Demetri was around. He was the tracker. They aren't grouped. They are already out. You knew that because you always found at least one of them no matter which way you turned. That would also have explain why Felix has been toying with you. He's under no rush to get you. He must know you're surrounded. You have been injured. Your neck no less. You put a hand to your neck. It had healed but without blood, it'll remain a weakness. It's easy to hurt. You can only run so much. You bit your lip as the thought hit you. There's a chance you could catch them surprise but it would have to be a perfect shot. The head. Their reaction times will be quicker and they will be a difficult target. Anything other than a head shot will not be enough to reasonably slow them down. Perhaps find the Cullen's, strength in numbers. No. That wouldn't work. The guard are still stronger and if they have you surrounded then it's likely they already have the Cullen's. The guard are prepared and have centuries of training. You have no training at all. They have the advantage. If you make a run for it, it's more than likely someone like Alec will come up behind you, already having been watching you. 

You could picture it, seeing the edge of freedom before being yanked back by Alec before everything goes black. Next option would be hiding. Tree tops, forest floor, underground. All that is needed is a sense of smell. All of it is open, nothing to use even as a barricade or something to block your scent. No tight corners to tuck yourself into. Day or night is irrelevant, vampires can see in both. In that case, the best case scenario was that they eventually gave in or got memory loss and forgot why they were in there. Both were unlikely outcomes. Furthermore it would mean you had to reside the rest of your existence in that hiding place. Swapping one prison for another. Could try spreading your scent, confuse them. You've tried that before. Demetri's gift will eventually figure out the strength of the scent and eventually, you. If you bury yourself and eventually your scent underground it means their isn't much moving space. If they figure out you were there-. You couldn't finish the thought, your imagination running wild as you pictured being dragged out of the ground, screaming, by Felix. Tree tops, that's only a matter of time until someone finds you. They'll search high and low. The more time passes, the more the guard are closing in and you were running out of time. How long before Caius grows impatient and sends even more guards? Sooner or later the guard will find you. Once they are all here, it is over. Felix, Demetri and Santiago are collectively bigger, strong and faster. The twins are more powerful. Still, none of that includes the major advantage of their experience. You can't run, you can't hide and you certainly can't wait. That was a lot of endings, all with the same outcome. That left you with an impossible yet unexpected ending, even for the guard. One that will still likely going to end in failure but a better chance than any of the rest. You couldn't believe what you were thinking. You couldn't run, hide or wait. So what was the only option? The answer was in three simple words. Ones that were difficult to stomach, given the circumstances. Take them out. 

"Choose your next words very carefully." Caius said lowly, his eyes narrowing on you. "You don't love me. You never have." "How dare you!?" He snapped. "How dare you say such a thing after everything you and I have shared!" "The Cullen's were right, you manipulated me." You said hurriedly. "Don't listen to them!" Caius stormed up to you, eyes full of fury. "They are clueless. You know me better than them, than anyone!”  

It wasn’t long until they had boxed you in. You couldn’t get them to split again. You were surrounded by them. Santiago, Afton, Demetri, Jane, Alec and Felix. "Playtime is over now." Jane said. "Caius will be growing impatient." You shook your head in frustration, stepping back and your heels hit a fallen tree trunk. "It's time to bring you home." Alec said. "Although, for old times sake..." Felix said as he and the twins smirked. "...Run." Jane said simply. "One last chase." Demetri smirked slightly. "Oh...well then." You said before throwing a fallen tree trunk at the twins.  They weren't quick enough to dodge it. The two grunted in pain, falling to the ground when the tree trunk hit the twins in the face. "To the face!" Felix yelled, as though cheering you on even as you took off running. 

You heard their footsteps behind you almost immediately. You pushed forward with everything you had. Your freedom depended on it. "You can't control me, Caius!" Your echoed wail rang out in your head, recalling the man who wanted you at his mercy. "Can't I?" He had replied, seemingly not even bothered by your growing distress. You couldn't let him win. You couldn't prove him right. "No matter what you think, I do love you and I always will." That couldn't be love. Having you bound to him couldn't be love. You knew you loved Caius on your own but you knew it wasn't all you that was in control. You knew it when you recognised Corin seemed to appear almost routinely. Whenever you began to question, she was there and suddenly you couldn’t really remember why you were questioning things in the first place. This happiness wasn't entirely yours. It was artificial and you knew it. Once you began to see things a little clearer, once the rose-tinted glasses had faded, you knew you had to find out for yourself. So you smiled at Caius with every waking moment. Enjoyed everything he had to offer. Seek him out as he sought you out. Whilst inside, remember why you struggled so much. With each passing day you remembered how brutal Caius could be. How much he demanded from the world and how he forced your respect. You were under his control and in the end, you were his prize. So with each passing day you didn't kick, you didn't scream and you smiled. Letting yourself love him and letting the reality slowly creepy back into your mind. Although even with all of that, two things didn't change in the end. One: you still loved Caius with every fibre of your being. Two: Demetri was still faster than you. 

You were tackled to the ground with a screech, Demetri pressed your head into the ground. Your eyes widened as you sucked in an unneeded breath. It was over. "No! No!" You screamed. Suddenly you couldn't feel your legs. You screamed in fear, knowing what came next didn't make it any less horrible. "Relax kid, it's over." You heard Felix as he stood over you. Your screams began to die down before your eyes glazed over. 

You came to on the ground. Although you weren't surrounded by trees anymore. Instead, it was legs. Demetri and Felix stood on either side of you and when you looked up, you locked eyes with ones lit up in fury. Caius took a few steps forward. "Back to where we started. You and me...and you're on the wrong side." You swallowed. He was angry, even if it barely showed upon his face. You looked down, unable to speak or even look him in the eyes. "Keep looking at me! Don't look away!" Caius snapped and you lifted your gaze to him once more. Aro stepped forward with a sweet smile. "Don't you see? We have done you a kindness." Aro said sweetly, sickeningly sweet. "If anyone else found you, they'd have killed you slowly and painfully. You're lucky that it is us. What better way to show you than be a little...rough." Is that what you were to think of it? A warning rather than the guard playing games with you and a man hunt in general? 

 You looked around to see the Cullen's also being held by the Volturi. Panic began to set in. "Please..." You whimpered. "Please what?" Caius said icily. "Please don't bring me back there!" You cried out. "Y-you can't! Don't make me go back there! I don't want anyone forcing me to feel anything anymore!" You tried to bolt, take one last dash in hopes of escaping but Felix and Demetri had stepped in before you could. You screamed in terror. 

Caius couldn't believe what was happening before his eyes. He watched as Felix and Demetri forcibly pinned you down. All the while you cried out in hysterics. He couldn't believe what was happening before him and it filled him with rage. Caius moved forward. "Why are you being like this? You're coming home!" He shouted, trying to get through to you. You struggled against the hold the two guards had upon you. Crying out as though terrified. Caius couldn't help but think of all the days before you left. You seemed happy, smiling at him. Giving in and enjoying every little second and touch given by him. The smiles you shared, the kisses, the laughs. Everything. Yet here you were now, screaming in terror at the very thought of returning to him. It only made him more angry as he longed for those moments now more than ever. 

Caius stepped in between your legs, pinning you down himself, the other two guards releasing their hold as Caius pulled your hands into his own between your chests. Caius leaned down pressing his forehead against yours mumbling to you only words you could hear beyond your cries and sobs that held no tears. You begged him. Begged him to let you go. Yet he didn't want to hear it. "Wake up!" He said loudly, over your cries. "Whatever fantasy you're clinging to- wake up! You were happy! I'm bringing you home! They aren’t your home!" This only seemed to make you cry more, despite no tears being able to fall. Unable to make your pleas be heard. 

His hair had fallen onto your face at both sides as he continued to try to get through to you. "I'd rather die than go back there!" You cried out and Caius groaned, hiding his face into the side of your own, hurt by the words and even more so, frightened. "This is not you! This is not you!" He yelled before straightening his back. "This is you!" He growled at Carlisle. "What have you done to my mate!?" Caius bellowed in fury. "What have you done to them!? What have you done to them!?" Caius got no response so he turned back to you. "What did he do!?" He yelled. You tried to maneuver your wrists and hands free from his grip but failed when Caius tightened his grip on them. Borderline painfully. He groaned in pain, clearly trying to cover his own emotions. "Oh my mate, my poor mate." His pained words muffled against the side of your face once more. He straightened up again. "Get Chelsea!" Caius screamed. You shrieked in protest as you tried to kick him off but he was stronger and more experienced. "You're confused and I'm going to make it better." He said to you before returning to mumble of his 'poor mate'. 

Chelsea was quick. She didn't even have to be told what to do. At the sight of her you tried to wriggle out of Caius' hold again begging him to stop. All the while, Caius continued to tell you that it was for the best and it would all be alright. Chelsea began to speak to you quietly and slowly you grew quiet. Quiet sobs escaping you. Caius pulled you to sit up by your hands and held you close. Chelsea continued to speak to you quietly as Caius weaved his fingers into your hair, your head pressed against his chest. He glared at Carlisle, with every bit of hatred he had in him. Chelsea straightened and took her leave. 

You cries were miniscule. Although you didn't fight Caius off. Instead, you clung to him. "Caius, why don't you take dear (Y/N) to your private quarters? They need you right now." Aro suggested with a sickeningly sweet tone. You struggled to really pay attention to what was happening after that. 

As Caius left with you along with Chelsea and Afton, Aro looked to the Cullen's. "Aro, we were just passing through." Carlisle began and Aro raised his hand. "I know, my dear friend. The timing of this was inconvenient. I apologise for this. This is a rather difficult situation for you. We'll have this issue tied up in no time." Aro reassured Carlisle. His words seemed comforting, however they were called into question when he softly said. "Alec?" 

Before Carlisle could react, Aro had his head in his hands and twisted. Clink! Esme screamed before she, as well as her family dropped to the ground. Felix and Demetri moved towards Emmett and Jasper. Two resounding clinks were heard. Demetri moved towards Esme. Clink! Felix grabbed Rosalie. Clink! Felix and Demetri hesitated at the three remaining Cullen's. Alice, Edward and Bella. "Go on." Aro said softly before turning to Marcus. Clink! Clink! Clink! Aro sighed. "Such a waste of gifts, Caius best appreciate this." "Why have you done this?" Marcus asked looking at the bodies of the Cullen's. Aro replied. "With Chelsea's influence they'll never leave again. However this is incentive, they'll have no one to remind them where they came from and no one to turn to. After all...Carlisle did originally decide to help them. A betrayal to us." Marcus slowly nodded. 

The next clear thing to you was when you lay in Caius' arms, in his bed. He had your face buried in his chest, his arms around you as the two of you lay on your sides. "You will be alright now." Caius said quietly. The most you could really do was grip the back of his shirt. Every now and then you subconsciously pressed into him breathing in his scent. Each time Caius would quietly purr, holding you tighter. "I nearly lost you." He whispered between deep breaths, breathing in your scent with another squeeze that he quickly returned after your own.