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vanteguccir · 9 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where the weight of Matt's actions gets the best of him, and he tries everything to receive his girl's forgiveness.

WARNING: Fighting, cursing, crying, smut (mdni), slight praise kink. Angst with a happy ending!

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons and @ivoncheetooo1239

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt sighed deeply as he parked his car at an abandoned gas station. He closed his eyes tightly as his index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his own nose. His body was completely tense, as if someone had thrown a sack of potatoes over his shoulders and hadn't removed it until now.

The boy reopened his eyes seconds later, looking vacantly at the pitch black surrounding him before seeing out of the corner of his eye his phone screen light up for the thousandth time, alerting him of a new notification. He picked up the device, unlocking it and scrolling through the notifications bar.

His heart seemed to stop pumping blood to his body instantly, his face taking on a pale color as he saw more than 20 new messages and thousands of missed voice calls coming from Chris.

His brain seemed to go on red alert as his mind screamed Y/N's name, and then he finally revisited the memory of what he did to his own girlfriend just over an hour ago, the smoky fog finally dissipating from behind his eyes.

Matt felt like his chest was burning while his heart accelerated strongly. His arms momentarily lost strength, almost dropping his phone.

His eyes flicked through the messages before tossing the device onto the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition and driving back.

He stepped on the accelerator with full force, exceeding all permitted limits and passing all red lights. He knew he would wake up the next day with a new ticket - or several -, but that was his last concern at that moment.

His orbs were fixed on the road, his brow furrowed as his mind rattled off the words he threw at his girl, his precious girl. If he could, Matt would go back in time right then and there, so he wouldn't break his promise to never hurt and abandon her.

Matt turned his steering wheel abruptly when their house appeared on his eyesight, slamming the break in front of the garage door, wasting no time in parking correctly. His hands quickly unlocked the doors, throwing his body out of the driver's seat and slamming it behind him, the dull thud echoing through the lonely night.

The boy's hands shook as he fumbled for the front door key, cursing under his breath each time it seemed to slip through his fingers.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he was able to open it, closing it slowly so as not to wake Nick, not wanting to involve another person in his huge mistake.

His steps were quick down the stairs, stopping in front of the familiar white door. The boy took a deep breath before turning the handle, pushing it slightly.

Matt's eyes met Y/N quickly, pain hitting his heart like a stake at seeing her in such a vulnerable state; Her eyes - despite being closed - were swollen and her face was wet from the last tears she shed before falling asleep.

A rude sound caught his attention, his gaze meeting Chris's, who stood up from his chair abruptly. His eyes held a fury that Matt didn't remember ever seeing before, while his shoulders were tense with nervousness.

Before Matt could utter a word, Chris pulled the collar of his shirt, bringing his face closer to his own. Chris's nostrils were flared from his heavy breathing, hitting Matt's face.

"If Jimmy was here, you'd be dead. That's no way to treat a woman." Chris rasped, his voice low but full of anger. "Fix your mistakes, or I'll end you."

He pulled away, roughly letting go of Matt's shirt, watching him with his right eyebrow raised and crossed arms, waiting for his next move.

Matt swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip hard, feeling the sensation of crying rise through his veins. He quickly turned his back on Chris, walking over to his brother's bed with tentative steps.

His hands lightly pulled the duvet down, exposing the fragile body covered in the pink sweatshirt set. Matt hooked his arms under Y/N's neck and knees, pulling her up carefully, watching her eyes move beneath her eyelids quickly. A sign of a nightmare.

Matt hugged her closer to his body, walking past his brother with his head down in shame, leaving the room and going up the stairs slowly, not wanting to wake her with every movement of each step.

Upon arriving in their respective bedroom, the boy took her to the bed, placing her body gently on the soft mattress.

"M-Matty?" The fragile voice echoed like lightning in Matt's chest.

Matt sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he crouched down, getting into a squatting position. The boy rested his arms on the mattress, bringing his face slightly closer to hers, watching her eyes slowly open.

"You came back. I thought you left me." Y/N whispered, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with fresh tears. "Would you really leave me?"

Matt felt his heart being crushed by her words, his cheeks burning, as if he had been slapped. He swallowed hard, mentally calling himself every worst name possible.

"No, no, no, baby! I would never leave you-" He shook his head repeatedly, his brow furrowing in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks.

You already did.

"But... You said you'd stay forever, and then you left me out in the cold, alone." A sob escaped Y/N's lips, her weak body shaking incessantly. "What did I do? Why would you do that to me?"

Matt felt his own eyes filling with tears, blinking them quickly to ward off the tears. The boy bent over his girl, hugging her head gently, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I fucked up. Badly." An ugly sob escaped Matt's throat, cutting off his sentence. He closed his eyes tightly, the taste of his tears touching his tongue. "I love you so much, I'm so fucking sorry. I know that this doesn't change my actions, and trying to find a plausible explanation for why I acted that way won't erase what I did." His eyes travel across Y/N's features, seeing an ocean of hurt in her eyes. "If I could, I would go back and remake our day all over again."

He paused momentarily, swallowing hard.

"All the work we are getting with the 6 million and the new things on the channel has taken a toll on me. I missed you so much, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don't know what's gotten into me, I just got so upset because I wasn't seeing you as much as before. God, I was so selfish." Matt shook his head, biting his bottom lip hard. "I love you, and I never want to hurt you, not again. I was on the wrong, I fucked up with you."

His hands shook as they found her cheeks, caressing the wet skin.

"I'm so sorry." His voice now was a mere whisper, pain present in his tone.

"I-I understand. I also made a mistake, I should have warned you that I had to work overtime and... Give you space, I know I can be a lot sometimes. I never wanted you to come pick me up out of pity or obligation-"

Matt shook his head repeatedly, silencing her by guiding her head slightly so that she looked him in the eyes. His fingers working to brush the loose hair from her face.

"Don't say that. Please. You did nothing wrong. I love taking care of you as I take you to work and pick you up... It was my fault. I was an asshole, a terrible boyfriend, I- fuck..." He presses his lips into a thin line, stopping the sob that was about to come out. "I left you alone, what the hell was I thinking?"

"It's okay." Y/N whispers, lowering her eyes to the mattress, feeling her chest burn in pain from seeing him so distressed.

"Shh, no. It isn't okay." Matt denies it, his fingers touching Y/N's chin lightly, forcing her to look at him again. "I don't fucking deserve your forgiveness." He was pleading with his eyes for her to understand that she was not the one to be blamed.

Y/N nods while sniffling, closing her eyes as she feels her fingers caress her face as if she were made of porcelain.

"I love you. So much." Matt says. His hands cup her face, bringing his own closer, touching their noses in an eskimo kiss. "I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated it like a mantra, sighing when he felt his girlfriend's ragged breaths so close to his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry."

Their faces were equally wet with tears.

"It's okay, I'll forgive you at some point. Just... Don't ever do it again. Please." Y/N plead in a vulnerable whisper, half opening her eyes, before closing them again as she feels Matt's lips caress hers.

"Never, I'll never do anything like that again. I promise. I'll take care of you forever." He assured, nodding his head. "What can I do? How... What can I do to make you forgive me?" His tone was full of despair.

Y/N pondered momentarily, her heart beating heavily in her chest. Her hands snaked across the duvet until they reached Matt's wrists, wrapping her fingers gently around them. She pushed her head forward, lightly bumping her nose against his, touching their lips almost imperceptibly.

"Make love with me. Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you love me, Matt. Please." She begged softly, her eyelashes caressing her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered, hiding her orbs.

Matt felt his breathing stop, his mind seeming to process what she asked. He curved his spine higher up the mattress, sealing his lips on Y/N's quickly, before pulling away, but not enough to lose the warmth of his face against his own.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take advantage of your vulnerability." His tone, despite being anxious, had hints of hesitation, not wanting to invade his girl's space after such a traumatic event.

"Please, Matty. I need to feel you. I need you to love me." Thick tears rolled down Y/N's cheeks, her tone full of anguish and lust, a strange mix, but one that matched perfectly at that moment.

Matt didn't blink, pushing himself up off the floor before kneeling on the mattress, helping Y/N lift her upper body.

He rested his right hand on the bed while his left one gently held his girl's jaw, as if she was made of glass and could break at any moment.

The boy brought his face closer to hers again, taking her lips in an intense kiss. His blue eyes closed at the sensation, his warm tongue caressing Y/N's bottom lip, asking for entry, which was quickly granted.

Their tongues started a beautiful dance, the taste of tears mixed with saliva. Whimpers escaped Y/N's throat, her hands flying to the back of Matt's neck, lightly tugging at the curly strands.

Matt moved nimbly onto the duvet, kneeling between his girl's legs and using both of his hands to guide her down, squeezing the spot below her breasts, just above her ribs, so that her back lay against the mattress again.

He bent his torso over Y/N's chest, keeping his weight supported on his right hand while his left one caressed her cheek, never once breaking the kiss.

Y/N snaked her hands around Matt's shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles caused by his position, desperate for contact.

Her fingers went down her boyfriend's abdomen like warm water, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. Matt broke the kiss for a second, allowing her to pull the piece of clothing off his body.

His large hands worked on ripping off Y/N's hoodie gently, admiring every bit of her exposed skin, and mentally thanking her for being braless.

He dropped the heavy piece to the floor, lowering his spine again and sealing her lips, their tongues now in a slower pace, pain giving way to love.

Matt ran his right hand down Y/N's breasts, caressing her nipples just momentarily, before moving further down, trailing his fingertips across her stomach and navel, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He touched the waistband of her sweatpants lightly, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw in air, which filled his lungs like water on dry ground. His eyes wandered over the girl's hopeful expression, taking that as a go-ahead.

Y/N lifted her head from the mattress slightly, pressing their mouths together again, craving the contact.

Matt smiled against her sensitive lips, finally running his hand through the layers of clothes, moving down until he found Y/N's pleasure point.

His fingers rubbed circles around the already swollen clit, receiving nasal sighs from the girl below him, who raised her hips in search of more contact.

He took his fingers further down, slipping a finger between her folds, her wetness helping him to move better. He gathers a bit of it before slowly introducing two digits.

Matt pulled his lips away from Y/N, his blue eyes traveling over her features contorted in pleasure as she felt his long fingers going deep inside her. He felt like he could admire her like that forever; cheeks flushed from all the crying and pleasure, mouth slightly open - from where gasps and sighs escaped -, brow furrowed and eyes closed.

That was his private paradise.

"Matt, please." Her voice came out in a faint whisper, a silent plea for more.

The boy didn't take long, lifting himself onto the mattress to have greater access, dragging the sweatpants and panties down his girl's legs slowly, not wanting to hurt or rush her.

He removed his own pants and boxers, returning to his initial position between his girlfriend's legs. Matt lowered his torso, spreading small, wet seals across her belly toward her breasts.

His hands gently held Y/N's heels, pushing them so that she bent her knees and placed the soles of her feet on the mattress, opening her legs wider.

A breathy moan escaped the girl's lips as Matt gently kissed one of her nipples, the slightly chilled air of the room hitting the saliva on her hot skin, goosebumps rising through her body as a result.

"Is it good, baby? I'm making you feel good, hm?" Matt questions knowingly. "Y'so pretty. Even when you cry. My pretty girl."

He stroked the skin between the valley of her breasts with the tip of his nose, before moving up further, managing to see Y/N nod her head repeatedly in response, her cheeks wet from her tears.

Matt pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mixing as he looked down momentarily, taking his cock in his right hand, pumping it a few times, a wince escaping his lips at the sensation.

His blue eyes met hers, silently asking if he could continue. In response, Y/N's right hand snaked up his torso towards the small of his back, pressing down lightly, while her left hand squeezed the biceps of his occupied one.

Matt lowered his hips, brushing his red tip between her folds. He moved his hips gently, slowly pushing into her. A unison moan escaped both of their lips, Y/N closing her eyes tightly at the feeling of invasion while Matt kept his open, taking note of her every expression.

The boy eventually started picking up his pace, going with slow and shallow thrusts, sighs escaping his mouth, accompanied by breathy moans from Y/N.

"Matt- Oh." Her mouth opened in a perfect O as she felt Matt hit a specific spot inside her that made her see stars. "D-don't stop. Please."

"I won't, my love. I'll never let you go. Never again." Matt promised, his hips moving to deepen his thrusts.

Tears fell from Y/N's eyes due to the overwhelming sensations, the weight of the previous events still hurting in her heart, mixing with the immense pleasure that the boy was presenting her.

Matt sealed each of her tears with his lips, whispering sweet nothings and little apologies, along with huge declarations of love.

A sob escaped Y/N's mouth, her teeth working to clamp down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop the loud, ugly sounds from keep escaping.

"Hey, hey, sweet girl. I'm here for you. You're so important, the best girl out there. I love you so much... M'so sorry." He murmured against her lips lightly, his own heart aching with each tear that fell her pretty eyes. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

"N-no, please. I need you, I need to feel you." Y/N responded desperately, shaking her head, lifting her head off the mattress and sealing their lips in a messy kiss.

"It's okay, it's alright." Matt responded gently against her mouth. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

His movements never stopped, Matt alternated the rhythm between slow and deep, reaching places inside Y/N never reached before, feeling her hot, spongy walls pressing him into a delicious tightness.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N moaned against Matt's chin, their faces moving messily against each other from the now faster movements. "P-please." She cried.

"I love you so much, so fucking much." Matt panted back, fucking her with a little more urgency, chasing her and his own orgasm.

It didn't take more than five thrusts, and Y/N felt her entire body tremble, her legs instinctively wanting to close - being blocked by Matt's hips - while her belly contracted. Her chest rose slightly from the mattress as her spine arched from the intense pleasure that hit her.

Her eyes saw little stars as she rolled them tightly, Matt's name escaping her lips like a mantra.

The sight and feeling of his girl's body shaking against his brought Matt's orgasm to the surface, hitting him hard. A moan escaped his throat as he buried himself deep inside her pussy, feeling his cock throbbing against the walls that seemed to want to crush him.

Matt pressed his nose against Y/N's cheek, breathing in her scent as he felt the sensations of his orgasm slowly subside.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Y/N whispered, still in a post-orgasm trance, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, her legs still having small spasms.

Matt kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching her come down slowly, rubbing his thumbs on her hipbones to ground her.

"Y'with me, babe? S'all for you, my love. Always." Matt slurred, pressing his lips against his girl's warm, flushed cheek. His left hand went up her body to her face, wiping away the traces of tears. "I'm so sorry, petal." He asked again, his chest still aching.

"S'okay, I forgive you." She nodded, kissing his left shoulder lightly, her eyes heavy with sleep from exhaustion and excessive crying.

"I'm going to fill the bathtub and give you a relaxing bath, okay? M'gonna take care of you, sweet girl." Matt spoke softly, moving his hips slowly, taking his cock out of her, receiving a small sound of discomfort in response. "Shh. I know baby, I know." He whispered. "I'm gonna grab some snacks from the kitchen, so you can eat while I wash your body. How does that sound, pretty girl? Hm?"

"S'good. Please." Her voice came out in an almost incomprehensible whisper, her eyelids serving as curtains for her heavy eyes. She could feel her head floaty and her heart beating in a rhythmic rhythm, her skin warm with euphoria.

Matt sealed her forehead with his lips for long seconds, closing his eyes and breathing in the natural scent of Y/N's skin.

He still felt the guilt eating him alive, promising himself he would never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would take care of her, his best girl.

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faithisyours · 4 months ago

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Never Done Teasing

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: All day you've been teasing Azriel. Now it’s time for his revenge.

Warnings: Mean Az!, bondage with shadows…shadow bondage? Maybe slightly dub con? Oral M!receiving, rough sex, kinda emotional sex, orgasm denial, coming inside, spanking, degradation, praise, anal, spitting, crying, aftercare, not proofread. This fic is filthy and disgusting. You’ve been warned.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Sup fuckers. I’m back to terrorize you all. We've got a spicy one on our hands today. Inspiration came, and now I have a lot of ideas for fics. Will I write them, though? *cricket noises* Anyways, minors gtfo. Hope you enjoy it! If you have ideas for fics, hand them over (if you want) :)

Azriel slams the front door of your shared house behind him, making the hanging picture frames sway. He smacks your ass, which just so happens to be right next to his face, considering he has you slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The harsh hit causes a squeak to escape you, but you really can't blame anyone but yourself for the situation you're in.

You’ve just come home from dinner with the Inner Circle. Actually, it’s more appropriate to say you’ve just been dragged away from dinner with the Inner Circle by your mate, Azriel. All day you've been teasing and taunting him, but what you had been doing at the dinner table surrounded by your friends was his breaking point. It had started this morning when you had not-so-innocently wiggled your ass into his crotch, making him hard as stone, then proceeded to not help him one bit with getting rid of that hardness. Then there were your touches throughout the day, your lingering hand on his arm at breakfast, your thighs brushing his as you walked past him in the training ring, your eyes burning into his while he sparred with Cassian. And then there was the outfit you had decided to wear to dinner: a tight little black dress that showed off all your assets, as well as made Azriel short circuit every time he looked at you.

And then there was what you had done at dinner. You were all in the middle of eating and the conversation had shifted to discussing some of the new shops around Velaris when your hand had found its way onto Azriel’s thigh. The contact was innocent at first, but as the dinner dragged on, so too did your hand, making its way up and curling in. Your fingers drew lazy patterns across his thigh, which you knew was driving Azriel mad. And all the while you continued your conversation, participated and joked with your friends, acted like nothing was going on under the table.

Azriel had been notably quieter at dinner, considering it was taking everything in him not to bend you over the table and fuck you that instant, friends being present or not. Rhys had been the first to comment on his quietness.

“Everything alright, Az? You seem awfully quiet this evening,” Rhys asked when Azriel hadn’t laughed at something Rhys knew he would find funny.

“Everything’s fine,” Az assured, although rather tightly. But you had felt the need to chime in.

“Are you sure, baby? You haven’t uttered a full sentence all evening,” you purred, knowing damn well it was because of you. In answer, he just looked at you, smoldering heat and the plotting of revenge swirling in his hazel eyes. The conversation continued on, and Azriel stayed relatively silent the entire night.

As soon as dinner was done, Azriel had excused the both of you and hauled your ass back home, winnowing with you thrown over his shoulder. And now here you are, getting lugged towards your shared bedroom with your ass in the air and a completely pissed off and horny mate.

As soon as you reach your bedroom, Azriel throws you down on the bed unceremoniously. “Strip,” he commands, and his tone leaves no room for argument. As you get up from the bed to shed yourself of your clothes, Azriel makes himself busy with taking off his own shirt and unlacing the front of his pants. He leaves those on, though, his hard length straining against the material.

“Kneel,” he commands next. You pause for only half a second before you do as he says. You see he notes the hesitation, but doesn’t say anything. If you’re uncomfortable, you will say something, and he will stop. You know that fact like the back of your hand.

He pulls himself out with a hiss, his tip red and raw and glistening. You lick your lips, ready for him. All day you’ve teased and taunted him, getting him riled up and letting him simmer. Finally you’re reaping the fruits of your labor: for him to be rough, to not hold back, to use you as he pleases.

His shadows wrap around to pin your hands behind your back, making your chest arch forward. Your nipples are hard, core aching for attention, attention you know you won’t be getting for a while. Azriel brushes his thumb over your lips roughly, his eyes tracing the movement before locking with yours. All you see in them is icy steel, no hint of compassion or love. You know that it’s there, his love for you, but right now he has other emotions to contend with.

“Open,” he says, and it's almost quiet enough for you to not hear him, but you do. He doesn’t tease. He threads your hair through his fingers, gripping hard enough for tears to spring up, and shoves his cock down your throat. You choke, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps himself there, prodding the back of your throat, until you’ve managed to breath at least somewhat correctly.

And then he starts moving, long, slow dragges of his cock against your tongue, pulling out to the tip so just your lips are on him, then long, deep pushes back into the warmth of your mouth. All the while heat and ice clash in his gaze.

“I think the Mother gave me a whore as a mate. What do you think?” he purrs, cocking his head. “You’ve teased me all day, kept me hard, but refused to use me. And now you’re greedy for my cock. Did I get mated to a whore?” You moan in response, which draws out a low groan from Azriel. His pace quickens.

At this point your knees, wrists, and jaw are starting to ache, but you know Azrel is far from done with you. As if he can hear your complaining, he pulls you off of him with a pop. You pant, catching your breath, but it's short lived as Azriel grips your throat in his hand and hauls you to your feet.

He turns you around and bends you over the bed, not being gentle in the slightest. Your hands are still restrained behind your back, Azriel’s shadows circling tighter around your wrists. Ass in the air, you can feel your slick start to trickle down your thighs. You feel two of his fingers drag through your aching core, feeling how wet you are for him.

“All of this for me?” he asks, tone dripping with condescension. “You're so wet I think you can take me without any prep. What do you think?” you nod into the pillows, moaning and pushing yourself onto his fingers, searching for any semblance of friction. He pulls his fingers away, taking any chance of relief with him. “Words, Love,” he coos, but you know he's not being nice, not in the slightest.

“Yes, I can take you,” you breathe out, writhing under his scorching gaze.

“Good girl,” he purrs, then sheaths himself completely in you. You cry out at the stretch and the suddenness of being filled. Azriel doesn’t give you any time to adjust, though, before resuming his brutal pace.

The only place his hands touch you are your hips, and it’s driving you crazy. His grip is iron, and will definitely be leaving bruises. Your clit is throbbing, your arms ache from being restrained, your knees are growing weaker and weaker, and all you can do is take it. You're a moaning, whimpering mess, but you’ll never come from this little amount of contact, and Azriel knows that. You feel his pace grow irregular, sloppy, and then he's coming, painting your walls with his release.

He pulls out of you roughly, causing you to whimper at the sudden emptiness. “Did you think I was going to let you come?” he asks, voice lilting with amusement. When you don’t answer him, his hand comes down on your ass. Hard.

“No, I didn’t,” you cry out.

“And do you know why that is?” His voice is deathly quiet.

“Because I’ve teased you all day,” you respond quickly. He hums in conformation.

“How many of these,” he slides his hand over your stinging cheek, indicating the spank he just gave you, “do you think you deserve for your actions?”

You fight through the cloud of pleasure and arousal that currently fogs your brain to come up with a decent number. “Ten,” you respond after a minute.

“Alright, you count. We’ll say this was one, so the next is two. If you mess up, I restart. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” He hums again, and then his hand comes down, landing a hit to your other cheek.

“Two,” you cry. Azriel soothes the hit with one hand, his other coming between your legs to part your folds. He lands another hit, and this one comes down onto the skin of where your thigh meets your ass. “Three,” you moan, giving into his touch. The hand that's parting you teases at your entrance, collecting the mix of slick and cum onto its fingers.

SLAP!

“Four.” Your voice is growing hoarse. Azriel drags those essence-coated fingers up towards your back entrance. Before you can even anticipate what he's about to do, his hand comes down again, this time on the other side, and then he's pushing a finger into you, past the tight ring of muscle, working you loose.

You whine at the sudden intrusion, but Azriel works you open, and soon you're a moaning mess. Brain foggy from the mix of pleasure and pain, you almost forget what number you’re on, but quickly recover. “Five.”

Azriel continues to loosen you up, adding a second finger in between the seventh and eighth hits. By the tenth, you're a whimpering, boneless, drooling mess, and you haven’t even come yet. You can feel Azriel hard against the back of your thigh, once again ready to fill you.

Once Azriel believes you are loose enough, he spits into his hand, rubs it along his length, and sinks into you. You’ve had Azriel this way before, but every time, it feels brand new. The sensation is overwhelming, and by his fifth thrust into you, you’re shaking.

“Do you deserve to come?” he asks, tone still dripping with condescension.

“Yes, please Az. Please,” you beg. He only hums, adding to all your heightened emotions and feelings. His shadows are still restraining you, but are less tight than they were. It makes no difference though, because your arms are the prickly sort of numb, and you can barely feel them.

Azriel’s hand snakes around to play with your clit, the sudden contact causing you to cry out. His pace quickens, cock driving into you. His hips slap the tender skin of your rear end, only adding to the feelings.

You’re overwhelmed and on the verge of coming harder than you have in a while. All of the physical feelings - Azriel driving into you from behind, his fingers pinching and rubbing at your clit, his cum trickling down your thighs, your arms numb behind you - mixed with the emotional feelings - appreciation for your mate, his complete understanding of your needs, his patience, your love and adoration for him - all have you shaking, breathing heavy, tears springing up, and coming apart at the seams.

Azriel pulls you down, changing the angle, and the sensation is your undoing. You come at the same time Azriel does. You’re screaming his name like a prayer, tears streaming down your cheeks as sobs escape you. Pleasure racks through your body, waves upon waves building and crashing into you. The shadows release your arms as Azriel pulls out of you. You sink down into the bed fully now, curling in on yourself, shivering from the dregs of your high.

Azriel lays down next to you, pulling you into his chest. You’re still crying, but your sobs have quieted to small sniffles now. Azriel kisses you on the forehead, your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach until your breathing evens out. He pulls your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Was that okay, my love?” he asks, barely above a whisper so as not to startle you. You nod your head, afraid a sob will escape you if you dare to speak. But Azriel, as always, requires verbal confirmation.

“Yes, that was wonderful,” you choke out, and just like you thought, a sob escapes you. Azriel pulls you closer into himself, one of his wings coming around to cover you. He continues kissing you, just like before, until you're breathing evenly again.

Very rarely do you ever cry after sex, but when you do, it’s always because it was intense, both emotionally and physically. Azriel knows to just hold you and kiss you until you calm down, which could take minutes or hours, but he doesn’t care.

After what seems like hours of laying there, which just as easily could have been twenty minutes, Azriel shifts up from the bed. “Ready for a bath?” he asks, coming down to kiss away a tear still on your cheek.

“Ya, I’m ready.” Azriel picks you up bridal style and walks you into the adjoining bathing room. His shadows must have come in earlier, you thought, because the tub is already filled. It smells delicious, and the temperature is perfect as Azriel lowers you down into the water. He sheds his pants, joining you in your nakedness, and gets in behind you.

He snakes an arm around your middle and pulls you back into his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him take over.

“That’s right Love, relax,” he purrs in your ear. He washes you thoroughly, and then does the same to himself. He gets you both toweled dry, then carries you back into your bedroom and puts you to bed, curling up next to you.

“Are you done teasing me for the foreseeable future?” he asks, placing a kiss to your temple.

“Never done teasing you, Az,” you respond, before you slip into sleep.

#acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #fanfiction #night court #azriel x reader #azriel smut #acotar smut #mates #smut #batboys #velaris

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tojisth3rdwife · 3 days ago

Text

⚠️nsfw/mdni⚠️

Just a Thursday Night…

cw: suggestive (for now) you’re in a poly/closed triad with Toji and Shiu. They hate each others guts most of the time but they love the fuck out of you so..common interest i suppose lol

a/n: some fic below smau

Conversations like this were typical between the three of you. Shiu and Toji acting as if they weren’t essentially best friends by default, seeing as how it was difficult for either of them to cultivate any kind of relationship in their line of work. Which was what made the relationship between the three of you work so well. How it all came about? That's probably a complex story for another day. Tonight was going to be simple. Your boyfriends were working late and usually didn't get home until even later. So you were never hard-pressed for time to prepare the evening for them.

It's close to midnight and the house you three shared was warm and cozy, the air colored with the scents of dinner cooking. Foil-wrapped potatoes baked in the oven while two skillets sizzled on the stove. One containing buttery garlic green beans and the other a thick ass porterhouse steak. On the counter, one steak rests at medium well doneness to Shiu’s liking, soon to be joined by Toji’s medium rare.

You were busy searing each side of his steak when the door chimes alerted you that the front door had been opened.

Someone was finally home.

Shiu walks in the house first ,dressed in his suit and tie, blazer tossed over his shoulder. He always smells good as hell. Like expensive leather and mixture of his woodsy cologne and a freshly lit cigarette. Like a grown ass man that works hard just to provide his baby girl with whatever she wants.

He finds you in the kitchen at the stove preparing dinner and steps up behind you to make his presence known. His touch is gentle but firm, skimming over your hips and waist, pressing his front against the curve of your back. His lips find your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple before greeting you with a deep raspy “Hey sweetheart.”. His voice is like the butter sizzling in the pan in front of you and you melt against him, turning your head to give him a proper kiss that he hums into contently with pliant lips.

“Hi baby” you’ll sneak in between kisses that become less and less chaste. You're mindlessly pressing your ass into his crotch, making him grunt sexily and tighten his hold on your waist.

“Dinners almost done” you add, sneaking a lick of his tongue with a smile.

“Mmm..Smells good…” he’ll mutter against your lips, to which you’ll tell him to go get cleaned up so he could enjoy it. He’ll then hum in acknowledgment before pecking your lips a few more times, squeezing your hips and giving your booty a healthy slap before leaving you to it. Toji usually comes in right after him, shedding his coat and sporting dark jeans and a fitted tee. Looking every bit like that bad ass boy next door that your parents forbid you from dating. He greets you in his normal Toji fashion.

You yelp at the sting of the smack he plants on your other ass cheek, but it's soothed under Toji’s hand as he rubs and kneads your plumpness.

“Sup, Mama..” he growls into the curve of your neck, his buff ass arm coming around you and slotting under your chest for a possessive back hug. Toji’s scent is an addictive amalgam of sandalwood, some sort of citrus, and his sweat from the day. Since he rode home in Shiu’s car, accents of smoke were woven into the fibers of gia clothing to mix with his natural fragrance, having its usual effect on you.

He nibbles and teases the skin of your neck until you're giggling and reaching up to tangle your fingers in his messy hair.

“Toji!!” You attempt to squirm away from his lips. A feeble attempt of course. He’s got you locked in place under his bear arm. After seemingly having his fill of nuzzling, Toji lifts his head and the hand resting against your ribs to turn your face towards him for a kiss that already has your head spinning. His tongue tastes of mint and Monster energy drink, which he more than likely chugged on the ride home.

It takes some effort to pull back from him, and he just keeps kissing you. The corner of your mouth. Your cheek. Your jawline. Before he can find his home in the crook of your neck again you have to elbow him in the abs gently to get his attention.

“Youre gonna make me burn the food, Toji. Quit it..” you giggle.

“Just take it off the heat then..I missed you today.” He whines,his lips moving sinuously against your skin. You gasp when his teeth graze your flesh. You were feeling dizzy with desire, your lashes fluttering at the way Toji bit into your neck and sucked hard, earning a barely muffled moan that snaps you back into reality.

“Uh uhn Toj…I gotta finish your steak. Unless you want me to overcook it..” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he obeys with a grumpy sigh, pulling away reluctantly.

“So? Then I’ll just have to eat you instead..” he grins, his cool-toned gaze blazing into you lustfully. Before you fall into his trap again, Shiu returns to the kitchen. He’s still in his dress shirt, the top few buttons undone as he's yanking at his necktie. He opens the freezer before glancing over at the two of you tangled in a hot embrace at the stove, he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“The least you can do is wash the murder off of your body before you rub yourself all over her…” he scoffs, rummaging in the ice tray for two cubes to drop in the short-cut glass. Toji’s upper lip curls into a snarl as he glares over your head at Shiu, who is now mindlessly opening his liquor cabinet.

“The least you can do is mind your damn business..cock blockn’ ass..” Toji seethes. Shiu's tired gaze returns to Toji while he pours himself a drink.

"So it's cock blocking because Id rather you didn't get some dead man's DNA all over my girl?" he perks his brow, lifting the glass to his lips for a sip. Toji kisses his teeth. " You think I'd be all over MY girl like this without at least changing clothes? I'm not an idiot.."

At that opening, Shiu's brows lift as if he's about to disagree. He merely grunts in response instead, mumbling something snide under his breath as he posts up against the counter with his drink in hand. You didn’t catch it but Toji must have since he was bristling with you still in his possessive embrace.

“Yeah? Wanna repeat that to my face?” he drops the arm that caged you to his chest. His other arm loosens a bit as he steps around you as if he's about to approach Shiu, who of course regards Toji blankly before taking one more sip of his whiskey. When you noticed him turning to set the glass aside, your eyes widened.

"Yall don't start.." you whine, already scrambling to grasp Toji's shirt. It stretches from his torso a little when he tries to move further away from you to close the distance between him and Shiu with a sinister smirk on his face. Shiu smirks back, leaning back up from the counter to face him. There's a silent exchange of colorful language between the two men that you weren't going to let escalate. It was late and you just wanted a peaceful night in with your men. No drama. No bickering.

"OH MY GOD! ALL THIS TESTOSTERONE IN MY KITCHEN!” you blurt out, earning both of their attention. Pointing the spatula you now had in your hand, you aimed it towards Shiu with a glare. He opens his mouth but you shush him.

“Aht! Make that the last drink you get before you eat your dinner, ok? And you..” you pause to crane your neck back enough to look at Toji.

“While I do love the smell of you, if you killed someone tonight I'd prefer it if you cleaned up. Cool?”

Toji glances down at himself with the same type of furrowed brow that Shiu was now sporting when he looked into his glass. "Now I don't wanna hear anymore bitching from either one of you tonight, dammit. Its late and I’m cramping. Dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes, ok? So both of you get out of my kitchen so I can finish cooking please.”

You give them both a look, ensuring that they understand their assignments, spatula waving between them. There is a mixture of surprise and amusement in their expressions, finding your bossiness endearing considering you were the smallest person in the room. The men exchange a seething look of understanding, Shiu being the first to scoff and break eye contact before looking to you.

"Sure thing baby," he remarks warmly, picking up his glass and tossing back what was left in it before putting it back on the counter. He then approaches you, giving Toji a snarky downward scan in passing before leaning in to peck your lips. Toji rolls his eyes and huffs loudly during the affectionate exchange, knowing Shiu was just trying to push his buttons in the little ways he could without you knowing.

When he pulls away, you lick the remnants of whiskey he left on your lips with a smirk.

" Mmmhmm. Out." you wrinkle your nose at him, pushing him away playfully as he steps between you and Toji to exit the kitchen.

Leaving you with your broodiest boyfriend.

Toji was biting the inside of his cheek and watching Shiu leave with narrowed eyes, looking like he was plotting something devious when you poked him in the pec. His glare drops to you, softening a little on the way your siren eyes were drawing him in. With a lift of your brow, Toji relents.

"What?" he frowns and you smile at him sweetly, reaching up to run your thumb over the scarred corner of his mouth before speaking.

"You too, big boy. Go wash ya ass. And don't kill Shiu on your way back there please." you nod your head in the kitchen doorway's direction. At that, Toji grunts humorously as he kisses your thumb, then your forehead.

"Only 'cuz you said please.." he grumbles before trudging out of the kitchen somewhat begrudgingly.

You maintained that stone-cold expression while you admired that muscular ass back on his way out, waiting until you were alone to allow that facade to break immediately in favor of you being utterly hot and bothered.

It wasn't always like this but you swore one day things would come to blows between those two if you weren't always there to intervene. There was no reason for them to still be this competitive when it came to you. There was a clear understanding between you three that you were theirs equally and vice verse. But you had to admit that it was annoyingly sexy to see them still fussing over you though. Or maybe it was just because you were ovulating.

Either way, you were sure to be in for another long night with these two…

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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

Text

Don't wait for the Sky to Clear - Thesan x PeregrynCaptain!Lover x FourthArcheron!Sister

Summary:

The Fourth Archeron sister makes herself a life in the Dawn Court.

Warnings:

DEFINETLY NSFW. SERIOUSLY. THIS HAS NO PLOT.

Notes:

I...I have no idea where this came from. It popped into my head fully formed a few weeks ago...and this is the result. There is probbaly never going to be a second story in this universe, but it's...interesting, so you'll get it.

(thanks to @tsunami-of-tears for the super pretty dividers!)

“They are nearly as beautiful as you.”

Carys’ lips quirked up in a smile at these words.

Said in that lazy drawl that she had become so used to over the last few months…her husband.

Well, one of them at least.

She let go of the flower petals she had fondled gently, beautiful, colourful tulips, dotted everywhere around the Dawn Court.

“Flatterer,” Carys said lightly but took his hand as he held it out for her.

She gained her feet and turned towards him, towards brilliant brown eyes, towards these beautiful white feathered wings that stretched vastly behind his back. Ardin quirked his lips at her.

“Just telling the truth,” Ardin quipped. “Finished with your flowers for the day?” He asked her and she hummed in agreement…pulling deep inside her for that kernel of power she had.

The flower grew underneath her hands a few inches more. She smiled to herself.

She didn’t have the power of death…or of the future. This was all the cauldron had decided to give her. She was quite sure that it had been its revenge for Nesta taking more than she should have.

Carys should probably consider herself lucky that she hadn’t ended up with horns or something like that.

Letting flowers grow…It was a nice party trick, she supposed.

It was more useful on the potato fields further away from the Palace than it ever could be in little fields of tulips right here…but she would gladly take it nonetheless.

Granted, it had taken her months to master even that, but it was…it was something. It was all she could do and that suited her just fine.

“Yes,” Carys agreed and Ardin leaned down to pick up her basket, in which she had kept the flower she had cut for the day, snatching it up and then offering her his arm…as graceful as any human courtier she had ever met had been.

Sometimes…sometimes she missed it. Being human.

Carys never voiced that aloud, because she knew that…there weren’t many people that would understand. And the ones that did understand… her sisters…well, that relationship was fraught with tension on a good day.

Carys couldn’t even fault them. Especially not Feyre…Carys had managed to kick loose a diplomatic incident when she had left the Night Court.

But she hadn’t been able to stay any longer. Not after…She had been half hysterical with fear. Fear of her sister’s mate of all people, after what happened to Nesta…after they had had enough of her drinking and…other things… and had…pretty much imprisoned her in the House of Wind.

Elain seemingly hadn’t thought about what that could mean for her or Carys…but Carys had thought about it. Carys had realised at that exact moment that if she didn’t do what her sister thought was the right thing to do…she would be the next one kept as a prisoner and the whole thing would be called an intervention.

Nesta had needed an intervention after the kind of self-destructive behaviour she had indulged in, but the way they had gone about it…it had made Carys terrified.

And so she had run.

She had half a mind to take Elain with her but she knew her sister…Elain, most of all…most of all would do whatever she needed to be comfortable and taken care of.

Elain could be surprisingly cutthroat if need be.

Carys, second oldest after Nesta…the one that had spent years keeping the household running while living in that bedraggled little shed, that had absolutely no talent at archery to be quite frank, but could haul the laundry and cut the wood and stack a fire…that could babysit some of the villagers kids and make sure that they weren’t outright going to starve…that tried to plant potatoes on the tiny plot of land they had and had only been successful half the time…who had mended and hemmed and done anything she could to at least earn her keep.

Carys, who was considered the ugliest of the sister, to stoutly build, not pretty enough…who even her mother had considered unmarriageable, because who would want an ugly wife with no talents other than maybe cooking and sometimes planting vegetables…

If her mother could see her now…she would be horrified.

“You know, I would prefer it if you called me something else rather than flatterer,” Ardin quipped, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Consort?” She suggested drily. That’s what she had heard some people in the palace start to call Ardin, who hated it with a passion.

But what else to call the husband of a High Lord? Prythian had never had that problem before. Or even a High Lord that had taken not one but two spouses.

(Probably the one outright shocking thing Thesan had ever done in his life.)

Even when the law in the Dawn Court had been on their side…already changed centuries ago to make it possible for everybody to take as many spouses of any sex as anybody desired, as long as all parties did this of their own free will and were above the age of consent…

Ardin had drily explained to her that in the ranks of the Peregryn, it wasn’t uncommon for a female to have more than one lover. Or even two. Some had a whole harem of sorts.

Well, Carys wasn’t going to start that. Two were more than enough as far as she was concerned, thank you very much.

“Thanks but I prefer commander of the troops,” Ardin gave back and she smiled at him.

“The right hand that speaks with the High Lord’s voice and commands in his stead?” She suggested and he just sighed.

“Cauldron, Thesan came up with it, didn’t he?” Ardin asked and Carys just smiled, saying nothing. “You know, he likes reading poetry and pretends like we don’t know.”

They did both know about their High Lord's penchant for that…about the sweet little nothings that were whispered in their ears…and the surprisingly filthy things he spewed when he was in the right mood…she loved everything that talented tongue said or did.

“Husband?” Carys suggested next and he grinned at her, pressing her hand.

“You could just call me by my name.”

“Ardin, then,” she agreed.

“Though, of course, you could call me your cauldron-given gift whenever I please you enough to scream my…” she jabbed her elbow in his ribs, smiling apologetically to a long-suffering servant that crossed their path on their way up to their rooms.

“Not here,” she hissed to Ardin between her teeth.

“And here I thought we had ruined you so thoroughly that you don’t care anymore,” Ardin quipped. Her shoulders hunched.

“Humans don’t talk about…that,” she said, her voice quiet. Her cheeks were reddening on their own accord.

She couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t that she was…ashamed of her husbands.

She wasn’t.

But she also knew that if she was still human…this would have never happened. She would have never, never been the one that…She would have never…never taken two husbands.

There wouldn’t ever have been pleasure like this in her marriage bed. It would have been duty, not love.

And still…there was a part of her that wanted to keep it to herself. All of it. That didn’t think that anybody had a right to talk about it other than the three of them when they were alone. That thought that…

“I am sorry,” Ardin apologised to her, as he opened the door to their rooms. “I shouldn’t have teased you like that.” He sounded properly contrite now.

“I should be over it,” Carys responded quietly.

Overall the human ideas of propriety and modesty and what she shouldn’t do…she shouldn’t blush beet red whenever one of her husbands kissed her outside of the privacy of their rooms. She should be…

She should be able to give them…

“No, you shouldn’t be,” Ardin disagreed, grimacing. “This isn’t…” he stopped his own sentence, as they both heard the slow sound of water filling the bathtub and without a word, they changed direction…her basket of flowers forgotten on a console table.

The bathing chamber was…utterly fae…with a pool worked into the ground that was more than big enough for all three of them. Actually, they had taught Carys to swim in the same. It was more than big enough for that too.

Thesan was there, lounging relaxed against one of the stone walls, one eye blinking open lazily as he took in the two of them entering.

A smile appeared on his face, like the sun rising over the horizon and she swallowed at how lovely he looked.

“There you are,” he greeted them. “I had dinner laid out on the balcony for late.”

“He’s the romantic one,” Ardin whispered playfully and she couldn’t help but smile at her husband as he watched her, dark eyes turning heated, as she started to remove her clothing.

Ardin helped her after a moment, unlacing the back of her bodice… It was easy enough to slip out of the layers of light, gossamer soft fabric that swathed her body…to pull out the hair comb that held back her reddish brown waves…

She had given up on modesty with the two of them a long time ago.

And so when she walked into the pool and crossed it to perch herself next to her husband so that she could press a soft kiss against Thesan’s lips…she smiled.

“Good Evening,” he greeted her as she pulled back, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Did you have a good time?” Thesan asked her.

“Yes,” Carys agreed. “I gardened a little bit…fed the fish…fixed that shirt that Ardin ripped off you a few days ago…” she quipped with some amusement. “And you?”

“Sat through a meeting about property taxes,” Thesan answered with a hum, as she carded her hand through his damp hair. His dark eyes closed and she shifted, making herself more comfortable, perched on his thigh.

“You like taxes,” she said softly. He did. It fascinated her that the actual reigning part of being a High Lord, of taxes and making decisions for his court…that was something that Thesan excelled at. He knew all of it by heart too…what was the highest selling export from the Dawn Court, what didn’t sell at all, what they needed from Day or Night or Summer and Autumn…or even Winter and Spring.

He knew all of that, and he spent many late evenings sitting on his desk, working through his correspondence and doing exactly that.

Carys left him to him. She wasn’t ready to dabble in politics. And quite frankly, she didn’t think she had any right to it either.

She had only been in Dawn Court for what felt like a blink of the eyes for most faes, a footnote as far as the history was concerned. And she didn’t think she had any right to rule over faes that were far older and more experienced than she was.

“It was actually quite interesting,” Thesan agreed with her.

If she wanted to know something, Thesan was eager to explain it to her, to answer all her questions, but Carys herself kept her own political involvement to the walls of this palace, dealing with servants and cooks and laundry maids and whoever else they hired.

This was what she had been raised to do, this was what she was good at…and when she got to use the math she had once learned as the daughter of the Prince of Merchant to calculate the expenditures of the palace and cut the fat so to speak…then she was more than happy to do that and spent the rest of her time growing medicinal herbs and do her best to earn her keep.

She left it to Thesan’s sister to deal with the nobility and some of the simpering ladies who treated her like a novelty…who stared at a cauldron-made female with fear and acquiescence.

Carys had no plans to rule with fear.

“And you, Ardin?” Thesan asked, closing their little circle of asking each other about their day.

“Oh, the usual. Dealt with some unrest, made somebody regret ever having been born…was an idiot.”

“Tell me something new,” Thesan gave back drily. “What did you do?” He wondered. One hand gently came up to card through her hair, gently making her lay back in the water so that he could wet her hair.

“Ardin, you don’t…” she protested, but Ardin cut her off.

“I teased Carys and I owe her an apology.”

“You don’t,” she protested feebly, as Thesan started to work soap throughout her hair, lathering it up, long skilled fingers, against her scalp. She nearly moaned from that alone.

“But I do,” Ardin disagreed. “I know that you like your modesty and your privacy and I knowingly violated both. I should not have done that.”

“What did you say?” Thesan asked calmly, ever the mediator. Staying neutral in any conflict until he knew both sides.

“Though, of course, you could call me your cauldron-given gift whenever I please you enough to scream my name,” Ardin repeated. “In earshot of one of the servants. I was out of line.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh,” Carys protested. “The only one who overheard you was one sole servant. And you apologised for it! It’s not your fault that I am…unable to…properly acclimate.” The words were difficult to get out.

Thesan’s hands stilled.

“Is that what you think you are doing?” He asked her evenly.

“I do my best, but…this isn’t the world into which I was born. Where I grew up,” she said softly, biting her lip. “Don’t get me wrong I love the Dawn Court but it’s not…”

It wasn’t home.

Not really.

Home was the Human Lands and she had been ripped away from that.

“You never talk about…being human,” Adirn said, as he crossed the pool.

His wings stretched and then rippled as they were prone to be doing when they got wet. Chances were he would need to shake them out multiple until the feathers would be mostly dry again.

(At least his annual moulting season was a few months off…the last one had been something. Adirn had been uncomfortable for days while Thesan and her had painstakingly plucked out every last loose feather from his wings.)

“I don’t…Nobody would…nobody would understand,“ Carys whispered.

Not Thesan, born as the High Lord's heir…not Adirn, born into a tight-knit family, right in the midst of the Dawn Court…Adirn who had learned to fly as he learned to walk…Thesan who was so magical that it glowed on his skin…

Neither of them were human in the slightest, from the feathers of Adirn’s wings to the pointed tips of Thesan’s ears.

“We may not understand, but we would listen,” Thesan said quietly, just as Adirn reached out to touch her hands and she intertwined their fingers.

Thesan’s hands smoothed over her hair and then down her shoulders, as she closed her eyes.

They would. She didn’t doubt that for one moment.

“I miss my ears,” she finally blurted out.

Her ears. Her lovely, rounded ears. Her lovely, human ears.

Her ears.

“You miss your ears?” Thesan asked, quietly. She was surprised that it wasn’t Adirn, surprised that…

“I liked my human ears. They were small…they were…well formed. Nobody ever found something to criticise on them, like with the rest of my body,” Carys whispered. “I liked my ears,” she repeated with a sob the tears coming from nowhere. “And now they are…”

“They are beautiful,” Adirn said quietly, one hand coming up to trace the shell of her ear, the arch, the tip…

“They don’t feel like mine,” Carys whispered. “I look at my body and it doesn’t feel like my own sometimes.”

It was…it had grown lush with curves and had become so perfect…too perfect.

She could no longer count her ribs as she had been able to after the worst of winters…could no longer see the hollows of her cheeks…

“It is yours, all of it is yours,” Adirn said, his hands sliding down carefully…over her chin and her neck and her shoulder. “Yours to do with as you please.”

She knew that. She did know that…but sometimes…a lot of the time…

It didn’t feel like hers.

“I am sorry,” Adirn apologised softly and she shook her head.

“You couldn’t have known that,” Carys assured him softly. A soft sigh left her mouth.

It was just…

She wiped away a stubborn tear that escaped her and then Adirn pressed a kiss against her cheek and she breathed in the scent of lavender and warmth that clung to him. She tipped forward, leaning her head against his golden brown skin.

“Want me to make it up to you?” He offered, his voice gravelly and she snorted because she knew exactly what he offered. Though to be honest…the idea of forgetting anything but her husbands…of letting them wring every drop of pleasure from her body…that wasn’t abhorrent. The exact opposite to be honest.

“If you do all your apologising with your cock, we’ll have a problem, Adirn,” Thesan said drily and she couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Only for you two,” Adirn hit back quickly. “What do you think, love? Whatever you want.”

She knew he was serious about it. There was seemingly nothing that he wasn’t willing to try at least once, nothing that he wasn’t happy to do if it meant that he got to touch her.

She thought about it for a moment…anything she wanted.

But the one thing she wanted most of all was to feel like she belonged with them, to them. That they took so much from her that she couldn’t even think about her lost humanity anymore.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxed her, and she swallowed.

“I am spoiled for choice,” Carys responded and Thesan chuckled.

“Want me to narrow it down?” he whispered, warm hands slipping over her hips and she considered it for a moment.

“No,” she said with a sigh, closing her eyes. “I want your mouth,” she whispered softly, not daring to look at him. “Will you…” she could feel the blush work its way over her cheeks even now.

“Are you offering me a feast for my taking, love?” Adirn asked her lowly, not teasing her at all.

She shivered, the outright question enough to send the arousal that had been lowly thrumming through her into overdrive.

“Yes,” she managed to nod. “I…And I want Thesan inside me while you do it.”

She wasn’t even sure where that had suddenly come from. But as she blurted it out, Thesan lowly groaned behind her, his hands on her hips tightening.

“I am quite sure that would be a treat for us as well,” Thesan whispered into her ear…but it was the trembling.

One thick finger parted her folds suddenly and she whimpered at the sudden contact, at that knowing touch…“Already wet and ready for us, love?” Adirn asked her, drawing one finger up and finding her clit nearly thoughtlessly…she could swear she could nearly feel another gush of wetness leaving her…

“Always,” she managed to get out, her knees trembling and Thesan caught her easily, chuckling.

Carys let him pull her into his arms…keeping her eyes closed and just…basking for a moment in their undivided attention on her…in their gentle touches and sweet kisses being pressed to every inch of her damp skin…

She felt Thesan’s magic drift over her skin and she couldn’t help the shiver that it brought out…“I’ll never get used to your magic,” she whispered…he just chuckled.

“It can be quite useful,” he whispered… and as she weakly blinked open her eyes, she could see how just one push of his magic had reconfigured that massive pool so that there was a comfortable ledge for Thesan to sit on…wide enough that he could lean back against an incline…water still just so lapping at him.

He gave her a smile as he handed her over to Adirn, making himself comfortable, his thick, long cock jutting out from his frame…He was ready for her, not a question about it.

Adirn helped her sit on his lap, her back to his front and it only took a second before she could feel the thick, blunt head of Thesan’s cock at her entrance, her body shuddering and yielding near immediately.

“Just relax,” Adirn coaxed her, holding her in place, just the tip teasing her entrance, even as she already wriggled…. “You know how this goes.”

She took a deep breath, her body going pliant and Adirn let her slide down, her body having no choice but to make room for Thesan’s length.

She fluttered around his cock, against the heat of him so deep inside her…

Carys couldn’t help herself as she ground down as much as she could, feet grabbling for purchase against slick stone as Thesan’s arms slipped around her frame and immobilised her… completely.

“Shush,” Adirn said with some amusement. “Be patient.”

she blinked open her eyes, just as Thesan forced his legs between hers… stretching her not only from within but stretching her legs as wide as they went…

Like a butterfly pinned for viewing pleasure.

And gods, clearly Adirn enjoyed that view, as dark eyes slid heatedly over her body, over her heaving breasts to her lewdly stretched cunt…her clit peeking out, swollen and wet…impaled deeply onto a cock and still wanting more. More. More.

“I want to come.”

“Greedy, love,” Adirn clucked his tongue but made himself comfortable…kneeling in the shallow water and giving her a smirk as he was near enough to her wet, stretched pussy that she could hear his hot breath against her overheated flesh. “You already have a cock inside you and it’s still not enough?”

She knew that she was blushing furiously.

“Get to your apologies.” Carys hadn’t yet mastered that haughty tone of voice. It turned breathy at the end.

Adirn chuckled again, and then without a forewarning…he buried his face against her pussy, her whole body shaking, a whimper leaving her throat.

“He does much better if you give him orders,” Thesan said nearly thoughtfully, biting back a groan as her body unwillingly convulsed around his length buried inside her…trembling. “Maybe you should give all of them.“

Adirn lifted up, opening his mouth in protest, but Thesan cut him off.

“Get back to your apologies, Ardin. Our wife deserves them,” he pointed out reasonably and then cursed as Carys felt Adirn probe where they were joined, throwing her head back into a whine.

By the cauldron, he was going to fucking kill her with pleasure.

Thesan cursed and she managed a breathless laugh and Adirn redoubled his efforts.

By now…By now he knew exactly what to do. It took him an embarrassingly short amount of time to throw her headfirst into her first trembling orgasm, her body clamping down around Thesan’s cock, him groaning, his arms tightening around her body as he buried his face into her neck.

But Adirn wasn’t done.

Not at all.

He was set on absolutely taking her apart.

And quite frankly…she loved every minute of it. Loved every minute of her heart thumpin in her chest, the pleasure lapping at every nerve ending…loved the feeling of his mouth pressed against her, her tongue licking inside her…loved the bitten-down groans from Thesan behind her, the way his cock twitched deep within her, the walls of her cunt clenchning and unclening without her doing anything, long since having forgotten the use of any of her muscles…

And she couldn’t think about anything but the pleasure her husbands wrought from her.

“I love being your wife,” she gasped out, somehow between moans and whimpers, her back arching against Thesan, who nearly seemed to shake against her, the hot length of his inside her stretching her, filling her…Gods, she loved it.

.“You do excel at it,” Thesan told her, his voice wrecked…A hoarse shout broke out of her throat as Adirn did cauldron knew what to her body, her toes curling with mind-numbing pleasure…White hot and blinding.

She actually blacked out. Adirn honest to gods managed to make her faint.

When Carys weakly blinked open her eyes moments later, Thesan was softening inside her, the warmth of his release painting her insides…Adirn was cupping her face, Thesan peppering kisses to her cheeks.

“Am I forgiven?” Adirn asked her, his voice light on purpose.

“What did you do again?” she managed to bring out, her voice hoarse.

Thesan laughed gently behind her, shifting to pull out of her and she moaned, feeling the soreness between her legs, as he moved her off him gently.

She would never get used to the sheer size of them.

Just a moment late, a warm hand gently cupped her and Carys whimpered at the trickle of magic, a warm kiss…taking apart any discomfort.

“Can’t have you be sore tomorrow, can we?” he asked her, a bashful smile on his face and she sighed…in complete and utter happiness.

“You are so good to me,” she said softly, reaching out to cup the bag of Adirn’s head, pulling him into a kiss.

He tasted like her and like Thesan and she loved everything about it.

#don't wait for the sky to clear #my writing #thesan x reader #thesan x oc #acotar fanfiction #thesan fanfiction #thesan fanfic

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bugflies00 · 7 months ago

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hello sharks (im pretending this is shark tank) my idea is what if we had the entire dsmp storyline and canon but it's told through the format of r/aita posts

r/AITA

u/GnfStan posted:

AITA for killing a child?

Right, i know how this looks, but please read all the way through before commenting. I (24M) have been getting bullied by this kid (16M) for months now. He disrupts all my plans, he griefs everything (we live in Minecraft), and he's just really annoying. I asked my friend G (24M) and my other friend XD (999999+M) and they both agreed he was clearly trying to sabotage me. At first, I tried to take the high road and be the bigger person, so I told him to give me his stupid discs that he's always holding onto. He refused and we had a duel and I beat him, because he's not the quickest tool in the shed. I believe he thought it was Hamilton RP. He's just like that. But then his brother (26M, kinda fine) blew himself up and I think that fucked with him a bit, because now when I made fun of him he barely reacted. So naturally when he burnt down my friend G's house I thought- what better opportunity to try to help this troubled child? Anyway, that's not why I killed him. That happened months later while I was in prison. The potatoes were really bad and he was really loud. Pretty sure he saw God

⬆️ 3 ⬇️ 4 💬 17

u/ZazaCrowFather replied: dream we're out of TNT get a fuckin move on mate

u/BIGMAN04 replied: CAN YOU KILL YOURSELF

u/enderpearls-and-wishingwells replied: ℭ𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔭𝔩𝔰 𝔥𝔢'𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔫𝔢𝔲𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔯

u/iAmNotAGnfStanIAmGnf: zzz

u/DREAMXD984982910490942 replied: Ả̶̺̹̄͒́̀̌̕̕Ã̴͎̣͖̙̮͔͊̿͐́́Ẃ̴̝͉̦̖̮̺͈̱̖̻́̇͛́̈́̀́͘H̶̡̳͇̬̪̠͈̰͙̿̈́8̵̹͉͛̀̈́͑9̵͕̰̮͓̰͈̜̮̈́ͅ3̴̥̗̊̇̑̎̾̋̍͒̈͘͜1̸̗͙̺̖̭͇͇̻̭͈̑̅̐́̂̋0̶̱̀̈́̌͌̊̍̚̕9̴̨͉̜̼̘̳͉̰̠͌͒̍̿͂̌͂́͜͝͠0̶̬̯͓̲̠̮̋͌͂̑͗̏̀;̵̦̜̝͆͗̇̇̓̍;̴̢̧͍̘̣͕̮̯̠̥̿͋̎̓́͛͛͆̇͝;̴̢̗̖̉͆͜.̶̢̭̫̳̩̙͒̾̎͂͒ͅ/̶̧̻̫̱͚͔̺̟͆́1̵̡͔̝̩̪̰̒̀̈̽̈́̈̾̐͝͠4̶̧̣̪̰̝̻̆͊͋̋9̵̡̎̀͝0̸̢̗̞̝̊́̐́̊2̷̰͔̖̗̤̾̇̓̄͝ͅ9̷̥̺̗̘̻͔̺̖̭̖̑̋̂́̾͗͠4̶̩͒͊́̋̒̇͝

#alex.rambles.txt #alex.asks.txt #c!dream #c!phil #c!tommy #c!ranboo #c!george #mcyt

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heliianth · 1 year ago

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every day i get more upset that “i think i found the ultimate lifeform / i think it may be you” line (and sonic’s subsequent pondering about it) gets IGNORED they DROPPED THAT SHIT like a HOT POTATO & i understand why because the sonic heroes tone pivot and the amnesia plot but u dont understand im so mentally ill over the concept of shadow completely shedding this massive huge important part of his identity onto sonic before dying and sonic having to grapple with that. what does he do with that. he doesnt want that kind of title or responsibility or idea of himself, hes just a guy who likes adventure. but shadow gave it to him happily. & when shadow comes back and is basically affirmed in his previous assumption that whatever he would do with it, sonic is already doing. only to be met with sonic giving it back to him like “hey buddy thanks for letting me borrow it but i dont want it ;^-^”. what do you mean you don’t want to be the ultimate lifeform? ITS TOO GODDAMN HOT IN THIS GODDAMN HOUSE i need to kill something. U UNDERSTAND RIGHT. U UNDERSTAND.

#im SO UNWELL ABOUT THIS #i need to write something abt it but like the type of character exploration/arc i think this would prompt #would require such a long fucking fic #and it would be so boring and contrived without like. a plot as well #like what the hell do i do with this. its just gonna stay there forever #same thing with my 06 fix for silvers arc #i need to die #heliichats

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tradgedyinwaves · 2 months ago

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Touch - Epilogue

The absolute amount of fluff in this epilogue is almost gross.

Also, more military inaccuracies (I made it all the way to the epilogue before remembering the word ‘inaccuracies’)

3 Years Later.

You stood on your back porch, watching Johnny run around the backyard with your one and two year olds who squealed and screamed anytime he got close. His laughter roared over their sounds, picking one up like a football while chasing the other still. The scene made you giggle.

You could smell the meal that Kyle was working on in the kitchen, the scents of homemade mashed potatoes and steaks wafting through open windows. Simon had disappeared into the shed, working on a stronger bed frame after the five of you plus the little ones broke the original.

Usually, you would find John in there with Simon, toiling away on a project. This time he was sliding his hands over your rounded belly from behind, cupping it from underneath and lifting gently. It made a soft groan leave your lips as you leaned back into his embrace.

When you found out you were pregnant the first time, John, Kyle, and Johnny had all requested their discharges citing the need to be home with their family. Simon had been honorably discharged after the events with Moses, his injuries determining the course of his (and the military’s) decision. He was okay with it, surprisingly. Said it was time to stop running from the past and embrace the future you’d given him.

Blonde, little Leila was most likely Simon’s, although there’d never been a paternal DNA test done. Nathan was most definitely Kyle’s with his cocoa skin and pretty eyes that rivaled his fathers. But they all loved your children, no matter who their biological dad was. The little one still growing in your belly would be no different.

Kyle finally called out that dinner was ready and everyone headed inside. Well, everyone except you, who padded off to the shed to collect that last of your tribe. “Si? Dinner’s ready,” you called as you poked your head into the shed. “Mm, coming, luvie,” he replied, dusting off his hands on his pants and grinning at you.

He joined you at the door, his large hands settling on your hips as he gazed down at you. Licking his lips, he leaned down and spoke to your belly. “ ‘Ello little one,” he whispered to the baby in your belly before straightening up only to lean down and kiss you deeply. “Love you pregnant, all swollen with our baby. Makes me want to put another one in you,” he growled against your lips.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you backed up and grabbed his hand. “Come on, you big lug. Let’s go eat,” you chastised playfully, dragging him out of the shed and back up to the house.

You’d never been one to want a huge family. But as you sat at the head of the table with the loves of your life and your two babbling toddlers, you couldn’t imagine your life any other way.

FINITE!

Okay, so holy crap. I started this as a little project intent on making my touch starved heart happy. It definitely turned into something else, but I'm happy with it. I just want to say thank you to every one who has liked, commented, reblogged, and followed. Every interaction means the world to me.

#captain john price #call of duty x reader #johnny soap mactavish #poly!141 #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic smut #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #john price #john price x plus size reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x you #touchau

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daddy-dins-girl · 11 months ago

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Talk Me Down

A fic requested by @anotherpedrolover

I was gonna wait until Frankie Friday (tomorrow) to post this, but this sweet human being has already waited like 2 months for me to finish this, lol, so here you go! I was asked to write a fic about insecure!Frankie who has some self-esteem/body image issues but after being with Reader (who is very appreciative of his body) he gets into it and develops a bit of a praise kink for it but but he hits a rough patch and gets into a dark place, feeling very undeserving of the love and attention Reader gives him. The person who made the request asked me to focus on his feelings and emotions when he is feeling bad and insecure (and specifically asked for some tears to be shed, lol) so I did my best to beat the crap out of Frankie (emotionally).

I hope this is somewhat what they had in mind and that they like it :) I've never really written anything like this (PWP queen over here) so I hope I got it right and didn't make Frankie too OOC. Hope you all enjoy it!

Page dividers provided by the gracious and talented @saradika-graphics

Ao3 link

My Masterlist Word Count: 9.8k Fandom: Triple Frontier (Frankie Morales x f!Reader) Notes: Pre/No TF Mission. Fic title is from the song of the same name by Troye Sivan. Warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. Angst. Drama. Body Insecurity/Self-esteem issues. Praise Kink. Smut (pretty tame and not a lot, considering its me lol, but its there). Sad!Frankie. Mid-Life-Crisis!Frankie. Emotional hurt/comfort. Eventual happy ending. Established Relationship. No use of y/n. No physical description of Reader.

“Babe, have you seen my -“ you cut yourself off mid sentence as you turn the corner and your eyes land on your boyfriend, leisurely sprawled on the couch with his legs up on the ottoman, ankles crossed over each other and television remote firmly in hand while a baseball game plays in the background.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Frankie asks, incredulous.

“We have to be at Will and Benny’s in like…” you pause to look at your watch. “Fifteen minutes! And what is that… are you eating the potato salad I made?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Frankie responds, forkful halfway to his mouth again already.

“Oh my god” You shake your head. You literally can’t with him today. You made that for the barbecue pool party today and now it was nearly half gone.

“Nevermind, let’s just go” you huff. You’re not in a great mood and maybe you’re being a little bitchier than usual thanks to this god awful heatwave but Frankie wasn’t helping matters any.

“I’ll be in the car” you grumble towards his general direction as you head out the front door. At least there’s A/C in the Jeep.

Surprisingly he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He’s shoving his slides on his feet as he hops down the front steps only a minute or so later and then jumps into the driver’s seat next to you, buckling his seatbelt and the two of you head out of the driveway.

“See, plenty of time” He grins at you when you pull up to the outside of your friends house a short while later with actually a few minutes to spare before your requested arrival time. You had attempted to stay mad at him, neither of you speaking more than one or two words the entire drive but now with that stupidly adorable smirk on his face you have no choice but to want to kiss it off of him. Despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“There it is” his grin widens as he brings a hand up to pinch at your cheek and you playfully swat him away, trying and failing to hold back a little laugh.

“Baby I don’t know what you think we’re gonna miss anyway. It’s my birthday party. They literally can’t start without me”

“Francisco Morales, you’re going to be late to your own funeral, you know that don’t you?” You shake your head at him but the smile hasn’t left your lips.

“Oh baby we’re gonna be real late if you keep that ‘Francisco’ talk up” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at you and reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your upper thigh. “Maybe we skip the party all together, you give me my birthday present early, hmm?”

“Get out of the car you perv!” You laugh, giving him a playful shove. “Are you sure you’re turning 40 and not 14?”

“All right, all right I’ll behave” He sighs, hands up in the air to signal his defeat.

You’re glad he seems like he’s in a better mood so far today. He’s been a little off the last couple of days and you can’t say why. You’ve asked a few times if something was bothering him but he kept shrugging you off, insisting everything was fine. You chalked it up to maybe just work stress and are hoping now that the weekend is here that he’ll be able to just relax and have a great time with his friends.

Despite you being early, the party is actually in full swing on your arrival. You and Frankie let yourselves in through the back gate where the backyard is filled with several of Frankie’s (and now yours, you supposed) friends milling about. The ones you recognize immediately are his old military unit; Santiago, Benny, Will and Tom, as well as Will’s girlfriend and Tom’s wife. There are a few other people around you’ve definitely met before but can’t place all of them. Either way, you’re glad to see so many people have shown up for Frankie on his big day.

The space is decorated too with balloons everywhere, a giant banner that reads “Happy Birthday Fish!” and a big poster board is taped up against the side of the house as soon as you walk in that has pictures of Frankie and his family and friends all over it with the title “40 Years In The Making” written at the top in huge block lettering. You and Frankie both take a moment to look over the board before anyone deeper inside the yard notices you yet. There are a bunch of photos from his younger military days and even a few from when he was just a boy that have you gushing over him, telling Frankie how adorable he was and pinching his cheek for good measure. You spot a couple of pictures of Frankie having fallen asleep at a party (something he’s been known to do) with his signature ball cap pulled down over his face and beer bottle loosely gripped in his hand and those give you both a good laugh. There’s two photos of you and him together, you notice, and your personal favourite picture of Frankie - him flying his helicopter wearing a pair of Aviators, looking so sexy it makes you melt each time you see it.

You safely assume the wife and girlfriends of Frankie’s closest pals were mostly to thank for the decorating. If it were up to the boys there would be a folded table in the middle of the backyard with a pack of cards and a cooler full of beer and that would be it.

“There he is!” Benny shouts across the yard the moment he spots you both just inside the gate. He dashes across the patio and throws his arms around Frankie, nearly knocking him over in the process before landing a few hard slaps to his back. “Happy birthday ya old fuck” he teases, grabbing on to Frankie’s shoulder and jostling him slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be your turn soon enough” Frankie reminds him but Benny just shrugs.

“Always be younger than you though” he winks and that earns him a little shove from Frankie.

The rest of the greetings go more or less the same way, playful teasing or ribbing on Frankie for turning the big “4-0”. It gets old quickly but if it bothers Frankie he doesn’t let it show, just takes it in stride as he makes his way through the small crowd and says his hello’s.

By the time you get home much later that night you’re exhausted. It’s late and the day had been long (and hot in that blistering sun). Add to that you’re sober whereas everyone around you had been thoroughly wasted which made the night seem to drag on even longer. You wanted Frankie to have a great time, it was his birthday after all, so you offered to drive you both tonight and somehow that had turned into you offering to be an Uber driver for half the party so instead of it taking ten minutes to get home it had taken an hour.

“I’m beat” you announce through a long drawn out yawn, stretching tired limbs over your head. “You wanna come to bed with me, birthday boy?” You ask playfully, walking up to Frankie and looping your fingers through the belt loops of his tan cargo shorts to tug him a little closer, hoping he catches on that you’re not that tired.

“Think I’m gonna shower, I hate smelling like chlorine” he complains, gently taking your hands and removing them from his waist. “You go on, I won’t be long” he promises before leaning forward and planting a kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” you whine, a masterful pout displayed on your lips. “C’mon upstairs with me, while it’s still your birthday” you try seductively, hand reaching out to brush over the outside of his pants at his crotch.

“I said I want to shower” Frankie replies back, a little too curtly for your liking and his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes your hand away a second time. You frown and the huff of disappointment you breathe out doesn’t go unnoticed by your partner.

“Baby come on, I’m sorry. I just don’t wanna go to bed smelling like chemicals. Go on up to bed, I’ll be right behind you” he says with finality and gives your hand a little squeeze before dropping it and heading off to the bathroom.

You sigh but let him go. Truthfully you’d been trying to drag him out of the party for hours, desperate to get him alone and all to yourself. You don’t know what’s come over you today but you felt downright needy for him, your hormones just off the charts and now he’s making you wait even longer when all you want to do is rip his clothes off and show him exactly how glad you are that he was born forty years ago today and by some cosmic twist of fate found his way into your life.

Once in the bedroom and settled into bed you hear the spray of water come to life in the bathroom down the hall and your mind can’t help but drift and think about Frankie, naked and in the shower. How the water is cascading down his broad shoulders to his soft tummy and strong, thick legs and a heat floods your body, going straight to the lower part of your abdomen. You loved his body and you weren’t shy about telling him either. You remember back to when you’d first started dating, the early stages of your intimate relationship. He was so shy around you at first, always insisting the lights be off or even leaving his t-shirt on when you’d have sex. It was all a mystery to you, how someone as gorgeous as Frankie could have self-esteem issues but you loved to remind him how crazy he drove you and how perfect he was in your eyes.

At first he got so embarrassed at your borderline worship of his body, refused to even believe you in the beginning but he warmed up eventually to the point where he loved it. Craved it, even, your praise of him. Though he’d never admitted to it out loud and always remained a little bashful about it, you could tell. Frankie was already a very generous, selfless and enthusiastic lover, but when you really got vocal with him (or better yet let your tongue and hands do the talking) of how much you enjoyed every part of his physical anatomy, Frankie could get downright animalistic with you and it brought the already amazing sex to a whole new level for you both. You had definitely uncovered a little praise-kink in your boyfriend that you don’t think he even knew existed in himself and honestly no sexual relationship you’ve had in the past could ever hold a candle to the one you and Frankie have created together.

You plan on using every weapon in your arsenal on him tonight to truly wish him a happy birthday he won’t soon forget. You’ll caress, kiss and lick your way from his prominent neck vein, his broad chest with just the lightest smattering of golden brown hair, take more than enough time for your tongue to appreciate each of his small dusty pink nipples before you continue down his sternum to where he gets a little softer. You’ll playfully nip and suck at the small expanse of flesh at his belly that protrudes just barely over his waistline, making sure to let him know with words how gorgeous he is, how hot he makes you, how he’s all yours. You just hope you get to have your fill before he takes his own. It had taken you a while to get Frankie to allow you to appreciate him the way you wanted to. He was always insistent on your pleasure and he still is to this day, but you’ve managed to strike a fairly delicate balance now for the most part, though you’ll admit there are days where Frankie comes home and he just needs you. You’ve come to recognize it on him and you’re glad to give him the reins when that happens, knowing that he’ll allow you to do the same when you need it. When you said Frankie was a generous lover you weren’t exaggerating. That man would spend hours with his face buried between your legs if you’d let him, and sometimes you’d let him do just that. But tonight was for him and tonight you need him. Need to show him how in love with him you are in a way that words just can’t do.

You have to press your thighs together just at the thought of him in the shower now, hoping he won’t be long so you can hopefully pull him out of this weird mood he’d been in most of the day. It started not long after you got to Will and Benny’s. Just silly, little things that just seemed to set him off to the point where he’d either pick a fight with you (or whoever else he happened to be talking to) or just get overly quiet and wander off by himself. You think back trying to think what could’ve started it all. He’d gone into the party in a good enough mood but soon after he started acting weird. The two of you barely fought, like ever, and here you were today in front of all your friends getting into a yelling match with each other about goddamn sunscreen of all things. And it wasn’t just you, he seemed overly quiet today around everyone, even his best friends who were more like brothers to him than anything and none of it made sense to you, you just hope now that he was home maybe he’d get out of his funk.

Your mind doesn’t have any longer to dwell however because Frankie emerges from the bathroom and into the bedroom, already changed into a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Your tongue absent-mindedly peeks out to swipe across your bottom lip at the way the wet curls stick to his forehead or how tiny droplets of water soak through the thin cotton of his dark gray t-shirt because he didn’t quite dry himself all the way off before tugging it over his head.

Not that it matters, you don’t plan on him wearing it long anyway.

“Finally” you smile at him from your spot on the bed and shuffle back slightly to pat down on the space next to you on the mattress. You pull back the bed covers to reveal that you’re wearing next to nothing, A black lacy bra and matching panties that really left nothing to the imagination. It was Frankie’s favourite on you.

“You didn’t have to wait up” Frankie says casually, looking down as he unfastens his watch from his wrist to toss it on the nightstand. If he notices your state of nearly undress during his brief glance in your direction he doesn’t say anything or even react. “Thought you were tired” he adds, feigning concern for your sleep habits.

“Read between the lines Morales, was just trying to get you into bed” you tease, sticking the tip of your tongue out at him playfully. He says nothing in response, just flips off the light and crawls in next to you but to your surprise just throws the comforter over you both and turns on his side and faces away from you as he scrunches up his pillow under his head until he’s comfortable and settles.

You frown, not that he can see you, but shuffle over to him anyway so you’re pressed up against his back and your arm slings around his waist. You stay still for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll take your less than subtle hint that you’re “not tired” but he just lays there, unmoving, and so you decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Your hand slips under the hem of his shirt to rest on his soft belly and begins to gently explore. Fingertips dancing along the smooth skin and sparse little body hairs and moving over to his hip where you grab onto the small bit of extra skin there and massage his side but before you can go any further he’s grabbing your hand and pushing it out from under his shirt. He brings it to rest on top of his chest over the thin cotton of his t-shirt and just holds his hand over top of yours.

“Baby?” You breathe out into the blackness of the room, worry evident in your tone. Was he angry at you for something else now? You hadn’t even done anything for him to be mad at you about, you’ve been in bed the whole time.

“Sorry, I’m just tired” he mumbles into the pillow but you’re not buying it. Frankie was a bit of a night owl, not to mention it was a Saturday night, neither of you had work in the morning and the two of you always made sure to make the most of your weekend nights together when you could really take the time to make love the way you craved to all week.

“Hey,” you call out softly, grabbing for his shoulder and pulling it towards you so he’ll turn to face you. He lets you, turning halfway to you, onto his back and craning his neck to face you.

“Is everything okay? Are you mad at me or something?” You ask genuinely concerned. You try not to make it sound like you’re pouting because you’re not, you just need to know what’s going on with him. Maybe he’s upset about something, or maybe just a little too drunk to actively participate the way he thinks he should but you wouldn’t mind too much if he was, you certainly don’t mind taking care of him and you know he’ll more than make it up to you the next time.

He lets out a sigh and tiredly rubs at his eyes.

“Of course not. Come here, I’m sorry” he sighs once more and lifts his arm closest to you so you can snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm drapes across his middle again. He tilts his head down slightly to kiss the top of your hair but otherwise makes no moves to initiate anything further physically with you, just holds you tightly to his body.

“Are you really tired?” You ask quietly, turning your face slightly to nuzzle into his neck and plant little kisses there. You feel the little shudder that runs through his body and a smile pulls at your lips.

Maybe he wasn’t mad at you.

“I haven’t given you your present yet” you breathe into the warm flesh of his throat, tongue darting out to give a tentative little lick to the underside of his jaw and he rewards you with the slightest little moan, but it’s enough that you heard it and it encourages you to continue.

You begin to kiss and lick your way down the column of his throat while your hand leaves his chest to come down and gently palm him over his boxers and he instinctively thrusts his hips into your touch and you moan into his skin. You can feel him beginning to swell under your touch already.

“Mmm, can I take you out?” You murmur against his collarbone and he nods his head.

“Yeah,” he lets out in a breathy whisper and brings his own free hand down to help you shove his boxers down his thighs until he’s able to kick out of them.

Your hand wraps around his impressive length the moment he’s free from the confines of his underwear, slowly pumping him with practiced strokes and it’s not long until he’s fully hard in your hand and quietly grunting and groaning, your face buried in the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You hate that his shirt is still on, your mouth not able to reach all the places it desperately wants to.

Your hand leaves him for a moment as you push yourself up onto your knees and swing one leg over him so you're straddling his hips, your hands resting on his chest overtop of the soft worn cotton.

“You can be tired baby, let me all do the work” you coo, leaning down to place another kiss to his jaw as you slowly grind your pelvis into his. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just too tired or drunk to have the full cognitive function he needed but that was fine by you, tonight was for him anyways.

“Shit,” he groans, hands sliding under the back of your panties to grope the globes of your ass in his two large hands and he presses you down even harder against his groin just as he thrusts his hips upwards, the delicious friction causing a moan to escape your lips.

“Mmm, you feel so good” you whimper against his heated flesh as you nuzzle the underside of his jaw and into his throat.

“Take these off” Frankie practically growls, impatiently shoving your underwear down and with his help you manage to wiggle free of them. You both moan in unison when your lower halves press together again, this time with no barriers between you as his throbbing member slides through your slick folds with every calculated thrust of your hips against him.

“Baby you make me so wet” you giggle, hands roaming his hard chest and broad shoulders. “God you’re so hot” you praise, mouth latching back onto his neck as you trail hot open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you reach the collar of his t-shirt.

“Off” you gently demand, hands going to the bottom of his tee and beginning to push it upwards. You need to feel all of him, his warm skin on yours. Need to lick and kiss and touch every inch of him. “Let me touch you”

“Mnnmm mnmm” he shakes his head and without warning suddenly flips you both with practiced ease until you’re underneath him flat on your back and he’s on hands and knees looming over you. He grabs your wrists and hauls them up above your head, bringing them together so he’s able to hold them down with one hand against the top of the mattress so he can have one free and you giggle up at him.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re supposed to be tired, old man” you tease him but there’s no mirth in his eyes after he hears your words, no lingering smile on his lips. There’s desire, sure, but something else on his features. Subtle, whatever it is, but it’s there.

“Do you wanna fuck or not? Jesus,” he snaps. “I can’t do anything fucking right”

Oh, and there it is. It’s anger.

Your face scrunches up at his little outburst. That was not like Frankie at all. Not your sweet, loving, caring Frankie who adored you, this was someone else, someone you didn’t recognize.

“Get off me” you huff, easily wiggling your wrists free as he wasn’t holding too tightly and you bring your hands up to shove at his chest. His yelling at you instantly taking you out of the mood.

He does, immediately. He rolls off of you, grabs for his discarded boxers near the bottom of the bed and shoves them on. You do the same with your own underwear and also pull the sheet up to cover yourself, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable in front of him than you already do.

You have no idea what in the fuck that was all about, snapping at you like that when you thought everything was going rather well. He really was in a mood today apparently, and you didn’t care for it one bit. You’re already feeling overly emotional today, your period must be just around the corner or something.

The room falls silent. Frankie sits on the edge of the side of the bed, hands on his thighs and head hanging low while you lay back against the headboard, fingers twisting into the sheets, holding them around you like a shield. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to fall but you quickly blink them away before you bury your head in your knees.

“Do you want me to sleep downstairs?” He asks softly, the gruffness gone from his voice now. He sounds almost apologetic, though he’s still yet to apologize. He's not looking at you either, but your grateful for that at this moment.

You say nothing. Not trusting your voice just yet but the tiniest sniffle from your nose is near deafening in the stillness of the room. You quickly clear your throat in an attempt to cover the sound but it’s too late. Frankie’s head whips around back in your direction and he’s suddenly scrambling up the bed to wrap his arms around your lower back. Your legs lower instinctively to let him in and he lies over top of you with his head resting on your middle.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes out, voice muffled by the thin layer of the bed sheet as he buries his face into your stomach. “I’m an asshole”

“You’re not” you sigh. “Just - tell me what’s going on with you” you say calmly, hands now petting through his hair.

“Nothin’” he grumbles into your tummy.

“It’s not nothing, come on,” you try, a little softer this time. “You can tell me anything, you know I love you no matter what”

“Why?”

It's so quiet, so soft, mumbled against you that your ears almost didn’t even pick it up. Your heart breaks a little at the single uttered syllable.

“Hey,” you frown, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. “Are you seriously asking why I love you? Where’s this coming from?” You ask, concerned. He’s been known to get down on himself from time to time but you’ve never seen him like this and it worries you.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rolls off of you, crawling up the bed to lay on his back next to you and rubs his hands over his face.

“Baby, talk to me” you press, turning to your side and curling up to his larger frame, hand stretching out to rest on his chest as your fingers play absently with the soft material of his t-shirt. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, 40 happened” he groans, hand doing a sweeping motion down his body. “I mean, look at this” he shakes his head.

“Oh baby trust me, I look at this every day” you counter, an appreciative smile playing on your lips as your hand gently rubs into his chest.

“This perfect,” you pause to press a kiss into his cheek. “Sexy,” another kiss to his jaw. “Man of my dreams”

“Stop” he huffs, gently pushing you away. “Just don’t… say shit like that. It’s not true” he argues, flipping over onto his side to face away from you.

You know when to push him and when not to, and now is not one of those times. You’ll let him have his moment, knowing if you get too in his face about it he’s likely just going to shut down and you need him to be open with you if you’re going to get anywhere. So instead you just leave him be, but stay nestled into his side, your hand rubbing small circles into his back and shoulder blades, just a soft gesture to let him know you’re here and not going anywhere.

Long minutes pass and after a while you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, until you hear it. It’s barely audible, but it’s there. The tiniest whimper falls from his lips, followed by a quiet little sniffle before he buries his face into a pillow in an attempt to cover it up and your whole heart breaks in two.

“Frankie, baby” you soothe, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards you. Surprisingly he doesn’t fight it, just lets you roll him over and he instantly buries his face in your neck once he’s facing you, unable to look you in the eyes. But you don’t need to see him, you can feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he presses into you and you wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head as he lets his emotions out.

“I love you, ok?” You whisper against his chocolate brown curls, your lips pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He says nothing, just nods his head against you that he knows you love him and he knows he’s being oversensitive but he just can’t help it.

“I wish you could see what I see” you murmur against him, still hugging him tightly to your body.

Franky gently pushes back from you slightly, quickly wiping at his eyes and collecting himself before his red-rimmed gaze settles on yours.

“I’m sorry I’m in a shit mood and taking it out on you, it’s not fair and you don’t deserve it” he apologizes, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just feeling down on myself I guess and I dragged you into it and I’m sorry”

“Is that what’s been going on all day?” You ask, genuinely curious. You’re starting to piece it together now, all the teasing he’s put up with all day, how he only seemed to be snapping at you when you complimented him or tried to take off his shirt tonight. Not to mention all his friends running around half naked in just their swim trunks all afternoon, most of whom kept themselves in very tip top shape. Maybe Frankie had grown a little softer since the two of you have been together but you loved it on him, his ‘dad bod’ physique. He has nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, as far as you’re concerned. But you suppose it’s hard not to feel self conscious when standing next to a shirtless Will, Benny or Santiago who all look like they could be models in some sort of hot firefighter calendar or something. None of them did anything for you though, Frankie would always hold your heart and your gaze, no matter who he was standing next to.

“I guess” Frankie sighs, fingers now picking at an imaginary thread on the blanket underneath you. “Sometimes I just wonder…” he trails off again and you frown.

“Wonder what?”

“Wonder what in the hell you’re doin’ with me” he sighs, throwing his hands up. “I’m a fuck-up. Forty years old and what have I accomplished in my life? I have a shit job, working for an asshole I can’t stand, flying tourists around and giving private lessons on the side to rich jerkoffs who don’t give a shit about learning anything about flying, just want a cool photo for their Instagram. Since I left the service I just feel like… Like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life anymore so I just haven’t done fucking anything. And you… god knows why you give me the time of day but you do and I just don’t ever feel like I’m enough. Least I could fucking do for you is go to the gym and take care of myself, god knows I need to eat healthier” He shakes his head and you’re unsure for a moment if he’s done beating himself up but before you even have a chance to articulate a response he starts up again.

“Like look at this!” He shouts suddenly, voice raised much higher than moments earlier as he rips his shirt off his head and sweeps his hand down his front. “How can you be in love with this, with someone who looks like this?! I… fuck’”

He doesn’t get any more words out, his hands flying to his face to hide his shame as he starts sobbing with how much hatred he apparently holds for himself and you can’t take it. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and holding him as tightly to your body as possible. Thankfully he doesn’t push you away, just grabs onto you like you're his only lifeline, clinging to you with desperation.

“Frankie, my love, oh Frankie” you’re in tears now too, holding onto him for dear life so he can’t slip away from you. You won’t let him. Not this time.

You crawl into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms still around his neck like a needy spider monkey.

“I love you, so fucking much” you clarify, because you need him to hear you. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable. I know I can get carried away sometimes but I guess I just thought you were okay with it, thought we were both into it. But I’ve never lied to you when I tell you how I feel about you or your body. Do you hear me, Francisco?” You ask and after a moment he nods his head just slightly, just once.

“I am crazy about you, whether you believe it or understand it. But if it makes you uncomfortable when I express my physical attraction to you the way that I do, then I'll stop. Or, you know, try to. Sometimes in the heat of the moment it might just come out but you can remind me and I swear I'll do my best. Just tell me what you need from me baby, whatever it is I’ll give it to you. I can’t lose you Frankie, I can’t!” Your tears flow even harder and Frankie’s grip around you tightens at your words.

“I know, I know” he murmurs softly. “Too fucking good for me” he reiterates quietly, but not in an argumentative way like he’d meant it earlier, more like he can’t believe you put up with his shit but he’s so glad that you do. You think maybe your words have sunk in because he's not arguing with you anymore, not berating himself, just absorbing everything. You decide to leave it be for now. You've said your peace, now you can only hope he'll believe your words and take everything you've said into consideration to fend off whatever demons are feasting inside of him. All you want is his happiness and you know that you can't be the one to solely give that to him, that he needs to find it within himself as well, but you're damn sure willing and hoping that he'll take the support you give him and that he'll let you be there at his side to continue to take on this journey of life together. If he wants to find a new job, or a new career even, you'd support him through that in every way you can. You'll do whatever is in your power to get him through this and you just hope now that he knows that.

You hold each other for several minutes, neither of you saying anything further, just taking whatever comfort you have left to offer one another. You don't push him for any more communication, assuming if he's not speaking it's because his thoughts are still a little all over the place and he still hasn't quite worked it all out for himself. He'll talk about it again when he's ready and whether that's tonight or tomorrow or next month, you'll wait for him. He's worth the wait, there's no doubt in your mind about that.

After a while Frankie shifts you both until he’s lied down on his back on the bed with you half draped over top of him and eventually sleep overcomes the tears and emotions and your breathing evens out as you both drift off within minutes of lying down, the full events of the day finally taking its toll on your weary bodies.

When you wake again the sun hasn’t quite risen to the sky but you know it’s only minutes away, not hours. You feel like you didn’t sleep at all. Your head is pounding like you’re the one who finished a gallon of tequila last night, not your boyfriend and his friends. Frankie is beside you, though you’ve more or less switched positions. You’re fully on your back with Frankie’s arm draped across your middle, his face buried into the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder and he snores softly. You’re glad he’s sleeping peacefully, god knows he needs it. You carefully extract yourself from him, needing to get up and use the bathroom, tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As you pad across the plush carpeting and out to the hallway your mind spins a hundred different directions as you think about yesterday, about last night. You were both highly emotional but truth be told you’ve felt off for weeks. More tired. Bitchy. And you know you’ve been taking it out on Frankie even when he’s the last person that deserves it and who knows, maybe he thought you’ve been trying to push away from him and last night he just tried to do it himself before you got the chance to and he let his insecurities get the better of him. Of course that wasn’t your intention, you’ve never felt for anyone the way you feel about him and you meant every word last night when you told him you can’t lose him. You’ve just been a mess lately and you can’t really explain it other than you know it’s nothing to do with Frankie and certainly not his fault, he just takes the brunt of your ‘crazy’ because he’s the closest person to you. You don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you unless…

Shit.

You practically sprint the rest of the way to the bathroom down the hall, tossing open drawers and cupboards and medicine cabinets in a flurry as you look for that precious little white stick that might explain a whole hell of a lot that’s been going on with you.

“Hey” you softly call out from the doorway of the bedroom, leaning up against it with a large glass of water in hand. Frankie slowly stirs. He’s on his stomach now and raises his head to look at you through sleep-bleared eyes, wayward curls falling across his forehead.

“Hey” he rasps out, voice no doubt shot from all the talking and yelling and crying from last night.

This is what the water was for.

You cross the room and he immediately throws the blanket open, inviting you into his warm cocoon as he slightly sits up against the headboard. You hand him the water as you settle in next to his large warm frame and he chugs the entire glass in record time.

“Ah, thank you, I needed that” he says, clearing his throat and then reaching past you to place the glass on the nightstand before he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur into his chest, hand coming up to draw small shapes against his clavicle.

“Like a bit of a first class idiot, if I’m bein’ honest” he sighs and you squeeze your arms around him a little tighter.

“Don’t, babe” you tut, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You were feeling a lot yesterday and it obviously needed to come out. I’m glad it did. We need to be honest with each other, you know?” You tell him, tilting your head to look up at his face. He flashes the tiniest smile at you and leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before you settle back against his chest.

“Some of the things I said last night though, I didn’t even mean. Not really…” he trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to get his thoughts in order.

You push back from him slightly and up into a sitting position and turn to face him so the two of you can have a real conversation.

“Like what?”

He shrugs shyly and looks away, fingers fidgeting with the blanket around his waist. You hear a mumbled ‘dunno’ fall from his lips. You have a pretty good idea what he’s getting at but know that he’s too embarrassed to say it himself so you help him out, scooting a little closer and placing a hand on his naked chest before you let it slowly drift lower, fingertips dancing across his warm soft flesh and his eyes close and he lets out a content little sigh as he feels your hands on his body again.

“Last night I thought that maybe… I sometimes make you feel uncomfortable when we’re in bed with the attention I give and show you... Was that just insecure Frankie talking?” You ask softly. His eyes are still closed but he nods his head. Your hand rests on his stomach and you slide it upwards again and wrap it around his neck, your thumb brushing back and forth behind his ear.

“Sorry I basically called you a liar last night. That wasn’t fair of me” He tells you sincerely, finally opening his eyes to look back at yours. “I know you love me. All of me. God knows why, but you do” he finishes with a teasing smirk.

“I do love all of you. Every inch. And sometimes I just love showing you how much I do” you shrug.

“I know. And if I’m bein’ honest… I do… y’know, like it. I really like it. I just, yesterday, I don’t know what came over me. Just feeling sorry for myself I guess and wasn’t feeling… up to par, for you, and I guess I got a little too much in my own head. Shit I don’t know, guys teasing me all night, I probably had too much to drink and looking at those stupid pictures of me from when I was much younger and took better care of myself just had me feeling not very good about myself”

“Frankie, baby,” you begin, shifting your position so you can swing one knee over to the other side of his hips so you’re sitting on his lap on your knees facing him while he rests against the headboard. His hands immediately go to your hips and rest there, just holding you, while yours go to his shoulders.

“You never have to doubt for a moment how I feel about you. How I desire you. I need you to hear me on that” you tell him, staring into his eyes in hopes he doesn’t get too embarrassed and turn away from you again. To your delight, he doesn’t. He holds your gaze and his thumbs absently draw small circles on your hips. “I am in love with this Frankie, the one right in front of me. To me he’s sweet and perfect and yeah, he turns me on. Like, a fucking lot. So sorry, but you’re just gonna have to face facts, and thems the facts” you conclude teasingly and he lets out a little chuckle.

“Understood” he nods once before he pushes forward slightly and his mouth latches on to the side of your throat, gently kissing at your inviting flesh. Your head falls back and your hands travel up to hold the back of his head, fingers running through soft chestnut curls.

“There’s something else you said last night…” you begin, trailing off slightly as Frankie’s hot mouth on your skin attempts to distract you.

“Mmm?” He mumbles into your neck, not letting up from what he’s doing as he licks and nips and sucks at the supple flesh of your throat.

Despite wanting nothing more than for him to continue, your hands go to his chest and you gently push him back. He falls back against the headboard with a quiet thud and looks at you with a hint of confusion and worry in his gaze.

“You said you haven’t accomplished anything since leaving the military and well… I just wanted you to know that I am currently in possession of evidence that you have accomplished something very special. Might even be the most important thing you’ve done in your life” you shrug and he raises a curious eyebrow at you.

“Possess… what? What do you mean?”

Rather than spell it out for him, you take his large hand in two of yours and bring it to rest on your stomach, his palm flat across the span of your belly. It’s probably too early for a ‘bump’ just yet but you hold his hand there all the same and within seconds you watch as the realization dawns across his face. At first his brow furrows like he’s confused but then they perk up and his face splits into a giant grin that reaches his eyes and causes them to crinkle at the corners.

“Baby are you… are you serious?” He asks for confirmation and you simply nod your head.

“I mean, I think so. I’ve been feeling kinda off for a while and you my dear boyfriend were too sweet to call me out on any of my crazy shit” you add teasingly and huffs a little laugh but shakes his head. “Then it all kinda clicked into place when I woke up so I took a test this morning and it was positive” you shrug. “I’ll have to make a doctors appointment to be su-“

You don’t get the rest of the words out before Frankie is on you. He surges forward pressing his mouth to yours in a firm kiss before he moves to start peppering tiny little kisses all over your face and neck until you’re bubbling over with laughter as his facial scruff tickles your throat with his frantic movements.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, eyes welled up with tears as he pushes back from you to stare into yours. He needs to hear you say it, make sure he’s not dreaming this moment. You had a close call together once before, hence the left over pregnancy tests in your bathroom cupboard but nothing came of it. Neither of you expressed disappointment or relief over the false alarm several months back, just kept on with your lives but now it felt different. At least for you. You felt… ready. Excited, even.

“We’re having a baby” you confirm, wide grin across your lips, ecstatic that Frankie is happy with this news.

“Oh my god” he breathes out, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly against his chest so he can bury his nose in your hair. “I'm gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be a great dad” you clarify.

“Oh my god” he breathes out again, pulling you back tightly against him one last time.

“I’m so glad you’re happy about this” you blubber through a few tears, squeezing him back just as tightly. You really weren’t sure how this news would go over, especially given the events of last night and how Frankie currently felt about his position in life but you are incredibly relieved at how happy this news has made him. You weren’t planning this, like at all, but you suppose when you have as much sex as you and Frankie do, no matter how careful you are, it’s bound to happen.

“Of course I'm happy” Frankie murmurs into your shoulder. “I’m so fucking happy” you can feel a few stray tears fall against your skin and you smile, holding him impossibly tighter.

You stay there for several long moments, just letting everything sink in before Frankie speaks and breaks the silence. It’s quiet, muffled into the warmth of your skin as his face stays buried in your neck, but you hear it.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” You breathe out in shock. You heard him, you know you heard exactly what he said, but… is this really happening?

“Will you-”

“I heard you” you quickly interrupt, gently pulling back from him enough so you can look at each other again. You put both hands on his face, searching for any traces of regret like maybe he just blurted that out because of the endorphins coursing through his body but he looks back at you only with pure love in those giant brown irises of his.

All the same, you need to be sure he’s absolutely sure and not just doing this because he thinks it’s ‘the right thing to do’. You want him to marry you because he wants to marry you, not because of any obligation he might feel. To be honest you’ve been waiting for a while for him to pop the question, you figured you’ve been together long enough, living together even for a while now but it hadn’t happened yet. You try not to feel too over excited that he’s asked you now, in case it’s for the wrong reasons, but you can’t help but feel how your heart practically soared the moment the words fell from his lips.

“And?...” Frankie asks hopefully and you realize it’s been several long seconds without you actually giving him an answer.

“Baby,” You sigh, your gaze glancing down for a moment and you feel his shoulders drop a little, like he’s already anticipating you saying no to him. “I would marry you in a damn heartbeat but… I just don’t want you to ask me now because you think you have to. This is a lot, I just don’t want to put any more pressure on you. I don’t expect you to suddenly feel ready to marry me because of this”

You try desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. If he agrees with you and takes it back you won’t be mad with him but you know your heart will be just a little bit broken.

“Wait right here” he suddenly pipes up, taking your hands and pressing them into your lap before he extracts himself from the bed and runs over to the closet. You watch him closely, not exactly sure what he’s up to as he scavenges around at the top of the closet for a moment, rooting through a box you recognize that holds some of his military achievements that he said he didn’t want to hang up or have on display, a chapter of his life he had closed.

He seems to find what he’s been after and scurries back over to the bed, crawling across it on his knees until he’s back in front of you again and presses a small blue velvet box into your hands. You flip the lid open and a soft gasp leaves your lungs.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this” he shrugs. “I bought it weeks ago and I wanted to, you know, plan something big for you and then ask you but, I mean, what’s a bigger moment than this, right?”

Your eyes well up again (happy tears this time) as you stare down at the beautifully crafted diamond engagement ring that sparkles brightly despite the low lighting of your bedroom. The band is a beautiful rose gold, your favourite, and the cut of the diamond and style of the ring is one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little girl. Clearly Frankie paid attention all those times you happened to pass by a jewelry store together.

“You’ve had this for weeks?” You ask through your tears, still not believing it, your dream actually coming true. Not only was Frankie asking you to marry him, but it was his idea and something he’d decided on long before he knew you were pregnant.

“Yeah I guess I’ll have to call off the marching band and the flash-mob dancers now though” he teases with a smirk. “Unless you want me to take it back and-” he goes to reach for the ring but you snatch the box out of reach, clutching it to your chest.

“Not on your life pal” you playfully threaten.

“Can I at least put it on you then?” he laughs. “That is, if you’re saying yes? Wait, let me…” he trails off and scoots off the bed again only to kneel down on one bent knee beside it. He reaches up and turns you so you’re facing him and a huge dopey smile spreads across your lips as you watch him want to do this at least somewhat properly. If anyone asks later you’ll leave out the part where he’s half naked when he popped the question.

“May I have that back, just for a second?” He asks and you oblige him, handing back the box.

He begins with saying your full name and your heart practically flutters in your chest as you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure and get through this without being a weeping, blubbering mess.

“Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” he asks, slight tremble in his voice from his nerves and all you can do is give him a face splitting smile before you frantically nod your head and yank him up from the floor, crushing your mouth to his.

“Yes I’ll marry you Francisco Morales” you murmur against his lips between hungry kisses. “About damn time” you tease and he laughs at that as well. He knows he probably should have done this sooner but he’d been waiting to save up enough money to get you the perfect ring he knew you deserved.

Frankie regretfully pulls away from your mouth to carefully pull the ring from the box and place it on your finger before he holds both your hands in his and lets out a big sigh of relief.

“You make me so happy” he confesses, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you any reason to doubt that, but you’re the best thing in my life. Best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure that you and this little one feel the same way about me”

“I will always feel the same way about you Frankie” you promise, eyes slipping shut as another tear escapes which Frankie gently brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re sure you’re still gonna love me when I’m even more of a pain in the ass in a few months than I am now?” You ask playfully and Frankie huffs a laugh but nods his head affirmatively.

“We’re locked in now baby” Frankie affirms, gently twisting the ring around your finger. “It’s you and me”

“Plus one” you add, looking down to your tummy and Frankie laughs.

“Plus one” he confirms. “And maybe down the line… more than one?” he asks playfully, moving a little closer and nuzzling into your throat before he begins to plant hot little open-mouthed kisses there. You laugh wholeheartedly, your head tossing backwards. Leave it to Frankie to learn five minutes ago that you’re barely pregnant and already asking you if you want another. You really did love him with all your heart and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier than in this moment.

And it turns out that was the truth, that was your happiest moment, until about seven months later a new one replaces it as you hold your beautiful daughter in your arms for the first time. Frankie is at your side with his forehead resting against yours as a tiny hand clutches around one of his large fingers, the one that happens to have a shiny gold band around it now, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. He’d barely gotten there in time for your unexpectedly two-week-early delivery, but he’d made it. Thankfully he was well enough known around the hospital by this point that they allowed him to land his bird on the helipad on the roof before he jumped out and let his co-pilot take over for him as he rushed inside to find you.

It turned out Frankie had found his calling not long after your little unexpected surprise all those months ago. His reflections on the direction his life was going, coupled with your exciting news of having an addition to your family, gave him the push he needed to have his career together in a way that was both rewarding and challenging to him and after a few months of long days and intense training he was accepted into the local Red Cross chapter’s Search and Rescue Program as a Lead Pilot. He loved his job again. He was proud of what he did and most importantly knew that his family could be proud of him too. It allowed him to give back and to serve his community and country the way he always felt he was meant for, except now he could do it and still be home in time for dinner most nights, not shipping out to god knows where for months at a time as he had done in the service.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Morales” the doctor beamed at the two of you, though neither of you could take your gaze off the tiny bundle in your arms long enough to look back at her. Frankie mumbled a polite ‘thank you’ towards her before pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You did it baby” he murmurs against your skin and you can feel the smile spread across his lips.

“We did it baby” you correct him, turning your head just slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We made this beautiful, perfect angel” you sigh, nuzzling back in towards your daughter, inhaling that euphoric ‘new baby smell’ you’d up until now only read about but now completely understood.

“My girls” Frankie sighs, heart swelling with content at how goddamn lucky he got in his life.

“Thank you for loving me” he confesses, lips pressed to your temple.

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @suzdin @iamasaddie @boliv-jenta @chronically-ghosted @vabeachazn @anotherpedrolover @axshadows @pedroshotwifey @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

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sisitrip · 1 year ago

Text

More Like Me, With You

Palate cleanser from some heavy. Don't know what this is, but it made me feel warm.

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

Mickey’s key’s clatter against their door and Ian stretches on the couch, wiggling his toes in relief. Finally. A rare, full day apart from Mickey had reminded him of what it felt like to not have his husband at kissing distance.

What a shock. He’d hated it.

He’s been askew in his skin all day and his mind sparked chaotic like so many pop rocks on a wet tongue. An empty apartment and being alone with his thoughts has never before, or now, been a good thing for him.

Cold chapped and smiling, Mickey steps into the tropical heat of their apartment. Ian’s set up a trap house tailored to his husband’s tastes and he doesn’t feel guilty at all. The apartment was humidly redolent with dinner - a crock pot full of brisket, potatoes, and the veggie puree he’d snuck in. Cold beer was sitting in the refrigerator and various other items he knows Mickey loves are scattered around the apartment. He probably gets more out of doing these things for Mickey than Mickey does himself. It’s a poorly kept secret that he mainline’s Mickey’s happiness shamelessly.

“Ah fucking yesss,” Mickey hisses when he closes the door behind him and the warmth hits his face. “You’re getting all the blowjobs.”

Ian laughs and drops his book on the coffee table.

“That’s a pretty tall promise, husband.”

Mickey starts shedding his shoes and clothes as he walks over.

“I mean that shit, husband. It’s jungle perfect in here,” Mickey says, finally stripped down to his boxers and tank top. He flops down onto Ian, pulling a laugh from him.

“We aim to please,” he chuckles, wrapping Mickey up in his arms. The cold clings stubbornly to his hair which makes Ian shiver in his own shorts and t-shirt. “How was it without me today?”

“You want a lie or the truth?” Mickey asks, burrowing.

“The truth.”

“It sucked. Not the work, but the rig. That shit’s loud as fuck when you’re not in it.”

Ian smiles and rubs Mickey between his shoulder blades. Loud is code for lonely.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there. Lip rarely uses the emergency child care card.”

Mickey snorts into his neck and hooks a leg over his thigh.

“Fred, good?”

“Perfectly slobbery. He put applesauce in my hair.”

Mickey chuckles. “Fred put his favorite thing to eat on his favorite thing. That kid likes your hair as much as I do.”

He hums and noses into Mickey’s hair, sniffing past the cold, smoke and city smells to find what he’s looking for. When he does, he inhales deeply. “Speaking of favorite things,” he murmurs and smiles when Mickey laughs.

“Fucking sniffer,” Mickey mumbles into his collar bone. “Repeat offender sniffer.”

“Then stop being a human aromatherapy candle,” he teases, sniffing again. He stops when Mickey’s belly rumbles against his.

“Tell me what you ate today and I better not hear Snickers once. Your last dentist appointment was a miracle.”

“I had food.” Mickey shoves his hands under Ian’s back and hides his face. He can feel Mickey trying to cross his lying little fingers.

“Like?”

“Mountain Dew and a candy bar.”

“What’d I say about the Snickers?” he faux gruffs.

“I never said the word Snickers,” Mickey says with a sniff.

He grins, giving Mickey’s temple a peck. “You eat like a bachelor when I’m not around.”

“Then stop ditching me for Fred. He can’t even talk,” Mickey says, nipping his neck.

They lie quietly for a bit, listening to the muffled city sounds and wind pelting snow at their windows. Although the world is ordered now that he had Mickey close, he can’t quite let go of the discomfort he’d felt all day. It was like he wasn’t himself until Mickey was around. As a matter of fact, it’s been a long time since he’d thought about who he was without this soft, heaven-scented man in his arms.

“Mick?”

“Mmmm?”

“Did you feel like yourself today?”

Mickey makes a noise of confusion.

“Uh, kind of?”

“Explain please,” he says, stroking Mickey’s back.

“I mean, it’s having a routine, you know? If it gets out of whack, anyone would feel out of sorts or whatever.”

“Was it because I wasn’t there?” he asks softly.

Mickey pulls back, face comically sad.

“My world caved in,” he begins, sober as a grave.

Ian flushes. Here it comes.

“I looked at the long devastation of the day and nearly gave up because you weren’t there.”

“Shut up,” he says, starting to laugh.

“When I thought the snow would drown me in the hole your absence made, I reached for a potion, nay! An elixir.” Mickey bows his head solemnly. “Yes. A flagon of Mountain Dew. Without it, I might have perished.”

Ian’s laughing hard now. “You’re a dick.”

Mickey settles down, laughing too.

“And you’re in your head again. Stop that shit. You’re Ian, and I’m Mickey even when we’re apart.” Mickey nuzzles into his neck. “But, truth? I feel more like me when we’re together.”

He kisses Mickey’s cheek. “Me too.”

Mickey hums against his neck then stills when his stomach grumbles again.

“Alright, are you ready to eat?” Ian asks, giving him a squeeze.

“Yeah.”

He makes as if to get up. “Come on then. I got brisket on.”

Mickey grumbles and sags his weight down fully, hiding his face in Ian’s shoulder.

“Wait a minute.”

“Why? Thought you were hungry.”

“I am.”

“Then let me up so I can get us some food,” he laughs when Mickey doesn’t budge. “You need to eat, baby.”

Mickey kisses his neck and squeezes close.

“Need this more.”

He liquifies to absolute besotted goo, sliding his hands under Mickey’s tank and down into his shorts, squeezing softly.

“You are several levels of sweet, Mickey Gallagher,” he whispers into his hair.

“It’s the Snickers,” Mickey mutters.

Ian holds him tight, head and heart full of all the things that are completely true about Mickey, but would be brushed off by his husband as romantic nonsense.

“Nope. The candy hasn’t got a damn thing to do with it,” he murmurs, accepting Mickey’s soft kiss.

“Yeah?” Mickey whispers.

“Yeah.”

They curl into each other in the loving humidity of the life they’ve built together, needing nothing more than to be this close for a while.

#gallavich #gallavich fanfic #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #my fic #writing #ian x mickey #shameless #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic

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small-sinclair · 1 year ago

Text

Dada

Bo Sinclair x mother fem!reader

@zaras-really-dreamless... you wanted some "Take me Instead" content, yeah? Well, it's not the next two parts, but I hope it quiches a thirst :3 . A dabble based off my Bo x preg!reader au. I promise I'll make a master list for this au and give it a name I swear--

"Can you say 'Bo'?" You asked in your mother voice, a smile on your face. "Come on, Jazzy, say 'Bo'!"

"Shouldn't encorage to hav' 'er say my name, darlin'," Bo said glancing over his shoulder. "Have 'er say 'mama' or somethin' like that." He started working on the car you and Todd came. "When did ya last get 'is thin' an oil change?"

You shrugged as you bounced Jasmine on your hip, smiling at her happily. "Todd always took care of that." You heard an audible sigh and the hood slamming. "Is it that bad, Bo?"

"Well, ain't gonna lie, darlin', but your car," he thumbed behind him and threw his rag, "is done. Never drive ‘at heep o’ shit again."

You lifted a brow before looking at Jasmine. "Well... that sucks, huh, Jazzy? There goes out escape plan," you joked. "Trapped here forever."

Bo shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'll have Lester bring the trailer down an' scrap it. Make more money than fixin' it." He placed a hand on his hip and fixed his hat. "Sorry, Mama, but it ain't drivin' no more." His eyes flickered down at Jasmine and watched her bright eyes looking back at him. "She seems lost."

"Jasmine’s just looking around, Bo," you answered, smiling. "She was always a wanderer just like my mother." You gave her an Eskimo kiss and smiled at her giggle. To Bo, it melted his heart. "She's just trying to figure the world out."

He takes a deep breath in and motioned you to follow him out. "Le'me close up an' we c'n get home-"

"Hello?" Your head snapped to the front door and saw young man walk in with two of his friends. "Anyone here?"

Bo gave you a look then led the way to the front of the shop. He puts on a fake smile and says, "Yeah, jus' caught me." He sounded cheerful when he said, "Was gonna close up soon."

"Would it trouble you to replace our spark plugs?" The man asked. "Me and my buddies have the slightest on what to do an--" his face was caught off when his green eyes landed on you. He straightens up and nods his head. "Ma'am," he said.

"Gentlemen," you replied. You stood between him and Bo before turning to look at Bo, saying, "I'll head up to the house and start dinner."

"I won't be long, sugar," Bo said, leaning down to kiss your head. "Promise."

They boys by the door parted and let you pass throw.

******************

Jasmine played on the floor with little horse stuffies while you cooked dinner. Bo dropped hints of cooking pot roast and green beans with potatoes. Besides, he’s been working hard in the shop the past couple of nights along with making sure you and Jasmine are fitting in well.

Ever since you started living freely with the Sinclair Brothers, you were left with the house keeping and cooking job. Thought it's not the best picture of how you wanted to spend your life, but you had the freedom to move around within the house and around the dead town. Though you were watched with careful eyes, the fear you had with them would fade over time. Yes, the murdering and blood shed scares you, but tried their best to keep that away from you and from Jasmine.

Living with the brothers felt like you were living in a strange home. Lester brought you along to the store for baby shopping, and he always stopped after the trip to get your drink order at Starbucks. Vincent was a natural at rocking Jasmine to sleep when you were busy, and he enjoyed feeding her when you were tired or needed to rest. Bo found himself looking over you and her as time went on, and you would wake up to him some times at night with him looking into the crib, his hand holding Jasmine's fingers. When you saw the high chairs and baby photos, you learned why they made sure to keep Jasmine happy, to keep her away from them, to keep loving on her until their hearts give out.

If you were honest with yourself, you wanted to burn Bo’s high chair.

When you asked Lester why it’s there, he shakes his head. “Bo doesn’t know how to heal,” he answered as he nodded to his brother working in the shop. “This is the only way he can.”

Even if he doesn't show it, you knew Bo was in love with Jasmine. Besides seeing him with her at night, you would catch some glances of him holding her on his hip while he shows her the inside of a car, telling her all about the engine of a '68 Dodge. He would call her little star, sunshine, lady bug, sweetheart-- you kept seeing the shine in his eyes when he was around her. Of course, things weren't always calm and sunshine, but he never yelled at her like Todd did. Never once has he called her dumb or stupid.

Maybe you agreeing to stay in this town was good for the three of you.

Humming to the radio by the stove, you started cooking the potatoes when he came home. You glanced over your shoulder to greet him but your face fell once you saw him limping in with his hand holding his thigh.

“What happened?” You asked as you met him in the hall, taking a towel and the first-aid. After being here for two months, you learned that it's best to keep the first-aid within reach.

“Got stabbed,” Bo hissed, breathing through his teeth. “One of ‘em got brave and headed towards the house, too.” He then looks at Jasmine, who still played with her toys. “He was gunnin’ fer ‘at lil’ one.”

“How do you know?”

He bit the corner of his lips. “Just knew. Didn’t lik’ the way he was lookin’ at ya an’ ‘er.” His drawl was heavier than normal. “Should’ve said nothin’, girl, an’ snuck out in the tunnels.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bo grumbles to himself as he lets you tend to his leg. His eyes linger from you towards Jasmine. For a moment, the anger burning in his irises dimmed when Jasmine showed off her stuffed pink horse to him before playing again. Once her gaze was gone, his anger sparked again.

"Never do 'at again, woman," he warned, as he leaned back in the chair. "Men are dangerous 'round children."

"Are you dangerous?" He didn't mean to ask him, but as soon as those words left, he glared at you. "Sorry."

"I'll let it pass just once," he murmurs, "but don' say 'at shit again."

Bo leans back and closes his eyes, taping his fingers on the arm rest. As he felt the pain start to fade, his eyes linger over Jasmine as she plays with her horse. His relaxed his shoulders against the wood and watched her little horse wiggle in the air as of it was flying, grinning slightly at her movements.

"Dinner's almost ready," you say as you came back with water and two pain killers. "Just cooking the potatoes now."

"Yeah?" He asked, lifting a brow. He takes the pills and gulps down the water. "That's awful kind 'o ya."

As you two started talking about dinner, Jasmine sat and watched the both of you with curious eyes. She uses the couch to help her stand, dropping her horse, and pulled herself up. Once she was standing up, she takes shaky steps forward, her mind competly forgettign the horse under her feet. Tripping, she falls down, looks around, and opens her mouth, crying loudly.

Bo jolted as he heard her started to cry. He watched you scoop up your child and kisses her head as you tried to calm her. Her little hands reached out towards Bo, bright eyes burning through tears as she cried out, "Dada!"

It's like time froze and the world stopped spinning. Bo's eyes grew wide as he looked at you and back at Jasmine. "What... what did she just--"

"Dada!” Her little hands reached for him, tearfully crying out, “Bo!”

Just like that, Bo's heart shattered in two million pieces. Her little hands reached for him still as she wiggling in your grasp. With his hands still bloodied, Bo opened his arms and nodded at you, reassuring that it's okay for you to leave him, but you can't... not while he's covered in someone else's blood.

Though the pain was still there, Bo moved quickly from the den to the kitchen. He scrubbed and washed up as best as he could, took off his work uniform shirt and tossed it aside, and dried off as well as he could. He heard the basement door opening and Vincent entering from downstairs.

Before Bo could fill him in, Jasmine cried out, "Bo! Dada!"

Vincent felt his stomach drop as he looked at you and Jasmine. His lone eye looks back at Bo and pointed, eye wide in shock, signing, 'Did she just say your name? Or am I really dehydrated?'

"Ya heard right," Bo breathed. He limps away from Vincent and headed back into the living room. He held out his hands, motioning that he was reader, and you gave her to Bo.

This was his first time holding her since the day he got you away from Todd. Truly holding her close, not like when he has her on his hip while working on a car.

As soon as you place her in his arms, something clicked in his brain. The way she looked at her with tearful eyes and her hands reached for him to hug, Bo’s world rocked. He heldJasmine so close and protectively as he rocked back and forth, hushing her gently. Feeling her again in his arms felt almost right, but he’s not her dad. He’ll be a good enough father, he knows, but…

“You’re okay, star shine,” he whispered as he felt her calming. “Ya just bummed yer knee. Nothin’ to cry about.” He walked away from you as he paced in the other room with the pool table. He nodded at you to take care of the food while he takes care of Jasmine. “Yer okay. You’ll be alright.”

“Dada,” she whines as her little hands gripped his shirt. “Bo.”

How fast can a heart shatter and build up again? Is there a study out there that could answer Bo’s question?

He rested her head against his heart as he took shaky breaths. He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. “Shh, star shine,” he whispers. “Rest ‘at lil’ head. I’m here. Bo’ll always be here.”

From the kitchen, Vincent started the potatoes and had you watch from the doorway. Were you in love with him, or did you just see him as a father figure? As much as you tried an answer, you couldn’t make since of it yet. Todd was her dad, but any boy can be a dad. Bo was a man; he was a better father than Todd. You just can’t tell him yet.

So, you watched as Bo swayed back and forth with Jasmine in his arms, murmuring a song only for her to hear. Slowly, he leaned against the pool table. His eyes was filled with so much warmth and carefulness when he looked down at Jasmine. You had to admit he knew what he was doing, and Jasmine fell asleep right away in his arms. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. The walls that he built and the lies he believed fell so fast to let her in.

Dada. Bo.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a sigh escaped. He’ll kill a thousand men just to keep Jasmine safe, to keep you happy and well, to keep what lever type of… family? Relationship? What is the best word to say? But he looked down at Jasmine as if she was his own, and a grin formed. Bo will fight off every and any monster that dare comes near his home.

***********

Later that night, you woke to the sound of your bedroom door opening and feet shuffling across the floor. Turning, you found Bo in sleeping pants, shirtless, and holding Jasmine in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder as he swayed slightly back and forth with his eyes closed. You heard him hum a lullaby low and soft just for her. When his eyes parted, he made eyes contact with you, smiled, and laid her back down ever so slowly and gently.

Bo turned his heels and tucked you back in. “Rest, Mama,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.” Then Bo turned and left the room, closing the door silently.

What a beautiful mess that’s unraveling right in front of you.

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 year ago

Note

hi baby!

i was thinking about james (as per usual) and i feel like he’s such a summer boy, but i live where it gets super cold and i was thinking abt bringing jamie home for christmas? i feel like he’d be so cute all bundled up and chilly 😭

this is probably so stupid so no pressure ❤️

This isn’t stupid at all!!! (I long to live in a place that gets cold!)

James had sorely underestimated what -6°C would feel like.

Sorely.

He had packed cozy, but light, in that there weren’t many layers and he was starting to realize why you’d put in fleece leggings, a pair of regular leggings and then your jeans on.

He was almost ninety percent sure he couldn’t feel his calves.

“We’re almost there Jamie, promise.” You say to him, your gloved hand holding his as you walk up the street to your parents’ house.

“Dunno how you love the winter,” his teeth are chattering and you feel a pang of something in your chest at how rosy and wind whipped his cheeks look.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” You cackle when James glares at you as you reach your parents’ door.

“Inside’s gonna be super warm Jamie, promise. My ma has the heating all the way on this time of year.”

The moment James steps inside your house, he relaxes. His bones lose the chill, and you’re not sure if it’s the heating in the house or your mum’s hug.

“Hi James! It’s so good to meet you,” she says excitedly, your siblings behind him smiling and reaching to shake his hand. “Come in, there’s chai or hot chocolate if you like.”

James grins at your mum and politely says, “Chai, thank you.” James sheds his coat and then yours. “Do you want one too, angel?”

Your older brother rolls his eyes at how mushy you go as you nod.

“Please,” your mum pours two cups, slides one to you and then pulls James to the kitchen.

“She’s been dying to gossip with him all day.” Your sister confesses and you cringe.

“No. About what?” You want to chew your nails, but settle for sipping your chai.

“About, ‘Jamie’ and that goo-goo eye thing you do when he’s around.” Your younger brother says and you groan.

“You guys are awful,” you mumble into your tea, tipping your head back to peer into the kitchen to find James cutting carrots and sweet peppers with a smile as your mum speaks to him.

“This is gonna be fun when dad gets back with the potatoes and squash.” You can’t wait for your family to pick on you (lovingly) for being so in love.

#jamespotter #james potter #james potter one shot #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter headcanon #james potter x black!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n

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thedreamlessnights · 9 months ago

Text

Someone to shed some light - pt. 9

Astarion x gn!Reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: As you and Astarion settle into life in Baldur's Gate, more complications arise.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death, description of a vampire bite, and some brief suggestive thoughts.

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: I bring you more whiny prince Astarion! A pinch of jealousy, a smidge of potato peeling, a dash of terrible news. What else is new? Hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

When Cal first caught you and Astarion in the woods, he told you that you’d changed. You hadn’t believed him, of course. If anything, it’d been him that changed. Working for Calthir, pressuring you into a position you didn’t want, never seeming to hear what you said. None of that seemed anything like the Cal you knew, but there he stood, and he’d done it all.

Maybe he’d been that way all along, and hidden it well. Or, maybe, you just hadn’t noticed who he really was.

There’s one thing you’re sure of: he’d been wrong about you. That day, you were who you’d always been, despite everything. Despite Erelin, despite the freedom taken from you, despite the position forced into your life. You were yourself, and that knowledge was a comfort. The last piece remaining when everything else was gone.

But you can’t say the same of yourself now.

No matter how much you’d like to.

These days, instead of lingering comfort, there’s nothing but a twinge of emptiness: something lost, never to be returned. It’s been so long since you’ve felt like an actual person that being treated like one feels… wrong. You feel wrong.

A warm bath. A bit of privacy. A glass of wine with friends. All of these things used to be normal and even expected in your life, but they feel like luxuries - like shining jewels you don’t dare touch, lest they turn out to be an illusion.

You’ve already caught sight of Calthirian soldiers searching the streets, and although it’s unlikely they’ll find you or Astarion here, knowing that Aris is already in the city is disconcerting. You’d hoped that you’d have a little more time to shake her.

And Cal… gods. You don’t even want to think about what they might have done to him. The mere image of his face in your mind has your stomach churning. But he’d made that sacrifice so you could get away. So you could be here, safe and free. It’d be a waste not to partake in some basic luxuries while you can.

And yet, here you are. Not partaking.

Pacing the floor.

When you’d been at the table with the others, a glass of Elverquisst in hand, something had gone very wrong. Mid-conversation, your breaths suddenly wouldn’t come out right. They were erratic, too shallow, air rattling around your lungs. You felt… strange. Out of place, even though you’ve shared a drink with Karlach and the others more times than you can count.

When you weren’t able to stand the feeling any longer, you’d left them all downstairs to enjoy their wine, muttering an excuse about needing to unpack. None followed after you. You were grateful. You’d needed a moment away - a moment to compose yourself, to sort out this strange sensation.

But considering that your hands are still shaking, you’re doing a shoddy job of pulling yourself together. And you’re still not quite sure what happened, or why you felt that way. All you know is that it’s the same feeling that plagued you when you watched Astarion talking with the guards. An unease that you can’t quite shake.

Maybe it’s the quiet.

This house is not silent - Karlach’s presence alone guarantees that - but it’s quiet, at least in comparison to the last few weeks of Calthir. No roaming soldiers, no barked orders, no clinking armor that keeps you up in the night. No forced meetings, or agony over your position, or terror that Astarion won't be there when you wake.

It’s peaceful, this chaos of Karlach’s home. It’s safe.

But that peace and safety you’ve so often longed for feels… unsettling now that it’s finally yours. You don’t trust it not to shatter at any moment. And, hells, when you finally glance into the mirror on the wall, you almost don’t recognize the person you see.

Your appearance is wild. Feral, even.

The look in your eyes is desperate and haunted. Your skin is spattered with dirt, littered with a number of ill-healed scrapes from the trees, and there’s even still a leaf or two caught in your hair. Hells, you’re a complete and utter mess. Why hadn’t anyone said anything?

It’s not as if you could have known what you look like - Calthir hadn’t been carrying mirrors around the woods. Astarion’s been looking impeccable all this time. Maybe it’d been foolish of you, but you’d assumed the same of yourself. Or, at least, somewhere in that realm. Decent, or presentable.

It was too much to hope for, apparently.

How does he do it, anyhow? There’s scarcely a moment where Astarion doesn’t look flawless. A natural state of gracefulness? A side effect of vampirism? A perk of royal blood you unfortunately never received?

Whatever it is, you’re envious, and you very much need a bath.

At your request, Gale is kind enough to summon up some hot water for you. It’s not long before you’re sitting in a steaming tub, scrubbing the mess off your skin with a strong, herbal soap. It’s nice. Soothing. A moment completely alone, which has been a rare occurrence in recent months.

And yet, it still feels wrong.

You’d always assumed that once you were back in the city, you’d return to life as usual. A laugh or two about what had almost been as the years went by. A moment spent reminiscing about your brief turn as royalty. Your sham of a loveless marriage.

But this isn’t that, and it’s not even the fact that Astarion is here, rather than with his mother. It’s that you don’t seem to be you anymore.

Something in you is fundamentally altered. Shifted. Knocked off balance. You’ve spent the last few months dreaming of being here, and now that you are, you can’t even appreciate it. What’s wrong with you?

Or - gods - more accurately, what’s left of you?

All that remains of your old self lies in pieces - the ghost of you, spread out among your past, haunting you in the present. It lurks in the dirty bath water that floats around your shoulders. It’s sprawled alongside a broken carriage; pacing around Erelin’s palace; standing frozen in a tavern.

Watching as Cal tells you to run, helpless and afraid.

The memory hits you like a blow to the stomach. Cal’s eyes, crinkling as he smiles. The panic, the fear, the anguish. Flickering torchlight, and the glow of the moon through the trees.

You don’t want to remember. Your hand stills from its scrubbing, clinging onto your soap as if it might save you, but the images flood into your skull nonetheless. Stinging tears press their way into your eyes, coursing down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyelids shut.

Don’t think that way, you tell yourself. He might be alive, held prisoner in the camp, valuable because of his connection to you. Then again, perhaps not. Aris likely wouldn’t have cared about that. She’d have made an example of him instead.

Still, he might have gotten away. Why couldn’t he have? Cal is quick and strong, and he has his spells. The Calthirian soldiers hadn't shown up in the city until late this morning - if they’d found him earlier, wouldn’t they have immediately followed? Yes, he could have run, just as you had. He could have made it to the city.

He could be alive.

The tavern. If there’s anywhere he’ll have stopped by, anywhere he’d have left a note telling you he’s alright, it’ll be there. You’d love to return more than anything, but with Calthir on the streets, you can’t go. Not yet, at least.

The tavern had been your home, and if Erelin had known that, Aris will, too. You can’t exactly waltz up to the place they’re most likely to look. You don't even dare to look for a tailor, despite desperately needing one. None of your clothing fits.

Every outfit you have is stained and torn, covered in dirt or blood or both. Some outfits pinch, and others lay much too large on your frame. They’re not quality, and most of them are your remaining pickings from the Zhentarim. Only a few provisions from Calthir remain. You’d left most of your good clothing behind.

Wyll had offered to loan some of his clothing to Astarion earlier, and now that you think of it… they’re probably sorting that out now.

You should go see them. You’ve hid away long enough.

Once you’re dried off and dressed in your cleanest outfit, you head downstairs and find that your prediction had been right: Astarion is trying on Wyll’s clothes, and he’s not exactly looking thrilled.

The outfit he’s in fits well, and it looks stunning on him - as most things do - but you’ve seen his clothing throughout your wedding and honeymoon, and you know that this is not his style. His glum expression agrees.

“Astarion, you look amazing!” Karlach tells him, nudging his soldier. “Want to take a look in the mirror?”

“I’d rather not,” Astarion replies quickly, turning to face Wyll. “Really. You’re the Blade of Frontiers. The son of a duke. You don’t own clothing with any degree of comfort?”

To Wyll’s credit, he only smiles. “I’m afraid that even the sons of dukes don’t have the luxury of a royal tailor. These clothes will have to do.”

Astarion glances at you in annoyance, and you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “You look nice. Really - you pull the look off.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “And that outfit doesn’t fit you at all, dearest.”

He’s right, of course, but you feign offense all the same. “Isn’t my husband supposed to flatter me?” you ask, laying a dramatic hand on your chest.

He tilts his head. “Tut-tut. I thought honesty came first, darling. But if you’d prefer that I lie…”

“Aw, soldier,” Karlach says, squeezing your shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. You look great. We’ll figure something out for you, yeah?”

“Gods below. I can’t take this any longer,” Astarion grumbles. "I’m getting us some decent clothing.” With a spin of his heel, he marches out of the room, shoulders squared in determination.

You follow after him, and when you realize where he’s going, well. It isn’t the worst of ideas.

Gale’s tent sits in the corner of Karlach’s living room, a glimmering display of gold and purple, bigger on the inside than it appears. The moment you follow Astarion through, you’re greeted with the fragrance of rosewater and honey: light and sweet. Books cluster around all corners, surrounding a large, very plush bed, and candlelight fills the space with a warm glow.

Gale sits on a nearby chair, reading a book. It briefly crosses your mind that if he were ever to be transformed into a tent, it would most certainly look like this.

“Wizard,” Astarion says without an ounce of decorum. “For the love of the gods, tell me you know some spells to make us new outfits. We’ll need good ones, naturally: quality fabrics, long-lasting craftsmanship, embroidery that ideally doesn’t look like it’s been made by a child. I’ve been dressed in the equivalent of parchment for weeks now. I can’t take it.”

Gale, without lifting his eyes, simply turns the page of his book. “The name is Gale, if you don't mind, Astarion,” he replies coolly. “And I’m afraid that if you’d like extravagant clothing, as you’re asking for, you’ll need to see a tailor. Should you need anything simpler, or enchanted, however, I’m happy to assist. I could always cast an illusion on any clothing items you possess-”

Astarion lets out a noise of exasperation. “Really, Gale. How difficult is it to conjure up a decent shirt?” he exclaims. “It’s not as if the two of us can stroll around town. Calthirian soldiers are searching for us as we speak! Would you prefer we be killed on the streets?”

“Ah,” Gale says, finally looking up. “Well, if that’s the problem, then a disguise spell should suffice. I’ll ensure that your measurements stay the same, of course. A few modifications, perhaps an additional measure of protection…”

“We’d appreciate anything you can do,” you chime in. “Thank you, Gale.”

You shoot Astarion a pointed look, and he sighs. “Yes,” he says, sounding like it’s physically painful for him to force the words out. “Thank you so very much.”

Gale ignores him, marking his place in his book before he rises to his feet. “Let’s see,” he muses, tilting his head as he examines the two of you. “Yes, this should work wonders. You may feel a slight warmth as it takes hold, but don’t be alarmed. It will pass.”

He murmurs a string of words that you don’t understand, then twists his hands in a quick series of movements. Just as he’d said, a layer of warmth folds over you like a hot bath, sinking into your skin until the sensation disappears. When it’s over, Astarion is staring at you in shock, eyes wide as he takes you in.

“Any complaints, Astarion?” Gale asks him.

Wordless for once, Astarion shakes his head, swallowing hard before he looks away.

“Very well,” Gale says. “Your turn, then.”

He repeats the verbal component of the spell, then the somatic, and a faint glow rises from his hands before settling over Astarion - golden light that envelops him like a glittering cocoon before it finally fades, leaving a dark-haired human where he’d been standing. You’re looking for any familiarity in his features, but Gale has done his job well. Only the shape of his now-grey eyes remains.

His face is round and softened, his hair thick and straight. Healthy, glowing skin, flushed cheeks, freckles spread along the bridge of his nose. Same height, same frame, same expressions. Different… everything else.

Handsome, but not Astarion.

No wonder he’d been staring; the change is jarring. Every movement he makes feels like him, but looks anything but. You give him a coy smile, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in response. Yes. Still very much Astarion.

“Well?” you eventually ask. “How do I look?”

He tilts his head. “Different,” he answers. “But - like I said, not awful. Just… strange.”

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“My pleasure, dear. Honesty, remember?”

Gale, meanwhile, seems to be admiring his work, looking you both up and down with a smile. “Even I wouldn't recognize you,” he remarks. “I’ve added some underlying protection, just in case. Anyone who sees you won't recall your face. And,” he adds, handing you each a small stone, “if you get into any trouble, use this to communicate. I’ll be on the other end. I’m hoping the two of you can stay out of danger, of course, but we’re better off safe than sorry.”

You tuck the stone away into one of your pockets, then give him a smile. “Thank you again, Gale,” you tell him, reaching out to lightly squeeze his arm. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m always happy to help,” he replies. “If there's anything else you need, I’m here to assist.”

“Anything but a decent outfit, apparently,” Astarion says. His voice is steely, and when you turn to look at him, his gaze is fixed on your hand - still placed on Gale’s arm. You immediately let go, but he’s already turned away.

“Well?” he asks, making his way to the tent’s exit. “Are we ready?”

“Astarion-” you start, but he’s already gone.

Gale smiles, shaking his head. “I’d suggest you follow him,” he says, his voice filled with mirth. “Another moment with me, and I’ll be shocked if I make it through the night.”

You hesitate, trying to find the words for an apology, but he gives you a light nudge forward. “Go on,” he says. “I quite enjoy living, if it’s all the same to you.”

Biting back the urge to laugh, you finally push out of the tent and find Astarion waiting near the front door. He’s holding your cloak, and when you approach, he swings it around your shoulders. Your breath hitches as cold fingers brush against your neck, fiddling with the clasp, eyes determinedly not meeting yours. Then he swings the door open, offering you his arm.

You take it.

Outside, Wyll and Karlach are leaning against the front of the house, chatting about something or other.

Karlach stiffens when she sees you leaving her home, straightening up and narrowing her eyes. “Hey! What in the hells are you - hang on. Is that you, soldier? Astarion?”

“Gods above,” Wyll says, grinning. “I didn't recognize you, either! Let me guess: the two of you are off to see a tailor?”

“Gale helped us out,” you reply. “What do you think? Did he do a decent job?”

Karlach squints, her tail flicking as she observes you. “Yeah. Out on the street? Never would have known it was you,” she says. “Be careful, yeah? Wyll and I are off to pick up some ingredients for dinner tonight. Shouldn't take very long.”

“I’m always careful,” you tell her, and she laughs.

“Of course you are,” she replies. “How could I forget?”

Astarion shifts, clearly impatient. “We’d better head out,” you tell them, giving a wave. “See you later!”

“Stay safe!” Karlach calls back.

As soon as the two of you are off, the wind hits, and hells - it’s colder outside than it has been in ages. The longer you’re in the chill, the worse it gets. Even just a minute or two has you fighting not to shiver, and movement isn’t doing much to warm you up. Moisture hangs in the briny air, dampening your skin like sweat. The wind that howls past is bitter and harsh, and although you’re grateful for the warmth of your cloak, Astarion’s touch is still icy on your arm.

Gods, it’s strange to look at him, expecting to see a silvery set of curls and instead finding straight black hair tucked behind his ears. Grey eyes, rather than red. What color were his eyes before he’d been turned? Dark, like his mother’s? Green? Blue? Grey, like they are now?

You picture them all against the memory of his real face, but none of them seem to fit.

You’re mostly letting him lead you along, weaving through the crowds, but Astarion seems to know where he’s going. You’d nearly forgotten that he knows this city as much as you do. Maybe better than you do, now that you think of it.

That look he’d worn when you touched Gale… you’ve never seen it. Not on him, at least. It’s incredibly selfish of you, but there’s a small, smug piece of you that hopes he’s jealous.

You and Gale have never been anything more than friends, but Astarion doesn’t know that. All he knows is how happy you’ve been to see your friends. Then again, perhaps he simply doesn’t like Gale. It’s not unbelievable.

Still… who knows what he’s thinking. Maybe you’d read the situation entirely wrong.

Your thoughts fade into dust as Astarion stalls, shoving a door open with his free hand before tugging you in with him, and the warmth of a tailor’s shop floods over your chilled body like a pint of warm mead.

The room is fresh and inviting, filled with the scent of mandarin, green tea, and a hint of salt. The fabrics around you are lush and bright, dyed in every color you could possibly think of, and the outfits displayed are extravagant enough that they could easily pass at a royal ball.

This is certainly not the type of shop you’ve ever set foot in. Back when you worked at the tavern, you’d have been afraid to even glance at one of the window displays, should your gaze somehow damage a product you could never pay for. Needless to say, the sparse coin you’d picked from the Zhentarim is not anywhere near enough to cover clothing like this.

“Astarion,” you hiss, pulling him closer so as not to attract the attention of the other shoppers. “We can’t afford this!”

“You can’t afford this,” he says, dangling a heavy coin pouch from his fingers. “I most certainly can.”

You balk at the sight, quickly shoving the bag under his cloak. “Put that away before someone sees and robs you blind! Where in the hells did you get that kind of coin?”

He grins. “My mother. Where else?”

“You’ve been carrying that around with you this whole time?” you ask. “Since the carriage? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

He gives a light shrug. “I couldn’t exactly spend it while we were marching through the forest, darling. Don’t worry - I’ll pay for yours, too.”

You’re about to argue with him further, but a booming voice cuts you off.

“Welcome, welcome!” it calls. The two of you turn to see a dwarf, dressed in a beautifully-embroidered suit, standing in front of you. “Figaro Pennygood at your service,” he continues. “How may I help you today?”

“My partner and I were just looking at getting a new wardrobe,” Astarion answers immediately. “You wouldn’t be able to assist us, would you?”

Figaro’s smile freezes in place as he takes in the sight of your clothing. The rips, the dirt, the quality. “Well - that is… er, you see…”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Astarion adds, once more letting the coin pouch dangle from his fingers.

“Oh, of course! Very good, sir. If you’ll just follow me…”

He leads you into a back room, and Astarion flashes you a grin. It pays to be rich, you suppose.

A few hours later, the two of you return to Karlach’s home with several new sets of clothing, and thankfully, yours aren’t anywhere as lavish as you worried they’d be. Instead, they’re perfectly fitted and extremely comfortable, neither of which you can complain about.

Astarion’s wardrobe is somewhat akin to what he would have worn in the palace. Functional clothing, but still expensive. Velvets and silks, wools and linens, all fitted with dyes or detailed embroidery. Royalty isn’t flashy, or gaudy. The quality speaks for itself.

At least, that’s what Astarion told you. Multiple times.

Once the two of you have put everything away, you both head down to get your disguise spells removed. You won’t need them any longer, after all. It’s still too risky to make the journey to the tavern.

The moment you set foot inside Gale’s tent, Astarion’s hand moves to rest on your waist. There it remains, the weight of his hand seeming to scorch every inch of skin it touches, until you finally leave.

Then it shifts to your lower back.

Later that afternoon, Karlach pops her head into the doorway of your bedroom, asking the two of you to join the group downstairs and help with dinner.

“Help?” Astarion asks once she’s left. “What in the hells does she mean, help?”

“It’s simple,” you assure him. “Peeling potatoes, cooking meat, that sort of thing. Since we’ll all be eating, it only makes sense for everyone to pitch in.”

You know he’s not thrilled, but it really shouldn't be all that difficult. Even for a prince.

Astarion raises a brow, staring at you for a long moment before his gaze finally sinks down to your neck. You have to wonder if he can see your pulse hammering under your skin. “Darling-”

“Yes, I know, Astarion,” you quickly interrupt. “You won't be eating. But they don't know that, and you’ll look much less suspicious if you help. And,” you add, “you can drink from me afterward, alright?”

“Oh, is that how it is?” he practically purrs, leaning closer. “I help you with your chores, and you’re my treat afterward for being so… good?”

“No,” you reply firmly, despite the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “You can drink from me whether you help or not. All I’m saying is, if you don't want them to suspect…”

“Fine,” Astarion sighs, as if he’s Faerûn’s greatest hero for taking on this clearly and utterly terrible burden. “I’ll help your little friends, since they can't do it themselves.”

As it turns out, Astarion is a skilled potato peeler.

Should it be a surprise, given his dagger expertise? The rhythmic slide of his fingers pressing against the hilt is entrancing. Your cheeks warm with every neat slice of skin, every clean, controlled motion. Soon, you’re frozen in place, distracted by the deft movements of his hands, the nimble scrape of the sharp knife.

You know all too well how those hands feel, trailing down your-

No, you think firmly, cutting off your train of thought and forcing yourself back to your task. This is not the time nor the place.

Still, you can't say you don’t know why this is happening. His jealousy seems to have sparked something inside of you, to have lit a flame that won’t go out.

It’d been difficult to think of such things when you were held prisoner by Calthir, when nights were filled with anxiety and nausea and days were full of pounding sun and aching feet. In the midst of it all, sex and attraction had fallen to the sidelines. A kiss here or there. A flirtatious comment that faded into nothing but wind.

Now, partially safe and mostly unburdened, it’s all too easy for the memories of that night to pull to the front of your mind. The feeling of his mouth pressed against yours. The way his lips had fluttered down your neck. The icy sensation of his teeth in your skin as your pleasure had pulled closer and closer, as your blood poured into his mouth and his hips had rolled against you…

Gods, pull it together!

You shake the thoughts away and viciously go back to chopping the onion in front of you. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that Astarion isn't staring at you, but the presence of his gaze is like an itch under the skin. Can he tell? Even now, several feet away, can he hear the flutter of your heartbeat quickening? The rush of your blood?

A minute or two later, you finally gather the courage to look up, and find him staring at you dead-on. And, judging by the look he’s giving you, he knows exactly what you’re thinking about.

“Careful, darling,” he says softly. “We wouldn’t want you holding a knife while you’re distracted, would we?”

You clench your jaw and ignore him, even though your hands are shaking.

When the meal is finally prepared, only four of you take a seat at the table. Astarion spoons some food onto a plate and mutters something about eating in his room. All of you watch him go - Karlach with some disappointment, Gale and Wyll with some suspicion.

“I take it he’s not a fan of potatoes?” Gale asks.

“That’s it. I’m officially wounded,” Karlach says, frowning down at her food. “I know my cooking isn’t exactly up to royal standard, but are all princes this hard to please?”

After a moment, you realize the question is directed at you. Your voice chokes - you have to clear your throat to respond. “I - I’ve only met the one.”

“Right,” Karlach replies, grinning. “Almost forgot. What kind of food do they have in those fancy palaces anyway?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “Honestly? It isn’t much different than this.”

“Is that so?” Wyll asks, raising a brow. “He’s quite the picky eater, then. I haven’t seen him have a bite to eat since he’s arrived. Not counting the wine.”

Gale hums in agreement. “He’s certainly missing out on a delightful meal.”

“I’m surprised he helped us prepare it,” Wyll adds. “I half-expected him to throw a tantrum at the very thought.”

The conversation is lighthearted and teasing, but the comments still sting - even if they’re not directed at you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, swallowing the food you’re chewing like it’s made of parchment.

“He’s really not all that bad,” you tell them. “Everything is just… new for him. He’s not used to any of this.”

“Of course,” Gale says. “And, it seems, he’s very worried we’ll infringe on your marriage. Or, at least, that I will.”

Your cheeks go hot. “Gale-”

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Karlach asks. “Astarion is jealous?”

Gale smiles a little, pouring himself more wine. “Oh, yes. I’m still partially convinced he’ll attempt to kill me as I sleep. He has a chilling gaze, truly. Daggers for eyes.”

“Very funny,” you say, stabbing your fork into your potatoes. “At this rate, I’m inclined to let him kill you. In fact, I’ll personally ask him to do so.”

Karlach snickers into her hand, badly covering it with an unconvincing cough. Wyll doesn’t even attempt to hide his laughter. You ignore them and reach for your wine.

“I don’t think he needs to worry, really,” Karlach, leaning back in her seat. “He’s a catch, soldier. I see the way you look at him.”

Your cheeks have gone so warm, you’re frankly surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of your ears. It’s all you can do to set the wine down and bury your face in your hands. “You’re all very helpful.”

“Indeed we are,” Wyll says, a gleam in his good eye.

You shove the rest of your food into your mouth as fast as you can and clear your plate, retreating up the stairs with as much dignity as you can. Laughter follows you all the way up to your room, where you step in and shut the door behind you, drowning it out.

Astarion is sprawled out on your shared bed, sprawled out and waiting for you, a book in hand. When he sees you, he sets the book down and sits up.

“Changed your mind, darling?” he asks. “Or are you here to share that lovely neck of yours?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds stronger than your composure. You take a seat in front of him, and this time, you barely flinch when he touches you. Every trace of his skin against yours seems to linger, marking your skin with invisible ink. His lips meet your neck, and then the sharp sensation of teeth hits.

Your body shudders in response, and he grips you tighter - holding onto your shoulder. Gods. Every time, it’s like he has to force himself to tear himself away. As if he’d like to keep going, and never, ever stop.

Maybe Karlach was right about him having nothing to worry about. He could be in a room with a hundred other handsome men, and you’d still only see him. He could be rooms away, and still plague your thoughts. Even though you know where it leads, you’re almost tempted to let him drain you dry.

When he finally pulls away, a shaky breath escapes you. Relief, maybe. Disappointment. Blood trickles from the fresh puncture marks on the junction between neck and collarbone, and he’s quick to swipe it up along his finger and lick it up.

Which is what he’s doing when the door swings open and Gale steps in. Licking your blood off his fingers as you sit there like a complete idiot, frozen in place, blood still dripping down your shoulder.

Gale’s eyes widen. “I knew it,” he hisses, pointing a finger at Astarion. “A vampire spawn. You, my friend, are the very epitome of one.”

Astarion quickly wipes his mouth and leans back, pasting on an air of relaxation even though you can see the tension knotted in his shoulders. “If you’re planning to stake me, wizard, please do so sooner than later. I’m a very busy man.”

Gale blinks in surprise. “Stake?” he exclaims. “I’m quite the open-minded individual, thank you! And I certainly don’t plan on - on staking you, or anyone else in this house!”

Wyll must hear the commotion, because he appears just behind Gale. “Hold on, what’s this about staking?” he asks. His gaze lands on your neck, and he takes a step back. “Ah,” he says. “I suppose… I should have known.”

When you speak, your voice is frantic. “Please, if everyone will just relax-”

“What?” comes Karlach’s voice, back behind the others. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She pushes forward, and it takes her a moment longer than it had for Gale or Wyll. Her eyes sweep over your neck, then Astarion’s face, then back to your neck, then finally to Wyll. After a moment, she lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s why you weren’t eating?” she exclaims. “I thought you just hated my cooking!”

“But what about the sunlight?” Gale cuts in. “I’ve seen you in direct daylight. You should’ve been burnt to a crisp!”

“Gods,” Astarion says, clearly overwhelmed. “I don’t know. My mother had some… magical device implanted in my brain while I was asleep. I know next to nothing about it.”

Gale’s eyes light up. “A magical device capable of protecting you from the sun?” he asks. “Would you mind if I inspected it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Astarion replies, tone suddenly stiff. “I’ve had quite enough of people rummaging around my skull.”

“Of course,” Gale answers instantly, stepping back. “My apologies.”

In the meantime, Karlach’s expression has darkened. You see her hands stray toward the engine in her chest for just a moment - an engine that’s been stable for years, but will never replace the heart that was taken from her.

“Did they… ask to do that? To put that thing in you?” she asks softly.

“No,” Astarion answers. His voice is tight. “They didn’t.”

There’s a long beat as she processes what he’s said.

“Well, fangs,” she starts, her voice a little shaky, “you’re alright with me. No issues here.”

“So long as I don’t wake up with sharp teeth at my neck, there’ll be no complaints from me, either,” Gale adds.

“Nor I,” Wyll agrees. “Your secret is safe with us.”

“How sweet,” Astarion says. “Now, was there anything else?”

“Er - yes, actually,” Gale replies, his expression going solemn. “My apologies for the interruption, but we’ve received some bad news. I think you both should hear it. Would you mind joining us downstairs?”

Astarion rises first, offering you his hand, and you take it. He pulls you up and guides you down the stairs, following after the others. You’re more than happy to let him do so, given the bout of lightheadedness from the blood loss.

The two of you take a seat, and the grim expressions all of them wear do nothing to ease the rising dread in your gut. Your mind instantly starts spinning up the worst scenarios, weaving them into a million little horrors. Your hands go clammy, and even the feeling of Astarion at your side does nothing to calm you.

“We’d have liked for the two of you to have more than a few hours of rest before discussing the war,” Gale begins, his brow creasing in concern, “but certain events have made prolongation unwise.”

You straighten up. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Wyll clears his throat. “My father has been named a traitor to the Sword Coast,” he says. “Not an hour ago, the queen issued a notice for his arrest on the grounds of treason. Working with the enemy.”

The blood drains out of your face. “Oh gods, Wyll-”

“It’s not as dire as it seems,” Wyll gently cuts in. “We’ve received word from someone internally, and from the sound of things, the guards haven't been able to find him. In fact, no one has seen him in weeks. Wherever he is, he’s well hidden.”

A sigh of relief escapes you. “I know you told me you didn't think he would work with Calthir. Do you still believe that?”

“Not willingly, at least,” Wyll confirms. “It’s possible he’s been taken hostage and forced to cooperate.”

Gale nods. “Which brings us to our next point of subject.”

“Karlach and I mean to infiltrate Calthir’s inner forces,” Wyll explains. “We’ll be disguised, of course - with my father named a traitor, it’s not safe for me, either. But as long as he’s out there, as long as the queen means to force him to stand trial, I cannot stay put. I must find out where he’s hidden. If it’s as I suspect, and he’s not acting of his own accord, then we’ll free him.”

The room seems to spin underneath you. “What?” you exclaim, planting a hand on the table. Gods, there it is again. That feeling. The strain of your lungs. The blur of your vision. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You aren't the only one involved in this, you know,” Karlach says. “Trust me, soldier, I understand how you feel. But this is our city, too. Wyll’s family.”

“But you’d be putting yourselves at risk,” you point out. “There's no guarantee anyone will trust you in the first place, and even if they do - what if you get caught? They’ll make an example out of you! Torture you, try you for treason, kill you!”

“I know,” Wyll says. “But I cannot sit back and let this happen. Too much lies on my father and his whereabouts. Whether he’s with Calthir or not, I need to know. I need to find him.”

Your voice is starting to grow frantic. “And what about me? What about Astarion? Are we supposed to sit here twiddling our thumbs as you’re all out there risking your lives?”

“I suppose that’s up to you,” Gale says. “Another shapeshifting spell wouldn't go amiss. Whatever the case, I’ll be trying to communicate with some elder wizards. In times like these, their support will be more than helpful.”

Astarion leans forward. “I, for one, would like to know where my mother is and what she plans to do,” he announces. “If I can eavesdrop on her guards, find out their plans, I can locate her. For now, it’s entirely possible that she thinks Calthir is holding us hostage. I do know this: she wants to avoid war as much as any of us do, but she won’t hesitate to attack if she thinks I’m in danger.”

Your hands are shaking under the table like a leaf in the wind. “We just got to safety, and you want to run back out there again?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “If you think we’re safe anywhere in this city, then you’re not paying attention,” he snaps. “It’ll be a miracle if he hasn’t already seen us.”

You shake your head, casting a hand over your eyes. A headache is beginning to form, coursing a sharp pain through the crown of your skull. You force yourself to take a deep breath despite everything. “When is this happening, Wyll?” you ask. “Tomorrow?”

“At first light,” Wyll responds. “We can’t afford to wait. There are already alliances being made. The longer we wait, the more will rise. I’ll say it plainly, Astarion: I have no love for your mother. But from everything I’ve heard, I don’t trust Calthir, and they’re gaining support. People already think my father is involved. Cazador Szarr has pledged his assistance to their cause.”

At the mention of Cazador’s name, you and Astarion both flinch.

Gale’s brow creases at your reactions, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “Well? Anything you’d like to share?” he urges.

The three of them really should know, but you’re not sure how much you’re allowed to say.

“Astarion?” you ask softly.

Astarion takes in a sharp breath, swallowing hard before answering. “Lord Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord and an enemy of my mother,” he explains. “Now that there's an opportunity, he’s making his opposition known. If he’s pledged his forces to Calthir, there’ll be more that follow. And, of course, there’s the small matter of him being my old master. Now that I’m out of my mother’s hands, now that I’m back in the city, he’ll be hunting for me with everything he has.”

“Calthir struck a deal with Cazador,” you add. “We found proof. They would hand over Astarion in exchange for help in the war. It’s why we left the way we did. But now that he’s gone, I have no idea what they’ve offered him.”

“Great hells,” Wyll curses. “The more I hear, the worse it gets.”

Karlach shakes her head. “No offense, soldier, but your people sound like pricks.”

You manage a small smile. “I’m with you on that, unfortunately.”

Gale taps his fingers on the table, ruminating over something. “I’ve heard stories of this Cazador,” he says. “None of them pleasant. Are you sure you’d rather be out in the streets?”

Astarion nods. “Better to find my mother than to sit here waiting for him to find me,” he replies. He glances over at you, and you find a fierce determination in his eyes. “I’m going, darling, with or without you.”

For a moment, you picture yourself - pacing around your room, terrified that you’ll be met with the news of their deaths. Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Karlach. You can’t afford to lose any of them, but you can’t stop them. And you refuse to stay here alone, helpless to save them.

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll come with you.”

Astarion gives you a half-hearted smile, and the tension finally leaves his shoulders. “Just so you know,” he says, “I have absolutely no intention of dying again.”

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #mywriting

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