#i just feel like it's the most prominent writing tag on here

[tiny-chubby-bird]

hello!

as someone who likes to read and has also posted some stories myself on a secondary account, i'd like to suggest something to you. now, i am not someone to tell you what you should and shouldn't do, you're a free individual, so this isn't supposed to be a "do this or else!!" kinda post.

i'd just really like to suggest putting your works underneath the "read more" option on tumblr. if it's smut, some people may not want to read it, or maybe you don't want minors to immediately see all the dirty stuff. you could put the content warnings and notes and stuff on top, and then the actual writing under read more, for example (just a suggestion!!).

if it's not smut but also not short (i think anything above maybe 600 words can be seen as long on tumblr text post format), it would make scrolling through posts a lot easier to have those stories also under read more. i often scroll through the "your tags" section to look for stories, but will have to scroll past really, really long texts because a story with 3-5k words is not put under read more. it can be a bit exhausting, sometimes even annoying.

i see people complaining about unwanted smut and long walls of text every now and then and, while there are some filtering options, sometimes some tags still slip through and people still see what they try to avoid, and i know that tagging things properly can be a bit difficult at times if you don't know the right words/tags to use, or maybe you're as forgetful as i am. i know that's not my or your problem in particular, but we can still all work together to at least try and make this site as enjoyable as possible for everyone (not a very realistic goal, but an attempt often still counts for something).

tl;dr: it would be super appreciated if longer stories could be put under read more, so smut can be more easily avoided if it's unwanted, and there aren't walls of texts to scroll past.

if you perhaps don't know how to put something under read more, here's how:

on pc, when pressing enter to make a new paragraph, these symbols should show up

and the gray one on the far right side, when clicked, will put anything underneath it under read more. the same/similar symbols should be shown on tumblr mobile.

i am aware there's the option in your account settings to "shorten long posts" but some may not have this activated. i didn't until today because i didn't even know about it haha.

again, i'm not telling you what to do. this is mostly for new and/or younger people that may not know of this feature. this may be just my own personal preference, but i feel like it's kind of a respectful thing to do. sorry for rambling, hope you have a nice timezone!

[tohruies]

a realisation that home was here. home was now. and it had been all along … 🥺💘

— ☆ 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒

alhaitham x ryu. this is obviously a selfship piece for ryuhaitham and it’s in first person. canon au. comfort. fluff. read here if you want more context on us. 0.7k wc

I sat curled on the couch with a blanket drawn tightly around me, staring at the modest decorations I’d strung up days ago when Alhaitham first left for Akademiya business. The lights, the strings of ribbon—they felt out of place here, like foreign embellishments in a world that had no meaning for them.

Christmas. Once upon a time, it had been everywhere—woven into every light, every note of music, every breath of winter air. It wasn’t as though I’d celebrated Christmas extravagantly but the absence of it here made the ache of displacement settle heavy in my chest. Even if I’d only half-participated in the holiday back then, its laughter and warmth had always been a comforting constant.

Teyvat moved without pause. The winds of Mondstadt whipped across snow-buried plains, Sumeru’s ever-shifting leaves played on the breeze and Liyue’s lanterns flickered against a fading sky. It was timeless and unchanging, as if the universe was indifferent to the celebration I longed for. But like the decorations I’d strung up, Christmas had no place here. And in that knowledge, my homesickness deepened, the distance between my old world and this one stretching farther.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and I startled, my gaze snapped to the figure entering. Alhaitham’s silhouette was outlined against the dim light of Teyvat’s evening and in his hand was a small neatly wrapped package, the paper a rich shade of crimson, tied with thin, silver silk that shimmered softly in the light.

“You’re back,” I mustered, rising slightly from my seat.

“I am,” His gaze swept over me, and a crease formed between his brows. “You look troubled.”

I offered a fragile smile, “Just thinking about… you know.” I trailed off, eyes drifting to the window where whimsy unbeknownst to me twinkled in the inky expanse above.

Without preamble, he extended the gift toward me. “Here.”

I blinked in surprise, looking from his hand to his face. “What’s this for?”

“Isn’t it customary to exchange gifts for… Christmas?”

The word fell from his lips tentatively, as though testing its weight. His eyes searched mine for any sign that he had mispronounced it. Then, a bittersweet ache unfurled in my chest.

“You… remembered?”

He remembered. Even in passing, even if I hadn’t explained it in detail, he had remembered. And more than that, he had acted on it.

“You mentioned it once,” he replied, the faintest hint of awkwardness colouring his tone. “I don’t fully understand the tradition, but it seemed important to you.” He paused, then added softly, “I thought it might remind you of home.”

My fingers brushed the wrapping paper, tracing its edges as a quiet laugh escaped me. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It matters to you. If it makes this place feel less foreign, then it’s no trouble at all.” He spoke as though his sentiment was the simplest truth in the world.

I bit my lip, his words filling the emptiness in my heart like the flickering flame of a candle in the dark. Slowly, I unwrapped the gift, the paper falling away to reveal a delicate glass ornament, its shape a perfect, crystalline star. It caught the lamplight, scattering prisms across the room like a reflection of something celestial—like fragments of a distant sky.

“It’s not much,” he almost sounded apologetic, “but stars seem to hold significance in your world’s imagery for this holiday.”

I stared down at the gift, my vision blurring as the sting of tears welled unexpectedly. The ornament trembled in my grasp, held close to my chest as the first drops slipped free, unstoppable. “Thank you,” I whispered, so softly it felt like the words might dissolve and me with it.

Watching me closely, a shadow of concern crossed his face, as though uncertain whether he had made me uncomfortable. “You’re crying…” His voice wavered, caught somewhere between a statement and a question.

I wiped at my tears, smiling through them. “They’re happy tears,” I told him. “I really needed this.”

Alhaitham sat beside me with the same calmness that defined his every action. The silence now brimmed with a bubbling warmth, deeply felt like a steadfast anchor.

“If you’d like,” he started, “then we’ll celebrate it. Here, every year. However you wish.”

His offer settled gently. “I would like that,” I said, already untethered.

Alhaitham nodded, brushing his hands against mine, the touch so tender it seemed to carry a promise with a three word phrase hanging in the air. As the glass star shimmered between us, the ache of homesickness began to ebb. In its place bloomed a sense of belonging.

A realisation that home was here. Home was now. And it had been all along.

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

divider: @/adornedwithlight

[mywritersmind]

TATTOOED ON MY BODY - LN4

summary : Lando Norris doesn’t have many opinions when it comes to tattoos, but as soon as he sees his girl with a very supportive one, he’s all for it.

listen up : based on haley scott’s tattoo in one tree hill😚 suggestive content! lando norris likes ass. i’m a genius for this one. tbh since i don’t write smut, someone should just continue this and tag me.

words : 626

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“My love.” he practically melts into me, his hands instinctively going to my waist as his face gets buried in my chest.

I’m sitting in his driver's room as he leans against me in between my legs. His suit is unzipped and his hair is messy but he’s never looked happier.

He’s sweaty and soaked in champagne but I don’t care. He won. He fucking won the last race, his fourth win, as well as the constructors with his team.

“I’m so proud of you, Lan.” I bring my hand to his chin, tilting his face up to me to kiss him. He’s still smiling when I pull away and the air switches between us. I bite my lip, “I have a surprise for you…”

“Oh?” He rests his hands on either side of me. He hasn’t seen me in a couple of days, which I may or may not have strategically planned.

I nod slowly, pushing him back, “I got you something.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking now, taking a couple steps back as his eyes rake up and down my body. “What kinda something?”

“Not exactly physical…” His brow raises at this, “But I think you’ll like it.” His head knocks the cabinets, nodding at me to go on.

I take a breath and turn around, maybe dragging it out a bit when I hear his breathing spike. I move my hair over my shoulder, looking back at him just to see his eyes glued on my ass.

I can’t help but smile, teasingly pulling up my shirt that goes past my belt. I know the second he sees it because he makes a sort of strained choking sound.

“So… you like it?” I look over my shoulder, tucking my shirt into my bra and watching his gaze being directed at the small of my back and most importantly, the ink on it.

In a daze, He hooks his fingers on my belt loops, pulling me closer and leaning down, “Do I- Fuck is that even a question?” His fingers drifting over the tattoo sends a shiver up my spine, “I’ve never been more turned on.”

I laugh as he spins me around and kisses me, it's rougher this time, his hands are more grabby and possessive. “I’m glad you like it.”

He kisses me again, “Like in an understatement.” He kisses me again, “I love you.” I giggle as he spins me back around and all but bends me over to get a better look.

“Lando!” His hand is grabbing my ass now.

“Shh, love. Let me enjoy my girlfriend’s ass that’s marked as mine.” He kisses the back of my neck, tugging at my hair as I bite my lip to keep myself from moaning.

“With all the hickies you leave on me, I'm always marked!” I turn around and slip my hands into his hair. I love his curls, even if they’re wet and falling into his face. “This is just more prominent, even if it is a bit hidden.”

His lips are on me once again, but he’s soft now, “I never thought you could get any hotter… Yet here we are.”

I smile, tugging at his shirt and standing on my tippy toes to face him, “I’m a woman of many surprises, Lan.”

He shakes his head, his green eyes so crystal clear while looking at me, “Let's go, I need a shower and a better look at this number on you…” His hair encloses over mine just as his lips meet my cheek.

I know he watches my ass as I leave. It's an even better feeling knowing that he’s staring at the same number his car is branded with.

[leonardcohenofficial]

i would love to hear about people's museum experiences and what have been some of the most impactful pieces of art you've gotten to see in person. i'll go first!

in july 2023, i took the bus up to boston to go to the museum of fine arts, as i hadn't been in many years and wanted to revisit. at the time they were running a special exhibit titled "hear me now: the black potters of old edgefield, south carolina" which i was particularly interested in seeing not only for the art itself, but for how the MFA curated the collection and how they handled artistic and cultural discourse as related to chattel slavery and the labor of the black enslaved artists who created the pots on display.

one artist whose work was featured prominently throughout the exhibit was david drake, known as dave the potter, an enslaved man who made an estimated 40,000 pots over the course of his life, though fewer than three hundred remain today. his work is recognizable for the inscriptions he would include on the vessels—he wrote his name on many, and twenty seven of dave's pots feature verses written and inscribed in the ceramic itself (you can read all the verses here). one of the pots on display at the MFA was the one pictured below:

[Image ID: a photograph of a large ceramic pot inside a glass museum display case. the pot is sitting on a black platform on top of a larger grey-black cube. the cube has the text "I wonder where is all my relation/Friendship to all—and every nation" printed on it in yellow-green font. in the background of the image there is a television screen with an image of six black people displayed on it. /.End ID]

the american ceramic society notes that "the inscription appeared several years after an enslaved woman from his household named lydia and her two sons were sent away to louisiana. though unconfirmed, some sources speculate that these people were drake’s family, with lydia being either his wife or sister."

i saw this pot and immediately burst into tears, and still find it hard to even write about the experience of seeing this piece without having an emotional response. it's difficult to name what comes up with seeing this piece—histories of violence, of resilience, of diaspora, of resistance, of love, of blackness are just a few that i'm able to articulate—but i haven't had an experience like that in a museum setting like that before or since.

in an interview with the washington post, dave's great-great-great-great-granddaughter pauline baker said, "i hope the people who view our ancestor’s work see that he was resilient, creative, brave, and tenacious. most of all, i hope they see he was human." i hope that by sharing this piece with you all that you are able to see the same in his work.

this is totally okay to reblog, and please feel free to share in the tags and/or tag me if you share your own stories of seeing art in museums that has particularly moved you!

[awearywritersworld]

tell me you don't want me

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night w/c: 1.8k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+ a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.

however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.

for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.

he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.

"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.

he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."

and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."

after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.

you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.

gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).

"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"

he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."

"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.

he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."

after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.

you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.

"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.

"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."

"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."

you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.

"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.

"not yet."

"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"

"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"

he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"

you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."

"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"

"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"

"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"

his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.

once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.

"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.

you nod eagerly. "yes."

the two of you have never fought before.

well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.

that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.

"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.

the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"

after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.

rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.

why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?

"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"

because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.

he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.

he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.

"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."

"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."

your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.

"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.

his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.

he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"

you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.

one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.

his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.

"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."

and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.

his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.

"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.

your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.

his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."

your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."

"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.

you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.

he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.

his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.

gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Happy to help

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!reader Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 669 Summary: You get turned on reading smut in a cafe and someone seems to know exactly what you need Tags: reading smut in public, sex with a stranger, Joel gets you off in a public restroom, use of 'honey' once, reader has no description and I tried to keep it gender neutral, it's you bb, we all deserve to be touched by Joel. Let me know if I need to change or improve anything. A/N: I have basically no wips (well, I have one that I'm working on, it will be here soon) but I have random horny thoughts that I decide to write down before they evaporate from my stupid brain. It took me 15 minutes to write this but I hope it brings you pleasure for much longer. 😏 Thanks to anyone who will read! Masterlist I Joel Masterlist

You’re in a cafe, sitting on a comfy chair, sipping on your favorite warm drink and scrolling down your phone.

There are several people around but no one seems to care about you since everyone is engrossed working on their laptops or chatting with someone or talking business down their phone.

There’s not a soul in that place that seems to notice you.

So you open Tumblr on your phone and you decide to indulge in some hot steamy smut.

You browse through tags finding exactly what you need.

You lean on the chair, crossing your legs while you start reading.

And it’s the most smutty thing ever, all your favorite kinks are there and this writer seems to know exactly what your wet dreams are made of.

Your face starts to feel heated and your pants are getting wet.

You change position on the chair, cross your legs again, bring a hand to your mouth in surprise and lick your lips repeatedly.

You can clearly feel a trickle of your pleasure leaking out from your sex and damping your underwear.

You’re unhinged and so horny you might almost risk lowering a hand to the crotch of your pants to seek relief.

You look up for just a moment and there’s a guy, two tables away.

He looks at you intently.

He knows what you’re doing.

And the mothefucker smirks and winks at you.

Right there in a place full of people.

He’s the only one who saw you growing more and more needy, staring at your phone like you were hypnotized.

You stop in your track feeling ashamed.

He’s a hunk.

Gorgeous face, broad shoulders jaw dropping guy.

He seems pretty much like the character you’re reading about.

He takes his mug, sipping on his coffee, not breaking eye contact.

You clutch the phone in the palm of your hand, not knowing what to do.

Smut is still there, open for all to see on your screen.

You realize this and brush your thumb across the screen to close it.

You get up slowly, gathering your things and heading for the bathroom. You lean against the sink, letting out a long “what the fuck” sigh. The bathroom is empty and silent. You're trying to get your breathing back to normal when you hear the door open.

You look up at the mirror in front of you and see a guy approaching.

It's him.

You open your eyes wide as he hugs you from behind, trapping you between him and the sink. “Do you need a hand?” he whispers in your ear.

You don't know him, you've never seen him before but he's damn good looking and his hands close to yours on the edge of the sink send a shiver down your spine. They're big, prominent veins and long fingers, slightly calloused, short nails, they look like working hands. Experienced working hands. So you answer “yes”.

He unzips your jeans, puts his hand down your underwear and starts stroking you. More and more intensely, faster and faster until you're at the limit and the only thing you can do is moan and squirm in his arms.

“Look at us. Look at us in the mirror while you come, honey” he groans.

And you come, heavily, dripping in his palm and your underwear, with the most intense orgasm you've had in a while.

"Fuck" you hiss.

He keeps stroking you until you're a sweaty mess leaning on his broad chest.

His eyes are dark and lusty in the mirror, your face looks like a wreck and he smirks at you before licking a strip on your neck, savoring your salty flavor on his tongue.

You feel his hard on pressing against your butt.

"Happy to help" he whispers.

Before leaving, he takes a business card out of his back pocket. There is a name and a phone number printed on it. “Call me if you need anything else.”

You hold the card in your hands and read 'Joel Miller. Contractor.'

You smile.

After all, it would be time to do some maintenance work on your house and you could use his working hands.

taglist: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter , @joelmillerisapunk , @milla-frenchy , @probablyreadinsmut , @harriedandharassed , @thundermartini , @almostempty , @cas-readsandwrites

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away.

[ak-vintage]

This is Personal

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Prompts: Frankie Morales | Established Relationship | As Quiet as Possible | Orgasm Denial | Talk Them Through It

Summary: While on vacation with his friends, you can’t resist the temptation to test Frankie’s limits. Written for the PPCU Smut Writing Challenge hosted by @mushgloomz. (I know I am a week late to this party, but I hope you enjoy anyway!)

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Post-canon. Established relationship. Dual POV. Second-person POV. No use of Y/N. Guest appearances by Will, Benny, Santiago, and Yovanna. Definitely a PWP – the framework of the plot exists only to enable the smut (teasing, mild exhibitionism, semi-public acts, getting caught, orgasm denial, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, P in V sex, filthy dirty talk, pussy pronouns, trying to stay quiet, switch-y vibes from both Frankie and Reader).

Word Count: 11.6K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Read on AO3 | Main Masterlist

“Thought you’d be in the shower by now.”

You glance up from your nook in the hot tub where you have been lounging, half-asleep behind your sunglasses in the late afternoon warmth. A broad-shouldered shape has blocked out your sunlight, sending flares of gold around tanned, freckled skin, leaving you in shadow. The form crosses its arms, shifts its weight to one leg, leaving the opposite knee to bend, the stance full of attitude, refusing to be ignored. Bringing one hand up to shield against the glare, you meet its eyes, finding the dark, squinting gaze of your boyfriend staring down at you.

Offering him a lazy smile, you drop your head back on your neck, letting the bowl of your skull rest against the edge of the bubbling, foaming jacuzzi. “In a bit,” you reply easily. “Too relaxed right now to move.”

And you are. It’s been a long time coming, this trip to Key West with Frankie and his close-knit group of friends. It isn’t the first time you’ve met them; on the contrary, even in the relatively short amount of time that you and Frankie have been together, you have already spent a significant amount of time in their presence. Nights at their favorite local dive bar, barbecues at Santiago and Yovanna’s house, beers shared ringside at Benny’s fights – it hadn’t taken Frankie long to start inviting you, folding you into his life as easily as if you had always been there. You could see how someone else in your position might have found it intimidating, but in truth, it brought you nothing but comfort. It told you Frankie was serious about you, about your relationship, and fuck, you were serious about him, too.

Frankie is the best thing that’s come into your life in a long time, so when he first broached the topic of taking you away for a week to an oceanfront, beach house rental – fully equipped with a stretch of private beach, a pool, a hot tub, and more bedrooms than you would need even as a group of six – you hadn’t been able to say yes fast enough. Today had been your first full day here, having arrived here yesterday afternoon after a lengthy drive from Tampa, and you can already feel all of the tension melting from your bones and muscles after a day in the sun and sand.

“It’s a good look on you,” Frankie says, his voice low and rasping, worn after spending most of the afternoon shouting back and forth with the other guys over a game of beach volleyball. His eyes sweep the exposed length of your neck, across your collarbones, down to the soft pillow of your breasts bobbing gently just below the frothing surface of the water, and you feel his stare like a physical thing against your skin.

Unlike you, he holds himself rigidly. Even from your sunken vantage point in the hot tub, you can see the tightly-strung pull of his traps, keeping his wide shoulders near his ears. Your eyes follow the clench of his jaw, the feathering of the tendons there, the way his prominent brow knits and furrows beneath the brim of his Standard Oil Company baseball cap. It’s as you expected. He has been strung out since you left his apartment early yesterday morning, the stress rolling off him in waves like those crashing against the shore. At first, you had thought that perhaps the travel was wearing on him. Now that you have been at your destination for a full day now, able to enjoy all of the distractions and amenities the Keys have to offer, you aren’t so sure.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should follow my example and come join me,” you prod teasingly. “You need to unwind.”

Frankie’s lips quirk upward, the corner of his mouth tucking into his cheek in an expression that reads as something between playful and accusatory. “Do I?”

Scoffing, you straighten up a bit in your seat, choosing instead to drape your arms along the edge of the sunken tub as you peer up at him. “Are you kidding? You’ve been wound tighter than a two-dollar watch since we got here.”

“Can you blame me, hermosa?” He uncrosses his arms and brings one of his thick, broad-palmed hands up to scratch at the patchy stubble of his beard. The sparse strands of silver there glint in the golden glow of the sun, catching your eye, making you smile. You catch the moment he notices your dreamy, enamored expression – he shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his lips as though to silence a chuckle. “You’re driving me crazy,” he confesses, so quiet you can barely hear him over the tub jets.

“Me?” you gasp. “What did I do?”

At that, he finally relents and approaches the edge of the hot tub, directly across from where you’ve been lounging.

“Don’t act all innocent with me,” he grumbles. Lowering himself slowly into the steaming water, step by step, one hand on the railing, he fixes you with a glare so fiery it has a wave of heat rushing up the back of your neck. He gestures vaguely in the direction of your torso and adds, “You’re the one who’s been wandering around in that piss-poor excuse for a swimsuit since we showed up.”

That startles an incredulous laugh from you, and you don’t miss the way his dark brown eyes drop almost instantly to the swell of your breasts that bounce with the sound. “It’s a bikini, Frankie! It’s supposed to be a little skimpy.”

With a sigh, he settles himself onto the bench that runs along the outer perimeter of the tub, and you feel the firm, hairy warmth of his shin brush against the tips of your toes. At first, you attempt to draw your legs in, not wanting to encroach on his space if he really is serious about relaxing here with you, but you don’t make it very far before one of his hands darts below the surface of the water, snags itself around your ankle, and hauls you bodily out of your seat and across the narrow diameter of the tub.

You squeal and let out a shrill giggle, the sound deadened only mildly by the roar of the jacuzzi jets. “Francisco!” you yelp as your hands fly out to steady you, to keep you from capsizing like a dingy in the surf and toppling under.

But your boyfriend is immune to your protests, turning a blind eye to your struggle to stay afloat as he grips your thighs, your hips, your waist, pulling you limb by limb onto the bench next to him, tangling his legs with yours beneath the water.

“And yesterday,” he continues, uninterrupted, as though the kicking and splashing and giggling of the last few minutes had been less than a blip on his radar, “on the drive down, sunning your bare legs on the dashboard of my truck like you didn’t know what that would do to me? Could barely keep my eyes on the road.”

“That’s what that was?” Laughter in your voice, sugar on your tongue, you keep up your squirming, fighting to get out of his clutches even as you tease and taunt. “I just thought you were tired!”

Quick as lightning, those special forces reflexes make themselves known once more as Frankie ensnares one of your flailing hands, dunks it beneath the roiling surface of the water, and molds the meat of your palm to the seam of his swim trunks. You gasp at what you feel there in spite of yourself, the sound ripped from your throat as if you hadn’t expected exactly this reaction from him, as if you hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t spent all day thinking about it as you lazed beneath the summer sun. He was straining there, the heat of him detectable even in the swelter of the hot tub, thick and throbbing and growing more insistent by the minute.

“This feel like ‘tired’ to you?” he groans. His voice is hoarse, his jaw tight as his words grit out from between his teeth. Under the water, unseen but still so very present, his cock pushes against you, seeking your touch even through the layers of fabric that separate your skin from his.

God, but you love him like this – a little raw, a little desperate, strung out and needing you in a way that speaks directly to that deep, low, hollow place inside you that never quite stops craving him. It’s delicious, and it sends a bloom of heat to the apex of your thighs just thinking about it.

“No, Frankie,” you reply, all sweetness and false contrition with your wide eyes, your teeth sunk into the pillow of your lower lip.

He nods, and the brim of his ballcap casts a shadow across his dark eyes with the motion. “No, it fucking does not. This is all your fault, and you know it. You been teasing me.”

Under your hand, you feel his hips shift, arching up off the bench to grind into your touch. His eyelids flutter as the thick, spongy head passes over the heel of your palm, distinguishable even through his trunks, and you feel answering goosebumps erupt across your skin in spite of the heat.

“I’m sorry.” The response comes automatically, thoughtlessly, and the quickness of it has Frankie huffing a laugh under his breath.

“I don’t think you are,” he counters. “I think you been doing it on purpose.”

Pulling your gaze from his, you glance down, the faintest hint of self-consciousness starting swell in your chest at the intensity of his stare, his words, his touch. “…maybe just a little,” you admit bashfully.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Frankie’s grim, set mouth softens and morphs instead into a knowing smirk. His free hand, dripping with pool water, tucks itself under your chin, gripping the tip of it gently between his thumb and forefinger. The pad of his thumb leaves a damp trail across your skin as he strokes you there, and you are overwhelmed by the scents of the beach – salt, sand, sunscreen, man.

“Just a little, huh?” he rasps. “You like knowing how fucked up I get for you, hermosa? How I can’t stop thinking about you, watching you?”  

His words are taunting, almost angry, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes bely his amusement as he watches you squirm in his grip. You know he can feel you beneath the water, shifting in your seat, squeezing your bare thighs together, brushing your knees against his in evidence of what his words do to you. Beneath your palm, still held fast by his other hand, his cock pulses and twitches in sympathy. You tighten your grip on him all on your own, no encouragement from his hand needed.

“Mm hm.” Your response, nothing more than a hum, comes out soft and closer to a whine than a word.

Frankie’s dark eyes are sharklike in the shade of his cap, black and hot and predatory as he smells blood in the water, senses the tides turning in his favor as your heartrate picks up behind your ribs. “You like knowing I been half hard since you rolled up to the truck yesterday wearing my hoodie and those little shorts?”

Nodding, you can only reply, “Yeah.”

“What about when we got here, and you couldn’t get out fast enough?”

That question takes you aback, and you instinctively try to pull your hand out from under his grip as your eyebrows reach your hairline. “What do you mean?”

“You let every single one of my friends put their hands all over you,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard your question, felt your protest. He grips your hand harder under the surface of the water and spreads his thighs wider so he can move your hand further down to cup his balls. The feel of them under your fingers, delicate and so warm, has heat rising in your cheeks. “Don’t you remember? All of them hugging you, kissing your cheeks? How do you think that felt, watching Benny swinging you around like that? Or Pope putting his mouth on you?”

For the first time, you feel the lightness of the easy flirtation, the soft arousal begin to falter in your belly. Instead, it is eclipsed by swelling intimidation. “I-It was all innocent, Frankie. Just friendly,” you insist.

Had you truly upset him? Was this perhaps a side of Frankie you hadn’t seen before? You had thought that your antics were all in good fun, and yet –

“And then last night, when I’d been climbing the walls all day, and I was ready to put you through the mattress, what do I find when I come to bed?” The hold he has on your chin tightens, drawing you closer. His breath is hot on your cheeks, and your eyelids flutter in overwhelm as he growls, “You were already asleep.”

His voice rolling over your skin like thunder, the deepest parts of you throb at the sound. You can feel yourself starting to leak wetness into the gusset of your swimsuit, slick and warm and entirely different than the heat of the hot tub.

Frankie has always been so tender with you, so gentle and kind. In the past, when Will or Santiago accused Frankie of being a bit of a hothead, you had rolled your eyes and brushed it off as simply friends giving each other a hard time. In the months that you had been together, you had never once witnessed anything even remotely resembling a temper out of him.

Now, trapped in this jacuzzi with him in broad daylight, the stifling heat already starting to make you a bit lightheaded, you find yourself trying not to swoon at this sudden display of jealousy, of possessiveness. You don’t know what it says about you that it turns you on to have such an effect on him, but you do know that you’re finding it difficult to hold his eye contact now.

You want his mouth on yours. You want his big, rough hands on more of your exposed skin. You want his thick, throbbing cock between your legs.

You want him to fuck his frustration out on you while you simply…let it happen.

“Nothing to say for yourself? Eh? Mírame.”

You startle out of your reverie, eyes flying wide as you scramble to reply. “I was tired. From the trip,” you explain lamely.

“Uh huh.” Frankie doesn’t buy it, but he lets it slide, instead allowing his mouth to drift closer to yours. You swear you can feel the soft brush of his pouty lower lip against yours, and your pussy trembles and clenches at the tease. He tastes like the ocean, savory on your skin. “But you’re not tired anymore, are you, nena?”

Breath short and gasping, heart beating thickly against your sternum, you shake your head, and then his lips are on yours, and you couldn’t stifle the whimper that burst from your mouth if you tried.

It’s been less than a handful of days since he last had you, and yet the hunger with which Frankie devours you has you feeling like it’s been months. He’s always been a passionate kisser – eager to be close to you, to taste you, to feel any part of you he could with his lips and tongue – but there is a fierceness to the way he dives in, the way his hands fly to the dip of your waist, the way the curve of his prominent nose digs into your cheek as he presses you close. The grit of his facial hair scrapes across the delicate skin of your chin, and the hard brim of his beloved ballcap knocks into your temple as he deepens the angle of the kiss. It takes mere seconds for his tongue to beg entrance, hot and slick against the seam of your lips, and you eagerly surrender to the onslaught. You’re his – every secret and tender part of you is his to enjoy, his to claim; you couldn’t even think to resist.

So lost are you in your surrender that you hardly notice his hands traveling from your waist to your hips to the swell of your ass under the bubbling surface of the water. When he seizes you there, wrapping his fingers under your cheeks and hauling you into his lap, you pull away from his kiss with a breathless gasp of his name.

“Frankie!”

He does not deign to reply with words; instead, he settles your knees on the bench on either side of him and uses his grip on the meat of your ass to press you down onto him, driving his clothed cock into the soft cradle of your core.

“Oh, my god,” you moan, eyes falling shut once again, head lolling on your neck as though suddenly too heavy to hold up on your own. Fuck, he is so hard. You had known he was, had felt it swell beneath your hand as he teased himself with your touch, but feeling it in your palm and feeling it hot and thick against your aching pussy are entirely different experiences, even through both of your swimsuits.

“That what you wanted?” Frankie asks. The strain in his voice has you opening your eyes and meeting his gaze once more, and the wrecked look on his face inspires a fresh swell of confidence and satisfaction even as he grinds you down onto his lap. “That what you been after this whole time?”

The press of your suit against you keeps you wet, keeps your slick from being washed away by the tumultuous water as you slide against him again, again, again, the length of him nestled between your lips, the tip of him catching the swell of your clit on every downward stroke. You’re gone for him – you have been since he first put his hands on you – and yet the power of driving him to this kind of desperation is like a drug, overtaking your own need, bringing a sly, breathless little smile to your lips. Dragging your hands up to toy with the damp curls poking out of the bottom of his hat, resting your forearms along his shoulders, you nod your agreement.  

This is exactly what you wanted. And he is giving it to you beautifully.

Your insolence earns you a growl from deep in his chest, and you barely have enough time to gulp a breath into your lungs before he is grabbing onto the side of your face and pulling your mouth back against his.

Thumb wedged into the sensitive muscles of your jaw, Frankie opens you up, his tongue delving behind your teeth with an eagerness you match. Beneath the water, his other hand creeps to the edge of your bottoms, his fingers tucking under the flimsy elastic waistband, seeking your skin. You let loose a soft moan into his mouth at the feel of that calloused palm against your softness. He touches you with such attentiveness, such urgency. It would be enough to make anyone swoon to be touched like this by a man like him – competent, steadfast, and strong.

Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips along the scruff of his jaw and run the tip of your nose against that soft, vulnerable patch of skin just beneath his ear. “You’re so hard for me,” you whisper sweetly, and you watch as goosebumps flood his damp skin.

Beneath you, Captain Francisco Morales trembles.

“Damn right,” he admits. The words sound like they have been pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, raw and ragged and gasping. “You’re k-killing me, baby. Me vuelves loco.”

You smother a smirk against the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. His skin is hot there, darkened by the day in the sun. “Think that’s your fault.” Your fingers tug at his hair as you plant kisses where you’ve landed, soft and wet and gentle against each and every freckle in your path. “Could have had me anytime you wanted. You know that.”

He hisses when your tongue darts out to trace a delicate line along his collarbone. “Too many people around,” he grits out, jaw tight, fingers digging hard enough into the flesh of your ass to threaten bruises.

Making your way back up his neck, you draw the soft lobe of his ear between your teeth and nibble on it gently. Beneath you, Frankie’s hips stutter, pulling a whine from you. You speed up the drag of your hips in response, the edges of your control beginning to fray.

“Not right now,” you pant. Your fingers tighten in his hair, every thrust of your hips sending bolts of white-hot pleasure down your spine. The sensation pools in the low cradle of your hips, slick and molten and pulsing as it winds itself deeper, hotter, tighter. “We’re all alone out here, aren’t we? Let me help.”

The former special forces pilot lets out a hiss and drops his head back, his fucked-out gaze pointed toward the sky as though seeking divine intervention. “Help?” he echoes weakly. The sharp bite of his ferocity is beginning to calm, and it is leaving only throbbing, desperate need in its wake.

So you do not reply with words. Instead, you allow your hands to slip below the surface of the water and wedge themselves between your two bodies.

You keep your eyes on his face as you work the drawstring of his swim trunks loose, as you pull the elastic of the waistband out away from his body, as you carefully drag that waistband down to tuck underneath his balls. From the surface, your view is so obscured that the shape of his cock bobbing in the narrow gap between you could be anything. But you don’t need to be able to see him to make him feel good – your body knows your way around his by now. With gentle fingers, you take hold of the length of him and set a slow, steady pace.

Frankie’s eyes slam shut at the sensation, and you watch as his throat bobs thickly against the sound of a groan threatening to burst from his chest. “Fuuuuuck,” he whispers, hoarse and low, the sound drowned almost immediately by the persistent noise of the tub jets.

Leaning forward on your knees, you continue to stroke him as you drop a soft, wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. The plush, swollen head of him bumps against your stomach, and you feel a shudder pass through every muscle and fiber of his body. His hips hitch, the move frantic and uncoordinated, dragging the tip of his cock against your soft skin again, and you can’t help but smile.

“You feel so good, Frankie,” you say as you allow your thumb to brush against the sensitive underside, catching droplets of precum before they are quickly washed away by the water.

Your praise has him finally abandoning his grip on your ass, instead cupping your head in both palms and dragging your mouth to meet his. The kiss is wet and needy, tinged with desperation in place of the fury of just a few minutes prior, and goddamn it, you love him like this. You’ve always been of the opinion that there is nothing hotter than a man who needs, and Frankie needs like no one you’ve ever met before. Beneath the cover of the water, in between the tight press of your bodies, you speed up your strokes, taking him harder, faster, twisting your wrist on the down stroke, playing with the head on the upstroke. He twitches in your grip, unable to hold his hips still, and you absorb his every tremor with the meat of your thighs.

Around you, the steaming hot tub water churns with more than just the power of the jets, splashing up onto your heaving chest, your neck, the patio around you. So lost are you in one another, neither of you catches the sound of the back door opening and closing, nor the rhythm of approaching footsteps on the concrete.

“Fish? Hey, Fish!” A pause, the sound of low conversing, and then, “Well, well. What do we have here?”

The sound of Benny’s smug, taunting voice might as well have been lightning with the way it strikes you both, and you are quick to yank yourself away from Frankie’s kiss as a wave of mortification rips through you. You still your hand under the water, ducking to press your forehead against his shoulder to hide your burning face. Beneath you, your boyfriend hisses a string of curses, a seamless blend of English and Spanish, and while he wraps one arm around your back protectively, the other he uses to cover his eyes.

“The fuck do you want, Benny?” he barks. You can feel his body growing stiff and rigid again against you, all the comfort and ease of moments before evaporating like chlorine-scented steam.

But instead of Ben’s hearty baritone, it’s Santiago’s voice that answers. “At ease, Catfish. Not our fault you and your lady can’t keep it confined to your room like the rest of us.” You can hear his smarmy grin even over the sounds of the hot tub, and you resist the urge to curl yourself into an even smaller ball. “Just wanted to see if you’re good to be one of the drivers tonight.”

Frankie groans, and you echo the sound of exasperation. That was all this was about? That was the question that couldn’t have waited another 15 minutes for the two of you to make your way inside? The group of you weren’t due to leave the house for your dinner reservation for at least another 45 minutes.

“Sure.” His voice is flat, unenthused. “Me and who else?”

“Will volunteered,” Pope replies.

Ben chuckles deviously, sounding to you like a boy who has managed to sneak an extra piece of dessert. “We broke out the tequila a little early.”

“No kidding,” Frankie scoffs.

“Hey, we’re on vacation, man!”

Pope interjects before an argument can ensue. “Be ready at 1900 hours,” he says, directing his instruction to Frankie.

“Understood.” You feel certain that if he hadn’t been effectively pinned beneath you, he would have sent his friend a mocking salute. “Now, get the fuck out.”

That earns a laugh from Santi, good-natured and warm. “Fine, but only if you promise not to contaminate the hot tub. It’s the only one we’ve got, and I am not calling the property owner out here to treat the water because you jizzed in it.”

“Pope, I swear to god – ”

The sound of both Benny and Santi’s raucous laughter echoes off the walls of the house, momentarily drowning out both the sound of the tub and the racing thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

“All right, all right, keep your shorts on.”

“1900, Fish!” Ben repeats, and one of Frankie’s arms flies out, flinging water up onto the patio as he flips the younger man the bird.

“Fuck off, Benjamin!”

Laughter continues to reverberate around you until the sound of the opening patio door reaches your ears. You wait until you hear it swing closed and latch into place once again before you risk pulling your face out of Frankie’s flushed neck. Sitting back on his thighs, you pull yourself upright to lock eyes with him, finding his face and chest to be just as heated as your own. You hold his gaze for a beat, the both of you catching your breath as your mouths twist into flustered grins.

Knocking your forehead gently against the brim of his cap, you snicker, “That was a close one.” You have let go of his dick at this point, but the way it bobs in the gap between your bodies tells you that, in spite of the interruption, Frankie’s arousal has not dimmed.

Still, he groans in complaint, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Couldn’t have been any closer,” he admits, and you stifle a giggle behind your lips. You really shouldn’t laugh, you know, but you can’t help it. You may not have planned for Santi and the younger Miller brother to barge in during the middle of your first moment of alone time since you arrived, but regardless of the heartbeat-synched throb in the depths of your core, hollow and aching and frustrated, you can’t say that you are too disappointed by it.

There’s just something about the way that your boyfriend gets when you make him wait.

When you draw it out a little. When you make him work for it. His eyes go all soft and hot and unfocused, and sweat gathers in the dark brown hair at his temples, in the dip at the base of his throat, in the dimples in the small of his back. You love the sounds he makes, how fucking desperate he gets for you. Just the thought of it has you squirming in his lap, unintentionally dragging the skin of your lower stomach against the underside of his cock.

Frankie lets out a soft whine, low in pitch but edging into neediness regardless, and then his hands are on you again, hooking around the swell of your hips and urging you against him once more. “Now, where were we?” he pants, leaning back into your space, eyes slipping shut, seeking your mouth with his.

Before his lips can connect with yours, you draw back and instead brace both of your palms against his bare chest.

“Actually, you know what,” you say, watching with no small amount of amusement as his eyes pop open and he stares at you incredulously, “I really should go start getting ready for dinner. And so should you, Mr. Designated Driver.”

Frankie blinks back at you, deep brown eyes like a baby cow’s, all wide and disbelieving. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You slip off of his lap and adjust your bikini bottoms discretely below the surface of the water. “I don’t want us to make everybody late. We could miss our reservation.”

He stares at you for another second or two then seems to come to a decision. Reaching beneath the frothy water to tuck himself back into his trunks, he gets to his feet, suddenly all business. “Fine. We’ll finish in the shower,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re halfway out of the hot tub by the time you process his words. Once you do, you turn back around, peeking at him coyly over the curve of your shoulder as you hover on the steps. “No way. I have to shave.”

Frankie’s dark, prominent brows disappear into the shadow of his Standard Oil cap, and the sheen in his eyes takes on a naughty glimmer as he smirks. “Shave? Shave what, muñequita?”  He reaches for you, fingertips catching on the edge of your suit, dancing around the swell of your hip to seek your heat through the fabric. “Maybe I could help.”

Arching a single eyebrow, you hit him with a pointed stare. Your voice is firm, uncompromising as you reply, “No. I’ll let you know when the shower’s free.”

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” His incredulity returns, swift and shocked, and you are unable to stop yourself from glancing down at the thick, hard, unmistakable swell of his cock straining against the front of his trunks, visible just above the waterline now as he stands. The sight draws the corner of your lips into a smirk.

“It’s like you said, you’ve been holding out for a couple days already, right?” Flicking your gaze back up to meet his, you send him a teasing wink. “What’s a few more hours?”

The heat of Frankie’s stare as you step out of the hot tub is like a physical thing, scorching your skin with more ferocity than the sun had managed even after hours of exposure. You feel it tracing from the back of your neck, to the space between your shoulder blades, to the tie of your bikini top, to the plush of your ass, and down the length of your legs as you collect your towel from a nearby lounge chair. And it follows you even as you make your way across the patio and into the house.

You’re going to pay for leaving him unsatisfied.

You can’t wait.

Frankie is going insane.

He has to be, he’s sure of it. Either that, or he has fallen ill, come down with some manner of virus that makes his blood boil and his hands tremble and his brain pulse behind his eyes. All he knows for certain is that whatever ails him, it must have originated with you.  

Taking you away had been a big step. Your first trip together was a relationship milestone, one that he had been eager to share. He has wanted so badly to get it right – to take care of you the way you deserve, to give you an experience you would remember, to show you off to all of his closest friends in a way that felt permanent, felt real. After all, this is the kind of thing people only do with a serious partner, someone they saw a real future with. And that is certainly how Frankie sees you.

But then you had rolled out of bed on the morning of the trip, looking all soft and warm and delicious, tugged on a pair of sandals and your favorite hoodie (which had once belonged to him, of course), and sat yourself in the front seat of his truck looking like a goddamn angel, and suddenly that anticipation morphed into torture.

Had you meant to tease him with the way you slowly shed your layers to get more comfortable throughout the course of the drive? Had you intended to draw his gaze away from the road and onto your soft, supple, perfect legs as you propped your feet up on the dashboard, skin gleaming in the summer sun, little manicured toes bouncing to the beat of the radio? Surely you must have been doing it on purpose. No one could be that tempting, that seductive and have no intention behind it.

From where Frankie had sat, white-knuckling the steering wheel with sweaty palms, jaw clenched tight enough to ache, throat dry and jeans tight and blood hot and rushing through his veins, it had felt as though you had designed the entire trip down to the Keys as an exercise in restraint. Then the two of you had arrived at the beach house, and just as he thought he might finally get a bit of relief, you had to go and exacerbate the issue by springing out of the truck cab, eagerly darting over his friends, and throwing your arms around every. single. one of them.

Even now, a full day later, the images remain burned into the backs of his retinas, refusing to grant him any reprieve. Ironhead’s thick arms crushing you to his chest, heavy hands molding to your spine. Benny snatching you out of his brother’s grasp and quite literally sweeping you off your feet to spin you around with a boyish laugh. Pope pressing his shadowed cheek to yours, dropping kisses to each one…

Even Yovanna, Pope’s girlfriend, who you had only met once before, hadn’t been able to resist your magnetism. In particular, the way she had toyed with your hair, commenting something or other about the color or the style, had made Frankie’s vision blur red at the edges.

There had been a moment when he thought he might finally be able to satiate this need, this hunger – in the hot tub, the two of you finally alone, finally in each other’s arms again after so many excruciating hours of teasing, tempting, inviting. But even that had been thwarted, and then you had gone so far as to deny him, and that…

Well. That was when Frankie had felt something within himself snap and fray, and now he is certain that he must have left his sanity behind in that steamy jacuzzi tub.

Dinner is torture. The soft scent of your hair catching in the breeze on the restaurant patio. The glisten of your wet, pink tongue darting out to lick away the salt from the rim of your drink. The teasing flash of your gaze each time you glanced his way or laughed at one of his jokes. The flutter of your delicate, flowy dress brushing against his legs as you tucked up close to him during dessert. He has been throbbing behind the oppressive zipper of his khakis all night.

When Pope suggests heading back to the beach house for a nightcap around the firepit, Frankie gets to his feet so quickly its dizzying. With any luck, he will be able to get away with only finishing a beer or two before he is able to make his escape with you.

If you happen notice the stiffness of his shoulders, the tension of his hands, the twitching of his brow on the drive back to the rental house, you make no comment on it. To Frankie, it seems like you are lost in your own world as you bask in the balmy breeze floating through the open windows. You keep your eyes fixed on the ruddy sheen of the sunset throughout the short journey, a gentle smile softening the curve of your lips, and although he cannot deny how enchanting you look painted in streaks of rose and gold, the fury simmering just below the surface cannot help but thrum with resentment.

How are you so…calm? So unbothered by everything you have put him through over the last two days? How are you not ready to burst out of your skin at the slightest provocation?

Somehow, Frankie manages to navigate back to the beach house without incident, Will pulling up in his extended cab truck just behind his.

“I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable,” you say as you swing open the passenger door. “Would you mind grabbing me a Modelo when you go sit down? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

You don’t really even wait for his response before you slip out of the truck, the delicate skirt of your dress flouncing behind you as you go. A gust of wind picks up a waft of your perfume, and he has to press the heel of his hand over his mouth to smother a groan at the fragrance. Amber and musk, something deep and warm and ever-so-lightly spiced. Hints of sweetness offset by the salt of sweat, unavoidable in the Florida heat.

You smell like sex, and it makes him want to die.

When you finally arrive at the firepit, mere minutes later but an eternity to Frankie, you have swept your hair up on top of your head and traded your elegant dress for a pair of cotton shorts and a soft, open-knit sweater. The neckline of that sweater droops casually off of one shoulder and leaves miles of soft neck and collarbone on display, and he could swear that you glow in the flicker of the firelight. You take the open bottle of Modelo from his hand wordlessly, offering him only a grateful smile in return, but still, your fingers brush against his, and even that meaningless touch is enough when he is on a hair trigger like this. Goosebumps break out along his arm, and he suppresses a full-body shiver.

Frankie goes somewhere else as you settle in beside him, your well-cushioned patio chair angled toward his, the sound of your laughter melding and harmonizing with Yovanna’s, Pope’s, Benny’s. This was everything he had wanted when he invited you to come along – his friends adore you and you them. You fit so seamlessly into his life, like a puzzle piece that he hadn’t realized had been missing, and it’s never been more apparent than it has over the last two days that you are exactly what he has been needing. He hopes you feel the same, hopes you feel this ease and this sense of rightness that vibrates all the way down to the marrow of his bones. But even as his heart clenches behind his ribs at the perfection of his moment, the gentle softness and the love he feels for you do nothing to drown out the soul-deep hunger that he swears is going to eat him alive.

If anything, the tender sentiments only make his appetite sharper.

Frankie is going insane, and with every hour that passes, he becomes more and more convinced that the only cure is your skin under his tongue.

“All good over there, Catfish?”

It’s Ironhead’s voice that finally pulls Frankie out of his own mind, and with a subtle blink, he realizes that he somehow has nothing but a single swallow left in the beer bottle clutched in his hand. As for you, you have long since finished yours; the Modelo bottle sits abandoned on the concrete surface of the patio at your feet, bone-dry.

Thank fuck.

“Actually,” he replies, “think it’s about time I turned in.”

He gets to his feet amid a chorus of protests, ribbing from his Delta Force brothers and a playful whine from Yovanna, but he pays them no mind. Instead, he tosses his bottle and yours into the nearest trash can, dusts of his palms against his pant legs, and then holds out a hand to you.

“Hermosa?”

He can tell that at first, you think he’s joking with you, that he isn’t serious about taking the both of you to bed so uncharacteristically early. It’s dark outside now but only barely, the summer sunset long and late, and Frankie watches as your gaze darts from his hand to his eyes then to his friends, all of whom are staring at the two of you with bemused smiles. Once it becomes clear that he is, indeed, waiting for you to take his hand, your lashes flutter demurely, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“Ooookay,” you sigh, slipping your hand into his and allowing Frankie to pull you to your feet. “Guess I’m going, too. Night, guys.”

Just outside of his field of vision, Yovanna snickers. Her tone is warm and knowing as she says, “Sleep well.”

He doesn’t allow the two of you to stick around long enough to hear any of the guys’ comments. Instead, fingers wrapped tightly around yours, the pilot tugs you along behind him as he retreats to the beach house and your shared bedroom within.

So focused is he on his destination that he makes it about as far as the stairwell before the sounds of your laughter and your protests finally reach his ears.

“Frankie. Frankie!” Your exclamations come in short bursts, breathless and happy and deeply incredulous, like you cannot believe what is happening and yet cannot bring yourself to do anything to stop it. “Slow down! What’s gotten into you?”

He pauses on the stairway landing and turns to face you, meeting your gaze in the dim lighting, hitting you a hard stare. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” he snaps, short-tempered, nostrils flaring with the heaving breaths surging through his lungs.

A look of realization descends over your features, and Frankie watches as the laughter leaves your eyes, as your mouth takes on a twist of contrition even as you draw your lower lip between your teeth. “I guess not.” Your voice is quiet, tinged with remorse even though he thinks he sees a faint glimmer of satisfaction lingering in the dimples of your cheeks.

The soft, full pillow of your lip shines in the low light, and before he can think better of it, he closes the scant distance between you and takes hold of your jaw, firm but not unkind. Pulling that lip loose from where you have bitten it, he watches with dark intensity as it springs free – plump, lush, ripe for tasting with his tongue. Instead, he swallows thickly and asks, “You know what’s about to happen?”

Within his grip, you nod. “Yes, Frankie.” You’re all sweetness now, syrupy and pliant under his touch, and the shift in your demeanor seeps into his pores like a balm, like a drug, hot and heady and soothing.

“You know why?” His voice is low and rasping now, intimidating even to his own ears, but you do not flinch away from it. Instead, you receive it with a blown-pupil gaze and a subtle nod.

“Yes, Frankie.”

“Good girl,” he groans, and he drops a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, get upstairs.”

You take the remaining stairs two at a time, Frankie close on your heels as you dart down the narrow hallway to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t touch you, but you feel his presence just the same – impossibly broad and looming, the heat of his skin, his need emanating off of his body like a mirage on asphalt in the middle of summer. A part of you wishes that you could pause this moment just so you could bask in that warmth, luxuriate in it like a cat in a beam of sunlight, but the heavy, swollen ache between your thighs has become too great for you to ignore. You’ve been gathering wetness in your panties for hours now; the thrill of knowing precisely what you had done – were doing – to your boyfriend was simply too delicious.

Because you knew what all of your teasing would get you in the end. You knew what delectable torture you had been incurring for yourself all evening, since he had first drug your hand across his bulge beneath the obscuring surface of the hot tub. You had been counting on it.

For all his steadiness, all his softness, all his introversion, there is something deep inside of Frankie that burns. Something a bit angry, something a bit vengeful. You haven’t had the opportunity to see it often, but on the few rare instances where something managed to provoke the beast within him to the surface, it had been…enthralling. It spoke to a primal part of your own psyche that had rarely been acknowledged, and god, now that you had tasted what it could be like with him – when you drove him to that place, when you pushed him just the barest measure over the edge – you couldn’t seem to stop craving it.

You know precisely what you are in for tonight, and the mere thought of it has you soaking your shorts before he can even slam the bedroom door shut behind you.

The lock sliding into place is barely audible over the sound of your own thundering pulse, your own panting breath, but it hardly matters. You won’t be disturbed here; Frankie won’t allow it. Giving no thought to the presence of your friends, still just outside on the patio, you melt the moment his hands touch your skin.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, one big, calloused hand coming up to cup your face as the other slinks around your waist, to your hip, to the swell of your ass. He grips you tightly there, tongue hot and slick and begging for entrance as he hauls your hips up against his own, and fuck, you can feel him already – even through his khakis, even though you’ve hardly touched him. Hard. Warm. Unbearably thick. You swear you can feel him pulse at the friction, at the drag of your body against his, and the sensation pulls a faint whimper from your throat.

His tongue tastes like beer as his hands attack your clothes, stripping your sweater and your well-worn cotton bralette over your head in a single swipe. Groans of satisfaction reverberating through his mouth into yours, he goes for your shorts next, and you nearly trip over the bundle of fabric as he bears you back toward the bed. The last remaining scrap of fabric on your body as you collapse onto the crisp, white sheets is the pink lace thong you wore to dinner, flimsy in the best of circumstances but now visibly sheered through by the drip of your arousal.

“Frankie,” you gasp breathlessly, your head spinning as you fumble with the deep brown leather of his belt, the only bit of him you can reach as you lay on the mattress. Thankfully, he seems to understand exactly what you want in spite of your inarticulate protests. Brushing your trembling hands aside effortlessly, Frankie unbuckles his belt with quick, economic movements. He leaves it threaded through his belt loops, instead shucking his belt, his pants, and his charcoal gray boxer briefs all in one clean jerk.

A low, eager sound escapes you as you watch his cock spring forward, deep red and glistening with precum, the tip of him brushing just along the hem of his button-down shirt and leaving a streak of dampness in its wake. You watch as a shiver trips down his spine at the sensation, and then he is lifting one hand to the back of his shirt collar and ripping the offending thing off over his head in a single swoop.

Goddamn it, he is so beautiful. Wide, sturdy shoulders, long limbs, strong arms and thick thighs and a soft give to his belly that never fails to make you blush. Tanned skin made even deeper by a day in the sun, with delightful freckles sprayed across his chest and a dusting of dark hair leading down from his bellybutton to his groin. His cock stands at attention, familiar and yet perfect – thick, curved, temptingly heavy. You imagine that you can feel the stretch of him just by looking at him, the way he will fill you so completely, the way he will press so perfectly against all of the places that long for the weight and the drag of him. Your deepest muscles clench at the thought, and without any further consideration, you reach for him, all soft palms and open lips.

However, just as you are about to wrap your fingers around his length, he steps back and meets your doe-eyed gaze with one that is almost scolding.

“You think I’m gonna give you my cock that easily?” he growls, a dark, prominent brow arched. “Uh uh. You’re gonna have to earn it, nena.”

Frankie drops to his knees, the thud of it muffled slightly by the pale blue area rug that decorates your bedroom floor, and then his hands come up to wrap around your ankles, just as they had in the tub earlier that evening. With a swift yank, he drags you across the surface of the bed, hooks the soft bend of your knees over his shoulders, and buries his face in your cunt.

“Oh, fuck me,” you whine, hands flying to the back of Frankie’s head, fingers threading through his loose, dark brown curls, so rarely available to your touch without the scratch of his well-loved ballcap. Your nails trail along his scalp, and he practically purrs at the sensation, the vibration traveling through his lips and tongue into your tender wetness in a way that has you squirming.

That purr turns into a muffled chuckle as he processes your exclamation, and he pulls just far enough away from you to quip, “That’s the plan.”

He’s back at it again in no time, though, his fingers spreading your lips apart so his tongue can access every inch of you. He is thorough, soft and wet and perfectly firm in his exploration, and like he has since the very first night you ever spent together, he knows precisely how to take you apart. No partner has ever eaten you the way Frankie does – with such single-minded focus, with such eagerness to please, as though he got just as much enjoyment out of tasting you as he did fucking you. Frankie sinks into the act like he wants to get lost in it, to get lost in you, and the thrust of his tongue and the drag of his hard, hooked nose against your clit is enough to make you want to let him.

“Goddamn,” he groans, his lips still pressed to your folds, his warm breath dancing across your wetness and drawing a shiver across your nerves. He sounds like he’s in pain, and when you glance down at him, you can see his brows drawn tight, his eyes squeezed shut as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Best thing I ever tasted. Pussy’s so fucking sweet.”

His words have you throbbing, and you feel those same muscles deep inside you tremble and clench, begging for more. “Frankie, please don’t stop,” you whimper, hips writhing in his grasp, thrusting, seeking more of his tongue. “I need – ah! Please!”

The low rumble of a chuckle buzzes through your nerve endings, skating across your clit like a livewire. “Sé lo que necesitas, hermosa.” Dancing the very tip of his tongue around your quivering entrance, he teases as though about to thrust it deep inside you where you need him most. You arch up into him on instinct as your fingers clutch onto his hair, and though you’re certain you’re hurting his scalp by now, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“She needs something inside, doesn’t she?” Frankie murmurs. His nose traces across your swollen bundle of nerves as he speaks. “Something to bear down on when she comes. Isn’t that right?”  

Delirious, you’re nodding before he can even finish the question.

“Ask nicely, baby.” Soft, wet lips seal gently around your aching clit, and he suckles at you so gently that your back bows up off the surface of the bed. “Ask me to stretch this tight little pussy out with my fingers.”

A wave of heat rises up the back of your neck at his words, the sound of his voice, gritty and raw and yet gentle, patient, as if he suddenly has all the time in the world now that he has the taste of you on his lips. With weak and wobbly arms, you bring yourself up onto your elbows and risk a glance down at him. A pair of deep brown eyes meets yours from between your spread thighs, and you feel your mouth drop open involuntarily as you take in the curl of his disheveled hair, the shine of his lips and chin, the way the tip of his nose disappears into your damp curls as though scenting a bouquet of flowers. He looks drunk, loose and fuzzy but somehow determined, and the sight is enough to have you nodding once more.

“Please, Frankie,” you beg. “Please give me your fingers. Let me come on them. I need it so bad, please.”

Between your legs, your boyfriend smiles with deep satisfaction. “Why didn’t you say so?” he taunts, and before your hackles even have the chance to raise, his middle and ring fingers sink all the way into you, all at once, and your protest dies on the back of a moan.

“Thaaaaat’s my girl.” The pads of his fingers press deep inside you, seeking that soft, spongy spot he knows so well, the one he found so quickly the first time you were together, it stole the breath from your lungs. You melt beneath his touch, his other arm coming up to brace across the span of your hips as he holds you in place. You’ve started to buck against him, but you get nowhere with that band across your belly. “Let me feel you come for me, and then I’ll give you my cock. How’s that sound, huh? That what you’ve been after this whole time?”

“F-Frankie – ” You can hardly speak, can hardly think, the press and the thrust and the stretch of his fingers driving you so quickly toward the edge that you can’t seem to string any more words together besides his name.

And then his tongue descends on your clit, and even his name is too much for your frayed mind to hang onto. It doesn’t take long after that.

When you fall, it’s with a long, whimpering shout. Your belly floods with heat as the coil that has been winding tighter and tighter within you suddenly springs free, and you swear you are launched out of your body and into the stratosphere as your cunt throbs and clenches around his fingers, as your clit pulses beneath his tongue. Your whole body shakes with the force of it, your hands pressing down on the back of his head to keep him in place as you ride out your high, then to quickly push him away the moment it becomes too much for your tender nerve endings to bear. Sweat breaks out along the insides of your thighs, the backs of your knees, the base of your spine, and while you are still too weak to protest it, you feel him dragging his tongue along your skin to collect the salt of you on his tastebuds.

“Fuck,” you sigh, joints loosening, muscles melting into the bed. “God, Frankie, that was – ”

But you do not get to finish your sentence, for one moment you are basking in the afterglow of a spine-melting orgasm, and the next, Frankie is surging to his feet, taking hold of your hips, and flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Scoot up the bed, muñequita,”he commands. “Hands and knees.”

You’re so tight like this, Frankie swears it’s going to make him go cross-eyed one of these days.

Hotter than that damned jacuzzi out on the patio, absolutely melting around the length of him, your wetness has gone thick and creamy with your pleasure. It’s sticky and lewd and so fucking sexy he could die as he watches it gather at the base of his cock, watches it slick the dark, dense hair there with every thrust. He’s got one hand open wide, splayed across your lower back, the other molded against your spine as you arch deeply into him. Your arms gave out beneath you after less than a minute of this, and now they fold beneath your head like a cushion as you present yourself to him.

The way you bend, ass high in the air, knees spread enough for him to kneel between… The swell of your hips, the small of your waist, the miles of soft, irresistible skin all on display, all just for him… It’s like art, like poetry. He is hypnotized by the way you meet him there, elegant and smooth, like it’s easy, the most natural think in the world. He’s captivated by the soft, generous ripple of your ass cheeks every time he sinks into you. He could watch the way your pussy spreads for him, the way your body gives way to him for an eternity, and he would never tire of it.

If you weren’t choking the life out of him with that pussy, that was.

“Ah! Ah! Frankie – ”

You’re getting loud now, forehead pressed to your forearms, hair disheveled and sticking to your sweating face as it springs from your ponytail. The sound of your pleasure takes root at the base of his spine, searing his nerves, tightening his stomach. You’re so delicious like this – hanging on by a thread, utterly wrecked, all for him, because of him. It makes that fierce, possessive part of him preen to know that he can do this to you, that he can reduce you this.

Rolling eyes. Open mouth. Dripping cunt.

But as much as he would like to continue pulling every whimper and cry from your lungs, he can’t pretend that he didn’t hear the patio door opening right as he flipped you onto your stomach. He can’t pretend that the sound of Ironhead and Pope rooting around the refrigerator for more drinks or the sound of Yovanna and Benny’s laughter hasn’t reached his ears.

For the briefest moment, he considers ignoring it. He considers allowing you to continue to plead and moan and curse regardless of his friends’ presence in the house. If he keeps going like this, they will surely hear you eventually – if they haven’t already – and Frankie would be lying if he said there wasn’t a certain appeal to that. Then everyone would know how hot you sound, how well you take him, how perfectly he gives it to you. The idea sends a molten shiver across his nerve endings, has hot coals settling in the pit of his stomach.

But no. This is for him. The clap of your ass, the pitch of your whines, it’s all his. No one else gets to experience you like this. He’s so greedy when it comes to you. He’s not ready to share.

So instead of speeding up, of tugging your hips harder, faster into his, he pulls out and bears you down onto the mattress. You whine at the loss of him, one of your hands flying back to grip onto his hip. Nails digging into his flesh, you pull ineffectually, trying to coax his cock back into the clutch of your body, but he ignores your pleas. With soft, gentle shushes, he widens the spread of your legs and settles into the plush cradle of your ass.

Slipping the head of his cock down between your lips, seeking the heat and the wetness of you once again, Frankie braces himself over you and drops a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Can’t have you making all that noise, nena,” he murmurs against your skin, tongue darting out to taste the sheen of sweat coating your back. “Everybody will hear.”

Beneath him, he feels you shiver, your muscles trembling as you tilt your face to the side. Your hair obscures your eyes, but he can still catch a glimpse of your puffy, open lips. You’re panting, breathless, but you nod your acknowledgment all the same.

“Think you can be nice and quiet for me?” he asks. His hips tuck down and then up, dragging his swollen tip across your entrance, a torturous tease for both of you after he had just been so deep inside you. “Think you can hide all your pretty noises in the mattress?”

Weakly, you nod again. “Mm hm.” You’re so quiet now, your voice high and quavering. Completely fucked out.

Frankie feels a grin, salacious and slow, pull at the corners of his mouth. “That’s my girl,” he says, and then he drops his hand down between your legs to guide his cock back where it belongs.

He pushes until he bottoms out – one smooth, slow thrust until he reaches the root of you – and then you’re letting out a gasping moan, and Frankie hears the distant commotion from the floor below pause, suddenly silent.

So he does the only thing he can do given the circumstances. He threads his fingers into your tangled hair and turns your head himself, forcing your face into the cushion of the mattress.

He might as well have poured liquid fire down your spine. Beneath him, you melt, all of your muscles loose and pliant in your surrender as you release a series of muffled whimpers and curses into bed. You tilt your hips up as much as you can, pinned down as you are, and the deepened angle has Frankie growling into the back of your neck. It’s so much – almost too much. He can feel your pussy fluttering around him, drawing him deeper, sucking him in.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans into your ear, soft and low, his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles go pale. “Feel so good – like she’s trying to milk me dry.”

Plastering himself against your back, he revels in the heat of your body, in the slick slide of your skin against his as he pounds into you. He can feel you panting, your lungs struggling to expand beneath the weight of him, beneath the force of his thrusts, but you take it all, never once asking him to stop, never once attempting to throw him off. He babbles about just that into the bend of your neck, his head spinning as he growls a whispered take it, take it, take it, as he drags his teeth across the tendons there, as he presses his forehead to the space between your shoulder blades.

All you can do is sigh and moan into the mattress, the sounds coming out weak and thready, near-silent as you bury your face deeper into the padding.

When you start to squirm beneath him, when the walls of your pussy begin to tighten down around him, he lets out a huff of a laugh. His hot breath stirs the hairs clinging to your sweaty neck as he taunts, “You getting close, huh? Gonna come for me, muñequita?”

You attempt a nod, forehead scrubbing against the sheets, and as quickly as he can manage, Frankie shoves one of his hands between your hips and the mattress. His fingers quickly find the apex of your thighs, a sticky wet patch evident there on the bed against the back of his hand, but he pays that no mind. Instead, the tips of his fingers dip down to seek your slick, swollen clit, and he circles you there, fast and focused.

A squeal forces its way out of your throat, deadened by the softness of the mattress, and for the first time, you buck your hips as though to fight off his touch. But Frankie simply digs in harder, driving you into the bed with his full body weight and every ounce of army-honed strength.

And that’s all it takes. One more swipe of his fingers over your clit, one more devastatingly deep thrust of his cock, and you’re gone. Utterly silent, too overcome to make any noise now, you shudder and shake and writhe beneath the press of his body, a fresh wave of wetness dripping down the length of him as your cunt squeezes, squeezes, squeezes, a rhythm that has become so familiar to him over the last few months, it’s almost comforting.

But still, just as it always does, it pulls him right to the edge of his own pleasure, and just as you’re beginning to soften and soothe, the tight coil of heat at the base of Frankie’s spine springs loose, and over the edge he falls. Hips losing their rhythm, fingers gripping your hip, your shoulder, your hair, he spills himself within the hot clutch of your body with a smothered grunt.

After, you are both utterly spent.

Boneless, sweating, and trembling, Frankie collapses onto your back at first, then eventually works up the strength to roll off of you. You remain on your stomach, feeling like a pile of gelatine as you breathe shakily into the mattress. Between your legs, your slick mixes with his cum, dripping from your body onto the sheets, and you make a mental note to check the hallway closet for extra linens. You have a feeling now that the tension between the two of you has broken, this won’t be the only set of sheets you and Frankie ruin on this trip.

Downstairs, the night continues on as you would expect from this group – someone is digging around in the fridge again, and someone else has hooked their phone up a Bluetooth speaker, the distinct rhythm of reggaeton drifting up the stairwell telling you it’s either Yovanna or Santiago. The sound of laugher accompanies it all, and you find yourself grinning. If any of them are aware of the debauchery that just happened one floor above them, they make no indication of it. Instead, you hear the clack of pool balls and cues, and you know that you have at least an hour or two before any of them start filtering upstairs for bed.

Turning onto your side, you take in Frankie’s silhouette – long, loose, and completely at ease, head sunken into the downy pillows, arms thrown up toward the headboard. His dark eyes are closed, but you can tell by the cadence of his chest rising and falling with each breath that he is still awake, just basking, luxuriating. Like you. Your gaze traces the outline of his profile, his unruly curls, prominent brow, hooked nose, strong jaw. His scruffy cheeks are flushed, and sweat cools on his hairline. He’s so fucking pretty, you could die.

Brushing your hair out of your eyes and folding your arms beneath your head, you offer him a soft smile and murmur, “Feel better?”

 “Depends.�� Frankie grins, eyes still closed. “You gonna keep wearing that fucking bikini?”

You snort a laugh and shake your head fondly. “Oh, Francisco. I brought a whole suitcase full of them.”

Tagging a few friends who expressed an interest:

@half-moon16 @sunshinehaze1 @peepawispunk @80ssong

[defuckingthrone-dot-com]

Hi! So I’ve been into shy nerdy Noah lately. Can you please write a one shot about Noah who’s really shy and geeky like he’s never had any womanly contact before, but turn it into a smut

Nerdy Noah you say? I got you! (And I'm sorry this took entirely too long to post) I hope you like it!

Tag List: @bloody-spades @chey-h

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please go here.

Smut below the cut!

Noah had spent most of his life mastering playing video games but zero-time mastering women.

For being a tall boy that was heavily tattooed much less the singer of a very prominent hardcore band you would guess that what you couldn't see from his twitch streams how he adorns the other side of the wall with comic book and action figures

But that started to change after he met you. his neighbor.

You had both crossed paths once or twice, just casual good morning or good afternoons, but nothing more.

So, he was just as surprised when one day you knocked on his door.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, I'm having trouble setting up my new tv on the wall, and I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't know who to call, I'm new here" you take a deep breath, "oh god I'm rambling. So would you be able to help me?"

There was no denying you thought he was handsome and the thought of having to ask for his help made you nervous but here you were.

"Yeah... yes. of course, no problem i will help you." he said a bit shy which was something you didn't expect all

Of course, you knew zero to nothing about it except for the fact that he lived next door to you.

With a smile you signaled him to follow you into your home. you showed him the living room where you had already unboxed the tv.

"Thank you once again for helping me, I don't know what I'm doing with this sort of thing," you said and gave him a sheepish smile.

All he could do was nod. You quickly realized that maybe he wasn't much of a talker as he got to work on setting up the tv on your wall.

You watched as he got to work and you tried to not ogle too much but something about him made your eyes be glued to him. His bright tattoos, his comically large hand. the way he focused on the task? you couldn't quite put your finger on it but there was something.

After about 40 minutes of you just staring at him while he worked, he finally finished.

"Uh, it's all done, tv is on the wall now, you can take a look" he said in quite possibly the smallest voice he could do. You find it a bit odd how he behaves. You would think that by the way he looks his confidence level would be out of this world, and he probably would have a line of girls waiting for his attention.

"It looks perfect thank you, i appreciate it so much, let me pay you for this, just let me grab m...." you started searching around for your wallet before he cut you off.

"Please don't. I don't. need to be paid.."

"Please? at least let me do something for you, i would feel horrible with you walking out of here and not getting nothing for your work"4

He just stared at you without saying anything.

The silence was making you a bit anxious, so you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Your girlfriend must be very lucky to have you and be able to do things like this."

He chuckles so subtlety that you barely noticed "I don't have a girlfriend actually"

"No way, you're tall, handsome and tattooed" you say without thinking and watch as he begins to turn a bit red.

Your feet started moving involuntarily towards him and in a matter of seconds you were standing in front of him.

Once again, he stayed silent just looking down at you with the softest bobba eyes you had ever seen.

You don't know what came over you but you grabbed his hand and felt the smallest twitch from him.

"You seem nervous, are you okay?"

"No... I mean yes... i mean, I've just never really been with this close to a girl before" he says with a nervous laugh

" How close?" Now you're intrigued.

"Like this" he looks down at your hand grabbing his.

"Oh" you say but don't make even the slightest attempt to move your hand. The little devil on your shoulder whispered into your ear to make a proposition that even you wouldn't dare say out loud but something came over you that you couldn't resist. "Okay you haven been close or touched by another woman?" you make a small pause not really expecting an answer. "Do you want to change that? I could help you out if you would like"

You could see the wheels turning inside his hand and before he could turn you down you started speaking again

“Ok I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.. i don't know what came over me” you nervously laugh

“Yes i want you to help me” he blurted out before you could continue

“You do? Okay yes i can do that” you guided him over to the sofa where you had him sit down and without a second thought you straddled him. “Is this okay?” you wanted to make sure that he was okay

He nodded quickly. “Please tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable” he nodded once more.

You started to let your hand roam, first up his tattooed arms, next down over his clothed chest. He made no move so you decided to make the initiative and grab his hand to place it directly on your ass. 

“It's okay Noah, you can touch me too.” he nodded and with the smallest movement he squeezed on tenderly. 

Your left hand found the hem of his shirt and tugged on it. “Can I take this off?” you asked in your sweetest voice.

“ye.. yes…” 

You fisted the hem of the shirt in your hand and raised it to pull it over his hand once it was off you threw it to the floor behind you.

As you looked down at his chest you started to trace all the intricate ink adorn it. “I love your tattoos, they look so good on you”

“Thank you, i love getting tattooed, my best friend is a tattoo artist and he has done most of them, if you want one i could let him know..” 

You chuckled at his response.

“i'm sorry i tend to yap when im nervous.” he says apologetically

“Don't be, I think it's cute.” you said, leaning into him, lips just inches from his. 

Hands still roaming you decided that for now you would leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth and leave a trail down from mouth to his jaw, down his neck and moving down his chest. 

You were now down on your knees in between his legs looking up to him. without breaking contact you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. You could feel the shivers he was getting. 

“Do you want me to stop Noah?” you asked once more to make sure he was really okay.

“¡No!” he blurted so fast. 

That's all you need to hear, you grabbed onto the waistband off his boxers and pulled it down to free his now throbbing cock. Pink at the tip and veins running down to the base,

This time you decided not to ask and moved your hand to touch it and with small up and down motions you started to stroke it. 

A smirk grew on your face as you saw Noah's eyes roll back.

“Does it feel good Noah? Do you want more?” 

“It feels so good oh god” he threw his head back “Please more”

You saw a few beads of precum on his tip and used it as lubrication to move up and down a bit faster. 

You moved your head down so your lips could meet the tip.You gave a quick lip while maintaining eye contact with.

“Will you be a good boy for me Noah? Will cum in my mouth?” Hearing yourself saying it outloud shocked you a bit , you never been like this with anyone else but the feeling of dominating Noah and teaching him new things had you on a high.

“Yes, I'll be a good boy! yes..” he said with heavy breathing.

With that you went to town. You grabbed his cock at the base and brought the tip up to your mouth again. You licked once, twice before you fully opened your mouth and put it in. You started slow at first, moving your head up and down and licking all around. 

As the minutes passed you started to set a faster pace, now going down past the tip and to the middle almost reaching the base. You moved your hand that was at the base in unison with your mouth and moved it along up and down. 

You can feel Noah starting to shake and if it wasn't for all of your senses being heighting you would have heard him saying he wouldn't last much longer.

With your free hand you gripped at his thigh which still had his pants midway. as you make sure now to reach the base of his cock with your mouth. One small gagging sound you were knowing hitting his pubic hair with your nose.

A few head bobs later you felt the string of cum hitting the back of your throat, slowing down the motion off your head you detached and made a swallow sound, your hand grabbing on to him once more to give him a few last strokes. 

“Wow, that was…incredible…” he said in his shy voice again “no women has ever touched me or like this” he said turning red again

You chuckled while whipping your mouth  and said “Yeah? Maybe i can help you out more often, we can make it into a few lessons” you finish with a wink

“I'd like that…yes!” he said without hesitation while buttoning his jeans again. 

[myokk]

✨MASTERLIST✨

(fanart, longfics, oneshots)

Welcome to my blog!!! Here is my masterlist of ALL of my little sketches, artwork, writing, and general brainrot related to Hogwarts Legacy💘

🌿 - Madeleine / Maddy / myokk

🌱 - AO3

🌿 - likes and follows come from my main blog, @oerflink, because this is a sideblog (🥲)

🌱 - Eloise Babbit, my MC and basically the whole reason for this blog🫶 I don’t necessarily view her as the game’s MC, as my fic is quite canon-divergent and she is sweeter than the evil gremlin I played in-game😆💓 [link to her character sheet]

🌿 - my art tag🫶🫶🫶 here you can see basically every drawing I've done since joining the fandom!

🌱 - tag for all of the art the lovely people here have gifted me🥹🥹🥹 I feel SO honored whenever anyone takes time out of their day to think of me and draw my little gremlin♥️♥️

🌿 - I am taking oneshot requests! The link gives a bit of my guidelines, if you’re interested send me an ask🫶

Writing:

Before It Felt Like A Sin (AO3 / tumblr - ongoing)

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC, canon divergent, longfic, wip, dual pov Eloise/Sebastian

Summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

Tags: slow burn, angst, magical theory, mythology references, pureblood culture, occlumency, legilimency, hurt/comfort, family dynamics, eventual romance, eventual smut, sacrificial magic, blood magic, dark magic rituals, implied/referenced child abuse

[coming soon] - an excerpt from the Ominis longfic I’m working on💘

Oneshots:

clumsy (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

rating: E

summary: sebastian is clumsy.

or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be.

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving), no y/n

note-taking (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3,6k

rating: M (language and sexual themes)

summary: mc loves flustering sebastian with her notes during class😇

cw: NONE this is just fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, it takes a while for them to admit their feelings, I rated it M for some language/sexual themes

marry me (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 5,4k

rating: M (not really explicit loss of virginity)

summary: in which Garreth Weasley has a potions mishap that causes MC to become incomprehensibly proper, and Sebastian is going mad.

cw: fluff, mutual pining, giant squid guest appearance, marriage proposal, loss of virginity RATED M (not *really* explicit) smut (18+ ONLY)

legilimency (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

word count: 1,7k

rating: M (language)

summary: (His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

or: The Gryffindor student has caught on that Ominis can read her thoughts and decides to get her revenge.

tags: ominis is a natural legilimens, he is entirely too introspective, fluff, no y/n

remembering the snow (AO3 / tumblr / tumblr (old))

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,3k

rating: G

summary: Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

tags: character study, fluff, romance, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, I just wanted to write a sweet story & explore Imelda as a character

Illustrated scenes:

(aka where I illustrate little scenes from my longfic and oneshots💓)

🌿 - the summer before Sebastian and Anne’s first year at Hogwarts🥺💓

🌱 - Sebastian hates Eloise’s guts😳

🌿 - Eloise is really, really bad at chess😔 (this scene always makes me laugh SO MUCH)

🌱 - right after the pensieve scene🫶🫶🫶

🌿 - Eloise and Sebastian’s first kiss😇😇😇

🌱 - some angst after their first kiss😇😇😇

🌿 - sebastian overthinks things a lot😔

🌱 - an excerpt from my oneshot, clumsy💘

🌿 - another scene from my clumsy 🫶 I really love writing Sebastian’s pov & this was just so much fun to paint and write😫💓

🌱 - Eloise and her mother😔

🌿 - Eloise is NOT flustered by Sebastian😤

🌱 - late night in the common room 🫠

🌿 - comic of note-taking 😇

🌱 - right before *that* scene in clumsy 🫶 (as requested by Mallow bc of the lighting🤭)

[lizthewriter]

hii! so first of all, i LOVE your work and your writing style so much. so i was reading your last theo nott drabble and an idea came to my mind: it’s a gryffindor (maybe) party but it’s acc a theme party. the theme is dressing up as another house and reader (not a slytherin) borrows some of the boys’ quidditch clothes (like a bomber jacket or a jersey) and theo/mattheo get super jealous even though reader and him aren’t together. but it’s like he’s been after her for the whole year but she likes to play hard bc he normally doesn’t have to make any effort to have whoever girl he wants at his feet, and she doesn’t want to be just another girl, if you get what i mean? so she just shows up wearing another guys’ name and he goes feral.

A/N I'm so sorry this took me forever to write 😭. I've started college and boy is it overwhelming. Well! Here's part one to your request ehehe *burnt out* I really hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for showing support anon, I really appreciate it! If you guys get this to 1250 notes, I will prioritze part two <3

you make me jealous / theodore nott

PAIRING  Theodore Nott x fem!Reader

SUMMARY  part one in an upcoming series. you and theo have been flirting with each other for months, but neither of you have made a move. you don't want to be just another girl for theo, and theo's to afraid to commit to a relationship with the most amazing girl in the world, afraid that he'll eventually break your heart. you get confronted at a party and an argument ensues.

TAGS  Theodore Nott x reader, mean!theo, jealous!theo, theo is kind of a dick here, sorry babes 🤷‍♀️, mutual pining, parties, underage drinking, ginny is a good bro, ron is a good bro, reader is not gryffindor, angst

"I'm so chill, but you make me jealous," - So it Goes . . . by Taylor Swift

WORD COUNT  1.3K

WRITTEN  2023.09.13

You could feel Theo's eyes burning through your dress as soon as you entered the room, but you were sure to absolutely avoid any eye contact with him. Tonight's mission was simple: break him. You and Theo had an interesting little dynamic, that was for certain. You had spent months flirting with each other - smooth lines that had you blushing, "accidental" caresses that made Theo ache for more of you, almost-kisses that haunted both of your daydreams. Oh yes, the two of you were smitten for one another. There was just one small, tiny little problem. Theodore was spoiled rotten. He was so used to girl's plopping themselves in his lap and vying so desperately for his attention. He was so accustomed to this, in fact, that he went through girls like toilet paper. One week he's chatting up Romilda Vane in the corridors and the next week it's Tracey Davis, and so on and so on. You didn't want to be just another girl, you wanted to make him work for you. Still, that didn't mean you couldn't nudge him in the right direction.

You don't know what miracle Merlin had pulled in the afterlife, but he had somehow lsitened to your prayers and granted you the perfect opportunity to piss off Theo. The Gryffindors were holding a themed party where all the attenders must dress as someone from a different house. You, of course utlizied your connections and talked with your very dear friend Ginny. You had decided to borrow the letterman jacket she had gotten as a member of the Quidditch and, even better, had asked her to act a bit more friendly towards you than usual.

The music in Gryffindor Tower boomed so loudly that you practically feel the beat vibrating in your chest.You descended the stairs, dressed in a tight golden dress with the burgundy jacket swung over your shoulders, the word WEASLEY spelled prominently on the back of it. One arm was intertwined with Ginny's, the other raised so that your hand could fix up your hair. Ginny's arm was wrapped around your waist as she lead you down the stairs, and as soon as her friends looked up, they all let out a roar. Seamus and Ron came over, harking on about some drinking game ans begging the two of you to join. Ron would usually take the piss if he saw someone with Ginny, but you and her had informed him of what was really going on, so he wasn't in a mood at all.

"Come on, Dean's just told us about it, it's called Beer Pong," Seamus told the two of you, leading you to a table with plastic cups aligned in the shape of a triangle at each end. He handed you a ball and explained how it worked. "You and Ginny are on Harry and Ron's team, that's this end of the table, and me, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati are over here. Now, you're gonna throw this ball and try to get it into one of our cups. If the ball lands in the cup, someone from my team has to drink whatever's in thay cup. Whoever has no cups leftover in the end loses, yeah?"

You glanced towards Theo, standing in a dark corner with a few of his Slytherin friends. The drink he held in his hand was hovering near his face, his eyes dark as he watched your every movement, while his friends were having a lively chat. You grinned and turned back to the others, standing right in front of the edge of the table. Ron and Harry started to cheer for you, Ginny ran a hand down your side. You sent a small smile your way before tossing the ball down the tablez landing it right in the first cup. The other team groaned and Seamus downed the alcohol, tossing the cup to the side.

The game went on for quite some time - your team had won, but only just. Ron had drank most of the alcohol and was now flirting very obviously with Hermione, who seemed unsure of whether to continue studying or listen to him. As a new song came on, Ginny pulled on your hand, dragging you to the crowd of the dancing bodies.

"Come on!" She exclaimed over the loud music. "I promise, he'll be mad once he sees us dancing together!" She grabbed your arms and threw them around her neck, her hair swaying as she nodded her head to the beat. You danced with her, your faces so close to one another that you could feel yourselves sharing the hot breath that left your mouths. Ginny glanced at something behind you and said, "He hasn't done anything the entire night, he's just been standing there. I think he needs a little more motivation."

Something mischievous twinkled in Ginny's eyes - you narrowed your own at her. "Just what exactly are you thinking, Ginerva?"

Ginny scoffed, a wide grin forming on her face. "Did you seriously just call me by my full name?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I don't like that look on your face."

Ginny rested her hands on your waist, swaying her hips in unison with yours, bringing her face close to you. "I promise if you kiss me, he'll do something about it." She rushedly added, "I won't do anything if you don't want to though, it was just an idea."

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating the idea. Ginny wasn't necessarily wrong, it was a pretty good idea and would probably get some sort of rise out of Theo. You glanced back at her with assured eyes, asking, "Is he looking at us now?"

"Yeah, why -"

"Good," you responded, smashing your lips against Ginny's. It didn't feel like anything you've felt with anyone before - no butterflies blossoming in your stomach, no fuzziness growing in your head, just lips against lips. You pulled away suddenly, looking at Ginny with wide eyes. "Sorry!" You exclaimed, now thinking you should have asked her if it was okay before kissing her. But she wasn't looking at you.

You turned to look at what she was smirking at and found Theo marching over to you, drink in his hand discarded. You turned to look back at Ginny, but she had disappeared, leaving you alone to deal with the fallout. When you turned back, he was standing in front of you.

"I know what you're doing," Theo said, his breath erratic and not at all uniform. You smirked up at him, stepping closer so that your head was practically meeting his chest. Your fingers crawled up his arms and you watched his reaction.

"And what exactly am I doing, Theo?" He scoffed and glanced away. He said nothing, causing you to frown. You grabbed his chin with your hand, turning his head so that your eyes met again. "Come on, say it."

"You're trying to make me jealous!" He exclaimed angrily. "Waltzing around on her arm, kissing her, when we both know that you don't even like her like that."

"And why wouldn't I like her, Nott?"

"Because you're supposed to like me!" He huffed, his arms raised like a petulant child. "What, you're going to pretend as though you haven't spend months flirting with me?"

"Are you?" You returned with a raised eyebrow, taking a step forward. "Don't pretend as though you didn't have your tounge down Daphne Greengrass' throat only three days ago!"

"I don't care about her, I care about you!" He shouted back.

"Then prove it! And that's not an invitation for you to kiss me, that's me asking you to show me you really do care about me."

"Fine then! I will!"

Thank you all for reading! Be sure to like, reblog, and comment! I really appreciate it ^^. If you have any requests, by inbox is open but make sure to check the list of characters I write for here. If you want to be tagged in any upcoming fics/headcanons of mine, let me know. If you want to see more from me, go ahead and check out my masterlist here!

[espace--positif]

When Stars Align

A Sylus x F!Reader Fic [Love and Deepspace] Written for @reilemon for the Blind Date Matchmaking collab by @unintentionalseductress!

Summary: Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars. Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader WC: ~2.5k Content tags: blind date, fluff, humor, romance Notes: This was so fun to write (and the word count quickly got away from me lmao), huge thank you to Ray for organizing this event, and thank you to @pmpmyread for proofreading! I really hope you enjoy the fic @reilemon 💜

Masterlist

A soft spring breeze tickles at your skin as you walk down the busy street. It’s abuzz with chatter and laughter — mainly that of couples, as the season's warming up often engenders. The butterflies in your stomach flutter incessantly in anticipation of the afternoon ahead of you. Will you end up like one of the many happy — or seemingly happy, at least — couples that surround you?

A young couple sitting on a bench, tenderly sharing an ice cream cone, catches your attention. You wonder if they’ve worked out those little differences that always seem to make or break connections. If they’ve ironed out the kinks in the fabled red thread that connects them. If they’d even have found their way to one another, if not for a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Like a blind date.

You shake the feeling as quickly as it came on. You’re getting ahead of yourself, you haven’t even met the man yet, you briefly think.

Your friend hadn’t told you much about your date, simply claiming that you wouldn’t regret meeting him, and that he’d be unlike anyone you’ve ever seen. Though you doubted her assertion, as you knew she didn’t know him all that well — she’d also claimed he was a friend of friends, two twins who you’d recognized from mutual circles on social media. Despite this, no matter how much scouring and internet sleuthing you attempted, you couldn’t find anything on this so-called ‘Sylus’. Not a profile, a mention, nothing. His replies didn’t tell you much about his character either, but to be fair, you’d only briefly texted to organize the time and place for the date.

And now, as you arrive at your destination, your doubts multiply. Your friend’s recommendation for a café is nothing short of quirky — a tiny hole-in-the-wall with a pretentious-looking chalkboard menu filled with riddle-like names for likely simple drinks. It’s clearly a place she’d enjoy, but you now slightly regret relaying her recommendation to your date without as much as a glance at their webpage.

You tighten your black jacket around your frame as the calm breeze suddenly picks up. Ignoring your racing heartbeat, you open the door and step inside. The door’s chime hasn’t even sounded yet when an impossibly cheery barista almost materializes in front of you, clad in a dizzyingly striped apron that matches the sign outside.

“Welcome to the Linkon Bean and Dream!” he blurts energetically. “Can I get you an affirmation, or just the menu?” He winks as he says the word, and you suppress a sigh. Oh great, it’s one of these places.

“Actually, I’m here to meet someone, uh…” you trail off as your eyes scan the café. A few other couples sit around the colorful tables, chairs, and booths, but a single figure stands out, drawing your attention immediately.

The man, clad in a jet-black turtleneck and carmine blazer, claims all the patrons’ attention when he stands from a booth in the back and begins walking towards you. As he approaches, you notice his most prominent features; his hair is striking silver, half swept back, leaving a few loose strands to frame his chiseled face. And when he stops right in front of you and the wide-eyed barista, you notice that he’s incredibly tall, towering over the both of you. His gaze is piercing, deep red eyes focused on you as he gives you a once-over, and for a moment, you freeze.

He can’t be…

“Sylus?” you chance, and his gaze softens slightly, though an almost imperceptible edge still remains.

He smiles as he confirms your name, his voice deep and rich, and your hand tightens around the strap of your bag. It sounds so good on his lips.

Sylus turns to the barista, whose energy has suddenly dialed down, and says, “She’s with me. And we’ll just take the menu.”

“O-Of course,” stammers the barista. He leads you both back to your booth and hands you menus printed on paper bag-like sheets, which are ironically laminated in plastic. You both agree to order the ‘Cup of Delight’, which seems like the most normal drink on the menu (some of the items don’t sound like drinks at all), and the barista finally scatters, leaving you alone with Sylus.

You make brief introductions, giving him the almost rehearsed preamble you’re used to reciting — what you do for work, where you grew up, how you enjoy reading and dancing… But Sylus is different from your usual interlocutors. He listens attentively, as though you’re the only other person in the café, his gaze never leaving yours, even when you look away as a flush creeps up your cheeks.

No longer encumbered with a menu to fidget with, your eyes sweep over his necklace, expensive-looking silver encrusted with bright rubies, contrasting with his midnight black shirt. And beneath the necklace, you can see hints of the chiseled muscles barely contained by said shirt.

“So,” you clear your throat as you refocus, realizing that as easy as it is to talk to Sylus, he hasn’t exactly shared anything about himself yet. “What do you do?”

“I’m a business owner,” Sylus replies, leaning onto his palm. But this time, you don’t look away. A small smile blooms on your lips.

“What kind of business?” you ask, spurred by the enigma before you. He’s clearly well-off, on top of exuding an air of practiced elegance. And there’s a hint of danger there, too, magnetic and intriguing.

Sylus smirks. “Imports and exports. Some trading. Fruits, and other things.”

You raise a playful eyebrow. “Other things?”

“It’s best to diversify one’s investments and ventures, don’t you think?” Sylus chuckles, matching your playfulness. You’re taken aback, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Still, you can tell that he’s keeping something, or some things, close to his chest. And yet the strapping mystery of a man that sits across from you is somehow effortlessly breaking the ice, softening your exterior, and making you more and more comfortable by the second. Your friend was right — he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met.

“Mhm,” you hum. “So you own a business, with diverse investments and ventures and other things. That’s not mysterious at all.”

An intensifying energy, magnetism given form, stretches between you, and you stare into the vermillion pools of his eyes, as though they’ll give you answers.

“You’re quite the mystery yourself,” he replies, instead shifting the subject back to you, and you suddenly feel like he’s staring right through to your soul.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Sylus lilts as he gesticulates at the abrasive decor lining the walls, “this doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d enjoy. But perhaps I’m mistaken.”

You let out a small chuckle, acutely aware that Sylus isn’t the only one whose vibe is distinctly different from the quirky café — your all-black ensemble, bustier top, short skirt and thigh highs certainly stand out from the overly colorful decor. But your fashion sense has never been something you shied away from, nor has it ever stopped you from going places where you know you’ll stand out.

And though you’re surprised Sylus has noticed you’re not exactly in your element here, you take the opportunity to come clean. “It’s not,” you admit. “My friend picked this place, I’ve never been here before.”

“I see. Your friend has… eclectic tastes,” Sylus muses. A merciful euphemism.

Right on cue, the barista returns with two tall cups in hand. You can barely contain your laughter as you watch Sylus crinkle his nose at the… can you even call it a drink? that’s placed before him. Strange striped wafers that grow soggy by the second protrude from the sloshing pale liquid in the uncovered cups, and you’re suddenly glad that you un-endorsed this place before it was too late.

“Two Cups of Delight!” croons the barista before shuffling away.

At a loss for words, you simply stare at the abomination in front of you, then you look up at Sylus. His reaction, earlier amusingly dramatic, is now muted. He pulls a small, jet black card from an equally jet black card wallet tucked in his blazer pocket and stands.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you ask, though you suspect you already know the answer.

“I’m paying for these so that we can escape this place,” Sylus replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“That’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” you tease. “Don’t you feel like experiencing delight?”

“I highly doubt this…” Even he hesitates to call it a drink. “…thing… has a modicum of delight in it. Now, may I suggest a place that will actually delight you?”

Sylus offers you his hand, and the way the words dance on his tongue sends a shiver of anticipation through your body. You grasp his large hand and stand, just as eager to abandon ship. Once the drinks are paid for and you find yourselves on the sidewalk, you realize you haven’t even asked where you’re going. It’s a disarming feeling — you’d never have thought to become so comfortable with a practical stranger leading your day, yet here you are.

“Where are we headed to?” you finally ask, pulling out your phone. “I can call us a cab, or…”

A round helmet is suddenly pushed up against your arm. And that’s when you notice that Sylus has led you to a motorbike, dark as night, propped against the sidewalk. The descending sun sends glinting shimmers across its smooth chassis. You may not be a motorcycle aficionado, but you can tell it has exquisite craftsmanship. Excitement bubbles within you as you accept the helmet, and Sylus smirks at the sight.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The wind in your hair, a ghost of a feeling, still lingers as you walk into the warmly lit bar. It’s still early, so the place is nearly empty. You feel your heartbeat, already rapid from the exhilarating motorcycle ride, beginning to race. Spending time with Sylus in that café, as awful as it was, at least meant you were spared the potential awkwardness of intimacy. But here, surrounded by nothing but the suspended overhead lights and the two bartenders behind the counter, you feel a twinge of nervous energy creeping up on you.

But that energy begins to dissipate the moment you notice the menu on the wall behind the bar — in bold and cursive letters, the words ’Signature Cocktails’ greet you, and you’re once again surprised as you peruse your options.

Turning to Sylus, who greets the bartender with a practiced familiarity, you ask, “So tell me, why’d you pick this place?”

Sylus’s brow furrows in an expression of genuine concern. “Is it not to your liking?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, it’s the opposite, actually. I love a good cocktail bar. How did you know…?”

Sylus grins. “Perhaps I’m that good of a judge of character.”

You playfully tap at his shoulder as you take a seat on an expensive-feeling leather stool. “Not very humble either. And with a flair for the dramatic.”

Sylus shakes his head in mock consternation. “Ah, have I failed to meet your rigorous expectations, then?”

Just then, the bartender gingerly places two drinks in front of you. And this time, they look not only drinkable, but quite enticing — slices of jalapeño and lime are neatly arranged within the bright yellow liquid, and the cup is rimmed with what looks like a blend of salt and tajin.

“Spicy mango margaritas. On the house,” says the bartender, flashing a knowing smile at Sylus.

You take a sip, instantly savoring the spicy, sweet, and tangy symphony of flavors on your tongue. Riding the invigorating energy of the delicious drink, you return to Sylus’s question.

“Well, that depends. Can you dance?”

The open area that has become your private dance floor is alight with slowly drifting hues of warm yellow and orange. A slow, groovy tune resounds from overhead and the surrounding speakers, enveloping you in a comfortable ambiance as you sway with the beat. Well, as one of you sways with the beat and the other tries his best. You’ve quickly realized that Sylus isn’t the best at keeping up with a rhythm, but a warm smile spreads across your lips as you think about how he’s indulging your spontaneous whim. You’re certainly in your element now, and he seems to have taken notice.

“What is it?” Sylus asks, raising an inquisitive brow.

You laugh, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. “Nothing, it’s just… You could work on your rhythm.”

Whether you have the drink you’re still nursing or Sylus’s comfortable presence to thank for your nervousness disappearing, you’re not sure. But you’ve somewhat settled into this back-and-forth with a man you didn’t know existed a few hours ago, a man whose mysterious persona you’ve still yet to unravel. And that’s something to drink to.

“I’m hurt,” Sylus smiles, feigning offense. “I’ve been told my dancing is as good as my singing. Are you saying I’ve been lied to?”

You gulp down the remainder of your drink before replying, “I’m saying that maybe you should work on your singing, too.”

Sylus laughs, a low rumble that settles in your abdomen alongside the warmth of the drink. A pleasant silence settles, and it’s only you, Sylus, and the music.

Your gazes lock, and you find yourself almost lost in the deep crimson of his eyes. And that magnetic energy resurfaces again as time seems to still. Diffused light dances across his features, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his sculpted nose, the softness of his lips…

Sylus draws closer, and your heart hammers in your chest. But you don’t pull away, instead letting his magnetism pull you in. His hand rests on your waist, and your hand moves of its own accord to settle on the back of his neck. His hair is soft, so soft, you think as you trace gentle circles around the tangles at his nape. Heat creeps up your face, but you resist the urge to look away. There’s something about him…

The scent of his cologne, woody and smoky, envelops your senses as you close the distance. Your lips brush, slowly and tentatively at first, before Sylus gently pulls you in, and you tilt into him, reciprocating the gesture. You part your lips, letting out a soft gasp, before the dam that was your inhibition fully breaks. You kiss deeply, tasting all of him. And he tastes like the cocktail, spicy and sweet and tangy, like a delectable piece of fresh fruit on a sweltering day.

Then you both pull away, but not before he gives your lip the tiniest nip. You feel as though your breath has been stolen, but it’s a feeling you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Your eyes meet again, your fingers still stroking at his strands, his hand still firmly on your waist.

“You’re different, Sylus.”

“So are you,” Sylus smiles, intrigue dancing in his narrowed eyes.

And so, mere hours after having met him, you’ve begun to scratch the surface of the mystery that is Sylus. The enticing enigma that seems to pull you, as though through a taut red thread, as red as his inescapable eyes.

Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Thanks for reading <3

[honeysorwell]

a ring and the (Super Bowl's) ring

pairing: Restaurant!AU Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Super Bowl's prompt by anon + Valentine's Day idea by me.

Synopsis: When the chef and owner of the traditional Italian Restaurant Schemmenti’s Cucina says that she will never get married again, few people really understand and respect her. Y/N is not only one of the people who understands her, but she is also the one who matters the most to Melissa. And the ring she gave the redhead on Valentine’s Day is just a bonus.

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (I tagged you all because you are all on my tag list for my other Melissa's fanfic, so since this is also a fanfic for Mel here you are!) (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning (for Melissa mainly): marriage proposal!!!

Words: 2,3k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2

Link on AO3

The inspiration for this is also the fact that: no one writes AUs for Melissa even tho our lady has a lot of potential for AUs thanks to how many interests she genuinely has; the fact that she thought Gary was buying her a replica of a Super Bowl ring; no one writes fanfics about Melissa finding someone who genuinely accepts that she doesn't want to get married at all and is happy with her just like that; and Valentine's Day is just around the corner;

and yes! part two will be posted tomorrow, because I wrote two parts (one where the Eagles win and one where they lose) so just stay tuned for the game hahaha… (I won't be tho, and that's why I'll only post this part two tomorrow.)

Enjoy!

“Chef! Chef!”, the young waiter called loudly as he entered the kitchen looking for the red-haired woman, keeping a smart distance from Melissa when he found her amidst the chaos of the pens in the hot stove where she was browning some onions.

The kitchen that the redhead had dedicated her time, heart, and soul to, and that until seconds ago was vibrating with the nervous energy of the orders in her restaurant but that now stopped completely, was just taken over by the nervousness that transformed the energy there into a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Although she was in her element, Melissa found it strange that her waiter had called her directly, and her restless feeling was, justifiably, mirrored by all her workers. Some dish was wrong? Was the poor waiter there to inform her of a client's complaint?

"Yes, kid?"

“The table reserved for a party of 20 in the center of the restaurant! They’re here and they’re asking for you.”, the waiter, whose name she refuses to remember since they always give up, smiles at her as he explains, so the redhead imagines that no one was exactly asking to talk to her because of a bad thing, “Oh... And the guy with the mustache told you to take off your apron before talking to them.”

It wasn’t common for Melissa Schemmenti (the talented chef and owner of the traditional Italian Restaurant Schemmenti’s Cucina, who delighted the clientele with her dishes every day) to leave the kitchen to greet ordinary customers. Only the most famous, or food critics, or those really kind people who waited until the restaurant closed had the privilege of meeting her, but when she looked out the kitchen window in search of who was sitting at that prominent table in the middle of the restaurant, a sweet smile painted her lips when she saw all those sitting there.

Her family is there.

At least a good part of it.

Her mother, Marie, Mary Camille, Maria Cristina, boy Tony and John Anthony are all looking at her expectantly as she goes out of the kitchen to stand next to Gary. It's rare to see her siblings looking at her with such happiness, and for just a second Melissa wonders if she's forgotten something important.

Looking closer, the redhead notices that even two of her cousins ​​are there. Rocco, with his wife and two children, and Annette with her husband. Wow.

But, some part of the table was empty and the redhead couldn't be more confused to notice that three of her siblings are not there – Seamus, Toni and Kristen Marie – but as she approached the table in question, the thought just slipped from her mind. After all, not even she knew why they were there so maybe it wasn't that important.

"You know you don't have to book a table when you come here, right? Especially when all these parasites are here almost daily.” Greetings and complaints begin to sound throughout the table instigated by her arrival, but the talented chef of Schemmenti’s Cucina just ignores everyone’s words with a smile, placing a loving kiss on her boyfriend’s lips before reprimanding him affectionately, “You just need to show up here and we’ll find a table for you, Gary.”

“I know.”, the man in question says, delighted with the fact that even on a busy Tuesday night for the restaurant, Melissa still looked as beautiful as on her days off, “But I wanted this one today.”

Before the redhead has time to question him why, Gary stands up from their table with a nervous smile, gently tapping the inside pocket of his leather jacket that held a small velvet box, not wanting to draw Melissa’s attention to it after all, he was just checking to see if the precious thing he handpicked himself was still there.

Leaving behind a distraught redhead with her hip propped against the wooden table, Gary made his way to the restaurant's small stage, where musicians played softly in the background. All the customers' eyes turned to him curiously as the man positioned himself under the soft light. And there, Melissa panicked.

Neither of them could say whose heart was beating faster.

"Sorry to interrupt," Gary began speaking into the available microphone with a shaky voice, "I just want to say a few words about the wonderful person who graces not only our stomach but also our sight tonight."

When he looked at Melissa, and although her eyes were already glued to his, the head chef's mind could not be further away.

Her mind was in denial, working hard to remember if that day was their anniversary, or perhaps the day they shared their first kiss, unable to accept the need to realize the trap that was unfolding dramatically in front of her.

The tension in the air was palpable, but with a gentle and loving gesture, Gary asked for Melissa to come closer.

Confused, she looked back at her family, just lost and confused, but the eyes of those who shared her surname shone amidst smiling faces, and there, as she walked carefully toward her boyfriend, her heart raced, not with happiness, but with apprehension.

He wouldn't do this.

He can't.

Right?

“Melissa,” Gary said, taking her hand and finally kneeling down, to Melissa's desperation, “You are the reason I wake up every day with a smile on my face. You bring color to my life and I can't imagine a future without you. I know you told me you don't intend to get married again but I just need to know if you would do me the honor of being my wife?” His words echoed through the space, full of love and hope as a deep silence momentarily settled in, where everyone there awaited the chef's answer.

But Melissa, with her hand being gently caressed by her boyfriend, for the first time in his own restaurant, felt like she was going to vomit.

The desire and expectation in his eyes were palpable, but she had been clear so many times.

She didn't want this. Not again.

She didn't want marriage or the commitments that it entailed.

And he knew it.

She made that clear to Gary again and again. And he knew how painful her divorce had been. The redhead remembered nights when painful memories would eat away at her mind until she shared them with him. How could he have the courage to ignore her feelings so easily? In the midst of her clients? In her restaurant? And invite her family to watch?

But then, only then, she recognized the looks in their eyes.

They knew. Her family knew.

The same ones who had heard her say over and over again how much she didn't want to get married again.

Ever.

The feeling of being disregarded took over her. A weight that made her wish, even if just for a second, that she had burned herself in the kitchen the day before so she could have stayed home instead of going through that.

She was so embarrassed.

Her boyfriend didn't listen to her. Her family didn't listen to her. No one listened to her.

When Melissa opened her mouth to respond, her words failed to come out. She fixed her gaze on Gary's anxious, hopeful smile, trying to find a way to express the turmoil that was forming inside her. But she knew that only one word would be enough.

“No.”, and when she finally said it, her voice cracked.

She knew that her answer had hit him like a crash.

The murmur of the audience grew around them, mixing disapproval and empathy. Gary stood still for a moment, the ring box slipping from his hand as he searched for some light in the eyes of the woman he loved. And Melissa was also on fire, but with pain and guilt for disappointing him.

“I understand,” he finally murmured after a while, forcing a smile that definitely didn’t reach his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how I feel… And maybe you…”

“I understand. But I can’t. I’m so sorry. It’s better if we end it here,” she interrupted, her voice firm, despite the pain.

The thick tears began to slide down his face, and Melissa felt her heart break inside her chest, but she knew there was no going back.

It was necessary, she knew it was. And she also knew she would cry herself to sleep that night.

Looking around the restaurant, feeling the eyes of her customers burning her back as some of them left their tables, overwhelmed by the weight of the scene they had witnessed that night, she wanted to disappear.

But instead, even when she heard her name being called by her entire family, especially her mother whose voice sounded more enthusiastic than all the others, Melissa silently returned to the kitchen. After all, she still had a kitchen to run.

Only after the end of the workday, when everyone had left and the redhead was drinking a worrying amount of wine in the closed kitchen of her restaurant, footsteps were heard by the redhead in the dining room.

Melissa had made it clear to everyone in the restaurant how much she didn't want to see anyone. But maybe her words also didn't mean anything to her employees too.

"Does everything I say just turned meaningless now?" she shouts towards the dining room, but when her eyes find the three people who were missing earlier today, her voice softens even amidst the confusion of alcohol, "How did you all get in here?"

Seamus, Toni, and Kristen Marie are moving too fast for the redhead to see with the amount of alcohol she consumed, and if Melissa were a little more sober she would notice how all three of them are looking at her with a huge amount of sadness. So maybe it was for the best.

“You’re almost cute when you think a few well-done locks can stop a Schemmenti. Imagine three!”, Toni says softly with a sweet smile as she approaches the redhead, gently placing a kiss on the chef’s forehead and looking for a clean, dry glass to fill with water and force her sister to drink.

Irritated by the unsolicited contact, Melissa thinks about greeting her by calling the owner of the brown eyes Antoinette, but oddly enough, the touch of the younger sister caresses not only her temple but also her soul.

“Hey Mel.”, Seamus says, but he doesn’t lean in for a proper greeting. The middle brother of all the women, whose existence was discovered only after everyone was adults just approaches his older sister to confuse her. The man's clumsy approach makes the redhead focus on the tall, blonde figure who is now once again trying to put the hairpins she used to break down the back door of her sister's restaurant back in place. Knowing that the mere sight of Kriste Marie being the one responsible for invading her property would cause enough distraction, Seamus takes both the bottle and the glass of wine away from his older sister while Toni replaces it with water without her noticing. At least not now.

"Kristen Marie.", is said with as much disdain as affection, which makes the blonde one let out a small smile at her older sister before responding with the same intonation:

"Melissa Ann."

The three Schemmentis who have just arrived gently sit down next to the redhead, who strokes the rim of the glass of water in front of her with the tip of her index finger after rejecting it.

"You're late for the shit show, ya know? It was during dinner.”, she says stammeringly but is quickly cut off by her brother.

“I guess we arrived just in time then.”, he says softly before directing a particularly disappointed look at Kristen Marie when he sees that the blonde one has taken the glass that used to belong to her sister and is now drinking the wine left there by her.

“I knew you would say no! We all knew!”, Kristen says angrily, as if ripping off a particularly stuck band-aid on the redhead’s skin, but one that everyone there knew needed to be changed.

“He warned us a month ago, sent a message in a group with all of us and asked us to be here for the proposal.”

“I said it wouldn’t work out, which obviously started a fight with Ma. Antoinette agreed with me and Seamus here said he would let you know.”, Kristin says again, monopolizing everyone’s attention for a few seconds, but as soon as she finishes, Melissa can see out of the corner of her eye that Seamus lowers his head in shame.

“Mom got really furious, she said we were rooting against your happiness.”, Toni says in a soft voice, but the redhead knows better.

She knows that “we” is not really “we”, but it is Seamus. Ma probably told Seamus that he was rooting against her happiness, and that’s probably why he didn’t tell her, and when she realizes it, the head chef gently stretches her right hand toward her brother.

He, in turn, gently kisses her fingers, still in silence.

“As if Kristen wouldn’t love to see you get engaged just to plan which white dress she’ll wear to your wedding.”, Toni tries to make a joke with a nervous smile, but she quickly regrets it when she sees the tear that runs down her older sister’s right cheek.

“What if… if…”

What if no one wants me?

What if no one accepts me on that condition?

What if I’m alone forever?

“No.”, Kristen interrupts Melissa almost like a growl, as if she can understand all the horrible questions that are going through her sister’s head right now, “Eventually they will understand this too. All of them.”

“Promise?”

“We promise.”, is said in unison by all three siblings, and this sound alone is capable of softening the redhead’s mind and heart.

[runnning-outof-time]

Worth Breaking Plans For | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby never thought he'd willingly go to see a ballet…that was until he found out that (Y/N) was performing in one. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) never thought she was someone worth breaking plans for…that was until Tommy came into her life.

Warnings: drinking and one bad word

Word Count: 4238

A/N: I’ve got another long one for ya here…the words just wouldn’t stop haha. This one was super fun to write. I hope I added enough ballerina elements for you, anon. If you haven’t got your fill by the end of it though, @padfootdaredmetoo has an amazing ballerina!reader series that you should check out! Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) just barely had the time to take in her surroundings before she was having a flute of champagne thrust in her direction. "Here," the drink was accompanied by the words of her friend, Lou, "have a few of these and you'll be settled in in no time."

"Thank you," (Y/N) gingerly replied, accepting the glass and bringing it up to her lips so that she could take a sip of the bubbly liquid. She then smiled at her friends, who were intently watching for any microexpression she would share with them. "It's good," she told them, feeling a little silly for even saying that in the first place.

"Good," Julia affirmed, a smile present on her face as she watched her friend take another sip, "let's get into this party now!" she cheered, taking hold of (Y/N)'s hand so that she, and Lou, could lead her deeper into the establishment.

(Y/N) took that time to look around in awe. She hadn't attended many of these parties - as if that hadn't been obvious enough - and was eager to soak in every aspect of it that she could. Spending time with a few friends from her company at either her flat or a smaller venue was more her speed, but that didn't mean she wasn't excited to see the other half of the spectrum.

"Did you hear what Lou said, (Y/N)?" the sound of Julia's voice broke into her thoughts, making her focus on her friends again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't," she admitted, a sheepish smile present on her face. They'd been here for a handful of minutes now and yet there were details of the venue and revelry that she still hadn't caught onto. She didn't feel too bad for being lost in the atmosphere of it all.

"I was saying that I've gotten word about there being some rather prominent figures at this party," Lou repeated herself, a grin forming on her face.

"Prominent in what sense?" (Y/N) couldn't help but ask. She had a right to, considering that she and her two friends were members of one of the most prestigious ballet companies that ran in London and its surrounding areas. Technically they could be considered part of the 'prominent figures' being talked about.

"I've heard everything from entertainers, to politicians, and even..." Julia trailed off, glancing around before she leaned closer to the other two women, her grin growing as she went to finish off her statement, "gangsters."

"Why did you say it in that way?" (Y/N) couldn't help but giggle at her friend's delivery of the word.

"Because the thought of it is so utterly...interesting," Julia responded.

“And exhilarating,” Lou added.

"Wouldn’t it be fun to meet a gangster?" Julia finished off with a question, making Lou nod, a giddy grin present on her face as she added a few more words of agreement.

"Hmm...I suppose," (Y/N) aired more on the coy side of things, looking out at the sea of people that were attending the party. She found it slightly hard to believe that there were actual gangsters scattered amongst these innocent looking party-goers. Maybe it'd only be those fake kinds...like the ones you'd see in the pictures.

"Come on ladies, let's find ourselves a gangster!" Julia cheered, obviously not letting the distinction bog her mind down. She clapped her hands together before leading the other two even further into the venue.

(Y/N) took that time to do some more looking around, her eyes dancing from the band, to the extravagant decorations, to the many people who seemed to be having the time of their lives. Amidst the looking, her eyes stopped on a man...one who immediately stood out from the rest of the people she'd been watching so far. She couldn't help but let her eyes linger on him for a longer amount of time. He just looked so...interesting, for lack of better words, and she found herself entranced by him.

She let her eyes linger on him until Lou broke into her thoughts - yet again - this time going on about seeing a familiar face that she wanted to go speak to. So with slight dismay, she broke her stare and followed her friends.

"Ada Thorne! It really is you!" Lou exclaimed as the three women approached another one, who had brown hair and a well-dressed figure.

"Lou! It's so good to see you!" the woman replied in a similar fashion to the initial greeting, a wide smile forming on her face. "Goodness, you've brought friends as well," she added, her eyes focusing on the other two ladies.

"Yes, I have," Lou answered with a smile, "this is Julia and (Y/N), they're both in the same company as me," she then went about the introductions.

"It's nice to meet you ladies. Lou always goes on and on about the women she performs with...it's so nice to finally put some faces to the stories," Ada said, smiling as she spoke.

"So how have things been with you?" Lou then moved to the small talk portion of the conversation, her eyebrows raised as she awaited a response.

(Y/N) figured that she didn't really need to be a part of the conversation anymore, so she happily went back to people watching. Much to her upset, she couldn't find the man she'd been fixated on earlier, no matter how hard she looked for him. That didn't mean that she didn't still enjoy taking in her surroundings once more.

She stayed locked into her own world until the feeling of Julia jabbing her side brought her out of it. "Goodness, what's that for?" she asked her friend, her eyes snapping to the other woman as she sent her a glare.

"You've been in your own world while we're being introduced to someone here," she hissed, nodding her head to the left to indicate that someone else had joined the group in the meantime.

(Y/N) was a bit nervous to look, feeling bashful all of a sudden for not having proper party manners. But she had to look, because it quickly became apparent that the conversation wasn't going on without it. So she did, and the sight that was awaiting her made her mouth go dry in seconds. Standing before her was the man...the one that she'd been transfixed on earlier. She suddenly hoped that her jaw hadn't gone slack at the realization as she scrambled to think of something to say.

"You'll have to forgive me...I like to take in my surroundings whenever I'm able to," she said to the man, a sheepish smile forming on her face.

"All is forgiven," the man brushed her apology off without second thought. The gruffness in his voice moved her in ways that she truly hadn't been moved before. That, coupled with the intensity of his ocean blue eyes that were currently focused on her, made her feel like her knees could give out at any moment.

"My name's (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," (Y/N) then decided to introduce herself, figuring that the group had already gotten past that step and was waiting for her to catch up.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)," the man said with a slight, greeting-typed nod before continuing, "my name's Tommy. Tommy Shelby," he then offered up his name, along with his hand for her to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Tommy," she responded to him, accepting the handshake with a kind smile.

"Tommy's my brother," Ada then entered the conversation, making (Y/N) remember that there were others around her, and that she wasn't just standing by herself with this man. "He says he's in town on business, but I think he's come to keep tabs on me," she added, a grin forming on her face as she took a playful jab at her sibling.

"It's nice to meet you, Tommy," Julia offered a greeting similar to (Y/N)'s, which made her wonder if maybe introductions hadn't been completed yet.

"These ladies all belong to one of the finest ballet companies this city has to offer," Ada then gave her brother some more information on the women he'd just been introduced to, her words making Lou playfully chide her.

Small talk re-commenced then, and (Y/N) tried to stay with it for the sake of not making another awkward mistake. She found it hard to be completely focused though, because no matter what she did, she couldn't quite keep her eyes off of Tommy.

——

"Well this is a surprise," Ada remarked when she opened the door to find her brother on the other side of it.

"Do you have plans for this evening?" Tommy asked, deciding to skip the greetings and get to the reason he was standing outside her door.

"I don't," Ada, thankfully, answered without much thought, "is there something you need me for?"

"I need you to come with me," Tommy continued, fishing his watch out of its pocket so that he could make sure he was still on time.

"Where?" now she was answering like the Ada he knew.

"There's a show going on at the theatre...I wanted to go to it and figured you'd might want to come," he gave her some vague details.

"And what is this show exactly?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in a questioning manner.

"Just come with me, Ada," he answered in a dismissive tone, not exactly wanting to play twenty questions at this moment.

Ada pursed her lips, not happy that her brother was being abrupt with her. She took a few moments to think his proposal over, secretly loving how the wait was driving him crazy. "I'll come," she finally agreed to his plan, "just let me make sure that Karl can be watched first," she added, turning and going back into the house to find that live-in nanny and tell her that she was going out.

—

"I never thought there'd come a day where Tommy Shelby would willingly go to a ballet," Ada commented with a smirk as she and Tommy found their seats in the front row of the upper balcony. She'd been sending these little jabs his way since she got the program and realized what show he was bringing them to.

"Ada," Tommy spoke in a warning tone, having heard enough of her teasing.

"Fine, I'll stop," she conceded, although she was trying her best to withhold her giggles.

Tommy just shook his head and turned his attention to the stage's curtains. He could see from the corner of his eye that Ada had opened the program and started flipping through it. He was thankful that she'd now found something else to do. But he wasn't out of the woods just yet.

"Which of the ladies is it?" she asked after a few minutes had passed, her words making him turn to look at her with furrowed brows. "Of the women we met at the party...which one is it?" she added more clarification.

Tommy went to speak, but the house lights dimming stopped - saved - him from having to answer. A round of applause coursed through the theatre as the curtains were pulled aside and the performance began. Tommy spent the next hour or so keeping his eyes fixed on the woman he hadn't been able to rid his mind of since he last saw her at the party.

—

"Oh my, this is so lovely," (Y/N) cooed as she accepted the single flower and hand-drawn picture from one of the girls that had come backstage to meet her, "thank you so much!"

"I drew the picture myself," the girl boasted, her words making (Y/N) look at the picture to see that there were two ballerinas drawn on it: one bigger and one smaller. "I want to be a ballerina one day when I grow up," the girl added, a toothy smile forming on her face.

"You keep practicing and you may just be on stage with us one day," (Y/N) told her, an encouraging smile present on her face.

The group of girls said their goodbyes then, their mothers calling them back over so that they could leave. That was when (Y/N) looked up to see a familiar figure leaning against the wall not too far away. The breath got stuck in her throat as she became focused on him; feeling the exact same feelings she'd experienced at the party. Goodness, he just had this aura to him.

"Tommy," she hated that she said his name a little too eagerly, "I...I would have never expected to see you here," she couldn't help but voice her surprise.

"I was in town and figured I'd come to see a show," he brushed her statement off with a slight shrug of his shoulders after he pushed himself off of the wall to move closer to her.

"Did you come alone?" she just had to ask.

"No, Ada came as well. She went off to find your friend...Lou, I believe it was," he answered, glancing down at the items she was holding then. "Had I known you were accepting gifts, I would have brought one," he said, motioning to the flowers and bears she had in her arms.

"Oh no...that's not necessary," she brushed him off, trying to ignore the giddy feeling she was now getting in her stomach.

"You did well," he complimented her performance, tucking his hands into his pockets as he spoke.

"Thank you," (Y/N) accepted the compliment with a smile. She looked down at the things she was holding then, feeling the heat rise within her more with each second that they held eye contact.

"You know..." Tommy started, clearing his throat before continuing, "you should at least let me take you for a drink; since I came here empty-handed."

His words brought (Y/N)'s eyes back up to his in a flash, and he most certainly caught the look of surprise she was wearing before she tried hard to hide it. "Oh you don't have to do that," she tried to brush his offer off.

"No, I insist," he held steady, "it'd be a way to celebrate a successful show...my first ballet," he added, the final words of his sentence making her let out a stifled laugh.

"You're truly offering?" she checked with him before giving her final answer.

"I am," he nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

She had to bite back the smile that was threatening to form as she took a moment's pause. If she answered too soon, it would have looked like she was overly excited for this opportunity. "I'd like that then," she told him, hoping that her giddiness wasn't plastered clear across her face. "I need to quickly put these in the dressing room," she added, raising her arms slightly to call attention to the gifts she'd been holding.

"I'll be waiting here," he told her, nodding as she turned and walked towards the dressing rooms.

She was unable to get to them without being stopped by Julia first. "Is that the man from the party, (Y/N)?" her friend asked, her eyes swapping between (Y/N) and Tommy.

"It is," (Y/N) answered, again hoping that her giddiness wasn't too apparent.

"What's he doing here?"

"He's offered to take me for drinks," (Y/N) couldn't help but feel proud as she spoke.

A grin spread across Julia's face as she heard her friend's response, "oh so it's like that?" she questioned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Not exactly like that," (Y/N) was quick to brush her off, "he's just being kind."

"You'll have to tell me all about it at rehearsals tomorrow...we'll see how kind he ended up being," Julia stated, winking as she put emphasis on the word 'kind'.

"It's not like that, Julia!" (Y/N) insisted, her eyebrows raised as she stressed her point in a harsh whisper.

"Don't keep your man waiting." (Y/N)'s statement was ignored, and Julia's grin only grew as she spoke, ending off with giving the other woman a friendly push towards the dressing room.

(Y/N) let out a huff as she went to quickly put the gifts she'd received down. She then hurried to get changed out of her costume before grabbing her things and heading out of the dressing room. Tommy was standing right where she left him, and she sent him a smile as she approached him. He asked her if she was ready, and she nodded, allowing the two to leave the theatre and go wherever they'd be having drinks.

—

Conversation came easily between the two as they settled in at the bar of one of the more prestigious clubs in the city. (Y/N) would have loved to look around and get lost in her surroundings but, well...she had more interesting things to look at.

They learned a good bit about each other as they sat and talked. (Y/N) told Tommy all about her rise to the company that she was dancing for now, and Tommy in turn told (Y/N) of how he made his way out of Birmingham, coming from nothing to now dealing with some of the heads of the business sphere. He also made hints at some other avenues that he's simultaneously working in, but didn't really elaborate on them. (Y/N) truly didn't need details though...she'd become so enthralled by this man that she was sure it'd take something dire to make her want to leave him.

So enthralled, in fact, that she did something that would be considered rather bold by her standards and invited him back to her flat for a nightcap. Tommy, who was also enjoying himself, accepted the invitation with no hesitation, then going to pay off their tab so that they could leave the club for the building she lived in.

Things transitioned more than smoothly to her flat. The shift in the energy between them became increasingly more noticeable the closer they got to the building, and neither said a word as they rode the elevator up to her floor, instead choosing to let their eyes do the talking as they held each other's gazes.

If she was being honest, (Y/N) couldn't wait much longer to get him behind the privacy of her door. The second she did, her hands found the lapels of his suit jacket so that she could bring him to her and press their lips together in a haste kiss. Tommy accepted it with a matched eagerness, holding her tight to his body as he deepened it.

"I'm sorry...that was a bit forward of me," (Y/N) panted once they'd pulled away. She couldn't mask the bashfulness that was coming on once her mind caught up to her actions.

"Don't apologize," Tommy told her, taking a chance to take in her features at this new closeness, "I quite liked it." A slight laugh left her lips as he finished speaking, one that sounded like music to his ears.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked him then.

"Sure."

(Y/N) nodded before she glanced down to where she was still gripping his lapels. She exhaled a breath of a laugh before releasing them and smoothing them back to their previous state. Tommy let go of her waist then, and she quickly turned to head to the kitchen so that he wouldn't see her frown at the loss of contact. He followed her to the kitchen, not really wanting to leave her side either.

"Did you enjoy the performance today?" she asked him as she grabbed a bottle and two glasses.

"I did," he answered after having to recall how the night started. It felt like it happened so long ago at this point. "You didn't have much of a part in it though," he pointed out then.

"Yeah," she answered, a bit of a lopsided smile present as she went about pouring the drinks. "I did audition for the lead in our next show though..." she paused, sliding one glass towards him before she looked up with a smile, "and I got the part!" she couldn't help but voice her happiness to this man she'd only met a week ago.

"Yeah? When is the show?" he asked, genuine curiosity present in his voice.

"It's in two weeks. On the twentieth," a fire started to burn in her stomach at the thought of him coming to see her perform again.

"Fuck," he breathed as he looked down at the glass.

This was a response she was not expecting, and it confused her. "What? Is something wrong?" she asked, all of the excitement now gone.

"I'll be out of town that day, on business," he told her, his simple sentence effectively breaking her heart. Why had she gotten her hopes up?

"Oh," she couldn't help but voice her upset, glancing up at him before she took a drink.

She looked at him again as she set the glass down on the counter, trying not to let this turn of events spoil what had been an otherwise amazing evening. Hell, she had this insanely handsome man in her flat...who was she to stand around and mope over something she couldn't control? Tommy was taking that time to look her over too, and she couldn't help but love the feeling of his eyes on her.

"We still have tonight though..." she spoke again after a few moments had passed, keeping her eyes steady on him, watching his every move.

He let his eyes trail over her face again, taking in every inch of it. He licked his lips as he thought about the magnitude of her statement. "We do have tonight," he answered then, letting her lead the interaction.

She couldn't stop from biting on her bottom lip as she thought of how to word her next question. The energy coursing between them was almost palpable at this point, and she wondered how she was able to shift so quickly from disappointment to desire just by standing in his presence. It felt like ages before she spoke again, a hint of curiosity now sparkling in her eyes: "would you like to come to bed with me?"

Tommy didn't wait ages to give his response. He broke the distance between them in seconds, his hands finding the sides of her face so that he could pull her into a deep kiss.

The kiss alone buried the upset of him not being able to attend her performance, and if it was a precursor of what would come, (Y/N) knew that this would be a night she'd hold in her mind for years to come.

——

(Y/N) hadn't had a moment to herself since she exited the stage after final bows. She was being swarmed by the fellow ballerinas in her company, who were congratulating her on a wonderful show and already celebrating their collective performance. She didn't mind it though...she was buzzing from the high herself.

"You have a few fans waiting out in the hall to see you, Miss (Y/L/N)," one of the stagehands told her once she'd finished the conversation she was having.

(Y/N) nodded and allowed the man to lead her to the door that separated the backstage area from the rest of the theatre. He opened the door for her and she thanked him before seeing the same group of little girls that had been at her last show waiting for her. She greeted them with a wide smile, happily accepting their flowers and other gifts that they came back to bring her. After many hugs and a short conversation, she said goodbye and some words of encouragement.

Standing tall again, she looked ahead of her and found the last person she expected to. Tommy Shelby was there, leaning against the wall much like he had last time, but now he had a bouquet of beautiful red roses with him. (Y/N) went over to him without a second thought.

"I brought you flowers this time," he was the first to speak, raising the bouquet slightly to accentuate his statement.

"You...you did," she stuttered out, still not quite believing her eyes, "were...were you...?" She couldn’t get a complete sentence out. Not once in the times they’d met up over the last two weeks did he mention he was able to make it to her show - they hadn’t spoken about it after that night.

"I was," he answered with a slight chuckle, a smile forming on his lips at her shock.

"Please tell me you didn't cancel your plans for me."

"I did," he confirmed what she already knew, "you're worth breaking plans for, love."

The widest smile formed on her face at his statement, and she couldn't help but close the distance to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He chuckled at her reaction, holding onto her as tightly as she was holding him. "You did amazing," he mumbled into her neck before pressing a kiss to it.

"I'm happy you came," she said, holding back her emotions with a smile as she pulled away, "so happy," she added, her hands moving to his face so that she could kiss him.

Even though she’d just given what was surely the best performance of her career, (Y/N) couldn’t deny that she’d never felt happier than she did at this moment.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[cod-thoughts]

How far must i go to prove that i love you?

Word count: 6k

Relationships: GhostPrice, PriceGhost

Tags: PricGhostweek2024, love confession, Blow job, hand job, Ghost has dick piercings hehe, they're so in love, truly whipped its great.

This is for Day 1 of GhostPrice week: confession + Kneel and the title is what i was listening to while editing: "Mx Sinister - I dont know how but they found me"

Ghost swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. He’d never seen Price so relaxed, so at ease, and yet he looked right, like he belonged here. Against a kitchen counter as Ghost made him tea, warm from a fresh shower and relaxed. A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary. Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” OR Ghost is so enamoured by a domestic and relaxed Price he blurts out his feelings and has to convince Price he does want this This is my first time writing actual smut please be kind oop 0_0 Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The mission went without a hitch, for once, no bad intel, no secret mercenaries waiting for them and most importantly. No injuries. Ghost couldn't be happier with how it turned out because this meant they had an extra three days in the safe house. Technically they weren’t on leave, but they might as well have been.

The safe house was a modest, worn place—a dusty sort of charm that only Price would’ve found this endearing, raving on about how cozy and homey it felt. It reminded him of his cabin in the country-side apparently. Even Ghost found himself oddly settled by the familiarity of it. Today was their last full day in the safe-house and they already managed to slip into a comfortable rhythm, both of them falling into a rare, quiet routine that felt almost… normal, domestic in a way.

Price was in the shower, water pattering softly against the old tiles, and the faint warmth of steam drifted out into the narrow hallway. Ghost could hear the occasional clink as Price moved about, no doubt scrubbing his face and muttering about the “bloody water pressure.” A hint of a smile tugged at Ghost’s mouth, something barely there, but the comfort of the moment made him less guarded, even if it was just him in the kitchen.

It was strange, the ease with which they’d fallen into this—how simple it felt to share the silence, to just be here. Price’s footsteps, his quiet huff of laughter, the way he leaned against the counter with that small smirk Ghost had memorised. These were details Ghost never let himself hold onto, and yet here they were, filling him with a warmth that was as terrifying as it was grounding.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have Price with him like this all the time, soft and comfortable, the lines in his face smoothing over in his relaxed state, his laughter more prominent and not marred by the world they live in.

He’d finished heating up a tin of beans, stirring it absently before putting the lid on it to keep it warm, and set the kettle on for tea, knowing Price would be done soon. The small tasks felt grounding, almost domestic—there’s that word again, strange but, maybe, it was what had been playing at the edges of his mind for a while now. This rare ease, this strange new rhythm. Ghost found himself watching the steam rising from the kettle, a bit lost in the warmth that filled the air.

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened—when the lines between Price as a superior, a mentor, had blurred into something… more. It was a disquieting thought, one he’d been trying to keep at bay, though not with much success. And here he was, cooking up beans and making tea, so utterly settled in Price’s presence that the prospect of leaving, of returning to the job, made him feel something uncomfortably close to hollow.

He never imagined this was even possible for him. To be alive and wanting something so fiercely. To want a life outside of being a soldier. It was all he ever knew but as the kettle clicked and he made them a cup each, exactly how Price liked it, it hit him like a blow: this was it. This was what he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Price emerged, towelling his hair. He’d discarded his usual gear in favour of an old grey t-shirt, soft and worn, that clung to his still-damp skin. He looked… ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Ordinary was the wrong word entirely for that man, Ghost realised, because there was something extraordinary in the way Price took up space, in how naturally he filled the room.

There was something about Price that Simon couldn’t look away from, something that drew him in every time. It wasn’t just the way his shirt clung to the strong lines of his shoulders or the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends—it was him. The way Price moved with such unassuming ease, filling the space without even trying. The quiet strength in the way he stood, the subtle command he carried even when he wasn’t speaking.

And his face. God, Simon could stare at it forever. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes that deepened when he smiled, the way his beard softened his jawline but couldn’t hide the sharp angles beneath. The ruggedness of him—like he’d been carved out of something weathered but enduring—made Simon’s chest ache with something fierce. And then there was that scent, familiar and grounding: the faint trace of cigars, soap, and something woodsy, something unmistakably Price.

It wasn’t just the physical, though that certainly left Simon weak. It was the way Price’s presence seemed to settle the air, how his quiet confidence made even a dusty, cramped kitchen feel like the safest place in the world. How he could glance at Simon with those piercing blue eyes and, without saying a word, make him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

Simon realised, as he stood there, that he didn’t just want Price. He adored him. Every detail, every quiet moment, every laugh that felt like it was meant just for Simon. He wanted to keep this, to keep him—the man who somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel like home.

Simon didn’t realise he’d been staring until Price’s movement snapped him back to the present. He blinked, catching himself, but Price had already noticed, his gaze flicking toward him with a faintly amused tilt of his brow.

Price spotted the tea, grunted approvingly, and leaned back against the counter. “Bit of a treat, this. Thought we’d be stuck with the stale packs from camp.” He nodded toward the kettle, that subtle glint of humour in his eyes, as if a decent brew was the most luxurious indulgence he could imagine.

Ghost swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. He’d never seen Price so relaxed, so at ease, and yet he looked right, like he belonged here. Against a kitchen counter as Ghost made him tea, warm from a fresh shower and relaxed.

A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary.

Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” His tone was light, teasing, but Ghost could see the slight furrow in his brow, as if he were trying to decipher what he was seeing in Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost’s mouth opened, then closed. He could feel the words pressing up against his chest, aching to escape, but he didn’t know if he had the right to say them. What if this ruined everything? What if he’d read all of this wrong? What if Price didn’t want this with Simon?

But looking at Price, standing there, comfortably out of uniform, looking so impossibly good and real, Ghost felt something snap. He couldn’t keep holding this back—not when every moment with Price felt like a promise he wanted to keep.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed felt both endless and instant. He watched Price freeze, shock flickering over his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. For a second, Ghost’s stomach twisted, instinct screaming at him to retreat, to act like it had been a mistake, a momentary lapse he hadn’t meant. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take it back.

Instead, he stood there, unwavering, rooted to the spot by something stronger than fear. There was a sense of calm clarity in him, as if finally saying it—finally letting it go—was exactly what he needed to feel at peace. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding from what he felt, and it was terrifying, but also… grounding. This was his truth, as clear as any mission he’d ever undertaken. It was too much a part of him to deny, and he knew now, with a certainty he couldn’t ignore, that he wouldn’t take it back even if he could.

Price’s mouth opened, closed, the faintest line of vulnerability shadowing his face. “Simon… no. You don’t—” He stopped, eyes flicking away. “Why… why would you even say that?”

A part of Ghost had expected this. He’d seen how Price held people at arm’s length, always careful, always cautious with his own heart. But Ghost had spent enough time by his side to know that Price’s doubt was more than scepticism—it was insecurity. And knowing that broke something in Ghost, making him want to close the space between them, to make Price see himself the way he did.

Without thinking, he took a step closer, each movement slow, deliberate. He needed Price to understand. There was no question, no hesitation in his heart, and he wouldn’t let his own fear stand in the way of this. “Because it’s true, John,” he said softly, his voice filled with an intensity that surprised even him. “Because I mean it.”

Price shook his head, trying to look away, a faint, pained laugh escaping him. Ghost could see it, see the struggle on his face, the disbelief that anyone could love him like this, let alone him.

Ghost’s chest ached seeing Price struggle, watching the disbelief play across his face, the doubt that someone could love him, truly love him. He reached up, taking his mask off, wanting Price to see his whole expression. He cupped Price’s face in both hands, guiding him to look back, to look him in the eye.

“John,” he said, his voice low, steady, the words carrying a weight he’d never let himself show. “You’re not just my Captain. You’re the one person who’s… who makes sense to me. Every time I think about us, about this—it feels right.” He paused, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek, the warmth of the touch grounding them both. “I’ve thought about it more times than I can count. Tried to fight it. But I can’t, not anymore.”

Price’s eyes searched his face, looking for any flicker of doubt, anything to convince himself that this was just a passing feeling. But Ghost didn’t let him turn away; he needed Price to understand how long he’d kept this inside; how much he wanted this to be real.

Every inch of him was screaming to make Price see that this wasn’t some twisted sense of duty or loyalty or a skewed understanding of the bond of brothers-in-arms. It was something that went beyond all of that, something he’d felt in every quiet moment, every time he found himself leaning closer, craving Price’s presence even when words went unspoken. And now, with Price standing here, with that soft shirt and his damp hair, looking so human and so his, Ghost knew he’d never be able to go back to pretending this was just camaraderie.

Price’s lips parted, a faint tremor in his voice as he asked, almost pleadingly, “Why me, Simon? Why would you…”

Ghost let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek. “Because I want this with you, all of it,” He gestured around the cabin frantically, trying to convey what he means. “I want this to be our normal.”

“Why… why now?”

Ghost swallowed, the rawness of Price’s voice piercing through him, and in that moment, any doubt he’d had about telling him vanished. “Because I want this. With you. I want the quiet moments, the domestic nights on a couch. I want to wake up to you next to me-” He paused suddenly, his thumb tracing along Price’s cheek. “I didn’t know how much until I got a taste of a life with you outside of the 141 these past few days. I thought I could live without you knowing but I can’t. I want you, John.” He took a breath, his own voice rough but steady. “And if you don’t feel the same, I understand. But I needed you to know.”

The look in Price’s eyes was one Ghost had rarely seen before—unguarded, vulnerable, and full of a quiet yearning that had been hidden for far too long. And at that moment, he knew he’d made the right choice, that he’d do it all over again if it meant being here, standing close, telling Price everything he’d kept buried.

When Price’s hands moved up to Ghost’s face, mirroring his touch, Ghost could feel it—the release of years of restraint, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted. “You… you really mean that?”

Ghost nodded, the relief and quiet happiness flooding through him. “More than anything.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Price’s hands tightened on his face, grounding them both. “Alright,” he whispered, voice thick. “Alright… Simon.”

Ghost leaned in, their foreheads touching, each of them grounding the other. In the quiet, Ghost could feel it—all the years of restraint, the walls they’d kept up, finally crumbling as they found each other, both feeling, for the first time, what it meant to be truly together.

They stayed close, heads tilted together, letting the newness of it settle, feeling the gentle thud of their heartbeats in tandem. Then, almost as if on impulse, Ghost—Simon, now—leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Price’s forehead, then his cheek, and then another, barely brushing the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was soft, almost giddy, like he couldn’t contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Price let out a soft laugh, an amused huff as he tried to dodge Simon’s unrelenting affections, but he didn’t quite succeed, and it only seemed to encourage Simon further.

“Bloody hell, Simon, give a man a moment to breathe,” Price grumbled, though his voice was edged with laughter, his own smile finally breaking free as he watched Simon beam with a kind of unabashed joy he’d never seen from him before.

Simon chuckled, his lips still grazing Price’s face as he planted another playful kiss just above his eyebrow, and then another on his jawline, lingering a moment longer as his grin grew even wider. He was thoroughly enjoying the way Price looked slightly flustered, a bit pink around the edges.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” Price muttered, shaking his head even as his hands settled comfortably on Simon’s waist, holding him close.

“Oh, I’m a menace?” Simon quirked an eyebrow, his tone teasing as he brushed his lips against Price’s nose, a sly smile lighting up his face. “This coming from the bloke who said he doesn’t need shit like this. Look at you now. Practically melting,” he teased, his laughter warm, delighted, bubbling up from a place so deep it surprised even him.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “S’pose I am, at that,” he admitted, his voice softening, a hand coming up to cup the back of Simon’s neck. He looked at him, taking in the joy in Simon’s eyes, the warmth in his expression, and for the first time, he allowed himself to relax fully, to let the happiness settle.

Then, with a steadying breath and a smile that was soft and sure, Price looked into Simon’s eyes, holding him close. “I love you too, Simon,” he murmured, voice quiet but unmistakably certain.

Simon’s face lit up with an almost boyish grin, and he pressed another series of kisses to Price’s face, each one full of relief, of warmth, of a happiness he could barely contain. He laughed, the sound bright, full of life, as he finally allowed himself to believe in this moment, in the closeness he’d longed for.

“You’re a bloody nightmare,” Price teased, laughing softly as Simon practically smothered him with affection.

“Think you’ll survive it?” Simon whispered, his tone playful but the sincerity in his eyes clear.

“Aye,” Price replied, his own smile unguarded, hands still resting firmly on Simon. “I reckon I will.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughter mingling with quiet promises.

As their laughter faded, Simon’s hand lingered on Price’s cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding them both. They stood there, close and quiet, the moment stretching between them, soft and unhurried. Simon’s gaze moved over Price’s face, taking in the lines he’d memorised a hundred times over in the field, but here, now, he allowed himself the luxury of just looking, of feeling.

Without a word, Simon leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Price’s mouth this time, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of his neck. Price returned it just as slowly, the firmness in his grip telling Simon all he needed to know. There was an intensity in the way their mouths moved together—deliberate, deep, each kiss pulling them closer, as if the space between them was something they couldn’t bear.

Simon’s thumb brushed along Price’s jaw, and his other hand found Price’s waist, holding him steady as they leaned into each other. Price’s hand slipped up, fingers threading through the short hair at the back of Simon’s head, grounding them both, drawing him closer.

A low hum of contentment escaped Simon, their breaths mingling as he let himself get lost in the feeling of it—of them—no longer holding back. There was no rush, just the slow burn of realisation and a shared understanding, the unspoken promise that they were finally here, together.

When Simon finally pulled back, he stayed just a breath apart, his gaze fixed intently on Price, the weight of his affection clear in his eyes. His thumb brushed slowly along Price’s jaw, his touch confident, knowing, as he leaned in again, lips ghosting over Price’s in a way that was both teasing and familiar.

There was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, a playful glint that Price recognised, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it in this situation. He felt his pulse quicken, as if somehow Simon had shifted the entire mood with just that one look.

“Y’know,” Simon murmured, voice low and steady, each word lingering in the space between them, “I could show you… just how much I mean it.”

Price’s eyebrows lifted, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process the words, that quiet intensity in Simon’s voice leaving little room for doubt. Simon’s hands slipped down to rest at Price’s hips, steady and sure, anchoring him, but there was a spark of mischief in his expression, a challenge that was somehow both serious and playful.

Price opened his mouth to respond, to say something, but the words didn’t come, leaving him standing there, a bit off-kilter, entirely captivated by Simon’s quiet, unwavering confidence. He could barely believe that this was happening, that this was real, but the heat in Simon’s gaze left no room for uncertainty.

Simon chuckled and brought his lips firmly back onto Price’s, making him release a small gasp at how forceful Simon was being. God, that noise. It went straight to Simon’s cock, fuelling his arousal. He had to hear more, had to hear Price fall apart.

He shifted his hand on Price’s hip, moving under the thin shirt Price had on. Simon grabbed at the soft layer of fat around Price’s abdomen, groaning into the kiss. Fuck, he wanted to bite at the softness.

Using his hold on Price, he pushed Price against the counter, connecting their whole bodies together in a sinful grind. Their chests brushed against each other, and Simon could feel their hard nipples poking through their shirts, could feel Price’s arousal against the thigh he’d shoved between his legs, effectively pinning Price down.

He moved a hand into Price’s slightly damp hair and tugged on it, drawing another soft noise out of the man underneath him. It only added fuel to the fire being stoked within Simon. He shifted his hand to cup the back of Price’s neck, pushing his thumb into the junction of Price’s jaw, making Price gasp in response.

Simon licked deeper into Price’s mouth, claiming him. Pressing him harder against the counter, grinding into him and running his tongue over Price’s. The man keened, thrown slightly off balance, using his hold on Simon’s waist to hold himself upright.

Simon scraped his teeth against Price’s bottom lip, gasping before pulling away abruptly. He felt Price chase after his lips, but Simon placed his hand on his captain’s chest to slow him down. He brought their foreheads together, just breathing in each other’s air.

“Fuck, Simon. Been wanting this for so long, didn’t think it was allowed,” Price choked out, chuckling as if trying to hide his sincerity.

Simon moved his attention to Price’s jaw, laying kisses across his beard, letting the surprisingly soft hair tickle his lips. Moving to Price’s neck, he had to restrain himself from outright biting at the smooth skin in front of him. Instead, he nipped it teasingly, running the tip of his tongue over the tendon, feeling Price shiver against him.

Resigning himself to not actually marking Price, not yet at least, he started tugging at his shirt, trying to get it off. Simon knew he should separate from Price even a little bit to get the shirt off, but it was a monumental task when Price smelled so good.

He finally relented when he felt Price shaking slightly with laughter against him. Simon did not pout as he was forced to move away, and if he did, Price couldn’t see it, his vision shrouded by the shirt for a few seconds.

They’d seen each other in various stages of undress; this shouldn’t be as world-shattering as it was, but God was Simon savouring every single second he got to ogle shamelessly at a shirtless Captain John Price.

His hands roamed over Price’s chest, feeling the hair that was just as soft as he thought it would be, squeezing his chest, feeling Price jolt at the sensation.

“Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive when I pictured this.” Simon smirked as he pinched Price’s hard nipples with purpose this time.

“Ah!” Price hissed, pulling his chest away from Simon’s harsh treatment. “Didn’t know I was either, to be honest.”

“Are you really telling me no one’s paid attention to these before?” Simon breathed out against Price’s lips. “Because I can’t help myself, love. Not when I get a reaction like that.” He added with a nip to Price’s lips and another tug of his nipples.

“Fuck, Simon. That feels good,” Price muttered. “Never thought you’d touch me like this, never let myself picture it. Ah!”

“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve thought about this for years, Captain. Thought about you under me, on top of me, thought about you inside me, about tasting you.” Simon said as he pressed fervent kisses and small bites over Price’s chest before finally actually biting him and sucking right above his left nipple, fulfilling that desire to mark him.

“Ah, shit! You menace, should’ve known you’d be a biter. Can’t say I’m complaining, though.” Price threaded his fingers in Simon’s curls, pulling him away from his chest and bringing their mouths together again, like he couldn’t resist it, before pulling back, murmuring, “Please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing. Please, Simon, you have to—I can’t do this once and forget about it.”

Simon’s gaze softened, his hand coming up to brush along Price’s cheek. “This isn’t a one-time thing, Price,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “I’m here because I want to and because I love you. One day, you’ll truly believe me.” He held Price’s gaze, letting the words settle, feeling the faint tension ease from Price’s grip.

Price swallowed, still searching Simon’s face, the lingering doubt flickering in his eyes. But Simon only smiled, slow and sure.

He leaned in close, his lips ghosting over Price’s in a barely-there kiss. “Let me show you, yeah?” he whispered, his voice warm and earnest. “Prove to you how much I want this. How much I need this.”

Simon slowly lowered himself to his knees, trailing his hands down Price’s chest to his thighs. Settling into a comfortable stance, Simon just sat there, on his knees in front of his Captain.

Price was speechless; he didn’t think Simon had it in him to be so bold, but he couldn’t complain—not when those doe eyes were looking up at him like he held all the answers to everything Simon could ever want.

Finally on his knees, Simon pressed his face into the bulge of Price’s jeans, savouring the feel of him. He had to get his mouth on him properly, and soon.

Simon pressed his mouth to the bulge in front of him. “Fuck, John,” he muttered to himself. “Can I? Please?” he asked, looking up at Price again.

How was Price supposed to say no to that?

“Yes, fuck, yes, Simon, whatever you want, darling.”

Simon began unbuckling Price’s belt, then his jeans, he started pressing open-mouthed kisses through Price’s underwear, he wanted to tease Price; to really rile him up but his own desperation won over and he tugged them down and pulled out Price’s cock.

Simon resisted the urge to get his mouth around it instantly, wanting to get a proper look at the picture Price made. God, but he looked good

Leaning against the counter, face and chest flushed, Simon’s bite from earlier was darker too. Simons eyes traced the flush all the way to Price’s trim waist before going further. His belt and jeans were hanging open, held up by strong, thick thighs that Simon couldn’t wait to get in between of. His underwear was pushed down revealing, in Simon’s opinion, the prettiest cock he’s ever seen. He never thought he’d ever describe a cock as pretty, but John Price never ceases to surprise him.

The head was flushed and slightly wet from pre-cum and Simon’s spit, the shaft thick with prominent veins running along it with a neat bush at the base. His balls resting against the waistband of his underwear and Simon had to stop himself from actively drooling.

Pulling himself out of his reverie and silently promising to himself that he’d take his time and worship Price properly another time, he shuffles closer so he’s really at eye-level with Price’s cock.

Slowly, his tongue poked out and dragged up the underside of Price’s cock, swiping across the head with extra care. Simon wanted to make sure he tasted every centimetre. Price threw his head back and clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the, frankly, whorish sound that feeling and visual managed to drag out of him.

Simon sat back on his heels. The position caused his trousers to stretch across his aching arousal, showing Price just how much this was affecting him.

“I want to hear you, don’t hide from me, love. There’s no one here, it’s just us.” Simon pleaded.

Price relented and removed his hand from his mouth and instead he brought it down to rub his thumb along Simon’s bottom lip, almost reverent in his touch. Simon gave his thumb a teasing nip before pulling away and repositioning himself. Too desperate to tease Price further.

He chose to wrap a hand around Price this time and squeezed gently, just feeling his arousal in his hand. He hummed at the responding groan he got before stroking up as much as he could and back down. The dry pull only heightened Price’s sensitivity, and he bucked into the unforgiving drag.

Simon brought his face down towards Price’s cock but bypassed it and instead started licking at the base before moving his tongue further down and licking around Price’s sack.

When Price looked down Simon’s eyes were glassy and looking up at him with so much adoration his cock pulsed against Simon’s cheek at the sight below him.

Simon couldn’t help himself; he gasped at the feeling of it against his face, twitching and beading with pre-cum from some light teasing.

Finally, he pulled himself together and he guided his face to the tip of Price’s cock and brought it into his mouth. Humming at the taste of his Captain on his tongue.

Price above him moaned loudly and was rewarded instantly for his efforts. Simon’s pupils widened and he started bobbing his head slowly bringing more of Price’s cock into his mouth. He made it nearly halfway to the base before softly gagging and pulling away a bit to go back to laving his tongue around the head.

Simon hadn’t done this nearly as much as he wanted to and he regrets not being able to take Price all the way down his throat the way he wants to, to savour the stretch, knowing all his senses would be surrounded by Price. Maybe he could convince Price to let him practice? Judging from the noises above him, he doesn’t think there will be much protest.

Pulling off he let a string of saliva connect his lips to the head of Price’s cock for a few seconds before it broke off, not missing how Price twitched at the sight. He brought his lips back to the base of Price’s cock, licking around it and pressing kisses to it. Simon couldn’t help how the musky smell that lingered even after Price had showered affected him. He’d always loved how Price smelt, cigars, sweat and aftershave, but here? It was a completely different experience.

“Simon, you feel so good, love. Not gonna last long with you down there.” Price warned.

Simon hummed before wrapping his lips back around the head of Price’s cock, eliciting a choked-out moan from the man above him. He tongued at his slit, wanting to get more of Price’s taste in his mouth.

He spent a few minutes just using his mouth to pleasure Price before he brought his hand to the base to jerk off the rest of what he regrettably couldn't get in his mouth. His other hand was rubbing and squeezing anywhere he could reach from this position. He slowly trailed his hand up towards Price’s chest, pinching at his nipples and squeezing his chest, thanking his towering frame for being able to reach.

He felt Price twitch in his mouth every time he scratched, pulled, pinched or squeezed his body.

He’s so lost in the sensations that when Price gasps and says, “Simon,” all ragged and breathy he realises that Price is about to come in his mouth and is trying to warn him off.

That just won’t do. He just moans and pushes as far down as he can without gagging and sucks harder, suddenly desperate to have his mouth full of what Price really tastes like.

“Simon,” Price gasps again from above him. “I can’t—fuck! Shit! Stop, love, I’m gonna—”

Then Simon feels Price’s hips twitch, can feel him pulsing in his mouth before its filled with the salty-bitter taste of Price’s orgasm. He moans and swallows as much as he can, but some still escapes around the sides of his lips. He keeps sucking and bobbing his head until Price is pulling him away by his curls, panting above him.

Price pushes off the counter and drops to the floor in front of Simon startling him slightly before using the grip he has in Simon’s hair to tug him forward and kiss him. Simon’s lungs burn as Price steals his breath away, groaning as he tastes himself on Simon, licking the stray drops from his mouth.

He pulls back resting his forehead against Simon’s. “So, fucking good,” he pants out. “Gonna take care of you now, love, gonna make you feel good too. That what you want?”

Simon nods his head furiously, knocking their foreheads together. He moves to bring Price into a deep kiss again, his hands running over every inch of his body.

Not having touched himself at all yet he felt Price reach down towards his trousers, unbuckle them and snake his hand into his underwear. He didn’t think to warn Price, but he felt him gasp against his lips, pulling away, a look of shock across his face.

“Are you fucking pierced?”

Simon couldn't help but let out a laugh at that, “Yeah, I got them a couple years after Roba, wanted my body to feel like my own again,” Simon paused to gauge Price’s reaction who was looking at him in disbelief. “They a problem? I can take them out?” he added timidly.

“You’re kidding right? Fuck, as if you could get any more perfect. Can I touch them? Do they feel good?” Simon blushed at Price’s words.

“Yeah, feels really good.”

“Hmmm can’t wait to find out how good they’re gonna feel inside me.” He whispered into Simon’s ear making him gasp and moan at the thought of Price on his back, legs around his waist, or straddling him, or bent over. Fuck, anyway he could have him, really.

Price tightened his hand back around Simon’s cock, stroking upwards before pulling his hand away, spitting on it and bringing it back around Simon, twisting his hand when he reaches the tip.

Price moves to pay attention to the five piercings across the underside of Simon’s cock. Twisting the barbell that was threaded through each one, from his frenulum to the Jacobs ladder leading all the way down. Price kept going from stroking his entire length to paying special attention to the piercings and oh, fuck, that feels really fucking good.

“Faster, please!” Simon cries out, he didn’t realise how close he already was just from sucking Price off.

Price pulls Simons cock out of his pants and spits on it directly making the man under him keen.

“God look at you. Need to feel you inside me, Simon.” He pants into Simon’s mouth.

They’re not quiet kissing anymore, just breathing into each other’s mouths, making each other dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Price pulls back to lick and nip at Simons neck, knowing that his balaclava will cover up any marks he puts there, he doesn’t have to hesitate. Biting and sucking wherever he pleases, relishing in each broken sound it draws out of the man.

Simon’s hips stuttered and he fucks his cock into Prices fist. Moaning unabashedly at how good it feels. He’s never this vocal but Price’s fist and his presence is enough to make him feel like he’s on cloud nine, he always felt like he could let go around the man with no negative consequences.

Simon kept fucking his cock into the tight and slick fist around him, running his hands all over Price’s body, feeling the hair on his chest, the solid weight of his muscle beneath. He couldn’t believe he was able to touch him so freely. The thought made him even more frantic.

“Price, fuck! John, please, please, don’t stop. I’m so close John, please. God!” He gasped out.

“You gonna make a mess all over me, Simon? Yeah? Go on, love. Let go. Let me feel you.”

Simon, like the loyal soldier he is, couldn’t deny his captain anything and with a thrust of his hips and a twist from Price’s wrist he’s gone.

Crying out John’s name, curses and “Please, don’t stop! Feels so good!” He rides the wave of his pleasure for what feels like hours before he shivers and slumps forward onto Price’s shoulder. Panting and sweating like he ran a marathon before he looked down and groaned at the sight.

Price’s fist was covered, still pumping him gently making Simon jolt with overstimulation. He grabs Price’s wrist to stop him, gently coaxing him off. Price smirked at him and brought his hand up to lick at his fingers, holding Simons shocked expression as he did so.

Price barely got a taste before he was being shoved backwards and kissed within an inch of his life. Simon pulled back and loomed over him, his dark gaze hungry despite just finishing.

“Wanna take this to an actual bed?” he murmured into Price’s neck.

“Oh? I thought you’d get it out of your system, and you’d be done.” Price smirked knowing now how much Simon meant those words he said to him earlier.

“We’re just getting started.” Price shivered at that, eagerly anticipating what comes next.

“Well then, lead the way.”

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @hircines-hunter <3

I'm tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @changelingsandothernonsense

@lucien-lachance @firefly-factory @scholarlyhermit @sheirukitriesfandom @umbracirrus @lillxart @ladytanithia

@sanza-17 @sulphuricgrin @captain-of-silvenar

Was feeling like garbage most of last week and the ability to write vanished from me for a bit, but I've decided to return to a wip from December. This features two of Theodora's kids, Ceridwen (Ceri) and Arthano as her brother is visiting her at the CoW, in the below snippet they are giving a certain miserable mer a taste of his own medicine :P Apraxic - High Elvish/Altmeris "social outcast, a shamed outcast" Under cut for length :)

“I have seen the students you work with, ” He looks at her when he says this. “What you consider worthy of associating with is something I’d never subject myself to barring anything other than absolute necessity.” Faralda opens her mouth to speak, furrowed brows as she once again reminds him of his place as the slight delay in their meeting is making him bold, but she doesn’t get the chance. 

“Who the fuck are you to have a problem with my sister?” Her brother is quick to add an apology. “Pardon my language, Professor.” 

A small smirk creeps over Ceri’s features. Alone she did not feel comfortable to fire back at him with more than a glare; best to let her advisor handle it, but the mage feels more emboldened with Arthano here. Arthano who had gotten in more than his fair share of fights defending his younger siblings. If Ancano was feeling bold, brazen even, then he could handle being outnumbered. Satisfied at finally giving him a piece of his mind, she answers for the ex-Thalmor. 

“Nobody. He isn’t a faculty member, not even a student, just someone Faralda has graciously pitied as to not let him freeze to death outside because he has no other options.”

“Why you little-” The mer at the forefront of their words is seizing as the one across the table pulls out a more devastating insult. 

“Hmm…” Hand stroking his chin, he feigns a state of deep thought. “No position, no status, nowhere to go but here so he can’t return home… sounds a bit apraxic, don’t you agree Ceridwen?” Yes.

“Oh I hadn’t looked at it that way before but, you are indeed right, my brother.” Holding back a snicker, Ceri continues. “We probably shouldn’t even be speaking with him, what would the ancestors say?” Oh, how they are laying it on thick. Any ancestors that hadn’t instantly discounted them based on their heritage must be laughing, she is sure of it. Most certainly the type to have a sense of humour. Arthano keeps playing it up as Ancano’s eye twitches, prominent enough that she can see it out of the corner of her eye. 

“By Auri-El, what would they say?” A small chuckle emits from her at that. “We have reputations to uphold after all, we cannot go bringing shame to the family name.” The name that neither of them had on their documentation anywhere outside of the few years spent in their father’s homeland. That does not matter, what matters is the incredibly smug expression on both of them as the other implodes. 

“I will not be spoken to on the subject of reputation by two half-breeds who could not get further from the notion of praxis, why I-”

“You will take your leave now, Ancano.” The Master Wizard’s voice is clear and firm. “I will reschedule our meeting for in three weeks time, I am sure you will be available.” The rage settles into confusion then sadness as the former Thalmor’s face falls. 

“Three weeks?”

“I will make four if you do not leave now, your outburst already made it longer. You should be thankful the dining hall is mostly empty and you did not embarrass us more.” 

“I think you should get going, Alcano. And some advice for next time; we lived in the Summerset for years, you’ll have to get more creative with the insults.” For a split second the fire within the sad mer ignites once more, torn between addressing the great insult of mispronouncing his name, ultimately deciding Arthano is not worth further punishment. 

“Fine.”

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 41

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

As the cold grip of winter finally released its hold on Velaris, the city bloomed with vibrant colors and new life. Two months had passed by in a blur for you, filled with countless projects and community growth initiatives. Your first group home for struggling parents and their children had officially opened, and it was met with resounding success. The pride that shone from Azriel's eyes as he stood by your side at the grand opening was palpable.

Working closely with Titania, you continued to build relationships between yourself and other pleasure makers who were hesitant to come out of the shadows and seek help. You delved deeper into the underbelly of Velaris, learning about the social pressure that kept pleasure houses sequestered in the darker parts of the city. Even healers refused to see them, dismissing them as unworthy patients. But with your determination and aid, a low-income health clinic was established within one of the homes you built. It became a vital resource for pleasure makers to receive personal healthcare and get their children checked up during their early years.

Everything was thriving - your projects, your community, and most importantly, yourself. Your mate remained quiet as always, but you felt content in your life. Though you still avoided large court events out of fear of seeing Philip, whom you refused to acknowledge as your father, you continued to hold meetings with High Lords to build their own resilience within their territories.

As Nesta's pregnancy progressed, her body swelled with the changes. She was plagued by early pregnancy symptoms: every part of her seemed to be inflamed, she couldn't even fathom the thought of food without feeling nauseous, and she was constantly exhausted. But despite all of this, there was a newfound brightness and happiness emanating from her. Her skin glowed with a radiance, her hair shone like spun silk, and her mood had improved greatly. In the midst of all this, you made it a point to set aside one day each week to spend the entire day with her. Cassian, on the other hand, pleaded with her to stop training with the Valkyries. This led to a heated argument that resulted in Cassian sleeping on the couch of the townhouse. However, as Nesta's baby bump grew more prominent and her usual training leathers no longer fit comfortably, not to mention the rising temperatures in the training ring, she began spending more time sitting on the sidelines and helping young females with their centering and breathing techniques.

—

Nesta stood next to you, her shoulders slumped in frustration as she stared at the wall. It was split down the middle, with two shades of green that were barely distinguishable from each other. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, her long fingers tapping impatiently as she sucked her lip between her teeth.

"So," you began, studying the two shades of green before you. "What did you need my opinion on?"

She gestured towards the wall, her index finger hovering between the two shades. "Which one?"

You glanced at her and then back at the wall, trying to discern the difference between the two shades. "Which color?"

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh, taking a step closer to the wall. With a flourish of her hand, she pointed to one side. "Sage green?" Her finger then slid over to the other side. "Or Brush green?"

You furrowed your own brow, trying to make a decision based on such subtle variations. Nesta's fuse was getting shorter by the second, and you knew your response needed to be quick. "I think the sage looks nice," you replied tentatively, mustering up a small smile.

Nesta stepped back to survey both shades again. "Are you sure?" she asked with doubt lacing her voice.

You nodded, but without much confidence behind it. Suddenly, the entire wall shifted and transformed into just one shade of green, thought if she asked you if the color was sage or brush you wouldn’t have been able to tell. Nesta looked back at you, running her tongue over her teeth as she considered the new look.

"You don't think it's too green?" she asked, eyes searching your face for an answer.

You struggled to form an answer. To be honest, green was just...green to you. The subtle differences in shades didn't seem all that significant in this moment. "I don't think so," you offered tentatively.

Nesta didn't even spare you a glance as she considered your words. Your opinion held little weight in her mind, and you were well aware of that fact. Her own opinions were firmly solidified and what she really needed was someone to validate them.

"I think I hate it," she declared, her decision final. "Let's try the cream again." And with that, the house washed over the wall once more, painting it a light cream color for Nesta to scrutinize once again.

With a sigh, you spun on your heel and made your way over to the rocking chair that Cassian and Azriel had spent the last two hours putting together. Despite their efforts, there were still some doubts in your mind about the stability of the chair, especially since Azriel had pointed out that they had initially put the legs on backwards and had to redo their work. And if that wasn't enough, you were pretty sure the armrests were also attached the wrong way. You kept this thought to yourself, knowing how hard they had worked on it.

Nesta took a few cautious steps back, her hand resting gently on her swollen stomach. She closed her eyes and let out a small moan, her fingers grazing over the soft knit of her cream-colored sweater. With her other hand, she rubbed her lower back in search of relief from the pain that typically lingered in her body now.

"I also like the cream color," you chimed in, pulling your legs up onto the rocker with you. You reached for a blanket that was sitting nearby, admiring the delicate embroidered flowers that adorned it. You knew it was Elain's handiwork - she always seemed to have a new hobby she was mastering. As you let your fingers trace over the pinks and greens of the design, you couldn't help but wonder if someday she would make an embroidered blanket for your own babe.

Nesta's frustrated groan snapped you out of your daydreaming as she turned towards you. "None of it looks right," she complained, gesturing towards the various swatches of fabric and paint samples scattered around the room. "The green clashes with everything, the cream is too plain, and there’s no way the blue works in this room." You weren't entirely sure what she meant by a color "working", but you nodded along in agreement nonetheless.

Her gaze drifted towards the wooden box sitting in the corner as she let out a loud grumbling groan, "Cassian was supposed to build the crib this morning before he left." You craned your neck to look at the large wooden crate adorned with a crudely drawn image of a crib.

"I can do it," you offered, turning back to Nesta who was now staring at the wall.

She waved a dismissive hand, "No, no," she insisted. "Cassian made a promise and I intend to hold him to it."

You couldn't help but smile and bite your lip to suppress a laugh. You knew that Cassian was in for a tongue-lashing when he returned home, but you suspected that he and Azriel were most likely hiding somewhere in the War Camps or deep in the woods. You remembered Cassian admitting to you at a family dinner once that he would rather be covered in mud and shit than face Nesta's wrath.

In a calmer, more soft voice, you offered, “It’s all going to look great, Nesta.”

Nesta's hands instinctively went to her belly, cradling it protectively. She let out a deep sigh before sitting down on a nearby wooden crate with a drawing of a changing table on it. Her face fell into her hands, her fingers tangling in her disheveled hair. You could see the exhaustion and stress etched on her face as you folded up the baby blanket and set it aside.

"Is it just about the nursery?" Your question hung in the air as Nesta turned away from you, staring at the paint-splattered ceiling. You folded up a soft blanket and placed it next to you on the side table, trying to catch Nesta's gaze.

But she seemed lost in her own thoughts, detached from reality. "I don't want to assume anything," you said softly, "but I need to know if this is really about paint colors or if there's something else bothering you."

Nesta's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, the weight of her thoughts causing a heavy silence to fill the room. "I just want everything to go well," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Want what to go well?”

"I want this pregnancy to go well. I want our baby to be healthy. I want to be healthy." She placed a hand on her stomach and let out a bitter laugh. "I never cared about any of this before. Paint swatches, burp cloths. But now, it's all I can think about."

You had figured as much. As much as she tried to play it off as hormones and nesting, you and Nesta both knew that all of this stress was about something more, something deeper.

"It's going to be okay," you reassured her. "Your baby will be fine."

Nesta nodded, but you could tell she didn't truly believe it. Her eyes flickered down to her stomach, where her precious bundle was safely nestled. "I know," she said, but there was no conviction in her words.

"You're still nervous," I finished her sentence for her.

Immediately, Nesta shook her head, as if trying to deny it. But her shaky denial only confirmed my suspicions. Her lip trembled as she bit into it.

“Hey,” you offered her, “It’s okay to be scared.” You stood, walking over to her, your feet crinkling sheet on the floor Nesta had insisted Feyre lay down when she painted the closet door. You came to crouch in front of her, your hands taking her own as you tried to catch her downturned gaze. "No one expects you to have everything figured out right now."

Nesta’s grey eyes met yours and you could see the slight tears building on her lower lid.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently. "What's on your mind?"

After a moment of hesitation, Nesta sniffled and opened up. "I'm afraid of losing them," she admitted, tears now falling freely down her cheeks. "I'm afraid of what will happen after they're born. I'm afraid that I won't be a good mother, or even a decent one." You listened quietly as Nesta's fears poured out. Her doubts and insecurities about motherhood, about the baby, about herself. "I don't want them to hate me," she sobbed, clutching at her stomach. "And I'm scared that all are going to look at me and think I’m just like my mother."

You gave Nesta the space to mutter out her incoherent inner thoughts, all of them crashing out one after the other as she heaved out sob after sob. All you did was nod, hold her hand, and hold that space with her.

Eventually, she looked up at you with tear-stained eyes.

"That must be really hard," you said softly, squeezing her hand gently. "I wish I could take away your fears."

Nesta sniffled and chuckled. "Yeah, me too."

"Let me tell you something," you said firmly, holding her gaze. "You are going to be an amazing mother. And you know how I know that?" Nesta's lips quirked into a small smile despite the tears still lingering on her cheeks.

"Why?" she asked softly.

“Because you’re worried about it now.” Nesta laughed lightly as she glanced down to the floor. “Terrible mothers don’t worry if their children will hate them, or if people will judge them for how they parent.” You laughed, “And I also know that this baby is going to be so incredibly loved by you and Cassian, and all of us. Because you’ve worked so hard to bring them into the world, that you won’t be able to do anything but shower them with more love than their little heart can take.”

You met her gaze again as she smiled, her lip trembling. “You’re going to cheer them on when they succeed, and hold them when they’re sad, and you’re going to teach them how to breath through their fears and face them.” You squeezed her hand tenderly. “And Cassian,” you shrugged, “He'll probably be the reason they come home with a few bruises or scrapes, but he'll also be the reason they never back down from a challenge. They'll learn to laugh in the face of fear because they know their mom and dad will always have their backs."

You couldn't help but smile as you looked down at her growing belly. "This little one already has so much love surrounding them," you said, squeezing her hand. "And they'll know even more love from you because you are going to be an amazing mother." As Nesta wiped away her tears as you continued, "You'll never be like your own mother, I promise. You've experienced firsthand the pain of growing up with her and you will use that knowledge to be the best mother possible for your baby." Your voice softened, "That's not to say there won't be mistakes. You might get frustrated and raise your voice, or say things you don't mean. But most importantly, Nesta, you would never hurt them. Never ever." You locked eyes with her as she nodded, with more confidence than she had before.

"You're going to be a fantastic mom, and you have a whole family who believes in you," Nesta sniffled and nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

"And if Feyre can handle being a mom, then surely you can too," you teased, earning a genuine laugh from Nesta.

"Hey now, I'm just stating facts," you shrugged playfully. "But let's be real, there's no way your little sister could out-mom you," you joked as the two of you laughed together. The two of you sat there for a moment, giggling with one another, hands clasped together until you settled back on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. "Oh, by the way," you broke the silence, "I have no idea what color would look good in here, but I do know this ceiling color reminds me of something that comes out of a baby."

Nesta's glorious laughter that echoed throughout the room and probably down the entire mountain to Velaris.

Readers, just made myself vomit with that, good god that was sappy:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @that-one-bibliophole

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