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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

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Angel's Blood

Aziraphale x GN!Vampire!Reader + a hint of Crowley

18+ ONLY / Requests are OPEN

Read part two- Demon's Blood

Summary: It's entirely an accident when you discover Angel's blood is an aphrodisiac.

CW: vampire!reader, blood, i guess blood kink if you squint, choking, thigh riding

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Being a Vampire had its draws, that was for absolutely sure. Strength, heightened senses (although this could be a hit and miss, depending on which sense you were talking about), speed, and your personal favourite- elongated life. Being able to watch the world grow and thrive around you, it was something truly special.

It was also a curse too, but that was less fun to think about, so you generally tended to avoid thoughts about it as much as you could. Now, you weren’t necessarily a ‘vegetarian’ Vampire, per se. But you did your best to only bleed people dry who ‘deserved’ it. Real bottom of the barrell stuff. It was… not particularly tasty.

And what with the lockdowns, and the lack of evil and wrongdoing in the air, you’d found it becoming exceptionally difficult to find yourself more meals. The 1940s had basically been an all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, sure, that wasn’t a good thing, but you’d not been sated quite the same way ever since. Never enough walking popsicles about these days.

Oh, now there was an idea. Frozen blood pops. You thought you might give those a try when you got your next few blood bags. But those were still a while away, and you were hungry now.

Usually it was not a huge deal to wait a while between meals, but given how uptight and wound Humanity was getting, and how much harder it was getting to, well, get away with things, you were spacing things out more than you should have been already, and as you pushed your way through the Bookshop doors, you knew Aziraphale knew what was going on immediately.

You’d met the Angel and Demon pair several centuries ago during a particularly popular theatre act, and you had hit it off immediately. They’d both known exactly what you were, and did not beat around the bush about it. The fact that they’d not feared you in the slightest helped with that too. You didn’t have to keep your guard up around them, and once you’d told Aziraphale about who, what, when and where you fed on- he was much more inclined to become friendly with you.

“Az- Zira-” you panted, the bell on the door clanging wildly and loudly as you practically fell through the door frame. “Do I- have any- blood here?” Each couple of words took effort to say, and were punctuated with a heaving breath in. You usually kept a small stash at your usual haunts just in case, but you had a sneaking suspicion based on the look on Aziraphale’s face, that no, you did not have any spare snacks sitting around.

“Oh, dear- erm, no, I don’t believe so, darling-” the Angel said concernedly. You braced yourself against the door and smacked your dry lips.

Well fuck.

“Shit,” was all you replied, arm wobbling before your body gave out on you. Before you hit the ground you felt arms around you, pulling you up and against Aziraphale’s body. You could smell his soap on his skin, a mix of white sage and oregano and you clung to him desperately so you wouldn’t fall.

Aziraphale led you over to his arm chair, settling himself down with you in his lap. He brushed the hair out of your forehead and you shivered, your nerves becoming more panicked by the minute.

“You know you shouldn’t leave it this long between… meals,” he practically tutted as if unsure what the correct word to use was, and you let out a shaky chuckle, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if it was the desperate hunger or what, but Aziraphale smelt so fucking good.

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied, nosing at his skin softly. Your arm pulled closer around his torso. “It’s getting- harder. Not so much- supply,” you sighed, the panting easing now you weren’t exerting so much energy with movement.

It wasn’t as if you’d die if you didn’t feed. It was just that without the blood, there’d be no flow in your system, and with no blood flow your body would just… stop working. Dry up and go stiff like an old doll. You’d be stuck in a coma until more blood was transfused into you.

How did you know this? Well, let’s just say you did not particularly want to repeat the end of the 14th century. You shuddered at the memory and Aziraphale rubbed your shoulder, cooing at you softly in an effort to comfort you.

“Can I do anything for you?” Aziraphale asked softly, kissing the top of your forehead. You nosed at his neck another moment in throught before it came to you. Aziraphale had a body. One that pumped blood.

“I- I have an idea,” you said quietly, pulling away from his throat to look up at him. Aziraphale’s gaze was soft as he nodded, asking what he could do to help you. That was Aziraphale for you, always ready to give for the next person in need.

“I need to feed,” you say slowly and evenly, measuring the Angel’s reactions. “And I’m too weak to find someone who… I can feed off.” You wait to see if he gets what you’re hinting at, and when his eyes widen in shock, you can’t help but be amused at the comical expression.

“Oh- oh, my,” he splutters as his brain processes the request. And it is a request. You’d never take advantage or take anything from him without his permission. It wasn’t who you were. Not at all. “Oh, well, I suppose,” he adds, clearing his throat. You didn’t even know if it was safe to drink Angel blood. But you supposed you were about to find out.

“Not too much,” he adds, readjusting to make it easier for you to gain access to his neck. “Takes a while to replenish, you see.” You can hear the blood pumping just a little faster- smell the spike of sage that permeates the air over his skin. You shudder out a breath, looking at him one more time. One more chance to back out of this.

When he tilts his head just a little further in submission, you stop hesitating, fangs appearing in a flash of a second only to disappear again- sinking into Aziraphale’s flesh. The feel of his skin under your lips is to die for. The Angel gasps, the hint of a yelp lost in the haze of blood finally, finally hitting your tongue.

You let out a groan of pure satisfaction, sucking a little harder. That sweet liquid tasting of peonies, iron and ink. Everyone tasted a little different. God, did he taste good though. You let out a possessive growl and twisted in Aziraphale’s arms so you were sitting on his lap, straddling one thigh and pulling him by the hair to gain as much access as possible.

“God, fuck, Zira-” you panted, pulling away to lick your lips clean. Your eyes were blown wide watching a drop of blood swell and trail down towards his collar. You surged forward to lick it clean and let out a whimper. “Fuck, fuck- you taste good.”

The Angel let out a breathy chuckle, and you managed to tear your gaze away from his willing throat to look into his face. His own eyes were darker than usual, and a pink tint was colouring his cheeks. You leaned in to sniff under the bone of his jaw and grinned a sharks grin. Oh, he was enjoying this.

“Do you like it too, Zira? Like it when I feed on you? Shit, I can feel your blood inside me- Angels Blood. Fuck.” You’d barely realised that you’d started grinding softly on his clothed thigh, jolts of pleasure travelling up your nerves like electric shocks. Nothing had ever tasted or felt this good- not in your couple thousand years of life.

But why, why was it so good? Was it because his blood was undiluted? Pure blood straight from the Heavens- literally? That had to be it. God, it was almost… euphoric. Fuck it, it was euphoric.

When Aziraphale moved to wrap his warm hands around your hips and have you grind down harder and faster, you moaned, head tilted back in pleasure. The Angel tilted his head to the side and let out a quiet plea. “Take more, p-please,” he whispered.

And who were you to deny him his hearts desires?

Your fangs sank back into his skin, and his hips jerked up slightly in your direction. You moaned, sending little vibrations through his neck and shoulder and one hand reached down to palm at him through his slacks.

“O-oh,” he gasped out, fingers tightening on your hips as you began to move in tighter circles, grinding yourself down on him and panting with the pleasure shooting up your spine. Your muscles were already beginning to ache but you persevered, the pleasure far outweighing the burn.

Aziraphale whimpered quietly, biting his lip and adjusting his knee to have you seated more comfortably. The movement of his thigh pulled a deep groan from you, and your fingers pressed into his bulge with a little more devilish intent.

Fuck, you were not going to last long and you knew it, it was almost like you’d been strung on a high wire and the ampage turned up to eleven. Fuck, the only thing that could make this better was if-

“Fucking Hell,” you hear behind you. The shock and the adrenaline that came with being caught sent your hips forward harshly, a noise of pleasure escaping whether you wanted it to or not. The pair of you hadn’t even locked the door. “Angel, I didn’t take you for this kind of behaviour. Seems more like my kind of thing.”

You feel Aziraphale’s fingers clench tighter on your hips, dragging you forward and back over his thigh. You can barely focus on the conversation over the pleasure.

“It’s- ah- not what it looks like, Crowley-” Aziraphale manages to say. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what this looks like, and you’re not sure how Aziraphale intends to explain this to his Demon friend. Lover. The three of you were a lot of things to each other. It was bound to happen when you spend so many human lifetimes around each other.

“Isn’t it?” Crowley asks, taking a seat down on the chair facing opposite to Zira. You suck a little harder, more of your Angel’s blood laving over your tongue. Your hand massages against him and one of his arms comes up so his hand can caress your spine.

“Because, and, right- correct me if I’m wrong- but it looks as though you’re letting our dear old friend here fuck your thigh and drink you practically dry,” his gaze must catch on the way you’re rubbing your hand over Aziraphale’s very prominent and thick erection. “Mm, well, and there’s that. Not overly Holy, I would have thought. But don’t stop on my account.”

You feel Aziraphale’s fingers lift from your spine and suddenly Crowley isn’t on the chair anymore. He’s pressed up against your back and reaching to pull softly on your hair. You pant as your mouth is pulled away from Aziraphale’s neck, and the Angel in question whines in protest.

Crowley pulls you into a kiss, licking the blood from your lips and giving you a truly devilish grin. He lets go only to wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze.

“Naw, what’s wrong, Pet? Hmm? You want to cum?” The Demon squeezes tight enough to cut off your air and you hump against Aziraphale’s thigh desperately. Crowley has the audacity to laugh, standing above you and holding you steady.

“Go on, then,” he snarls, pressing tighter still. You whine and rock your hips harder, your hand grinding against Aziraphale at the same time, who is turning his head to press kisses to Crowley’s wrist reverently. “Come for us, Pet. Hungry thing.”

You cry out as Aziraphale bumps his leg up against you, the final touch to make you fall over that edge. You cum hard, jerking in Crowley’s grip as he loosens his fingers just enough to allow you to breathe in again. He laughs, giving you a light pat on the cheek. Hard enough to feel but not to hurt.

As soon as he releases your throat, you’re burying yourself in Aziraphale’s neck, seeking warmth and comfort, hips rolling over his thigh to ride out your pleasure. Your hand has reached into his slacks by now, tugging at him erratically and quickly. The Angels head tilts back in pleasure, where you’re sure Crowley is giving him a downright filthy look.

As soon as your lips press a featherlight kiss to the marks you’ve left on him, he cums. Ribbons of white coating your fingers inside his slacks. You let out a moan of a laugh, tired and sated, as he pants underneath you.

He’s got his eyes clenched shut with the pleasure, but as soon as he starts to come down, Crowley leans over to kiss him hungrily. The Angel reciprocates, reaching up to cup his jaw.

You’re still snuggled up on Zira’s lap, the post-nut haze settling thickly and heavily into your skin. You let out a yawn, and lick your lips clean, the last of the Angel’s blood entering your system.

“So,” you say tiredly as Crowley leans against the other arm of the chair next to the pair of you. “I’ve learned some things today.” Your fingers dance over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Who would have thought Angel’s blood would be such a powerful aphrodesiac, huh?”

Crowley hums in thought before giving you a wicked grin, a hint of a flash of yellow behind his sunglasses.

“Makes you wonder what Demon’s blood can do, eh?”

Hmm, makes you wonder indeed…

#fanfiction #good omens #gomens #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #one shot #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley x reader #smut #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #michael sheen #lemon #vampire!reader #vampire reader #gender neutral reader #david tennant

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

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“Use Your Words:” but Astarion prefers action 🔥 nsfw prompt fill: he’s your only companion.

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.6K of seductive smut

Anonymous prompt fill: what if he was your one and only companion? I also imagined, what if he discovered you write smutty things about him?

Summary: Your only companion has grown distant after you’ve turned his advances away once. And then Astarion finds your writing, your fantasies and imaginings that give him the inkling you’re not so against his advances as you once were 🔥

CW: wounded-pride vampire, yearning fulfilled, elegant prose about his whiff, banter and seduction, caught in flagrante the next morning…

Ao3 Link | Bites Series on Ao3 |List

Night falls, another evening to yourself as Astarion treads into the forest of the Mountain Pass to hunt. Perhaps your body would finally relax if you had allowed for more company on your journey to finding a healer. Sometimes, you question if you might see that Cleric of Shar or that Wizard again on the road forward. Perhaps this time you would agree… or even beg them… to join you. For days it has been only you two, you and the… vampire. He had made himself known, what he was known, awhile ago it seems.

You almost wish you had one more person with you to keep watch on him during those long, dark hours of night when he was the one on watch.

Of course, he fed on you nightly or daily, an act that ensured he stayed strong enough to protect you, even as you ran around bloodless the next morning. But, after that first night, you insisted he only feed when you are awake. There’s nothing, no one to hide his nature from.

Your camp is quiet, just a humble tent he makes each time in case of rain and two simple bedrolls by the fire. He hunts for your meat, bringing you back fresh kills, even if they are mostly drained already.

While your days are filled with adventure and bloodshed, your evenings are quiet.

Except for that one, a tenday ago already or more. When he suggested that he could give you a little something in return for the daily feeding you allotted him.

Your stomach had knotted, not unlike the way it does every time his fangs pierce your flesh, every time his lips and tongue suck you down over dinner by the fire. When you eat, so does he….

But that night he offered to taste more of you than the veins of your wrist.

No, you had replied. Flustered. Hasty. Head swimming from blood loss as your blood still dried on his chin. It wouldn’t be safe, too risky, too dangerous… too, too.

“A pity,” he had whispered before sliding away to keep watch first that night. “You look delicious in the moonlight…”

Since then, he had built so many walls, found so many excuses to keep himself busy during those quiet hours after dark before you slept. He kept every book you had looted, insisting that perhaps these were more helpful than any plans you had for finding a way to Moonrise Towers. When he wasn’t hunting, he was reading… or feeding…. Or if you caught him from the corner of your eye, glaring at you with some sort of mix of hunger and fear and resentment.

And you… you had taken to writing and drawing with quill and ink in a small leather book you purloined from the Monastery yesterday. Tonight, he turns from the mountain trails, two rabbits already prepped for roasting in his hands. He is silent. Something once so uncommon between you two. His hands work quickly to hang them over the fire, the scent of them cooking making your stomach growl. Astarion isn’t much of a cook, but he does at least continue to give you the consideration of a good nightly meal. His eyes look down at you, his gaze goes from sharp and bitter to… surprised.

“What the hells are you doing?” he demands, that voice just as silken as he judges you as when he tires to seduce you.

You shrug, pulling the small book against your stomach. “Nothing… not really….”

“Come come now, I bring you a brace of rabbits, you could at least reward me with some entertainment….” His eyes shift as he lowers himself to sit beside you on your bedroll. Something he hasn’t done since you rejected him. And you can tell, by the way his tongue rolls, he’s teasing you with just what kind of entertainment you insist on offering him.

Or denying him.

“I’m… not sure,” you hem in hesitation. And for as much as you know in your brain you should lean away as he encroaches on your space, you just… can’t. You missed that easy company he gave you. Before he suggested more. Before his naming you delicious had settled in your brain as a daily moniker you could almost hear him thinking as he drank from you still.

Oh yes, that was what he wanted. You swallow loudly, keeping the journal between your thighs, rolling up the cuff of your nightshirt for him to drink from your wrist. He catches your hand in his, a soft cradle to his fingers, thumb stroking up the sensitive gooseflesh of your inner wrist. As if he were trying to find the perfect spot to bite.

As if he didn’t always bite in the same place.

Before you know it, that small book is pulled from your hiding spot, his velvety voice peeling giggles as he cracks it open where your quill rests. But then he freezes.

“You’re writing… poetry?” He gives you that rakish look, that canted brow and quirking lips, even as you try to snatch it back.

You growl, aggravated. He’s just too quick and too dexterous to fight fair. “Music, if you must know… though I am no bard… just with words.”

He casts a look at you, one of pure judgment, “So, poetry, darling.”

“Does it matter? It’s mine,” you huff, reaching across his lap for your book. He doesn’t waste a second, using your frustration and your momentum to flatten you out over his thighs.

And over other parts of his anatomy you… well, ones you had been observing perhaps more since his advance on you that night.

He presses his elbows into your back, points digging between your shoulder blades. “Your words choice is impeccable… gods, when was the last time I read anything with the word effervescent in it… or nefarious…” he pauses; leaning forward to put more of his body weight into where he prods your back. “Oh my, you little scribe of humble poetry… who is this who ‘you wish to inhale the scent of petrichor from his skin?’”

His voice fades quieter. And your stomach sinks as you can feel his pride curling stronger inside him. “Oh, I had no idea darling… and here I was, thinking you just kept me for my looks and that I bring you food for a warm meal each night.” He leans back on his palm, your book still in one hand, and that blastedly smug smirk on his sharp features. “I had no idea you wanted to smell the fresh earth scent on my skin till dawn.”

You cringe, rising back up to your knees. Mortified that he read your drabbles, your little ways of occupying your thoughts, with him so… distant. And you, so alone.

“How long would you let yourself keep pining for me? Yearning for the scent of my skin on yours, hmm?” He smirks so twistedly, his fangs flash in the firelight. “All you have to do is ask, pet.” He gives you a cheeky grin, proffering the book back towards you, “unless…” he yanks it from the tips of you fingers. “Unless you wanted me to find your lustful prose… In which case you might be an even more masterful seductress than I gave you credit for, darling.”

“Give it back….” You whine. Irritated and annoyed. And your skin grows hotter by the second the more those crimson eyes stare into yours.

“Ah, ah,” he taunts and flaunts the book in your face. “I know you are more gifted with words than that. What if we play a game? Let’s see just how prettily you can plead to have this book back in your possession… unless there is something else you wish me to give you?”

“I….” You swallow. Your belly cries out yes, yes there is something else. Your reason however still nags at you that it is too dangerous.

That he is too dangerous.

“I think it might be best if we just eat and go to bed, Astarion,” you whisper. But even your own ears aren’t convinced by that timid tone.

“You think…?” he purrs, setting the book right at the top of your lap. Pushing it against your body. “Sounds rather uncertain for a wordsmith.”

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, feeling his breath down your neck. Cold… like the mountain wind that carries his scent to your nose. That earth-laden scent of his skin masked by his fragrances of sharp citrus and mellow herbs. His hand barely brushes the top of your thigh as he withdraws, not an accident with his skilled hands. And all you're left with as he rises back to his feet is the true night breeze chilling your skin and the scent of roasting meat over the fire.

Astarion smiles to himself, all arrogance and seduction, using his dagger, one you hope is clean, to carve off the freshly cooked rabbit. He places it in the bowl with his own fingers, only looking up at you to lock eyes as he languorously licks the juice from those pale digits.

“You know,” he starts to muse, eyes cast into the night sky. The perfect picture of wistful. “We could have been quite the pair, you and I, aside from the obvious prowess in battle thus far. There’s much about one another I’m sure we would… enjoy… getting to know, many layers of ourselves we could peel off one another….”

You sigh, and he hears it, head snapping down to give you that look like you’re his next meal served up as prettily as the one he starts bringing in your direction. “Shame you haven’t capitalized on two such offers now.”

“Tell me, just how much are we alike? Can’t be that much if your advances have failed twice…” you smirk, feeling a little bratty edge, a naughty tone in your voice.

It makes him smile, and wrinkle his nose in insult all at once.

He settles near you, not so close as before. Waiting for you to pick at your food first before he can reach for your wrist. Instead his eyes seem fixed on your mouth, watching as your fingers place your food inside, the way you suck them clean after each bite. “Alike?” He finally speaks after a swallow and a shift of his body. “No, I think we… complement one another, though we may be completely opposite. You love to write. I love to read. You can't help but follow your instinct to give aid to nearly everyone we encounter, and I keep us going ahead on our adventure regardless. You speak with justice, and I can swindle and rob.” He grins, finally leaning closer to wrap his cold fingers around your wrist. He tugs you, more forcefully than usual. Resting your palm against the hard planes of his chest. “We go well together, lots of give and take…. I can give… if you can take it, darling”

You almost choke on the food in your mouth, his hand landing square in your back, slap after slap as you try to clear it completely.

“I don’t think words would bring you so close to death, darling,” he continues, giving you room to grab your water and drink from the glass neck of its bottle a few times. “I mean, I was hoping I might bring you to a little death, but not that close to that kind…”

You groan. Shoving your wrist in his face you throw him a withering glare. “Please, you think you’re so skilled with your tongue…”

“…and other parts of my anatomy, yes.”

You smack him with your arm in the chest. “Fine, given you know my little secret, that I love words….”

“…not to mention your ever-growing lust for me since you’ve realized your mistake, that secret too.”

Another smack in his chest, this time he half catches it, holding your extended arm tightly.

“Why don’t you use some words instead and tell me what you would do?”

He brings the tender flesh of your wrist against his lips, eyes half closed as he speaks against your skin. “I’ve never been one for poetic flattery as a tool of seduction and a means of conquest.” He runs his tongue up to your palm. “I’m rather limited in where I can demonstrate…” he flashes his eyes down the collar of your nightshirt, “unless you wish to grant me a larger sample?”

“Use your words first…” you simper, “then perhaps if I’m convinced.”

“I’d rather make little words and sounds cry from your lips instead…” he rasps, skating the edge of his fang back down your arm. A little, breathy moans slips from your mouth, and you feel him laughing. “That’s right, darling. You’re delectable, delicious…” the wet breadth of his tongue sweeps back up to your hand. “You’re tantalizing and succulent….” Your thumb slips into his mouth as he toys with it around that devilish tongue. “Luscious and mouthwatering… even if I wasn’t a Spawn I would no doubt hunger for you night and day….”

You have slid closer, close enough for one of your legs to dart between his muscled thighs. Fingers grip into your thigh, pulling that leg higher, right into the peak of his lap. He’s still caressing inside your wrist, his thumb working one way, his tongue another. You can hear your own breath quicken, your pulse deafens your ears to any sound but your heart and the wet sucks of his mouth.

Just as the swirling rhythm of his tongue threatens to sweep you away with it, his teeth bite into your wrist. The slice of pain through the heat and tingling bliss that gathers in your core shed pleasure exploding from your core. His eyes flare wide, watching as you can’t break your own stare from his mouth on your wrist, on the feeling of your blood melding with his own body.

“Now… you’re a writer of sorts, so im sure you’re familiar with all sorts of flowery terms for all of life’s… delicacies. For instance,” he pauses to drink down more of your blood from your wrist, “imagine all that I did on your poor, unsuspecting wrist but instead…” he pulls you by the wrist until your chest is flush with his, your breasts, unbound under your shirt, rising and falling with your rapid breath. “Imagine I’m… diving for your most precious pearl. Delving into your treasure trove before I… plow your fertile garden.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth and leave the poetic words to me,” you hiss, barely annoyed and definitely flustered by the sensations in your folds his words alone have stirred.

“Maybe you need to make me shut my mouth, darling,” his hand wraps around to the small of your back. “If you want this, darling, but, given your poetic musings, we both know you do….”

“We both know it, do we?” you pout a bit, a little sneer on your lips.

Suddenly you're laid out in your back, his arms caging over your, thighs pressing on the outside of your own. You laugh, “You’re obscene, Astarion…”

“Come on now, we’ve already established I want you to call me so much worse than that, little poet,” he smirks down on you, taunting mercilessly as you squirm beneath him.

“Shouldn’t we…” you eye your surroundings.

“Why don’t you just forget about all this madness for tonight, let me show you just how complementary we can be, darling.”

You wrap your arms around his long, graceful neck, and pull him down to crush you into the dirt, into your bedroll. Night passes impossibly fast, a dance of limbs and undulations that last the night. You only pause for a drink and to stoke the fire to keep your skin warm against the freezing mountain air. You lose count how many times he takes you, on his fingers, on his tongue, speared relentlessly in every position on his cock.

Your brain is numb from pleasure, your neck numb from his bites, your nipples aching from his lips and well… the rest of your whole lower half strains as you grip your thighs around his waist one more time. His fingers claw into your hips, locking you firmly in place as he thrusts into you. The way his hips grind each time, you’ve already lost yourself in one more wave of sweat and pleasurable fire down your nerves. From the grunts on his breath, he’s not far behind. Astarion’s hips snap quicker, harder. Deeper. Until he’s shuddering and collapsing on your frame for a final time. His sweat covers your skin, and you do breathe deep that scent of wet earth as if it were your own perfume. One more stilted pant and he pulls out of your swollen aching, overused folds.

With a deep recovering sigh, he starts to lift the blanket from your bed… but you catch it, tucking it back around his shoulders. “I was… thinking… it’s cold in the mountains. And…” he rolls over to face you, sharp face furrowed even sharper, skeptical as you finally use your voice for more than moans and screaming his name and how good he feels. “…maybe since you’re already so cold, you could stay?”

He pauses, a bit rigid as he perches halfway out, away from you. Halfway close to you.

“Please, Astarion, it’s cold, and I am warm. There would be no better place for you to rest than between the warm campfire and me….” You leave the offer gently in the air. Rolling on your side to face him, you wait and watch his thoughts flicker behind those crimson eyes. Uncertain, unsure. As if, despite being the consummate lover he had always bragged about being, this was his first invitation to sleep with someone.

Just sleep.

To keep him warm from the mountain air.

Blanketed in all manner of heat for once.

Slowly, he slinks back beside you, perched on his side like you are, his face trying hard to remain just as self-assured. Even though you see his eyes dart, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

“Relax, Astarion,” you whisper, taking the top blanket and wrapping it over the high crest of his shoulders. Tucking him in. “I feel more than complimentary with you now…” you tease. “And you were right….”

“Of course I was,” he huffs dramatically as he lays on his back beside you, head turning to flash you a devilish look. “You’ll have to be more specific though; what was I right about?”

“Actions were definitely more fun than just using my words….”

He chuffs a laugh, exhausted and spent and wet from how much of you he’s consumed, blood and arousal still staining his chin. You slide a tinge closer, slotting your body beside him, wriggling yourself in that small space between his arm and chest. Ever so slightly, his hand finds your elbow, bringing it over his chest as his breath deepens for his trance.

He seems happy, contented. Your world reduced to only you two, the only beings in Faerûn it seems, sharing one bed. And you wonder for a moment why you ever turned him down before.

Sleep claims you quickly… but dawn finds you somehow faster.

“Ahem,” a deep voice startles you awake, your eyes flying open to find three faces staring down on you in your bedroll.

You in your bedroll naked… and not alone.

That Druid from the Grove, you almost forgot you told him to join you if they could find you, he smiles at you, a bit cheeky and a bit good-humored. And your cheeks are searing hot. Astarion has already bolted up to sit, dagger in hand from somewhere he had it, just in case.

But he’s already lowered it to the earth at the familiar visitors.

“We did say we would come find your camp in the Pass, didn’t we?” the Druid Halsin chuckles in that big baritone of his.

The other two beside him, the Wizard… Gale and that Cleric whose name has already slipped your sleepy memory look far less approving of catching you on full display after your night’s activities.

“Well, you’ve found us…” Astarion bites acerbically, letting his full annoyance color his silken tones. “Make yourselves at home, if it pleases you.”

He lays back down, tucking himself half on top of you, that long, lean arm of his caging over your bared chest, squashing your breasts beneath it.

Your voice finally returns, even as mortified as you feel for that moment. “Plenty of supplies and food in the trunks.” You try to wave in that direction, but his arm clutches harder, a smile of his lips playfully pressing against your cheek.

The prick.

“Well I certainly hope you have some clean bedrolls,” that Cleric sasses back.

“Feel free to take mine,” Astarion barely lifts his head to call after the three. “Seems I won’t be needing it any longer,” he purrs, pulling you closer to warm his undead, chilled skin.

“You probably will,” you shake your head as you give your reply.

“Not when I can simply give you another demonstration to convince you otherwise,” he smirks, hand slinking fast and nearly imperceptible until it finds the still-slick mess of your night’s pursuits between your thighs.

You give a huff of a laugh, “Do you forget it isn’t just us two any longer?”

Your vampire shrugs. “A boon and a pity in some ways, which reminds me….” A mischievous smirk on his lips before he brings your wrist to his mouth for another suckle. “You will obviously give them the night watch now instead… won’t you?”

You laugh, chiding and yet pleased all at once. “Only if you convince me, and if you use your words this time.”

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months

Text

King&Prince 5

Steve's sleep at this point was mostly restless. It was hard to get comfortable down here, being a dungeon and all. And he was already a light sleeper by nature. Still, it took him longer than he liked to realize he was being watched. He'd awakened, feeling slightly colder than normal. He didn't hear footsteps or breathing, nor had any of the torches lit. Yet he could feel eyes on him. Someone was here. And it was something inhuman.

He could imagine a drooling maw opening wide and then snatching shut. Or a clawed hand reaching out to gouge. Slowly, Steve reached out for one of the stray bricks in his cell.

He turned and shot up quick, brandishing the rock only to find nothing. It was still completely dark, but he didn't feel the presence anymore. He dropped the rock and sat back down, still feeling tired but now completely awake. He stayed up, watching the bars of his cell until someone came to light the torches and deliver his breakfast.

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

"He looks pathetic", Eddie said, feet propped up onto the table.

"He's been sleeping in his own filth this whole time, of course he does", Nancy said, arms crossed.

"Are you sure his father isn't coming to save him?", Jeff asked.

Eddie had sent the ransom letter on a demobat. He was able to connect to any of the creatures in his domain and he'd kept this one tethered just to see and hear what King Alric would say once he'd received the message. The demobat had heard it loud and clear and relayed to Eddie the fact that his letter had been burned.

"No one from that kingdom is coming for him. He's been abandoned", Eddie said. Not too long ago, he would have said that with glee, maybe even dancing. But after seeing the state that Steve was in last night...

"So what's the next move?", Nancy asked. "You're not just thinking of letting him go, are you?"

Jeff stood up. "Why not? He's no use to us if he's a worthless prince. We might as well send him back."

"Send him back to what?", Eddie shot up. "His own father threw him away like trash." He went over to the window, gazing at the view of his kingdom at sunset. "I can't return him to that."

"Are you suggesting that you keep him as a pet?", Nancy raised a brow.

Eddie snorted. "Not me. Robin can have him. She's been wanting some help corralling the kids for their music lessons and to rearrange the storage for instruments."

"You're going to make a prince be Robin's lap dog?", Jeff snickered.

"She'll love it", Eddie grinned.

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

"I don't want him", Robin said as they went down to the dungeons.

"Too bad, he's yours", Eddie said.

"Do I at least get a leash?"

Eddie stopped when they got to Steve's cell. "I think he's already broken."

A brick thrown at the bars said otherwise.

"I think he's still got some fight in him", Robin snarked.

Eddie looked the prince up and down. He looked more like a street urchin than a member of a royal family. Covered in dirt and grime and probably other things. Eddie took a key from his pocket and started to unlock the cell.

"Time for my execution?"

"More like it's time for you to earn your keep around here", Eddie said as he slid the bars open. "You've been getting free meals and your own room to boot. I bet it's barely a change from back home."

Steve stood up suddenly and jabbed a sharpened piece of brick at the monster before him. His wrist was caught easily though and he ended up pinned against a wall. He didn't let up though, trying to land a hit until the king had both of his wrists held above his head and his lower half was being pressed by his hips, keeping him from kicking out. It didn't help that all this time being trapped and fed scraps had made his body weak.

"A rather valiant effort. You almost got close to laying a hand on me."

"Fuck you", Steve bit out. "I'm not working for you or for anyone here."

"You don't have much of a choice. I'm not in the business of letting people rot away useless. So you will be of use to my household in whatever way I see fit."

Steve thought of the horror stories he'd been told as a child. This beast could shift into anything and rip him apart. Why was it that right now, he was holding back? He had just tried to murder him Was he that little of a threat? Or maybe he was trying to keep from damaging the goods, lest his father go back on any deals to get him back.

"You can go ahead and execute me then. I'd rather die than be of use to you." Steve was surprised when he was released. It was so quick that he couldn't help but stumble.

"You would rather die than be a hostage for ransom? A little late for that, isn't it? And if you die, there goes negotiations."

"I don't know what my father has promised you for my return, but I don't fucking care anymore."

Steve hadn't even raised his voice, but the silence that followed was deafening. How long had he felt this way? His home wasn't a home anymore. His parents had already been shipping him off in the hopes of bettering him and meeting their standards. The difference between this cold dungeon and their frigid stares were very minimal.

He met the king's eyes but his expression was unreadable. Someone cleared their throat and Steve looked to the woman who had come with him. There was a trio of guards surrounding her now. Why a creature of chaos and darkness needed guards, Steve didn't know. Honestly, he was surprised to see as many humans as he had so far.

"Get him cleaned up", King Edward ordered. "Then take him to Robin's study."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious. I told you I don't want him!"

He walked out of the cell and the guards entered, taking a hold of Steve easily despite his struggling. He was taken out of the dungeons for the first time since he arrived. The castle's architecture and decor looked...homey. It was still grand, as most castles were, but Steve could hear people talking. Just talking. Some of them laughing. It was quite the change from his own castle's silent walls, but Steve wasn't able to take it in much before he was thrust into a room with a steaming bath.

He wanted to cry but then he immediately got into a defensive mode, expecting the guards to forcibly undress him and toss him in. Instead, once they released him, they left the room. He was surprised but not too surprised to see that they had locked the door behind themselves. Resigned, Steve took off his rags and stepped into the tub.

He couldn't help the soft moan that left his lips as he submerged. Instantly, his mood lifted. He soaked for a while, and then began to wash in earnest before the water could cool. He knew he'd been filthy but seeing the color of the water when he got out made him shiver. Steve dried off and looked around for something to wear. On the sink, a folded bundle got his attention.

While the prince was washing up, Robin was working in her study, trying to figure out what the prince could even do.

"You could always keep him busy with some heavy lifting", Eddie offered, being very helpful by sitting off to the side and tossing nuts into his mouth.

"You're really not going to tell him, are you? About his father's refusal to come?"

"...I think part of him already knows." Eddie had seen that look many times before. When Nancy had shown up at his doorway, tiny Mike in tow. When he'd found El causing a ruckus in one of his towns. Even the vision of Max popped up in his head. They had all been leaving something behind. But that something turned out to be absolutely nothing to them.

Prince Steven, coming from a long line of Harringtons, born in the lap of luxury with a legacy secured as long as he stayed in line...he didn't want any of it.

Eddie wanted to know why.

Part 7

And he's out of the cell!

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @sugartin @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve: you'll be playing the role of my father #robin: i don't wanna be your father #steve: good you already know your lines

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lokischocolatefountain · 11 months

Note

well if you are taking requests, itd be great to see more touch starved joel, joel who is so afraid of hurting you in bed but bruises you anyways, joel who flinches when you yocuh him after nightmares but then comes closer when you pull away.

I love this request 🥺🥺 You are very right and Joel Miller is a touch starved man and deserves to be fed. So, here you go

Our Normal

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Mature (Mention of violence, sexual situations)

A/N: I loved writing this and I hope the anon who requested it has fun reading it 💜 Also, I have a Javi request that was sent before this but the man was being so uncooperative so I had to ditch him for Joel for a while.

Joel was never a physically affectionate man. His love is shown through acts of service for the people he loves, through protecting them from everything in the universe. That changes when he becomes a father in his early twenties. Sarah is just so little and so fragile and he needs to hold his baby girl because if he doesn’t, he might just explode. He gives her hugs and kisses and cuddles. She always gets kisses on the forehead and cheeks when he tucks her in.

When he loses Sarah, his world is effectively over and touch is no longer about affection. People don’t yet know how the infection spreads, so they keep from touching each other. Someone approaching you might be infected. If they touch you, it might be over. Touch is no longer a hug from his daughter or a pat on the back from his brother. It is deceiving a young man with a fake injury and begging him for supplies before putting his hands around his neck and strangling him to steal his car. It is a punch to his face, a kick to his stomach and an arm putting him in a chokehold.

With Tess, it is different. It is a squeeze to his shoulder when he wakes up from yet another nightmare of his child, still a toddler, asking him why he let her die. It is a quick fuck on the ground in the woods to relieve some tension. It is her slipping into bed with him and holding him because they have both agreed they need this without any words being exchanged. It is more than anything he has ever had with other women in his life. But it is never spoken of, it never means anything more, it just is.

He is in Jackson and life has become normal yet he cannot adjust to it. After two decades of leading a life that is anything but normal, the comfort of three meals a day, a roof over his head and certainty that he’ll wake up the next morning is frightening. He knows he will never adjust. Everyone else seems happy living this normal life, but it is something he will never accept. People hug and kiss and marry. Tommy holds his newborn in his arms and kisses his wife’s hand like it’s normal, like the last twenty years didn’t happen. He wants it too. It shames him to want, but oh how he wants to touch you, to hold your hand and cup your cheek and graze your finger when you hand him something. But he cannot give in. If he allows himself to slip into such comforts, he will not survive when it is taken away from him again. If he accepts it as normal, it will mean that he will have moved on from the loss. The loss of Sarah, of his…Tess.

He touches you once. It is a necessity. It is during patrol and you were about to step on a trap someone left to catch animals. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back, but he keeps his hands on you for longer than necessary. You thank him a little dramatically for “saving my life” and he smiles. For the first time in a long time, it isn’t because of something Ellie said. He lets you go, grunts and walks along on the patrol route. His hand is twitching nervously by his side because holy shit he just touched you. When he lies awake that night, he recalls the roughness of your skin, thinks about whether it used to be soft before all this. Whether he would’ve liked your skin soft just as much he likes your now rough skin.

Someone in town in teaching pottery to pass on important skills so that nothing dies when one person dies. Ellie forces him to go with her even when he tells her he doesn’t give a shit about making goddamn pots. He stops complaining when he sees you’re also there to learn, even though you are more advanced than he is. Pottery doesn’t come to him naturally and Ellie laughs at him for spinning his wheel too fast and touching the clay too hard, making the thing collapse on itself. You laugh too, but then you help him. You place your hands on his and show him how to mold the clay. You show him how to trim the edges with the fancy tools. You place your creating next to his and Ellie’s in the kiln and shake his hand to congratulate him on his shitty bowl that would’ve been shittier if you hadn’t helped. He wonders what it would be like to slot his fingers in the space between your fingers.

It goes from joint patrols to joint pottery classes to joint drinks at the Tipsy Bison. You touch his arm, you place your hand on his, you brush your shoulder against his and it takes him a longass time while to realize you are flirting. He hadn’t been the subject of it ever since he became a single father wearing T-shirts covered in snot, baby food, mysterious sticky substances from Sarah using his shirt as tissues, Sarah’s blood— He panics, he flinches when you touch him. He apologizes, mumbles something about Ellie needing dinner and storms out of the place. He forgets to pay for his fucking drink and learns you decided to pay for him with more coffee than you’d planned on exchanging with the bartender.

He apologizes the next day, offers his private stash of old whiskey he found somewhere to make up for the coffee you’d lost because of him. But you surprise him, offering not just reassurance that it was alright but offering your understanding, telling him you were sorry for whatever you did to unintentionally trigger him and that if he told you what it was, you would never do it again.

You have your fair share of terrible days. You find him after patrol and ask to exchange your music cassette for some of his liquor. He gives it to you for free and you down half the bottle. You tell him you are afraid of being alone that night and he doesn’t have to ask questions to know that it’s something serious. He lets you stay. He holds you in him arms even though having contact without another person kills him. He realizes it kills him because he likes it and knows he doesn’t deserve things he likes. Not when his baby has become nothing in an unmarked grave he should’ve joined her in.

He never intends to have sex with you. It is no longer as much of a need as it used to be. He is older and his body has been through too much. Sex isn’t the need. You are. Holding your hand in his trembling hand isn’t enough. Touching your cheek when he kisses you isn’t enough. His hand on your lower back. Your hand in his hair, your head on his chest as you hugged— it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you gave, he wanted more. More and more and more.

You invite him to your bed and he goes. He knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’ve given him so far and definitely doesn’t deserve what you were going to give him next. He is afraid but he wants it so bad, wants you so bad. You are sweet, gentle, like you know he has a strange relationship with touch. You take your time when you get on your knees and nuzzle into his thighs and wrap your pretty lips around his cock. He tries to keep his hands away. He knows he should because if he got to touch you when you had his cock in your mouth, he would wrap your hair in his fist and fuck into your mouth, use you for gratification.

He digs into your thighs with his nails when he has them spread apart and his head between them, his lips devouring you like you were his favorite taste before the luxury of tasty things ceased to exist, like he was getting to experience his favorite taste after two decades of deprivation. He holds you in a death grip, leaves behind bruises and apologizes for them when he realizes what he has done. He tends to you, apologizes repeatedly, is gentler the next time.

He doesn’t sleep next to you. If he manages to fall asleep, he wakes up wishing he didn’t. Sleep without nightmares is a rarity. He could jolt up from bed or lie looking peaceful while his brain tortured itself with memories, both real and false. He doesn’t want you to see him in his most vulnerable moments. He doesn’t want to burden anyone with his anguish. He doesn’t want to look weak. He is supposed to be strong, be the protector, be the capable man you can rely on.

He wakes up after yet another nightmare and lies in bed, unprepared to face you as the weaker man he believes himself to be. You make him coffee and bring it to bed. You drink it with him. You hold his hand. He flinches, the effects of his nightmare persisting. So you pull away, allowing him his space when he pulls you back in. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if it is right to want you like this— being there for him, comforting him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He shouldn’t, but he leans anyway. You don’t ask him to talk about it and he appreciates it. You don’t need to know the gory details to know he’s hurting. You don’t need to hear the turmoil in his head to hold him to your chest and let him cry.

Maybe not talking wouldn’t be enough in the normal world. But that is a world they will never have again even if the cordyceps ceased to exist at once. So he adapts in love like he adapted to holding a gun in hands that held hammers and nails with nails painted by his little girl.

He grows used to it, but he still flinches sometimes. You flinch sometimes too. You learn each other’s boundaries, apologize when they’re crossed. Sleep still eludes him and he remains starved of touch, but he satiates himself as little as he could without overwhelming himself. His hands sometimes tremble when he touches you. He could never fall asleep in the same bed as you. It isn’t normal, but it is the normal he has with you and you are both content in it.

My Masterlist

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loosingmoreletters · 1 year

Text

take an AU haunting me for ages now: the “sects go to the terrifying Yiling patriarch to ask for his help in the war, WWX ends up demanding LWJ marry him” fics?

Yes, that, but kinda in reverse.

The Sects go to meet the Yiling Patriarch and he’s as expected: arrogant, bold, careless, demanding. And using heretic powers to keep his Burial Mounds untouched by the world.

They negotiate, he smirks properly wicked, and and says he wants to name a bride and a marriage to the Lan.

The Lan talk, outraged, but they have a war to win so the agreement is struck: marriage to the Lan and the Yiling Patriarch is allowed to name bride and groom. They write it down exactly like that.

The war happens, but with the Yiling Patriarch’s army of the resentful dead, they lose less soldiers, win more battles. The Lan wonder why they were chosen, perhaps because they hold enough moral sway that any hostage of theirs wouldn’t result in another war? Regardless, Lan Wangji makes it his job to stick close to the Yiling Patriarch, as close as he will let anyone. He has a whole entourage of ghost brides, though only one stays close to him at all times, veiled whenever they have company

They win the war. “Bride and groom,” the Yiling Patriarch says and swears to return in three months. There is talk of taking him down now that Wen are gone, but no one wants to go to war in the Burial Mounds.

The Yiling Patriarch arrives in three months as promised, dressed in red, followed by a parade of people. “I’ve come to collect my debt,” he tells them. “I will name Lan Wangji as the groom,” he says, sparking confusion and outrage. Does he intend to name one of his ghost brides next? And indeed, he reached for one, lifts her veil, revealing living woman, but takes the veil for himself instead. “And I, myself, will be his bride.”

The story goes a little like this:

One. Wei Ying’s parents die and he follows them. Only he is young and alive and curious and the Burial Mounds are very hungry. They devour him skin, flesh, bone, teeth. And they spit him out again. And again again and again.

Two. Wen Qing is her uncle’s favorite, but she’s her brother’s only sister. She fears what war means, what the retaliation might mean. Young Masters go to the Cloud Recesses for study on invitation, Wen Qing goes to the Burial Mounds to beg.

Three. There is very little begging to be done in front of a boy her brother’s age, who hasn’t been hugged in years and keeps the company of murdered brides as though they are his mothers, aunts and sisters. She asks for protection, he asks for a meal.

Four. They cannot stay in the Burial Mounds forever. It is not a place for children even Wei Wuxian realizes that one morning and promptly disappears in his childhood bedroom, a cold cave filled with trinkets of the dead. He survived on the cost of skin, flesh, bone, teeth. They cannot all pay this price.

Five. The Sects knock at his door, a solution presents itself. He dressed Wen Qing like his older sister, veil and all, and hides her among his undead. They strike a bargain.

Six. They could keep a hostage, but a hostage will not keep them fed. Brides, he knows from childhood on, marry out. One of his sisters would’ve taken with her all her servants, had her unwilling husband not killed her on the wedding night.

Seven. “This is why it has to be a Lan,” Wen Qing tells him. Your husband would not kill you like this. They might keep him in some other way, but what could be worse than skin, flesh, bone, teeth? A wedding night of death? Nothing. And if he can help his family by making them servants and himself a bride, he’ll stay locked up in the Cloud Recesses. At least this prison will not spit him out.

What Lan Wangji knows is this: the Yiling Patriarch is mocking them, but there is a debt and a debt must be paid.

They marry in name, no matter how much the Yiling Patriarch taunts him about the contents of a proper marriage, and then they live separately. They keep an eye on him of course, him and his servants, who keep to themselves, settling in Caiyi and the Cloud Recesses, wary, hungry, terrified people - not of their master, but of everyone else.

And then, on accident maybe, a slip of the tongue, one of those servants soak a different name. Within a second, the Yiling Patriarch is in front of them in protection, though he looks less arrogant, less bold, less careless, less demanding. He looks, Lan Wangji thinks, like someone who has more too lose than he’d ever admit. He looks terrified like no one in the Cloud Recesses ever should.

So maybe he should ask him why

#mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #fanfic #aus and ideas

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adorethedistance · 5 months

Text

First I Love You - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety, sexual references.

Words: 1677

Summary: First I Love You - After a day that gets increasingly worse, Jamie plans a date night to indirectly celebrate your two-month anniversary.

A/n: Cherry is back with a fic after a month of radio silence in typical aodre the distance fashion lol. Anyway! This has been in my drafts forever and I hate it, I can't proof it due to writer's block, and I'm honestly just done staring at it so here ya go!

You can read part 1 of the series of firsts here. The next and final first on the list is first time which is of course gonna be a lil smutty. I might write some Trevor pieces in the interim just depending how I'm feeling.

Today is just one of those days. My class ran much longer than usual and I had to stay after to ask my professor questions before the midterm that night, then I didn’t have time to make myself lunch so I grabbed the pizza rolls from my freezer to heat up at work, then I burned the pizza rolls beyond consumption and did not have any back up food, then I was starving and stressed and unable to use my time at work to study for the exam. I was crying in a puddle of stress and tears. And Jamie didn’t miss a beat.

Upon hearing how horrible my morning and afternoon had been, he ordered my usual meal from In-N-Out and brought it to me at work so I wouldn’t starve. Then, he offered to make me dinner after I finished my midterm and I tearfully and appreciatively accepted. These little actions of consideration are what have made me fall deeper and deeper in love with Jamie.

We reached our two months anniversary today but I didn’t make a big deal about it. I feel weird about potentially being one of those couples that celebrates every tiny little milestone like it’s the biggest thing in the world. Still neither of us have said “I love you” yet. But if Jamie continues caring for and about me like this, I’m not sure much longer I can hold it in. That’s why I decided I would tell him tonight.

After cooking dinner for the two of us, and pouring a congratulatory glass of wine to celebrate the 95 I got on my midterm, we laid down on the couch together. Happy and fed, I rest my head on the expanse of his broad chest. Jamie presses a kiss into my hair, bringing his left arm to drape over my shoulders.

“God, 2 months already?!” Trevor asks Jamie incredulously, making me roll my eyes at the playful jab.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Zegras.”

“You’re just mad cause you can’t pull.” Jamie’s accusation makes me laugh at the offended look on Trevor’s face.

“Don’t get it twisted, I can pull.”

“You just can’t get them to stay?” I ask innocently, absentmindedly messing with Jamie’s fingers. Jamie laughs heartily. He interlaces his with mine to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “But to answer your original question, yes, it’s been 2 months already.”

The scruff of my boyfriend’s 5 o’clock shadow brushes the back of my hand as he kisses the flat part of my knuckle. Trevor, observing the entire action, leans over the kitchen trashcan and pretends to throw up. Jamie merely laughs and I roll my eyes once more, “Shut the fuck up! You are so dramatic.”

“And for what?” Jamie chimes in which makes me smile to see he’s been picking up some of my mannerisms and phrases as well. That’s been my favorite part of dating him so far. The way his music taste slowly infiltrates mine. The way he now keeps a trashbag in his car after realizing how useful the one in mine is. The way he’s wearing the soft blue hoodie he lent me, for the reason that it now smells like me, which is why I had stolen it from him in the first place.

“I’m happy for you guys, really,” Trevor grabs his car keys from off the granite kitchen counter, “Thank you for rubbing salt into the open wound.”

“Oh my god-” Jamie starts.

“Get out of here!” I finish for him, urging Trevor to leave.

“I’m gone!” He obliges. Then, Jamie kisses my head again, prompting me to sit up.

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Mmm… no, actually. If I had to guess, he’s probably going golfing with the guys.”

“No way, he was dressed way too nice for golf…” I trail off, racking my brain for where he could have possibly been headed. Shrugging off the idea, I straddle Jamie’s hips, and look down at him. I smile. Overcome with the warm sensation of staring at my boyfriend. Jamie nudges me with his hips, indicating he would like me to lay back down. Before I comply, I pull my hair back tying it out of the way so I’m free to kiss Jamie as much as I please. He watches my every move, eyes flooded with adoration.

“At practice this morning, McT said he…” Jamie trails off mid sentence. As he was talking, I finished tying my hair back and then leaned down as he had wanted me to. He’s looking at me with eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise.

“What?” I ask, concerned as to why Jamie stopped talking. He simply says,

“You’re really pretty.” The seemingly arbitrary declaration makes me laugh but does nothing to aid my confusion.

“Okay?”

“You’re just so pretty I think I short-circuited.” The earnest confession makes me smile and giggle, so I press a soft kiss to Jamie’s lips.

“You’re cute. So what did Mason say?”

“Oh yeah, he said that he wants to meet you.”

“Really?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone. He kisses my palm before responding,

“Despite how much you and Trevor bully each other, he’s told everyone on the team about how cool you are. He kinda took the liberty to do it himself since I do gush about you, but I get shy about it.” Jamie is uncharacteristically speaking out loud his stream of consciousness, and I take a back seat to admire how talkative he can be when he’s with me. A stark contrast to the shy, almost silent boy I’d had my first date with. Noticing how much he’s talking, Jamie ends his rambling but I smile softly, encouragingly,

“It’s unfortunate that the ‘cool girl’ is seemingly the only archetype that consistently receives approval from men, but it is true nonetheless.”

“Yeah, like, it’s not that I need his approval, but it is nice when your boys like your girlfriend… Well, it’s what you said, you just said it better. I’m mansplaining aren’t I?” He asks, bashfully. I roll my eyes and appreciatively kiss his lips once more.

“Get out of your head, Drysdale. Do you have anxiety?”

“Shut up. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who can always tell when I’m overthinking.”

“Maybe I’m just the only one with the audacity to comment on it,” I playfully propose, smiling when I succeed in making Jamie laugh.

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll agree to disagree. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.” Dropping the bit, Jamie and I smile at each other, melting into a comfortable silence. He looks at me with soft eyes, pink blush creeping across his cheeks the longer I continue to stare. I rest my left hand on the side of his face once more. I brush my thumb over his cheekbone again, and rub the top of my fingers repeatedly against the stubble adorning his jaw. Jamie lifts his eye brows before saying,

“What, do I need to shave?”

“No. I just like the way it feels.”

“Oh, hey, you said you’re done with school by mid december, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My mom asked if you were coming to Christmas this year.”

“Did she really?” Jamie hesitates a moment before his brows furrow in sincere disapproval.

“You’ve been my girlfriend for two months now. She will not shut up about meeting you.”

“What? Why?” He then blushes fiercely and cowers his head into the large hoodie he’s slouched on. Jamie doesn’t meet my gaze as he talks,

“I told her all about you the other day.” I bite back the giant smile that prods at my features before replying,

“What did you tell her?”

“Just stuff about you!”

“What stuff about me?!”

“I told her you’re a student and what you’re studying. I told her where you’re from and what your family is like. And I told her about how I stare at you between red lights when we’re going somewhere.” The last piece of information makes me laugh and I tilt my head in confusion.

“How did that last part come up?” It was a simple question, really. One that I hadn’t even bothered to put a lot of thought into; one that came from my basic stream of consciousness. And certainly not one that I imagined would ellicit such a reaction from Jamie. His eyes widened and softened all at once, his blush glowing brighter across his cheeks, and his lips parting to allow the irregular pace of breathing he had now adopted.

“I guess… I called her because I was unsure of what I was feeling…? I was kinda freaking out about it. As I told her about our first date, she said that just talking about you made me visibly happier. She noticed that, even though I wasn’t aware of how happy I’d gotten. Then she demanded to meet you as soon as possible…” Jamie sheepishly looks up at me after finishing his mini monologue. The traces of endeared happiness immediately vanish and Jamie looks at me horrified. In describing how happy I make this boy, I felt tears welling up on my lashes, relieved to be experiencing something so thoroughly mutual.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry I’m sorry!” I laugh through the tears and playfully smack his chest.

“Jamie…”

“You make me really happy, Y/n. Like, really really happy-”

“I love you,” I blurt out. I’m a bit stunned and honestly scared of how quickly this confession escaped me. But I know it’s true. And isn’t that the scariest part?

“I love you too.”

“Really?” I ask through unrelenting tears.

“Yes,” Jamie rests his hands on the tops of my hip bones, “I kind of lied by saying my mom said I looked happy… She said I looked very in love, but I didn’t want to be too forward and say that if you maybe didn’t feel the same way.”

“Bro, you worry so much, are you sure you don’t have anxiety?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

***

a/n: copy pasting tags is the best thing that has ever happened to fic writers I think.

#Jamie Drysdale #Jamie Drysdale fanfiction #Jamie Drysdale fanfic #Jamie Drysdale fic #Jamie Drysdale imagine #Jamie Drysdale oneshot #Jamie Drysdale one shot #Jamie Drysdale x reader #Jamie Drysdale x Asa #Jamie Drysdale smut #Jamie Drysdale fluff #Jamie Drysdale angst #Jamie Drysdale blurb #Jamie Drysdale drabble #Jamie Drysdale hc #Jamie Drysdale headcanon #trevor zegras #Trevor Zegras #Platonic!Trevor

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andrewminyardapologist · 10 months

Text

TW: Food Trauma

Thinking about how it's probably really healing for the Foxes to have "family dinners" at Abby's because so of them most likely have some sort of trauma surrounding food.

Dan: Had to support her family, struggling to put food on the table, having to work to keep herself and her family fed. So much food insecurity that she doesn't have to worry about anymore. (I'm sure she still does, it doesn't just go away, but she now doesn't have to worry about making enough to afford her next meal.)

Allison: In recovery from an eating disorder, learning to have genuinely happy experiences revolving around meals, praised for her strength on the court and not just her beauty, learning that food is nourishment.

Neil: I mean... This one is obvious. He's been on the run close to a decade, and now has sit down meals regularly with people he cares about. Food doesn't just mean stuff you can steal from a grocery store or scrounge up at a gas station vending machine. It's part of home. It's Abby's kitchen, warm and bright, surrounded by his chosen family all helping to cook and set the table. It's smiling and laughing over a big plate of lasagna.

Kevin: He's obsessed with health to the point it's disordered. In the Nest, food was not about enjoyment. It was about being perfect. Everything he ate was chosen for him. At Abby's, he gets to pick his portion size, which foods he wants to eat, probably learns what he likes and dislikes genuinely because of taste and not nutritional content. I would bet eventually Abby catches on and makes his favorites pretty often, helps him try new foods and actually enjoy them, regardless of nutritional content.

Andrew: Andrew grew up in foster care, and he says none of his placements were good. He seems to have a lot of sensory issues surrounding food (rips it into tiny pieces, likes really intense flavors like spicy or sweet, etc.) I'm willing to bet he was often underfed and did not often get much say in what he ate. If he wanted to eat, it would have to be whatever he could. I think that while he might never admit it, having Abby's dinners (eventually) start to feel safe for him, the routine of it, the fact that no one would judge his eating there or force him to eat things he didn't like, would be something that helps him feel more comfortable around food. I think being allowed seconds, or thirds, would help him feel some security surrounding food. Similar to Kevin, I think Abby would pick up on the things he likes and make those meals more often. I think Bee helps with this too, what with the hot chocolate and everything.

Aaron: Tilda was abusive and neglectful. I think it is safe to assume Aaron had to worry about keeping himself fed for most of his life, and had to learn to cook for himself. Probably he had to figure out his own way to make sure he stayed fed without much help from Tilda. It's probable she punished him by withholding meals as well. I think similar to Andrew, having some consistency in the routine of dinner at Abby's helps him feel more secure. Additionally, I think he probably likes not having to bear the full weight of cooking for himself, and learns to enjoy it as something he does with his family instead of something done out of necessity. I imagine Abby teaches him some recipes that are fun and not just basic stuff thrown together in an attempt to make something edible.

Nicky: Nicky was 18 when he took in the twins. He had to work HARD to keep the three of them fed. It was probably difficult as well considering Andrew and Aaron already had issues surrounding food. I think he would find comfort in seeing that the twins were not only getting fed, but we're starting to let go of some of that insecurity about food. I think he would also find relief in not having to worry about feeding two kids when he was basically still a kid himself.

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg andrew #aftg fandom #aftg neil #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king #food mention #nicky hemmick #dan wilds #aaron minyard #kevin day #abby winfield #aftg allison

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staytinyville · 7 months

Text

OUTLAW (18)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none.

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). Just know I am reading every single one of your comments and reblogs. And I love them so much. Just to let you know. I might add a special shoutout for all of you who made my day with your comments lol.

As the evening was starting to turn dark, the boys had gone back into their roles of being with one another. You could see how at ease they all felt now that they were all together. The four boys who were staying in the city had always been a bit tense. They were worried about their comrades and thus it created a stale environment full of depression. It was clear they fed off each other’s energies. They needed every single one of them in order to be content.

While they knew they were all together, you had noticed one person missing during dinner. The boys didn’t seem to care enough, at least not until they had all finished and Wooyoung noticed how many plates there were to wash.

The boy was mad, stomping around as he made a bowl for the captain. He was about to scold the man until you spoke up, telling him you would take the meal. The boy grumbled to himself, shoving the food into your hands as he went back to cleaning.

There wasn’t anywhere you could knock so you had just called out that you were going to enter the tent. When you got a response, you moved the tarp to the side and passed through. You knew he wasn’t doing anything, seeing as it was just the main tent where they would gather for meetings.

“I brought you a bowl of soup.” You gestured to the plate. “Wooyoung got mad that you didn't come out.”

Hongjoong had been looking over some papers at a desk, glancing up at you. “He'll live.” He hummed. When you set the plate down in front of him, he gave a nod of his head and moved to begin eating. “Thank you.”

You tried not to be nosey and look over the papers he had, so you opted to look around the table, trying to find other things to occupy yourself with. Hongjoong placed the spoon down into the bowl as he kept his eyes on you.

You look awkward to be standing there next to him. He wondered why it was you hadn’t just walked out after giving him the food; however, he figured you wanted something if you were the one to do the delivery. He decided to make things less suffocating by being the one to start a conversation.

“Are you okay?” His question caught you off guard, looking at him with wide eyes.

You licked your lips as you thought about his question. “At this moment or in the past two weeks?” You asked, looking down.

Sighing, you felt like you knew exactly what it was you wanted to say. You looked up at Hongjoong, meeting his eyes. “I'm relieved.” You breathed out. “That you are all okay and safe for the most part. I wanted to come find you all right away, but the boys told me I had to wait. Time went painstakingly slow. It felt like torture to not know how you all were.”

Hongjoong turned to give you his full attention, one leg lifted over the other as he got comfortable in the chair. “I'm sure you weren't the only one worried.” He told you.

“So you all have said.” You laughed softly. “Thank you.” You suddenly spoke up, looking at him with kind eyes.

“For what?” He frowned, eyebrows pinched together.

“Keeping the others safe.” You smiled. “I know you don't like me much, but I appreciate you.” Hongjoong looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

He had given you no reason to like him. No reason to really even think about him. He hadn’t really spoken to you much, but somehow you appreciate him? He knew that you were different from what the others had said, however now he was just a bit skeptical.

“In fact, after all this time, I think you're an inspiration. What you've done with the boys—how you've kept them together for so long. They speak highly of you.”

Hongjoong hummed as your feelings now made sense. A small smile grew on his face as he thought about his friends. He didn’t realize how much his leadership affected them so much. He knew they spoke about him, they always spoke about each other. But to have them speak about him in such a way that made people see him as an inspiration had him wanting to cry.

After so long, he knew they were much closer than a lot of other gangs. He was glad to have reached that kind of level of friendship. He had tried so hard to keep them all together, it seemed like that paid off. They trusted him so much and he didn’t want to lose it.

Looking over at you, he knew that they were starting to care deeply for you. If he was to ask them to leave you he knew they would, but at the cost of some of their own happiness. He had never seen the boys become so enamored with someone so quickly. Now that he was actually having a conversation with you, he could see why they would be.

“I can't remember a time when we made friends that lasted a long while.” He expressed. “They come and go after finding out what we do. I've tried my best at keeping them together, but sometimes I fail to do that.” He let out a deep sigh, pursing his lips as he had just expressed an insecurity he had.

Your lips slowly pulled up into a smile at his confession. You were excited to get something from him after never speaking more than two words to him. “Everyone has their differences. Even all of you. I'm sure it is tough to do what you do.” You comforted him.

Hongjoong pursed his lips. His jaw clenched as his face suddenly looked at you appalled. Here you were speaking your mind and somehow he confessed something he held deeply to you. It bothered him to know you were able to do that with him. He had hidden so much from others, even his closest friends, but all you had to do was tell him that you understood him and he opened his mouth.

“Why are you like that?” He glared.

“Like what?” You didn’t seem affected by his glare, though you did raise a brow at his change in attitude.

“Like you know what to say to get people on your side.” He clenched his fist. “What more do you want? You already have the others worried. Why speak to me like you understand me? Don't you know? We've killed men. We are criminals. Why associate yourself with people like that?” He stressed.

“I never said I did.” You immediately retorted, face turning stoic. However, he watched as you licked your lips and suddenly looked down.

“When Mingi saved me, I thought it was going to end for me. I had jumped to save that girl but at the cost of my own life.” You had an expression of thoughtfulness as you recalled that day to him. He listened intently to you, knowing that something like that wasn’t a nice experience to relive.

“It made me realize all the regrets I had in life. Instead of feeling scared, I felt so angry with myself for not noticing sooner the life I led wasn't one I would have wanted. I had a mental breakdown after Mingi turned up, but these past few weeks made me realize that the day I found you all was the day I started to see the kind of person I wanted to be.”

“Sure, at first I thought you were all criminals and scumbags, but after getting to know you all things changed. In the eyes of the public, you are criminals and outlaws. But to me, you're the people who saved me and opened my eyes. That's worth more to me than anything.”

He didn’t know your story, just as you didn’t know his. There was a lot that you were in the dark about and Hongjoong wondered why it was that you didn’t ask about it. The boys had explained that you were a very understanding person who trusted her intuition about people. Any sane person would try their hardest to stay away from people like them, but here you were staying with them in their camp.

There would come a day when the boys would want to grow up and find their own ways, but for now Hongjoong wanted to keep them together for as long as possible. If that meant keeping you at arms length, then he was willing to put his group on the line. At least the line that would lead them to you.

“You shouldn't be reckless.” Hongjoong told you. “We won't always be there to save you.”

Your lips pulled over your teeth as you grinned at the man. “Says the outlaw.” You chuckled. You got up to leave the tent, turning back to look at the man. “Besides now we're even from when I didn't tell anyone you were in town all those weeks ago.” You teased.

“You're a menace.” Hongjoong scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “You'll fit right in.” He took a sip of the soup to hide the fact that he had just acknowledged you as part of the group.

A soft look cast over your features as you smiled softly. “Thanks, Captain.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory

#kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez san #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #fanfiction #hongjoong imagines

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satansaidnottoday · 9 days

Text

When you get sick

Based on the Uno reverse Beel pulled in the last post.

Info: Human AU, GN!Mc.

Summary: You've got the cold and now your boyfriend must take care of you.

Warnings: general talk of sickness.

Lucifer

Has "do what I say, not what I do" energy.

He urges you to take time off and rest. Says it's very important to relax for a timely recovery. Be sure to remember his exact words for the next time he is sick.

Will try to get out of work earlier so he can take care of you. He calls you throughout the day to see how you're doing and if you need anything. If you're in a really bad condition, he will take time off to take care of you.

He can't cook, but will order any foods you like.

He will cuddle you if you ask, but won't offer on his own. He is a little scared of it being contagious.

When you feel better, he won't expect anything from you but will accept any gestures of gratitude you give him.

Mammon

Whiny.

Thinks you're going to die.

You have to reassure him that it's just a cold every thirty minutes. I will try to get you to the hospital anyway.

He is completely at your service from day one. Do not dare move a muscle; the great Mammon has everything covered for you.

You have a fresh supply of hot tea always by your side. He makes sure you get all of your meals. He keeps a tally of every medicine you need to take. You basically have a personal nurse.

Lots of cuddles and massages.

If you're trembling at all because of the fever, he will hold you as if you were having a seizure.

He cries a lot when you're in pain, probably more than you.

When you're feeling better, he will expect at the very least a thank-you gift. A shopping spree would be preferable.

Leviathan

He doesn't know what to do.

Finds everything to be too overwhelming. He is really worried about you and wants to help, but he has no idea how to take care of a sick person. So, of course, he goes back to the person who used to take care of him when he was sick. Mammon.

He tries his hardest to be just as supportive, but it doesn't go well. The tea is always too hot or too cold, he only knows how to make ramen, and he keeps forgetting about the ibuprofen!

In the end, the best he can do for you is bring you more tissue boxes and lay down by your side while you watch movies. You reassure him that this is more than enough, but he still feels a little guilty.

When you feel better, make a great spectacle about how helpful he was. He did miss a butch of seasonal releases just to stay with you.

Satan

He will insist you take time off the moment symptoms start to show.

Shows up at your house with a butch of medicinal herbs. Mint to open up your nose, lavender to help with the headache, cardamom for... Something? He knows it had some healing property, but seems to have forgotten. He makes you some soup with it just in case it was important.

Won't go near you, even if you ask. Most he'd do is help you get around if your muscles are aching.

He will tell you about his latest read and how it made him feel. If you have read it, he will ask you to compare notes. Just trying to keep you entertained any way he can.

He brings all of his favorite tea blends for you to try out.

He won't expect anything in return for his care. He loves you, and that's just what you do for the people you love.

Asmodeus

Whiny 2.0

"My poor, beautiful thing."

He might not know a lot about caring for the sick, but he knows a lot about self-care. You will still have a runny nose, but your skin will shine, baby.

He will pamper you. Have all of the blankets. Sleep for as long as you want. Ask for any food, and he will get it for you. With unlimited snacks, you can even have his favorite chocolates. He will watch all of your comfort shows and movies with you.

Baths, many baths. They are really good when you're sick; they relax your muscles and help the bad energies leave the body.

As soon as you're feeling good, it's his turn to be pampered! So better be prepared.

Beelzebub

If nothing else, you're well fed.

All healthy meals, he won't let you indulge in sweets. Your body needs protein and veggies right now, and he will have them for you at every meal.

Will cut fruit for you as snack.

Pushes you to do some light exercises when you can. Sweat out the sickness.

He is very supportive, constantly telling you you're going to be okay. He will stay by your side every single minute.

He will carry you around if your muscles are sore.

When you're feeling better, he will make you desert. For the days he has you surviving on steamed broccoli and rice.

Belphegor

This is actually great news.

He gets to cuddle with you all day, and you won't be able to escape. He can even use you as an excuse to take a day off. No work, no school, just napping with his favorite person. Every day should be like that.

If only you didn't have to be sick for it to happen.

He doesn't know much about taking care of someone. Being the youngest one, everyone else always took care of him. But he doesn't like seeing you hurt, so he will try his best.

The best medicine he can offer you is a good nap in his arms, but he will try some of Satan's medicinal teas. If needed, he will get Lucifer to drive him to the pharmacy.

He doesn't know a thing about eating healthy, so you will get a diet of chips, pastries, and candy.

If you manage to get better, he will whine about not having your full attention anymore.

Thanks for reading!

#OB!HumanAu #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me nightbringer #om! shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me! headcanons

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beefrobeefcal · 3 months

Note

Some angst??? Idk. Maybe there’s something here. You decide.

This is after Frankie tells mouse that he is as big as he wants to get. Mouse, being the wonderful partner she is, listens to his request and stops encouraging any extra ~indulging~ to help him maintain/lose weight.

BUT each time they pass a gelato shop without going in or mouse says no to a dessert menu, it stings. It’s as if he’s been left hanging for a kiss or like he’s been left on read.

Food has become an avenue of affection, and now that it’s closed he’s realizing how much it means to him. And even though he’s the one that asked for this, he feels like he’s going crazy being denied in this way.

To Nonnie, Love Beefro

The bitch is back. Need we say more?

--------<3---------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: All Pent Up & Nowhere to Go

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pregnant Fem!Reader

Summary: A communication breakdown causes a lot of angst.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 3,546

Content Warning: weight talk, angsty angsty, self esteem issues, communication breakdown, allusions to oral (f-receiving), feederism talk, car smut, masturbation, p in the v, established relationship

Author's Notes: I know this deviated from the original ask, but I hope this suffices, Nonnie. It's not as sweet or innocent as I think you were looking for. Thank you @xdaddysprincessxx for beta'ing & offering ideas! Thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for also beta'ing & being their every awesome supportive self.

Things were rough, that much was true. After the night that Frankie had confided in you that he felt he was big enough then thinking out loud about how maybe he was getting too big, you’d done your best to keep his meals at standard portions and not offered anything indulgent to him.

On a Saturday, Benny had stopped by to return the snow shovel he’d borrowed from Frankie. Having not seen him in a while, you stepped back into the house to let the guys catch up. But you heard everything through the kitchen window as the guys chatted in the backyard.

“Fish! Holy shit! You losing weight? Last I saw you, you looked... you were bigger!”, Benny chirped with a huge smile on his face, patting Frankie on the shoulder.

“Yeah... well, you know... was getting pretty big... wanna keep the Mrs. Happy...”

You almost dropped the knife while you were chopping vegetables.

You peaked out the window and saw Benny’s face twist in confusion as he looked at Frankie. “I... dude, I thought... I mean, if you’re serious about it, I could always use your help. Trying to become a personal trainer... you know, I need to personally train someone...?”

It wasn’t like Frankie hadn’t specifically said to you that he might be too big, but the way you jumped at his words and completely changed how you fed him – how you cared for him – was jarring. To see his portion sizes shrink so quickly and not be offered a dessert was disappointing for him. At the rate you changed everything, he couldn’t help but feel that you had wanted him to lose weight. Were you embarrassed to be seen with him like that? Were you glad to have a smaller partner? Did his body disgust you and were you doing a good job being supportive?

Frankie’s mind would churn and whirl through every insecurity almost nightly as you slept peacefully next to him. When Benny offered to help him slim down further, he thought you would be happier, but it only made him feel worse about himself, and he didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t want to disappoint you.

Almost four months since Benny offered, Frankie had shrunk. Not by mass proportions, but enough that his silhouette was definitely smaller. It could have been because he wasn’t constantly heaving around a big, full belly anymore, but his clothing was no longer pulled tight across his middle. You did your best not to say anything about his body or comment on his eating, and despite your disappointment at his changing physique, you kept up a supportive and positive attitude. You had no idea that withholding that was eating Frankie up inside.

The positive side of this was that Frankie’s broad shoulders were definitely broader and his arms were thicker and more muscular. But Frankie was miserable; he missed how you looked at him adoringly as he ate, or how you would squirm under his weight. He’d pulled away and was irritated almost all the time when he was home. He'd barely touched you in the past two months, and it left you wondering why he had become so removed. You’d tried talking to him, crawling onto his lap in nothing but a smile, but he’d declined, saying something along the line of being tired. Needless to say, the dejection had caused your vibrator and dildo collection to increase.

Frankie texted you on a Friday evening and said he was going to the gym with Benny, and you could eat without him. Your heart sank when you read the message and you ate your pathetic peanut butter and jam sandwich alone at the table. Your sadness quickly turned to anger with a smack of horniness; he’d gone from needing to make you scream his name and come on his hands, mouth and cock almost daily to barely looking at you, and you had only done what you thought he wanted you to. Not bothering to clear the table, you stomped off to your bedroom and grabbed one of your toys from the drawer. It was a newer one that was specifically used on your clit, and it was the closest thing to his mouth you could get. Not bothering to look at the time, you got to work, making yourself whine and pant, starting the ritual you’d created every time you missed his touch.

You were so engrossed and close to climax that you didn’t hear Frankie’s truck pull up or the door open. You didn’t hear him come down the hallway because he no longer called out your name; he had stopped doing that a month ago. You didn’t hear him standing in the hallway, rocking between his feet anxiously, listening to you pulling those sounds that he used to out of your mouth. You didn’t hear the hurt that was boiling over into frustration and anger in his mind.

You did, however, hear the bedroom door open as you came, and when your eyes met his, you barely recognized the broad, angry man standing in your doorway.

“What. The. Fuck.”, he snarled through gritted teeth. In his heightened state, he couldn’t differentiate whether his anger was at you for what you were doing or at him for not willing to do it to you himself.

“Frankie... baby... hi...”, you said softly, reaching your hand out to him, beckoning him to join you.

“What the FUCK is that?”, he barked, clearly hurt, and pointing to the vibrator in your hand.

You jumped at his harsh, loud tone, then closed your legs and pulled your knees to your body. Swallowing hard, you tried to find your voice, “Honey... I just... I needed...”

He stepped into your room, his hulking form at the end of the bed. His eyes darted between your face and the vibrator. For the first time ever in your relationship, he felt unneeded and replaced. Betrayal broke out on his face, and he yelled, “You needed what? To replace me? Let me know I can’t keep you happy, so you put of a fucking show for me to come home to?”

This was not your Frankie. Why was he mad? He’d never been angry before when he’d walk in on you masturbating in the past. He used to take it as the warm up act before he got to the main event, even telling you to finish for him before he got involved.

“Baby... honey, no! I could never replace you! I just... I wanted a release... I didn’t think it was a big deal!”

“That’s why you had to hide it then, huh?”, he yelled again, this time, sadness and hurt clearly in his voice. He didn’t know how to tell you the deep hurt he felt, thinking you were hiding this from him; thinking you didn't want him anymore, “Wait till I’m not home and then fuck yourself? Don’t need me anymore?”

You saw his body language show more than his words could say. He was hurting and had been hurting for a while. You had no clue that he was making this whole big change for you, and now you’d basically told him that after all that hard work, you’d replaced him. No, you had no idea what was running through his head. All you knew was that you were tired of being rebuffed and ignored and wanted to give yourself some much needed pleasure and release and he was mad at you for it.

“How fucking dare you! You barely even look at me anymore – let alone touch me – and you want to give me shit for wanting to-to feel good?”, you yelled back, standing up from the bed. His face fell and his big brown eyes widened. Your emotions were getting the better of you, and you could feel the hot tears begin to flood your eyes. Your voice cracked. “What is happening, Frankie? Talk to me!”

He said nothing. He just turned and hurried out of the room, and you heard the back door slam shut and the garage door open. You waited to hear the truck start, but nothing came. You grabbed your things from the bathroom and bedroom and settled into the guest room.

After having a shower in the guest bathroom, you’d crawled into the guest bed and tried to sooth yourself by scrolling through your phone. It was only once you heard Frankie come back into the house that you put your phone down. You saw his shadow pass the guestroom door, heading to your room, and then come back out and hover in front of the door. You wanted to call out to him, but it seemed fruitless. He’s turned down so many of your advances and chances to open up, you figured this was it. If he wanted it, he had to make the move.

Your heart broke for a second time that night as the shadow retreated back down the hallway, and you heard your bedroom door close.

Your night was restless; you tossed and turned, never able to find a spot that was comfortable. By the time morning light was pouring in through the window, you’d resigned to the fact that you were not going to get more than a few hours of sleep.

As you laid in bed, trying to decide how to tackle the awkwardness that was sure to come from your next interaction with Frankie, your phone buzzed and your heard his buzz, too, from the next room.

Calendar Reminder! - 12:00 pm – Taste of the Town! Food Truck Festival

You groaned quietly, turning off the reminder. You’d bought tickets months ago for this, before Frankie’s health kick, at his request. You’d already made up your mind that he wouldn’t want to go – you weren’t going to make him – and opened up your messages to ask the group chat if anyone wanted the tickets.

As you typed, a notification popped up from Frankie.

You still wanna go?

You were stunned. You knew he knew you’d read the message, and you wanted to answer, desperately clawing at any shred of attention he was willing to give you, but he was still on your shit list.

Was gonna ask the guys and Hannah if they wanted the tickets. Assumed you wouldn’t want to.

Through the walls, you heard him get out of bed and rip open the bedroom door. You got out of bed and waited for him to come bursting through the guestroom door, but instead he knocked.

“Mouse? I-I think... I want to go with you. Might be fun, baby...”

His voice was soft and pleading, and it made you melt. But you wanted an apology, an explanation!

“It’s okay... I know it’s not your thing anymore...”

The door opened up and Frankie stood in front of you with an adorable pout on his face.

“No. I want to go. With you. I want to go with you.”

You’d conceded and now that you were standing outside in the sunshine with Frankie as he ate a hot dog, you were glad you did. While the conversation was a bit awkward and stilted, he was at least talking to you.

You mind wandered, watching the other happy couples walking hand in hand, when Frankie’s voice pulled you back.

“Mouse? You gonna eat that?”

You turned to him, then looked where he was pointing – at your hot dog.

“Oh... no. Go ahead.”, you said quickly. Then as he grabbed it and was about to take a bite, you blurted out, “Are you sure you want another one?”

You knew it was wrong as you watched Frankie’s eyes fall. He closed his mouth and put the hot dog down onto the picnic table, and sulked. You felt horrible.

“Honey... I didn’t mean to stop you. I just thought...”

“Thought what?”, he interjected in a cold, quiet tone. “Thought if I ate that you’d have a fat boyfriend again?”

You froze, feeling the lump in your throat start. Is that what you had become? That girlfriend? “No... No, I thought it’s what you... I - never mind. You enjoy it, okay?”

He didn’t look up at you. You did your best to keep the tears at bay, but it was quickly going to be a fruitless endevour. You got up from the table, trying and failing to keep your voice from breaking, “I’m going to get us something to drink, okay?”

If he tried to stop you or say something, you didn’t know; you were already moving away from him, discreetly wiping your eyes.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet and somber. Frankie had eaten your hot dog, but avoided anything else except the lemonade you brought him. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you didn’t want this to go on any longer.

“Frankie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what I did to fuck this up, but I want to make it better.”

He stopped and looked at you. You felt his eyes look over your face, examining you. And he was. He was looking for his Mouse; his sassy, hot tempered, spitfire Mouse. Instead, he saw you looking the way you had for months, and he’d ignored it – sad and scared. He pulled you into a hug and it felt different; not just from the bit of weight he’d lost, but the emotion behind it, and you couldn't place what it was be it felt final.

“I’m sorry, too, baby.”

The ride home was quiet; the only sound was the radio on a low volume. You noticed up ahead that traffic was backing up on the highway, and as Frankie slowed the truck to a stop, he swore under his breath.

Then you heard it. His tummy grumbled. Frankie was hungry.

“Do you still keep snacks in your truck?”

Your quiet question broke through the silence and was met with an irritated sigh from Frankie.

“No. Benny helped me clean it all out.”

“I have a granola bar in my purse.”

You pulled out the little, wrapped bar and held it out for him. After a brief hesitation, he took it and ate it.

Silence.

“You... you got any more?”

You smiled to yourself and pulled another one out of your bag, handing it to him, and just as with the first, it disappeared quickly.

“Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t had a real conversation lately... and I just wanna know how you're doing.”, you pleaded softly. You took a risk and placed your hand on his shoulder.

He let out a huff. “I hate this.”

You pulled your hand back and faced forward, and he quickly turned, grabbing your hand.

“No! No no no! Mouse, no, honey! That’s not what I meant! I mean... I hate this diet!”

“This diet?”

He turned back, hand returning to the steering wheel. “Yeah... I hate it. I’m always hungry and I just feel like shit, and I don’t feel like myself and I know this is what you want, but - “

“Whoa! Wait... what I want?”, you interjected, sounding almost offended.

“Yeah. You want this. “, Frankie eyed you before finishing, “... don’t you?”

“I... no! I thought you wanted this!”

“Why would you think that?!”, he snapped.

“Be-because you said you thought you were getting too big so I asked if you wanted to make a change and you said yes! I was trying to be supportive!”

You didn’t mean to yell that at him, but you were so wound up and just as confused as he was.

You stared at each other until a horn honking broke the silence. Frankie quickly turned and got the truck moving again.

“You did this for me? Not because... not because you hated how I looked?”

You stared at him aghast. “How are you even asking that?!”

“You made me do it so quickly! Like all of sudden you... you just stopped. Stopped everything! It’s like you wanted it and as soon as I said it, you were elated!”

“Oh my god, no! Frankie, no! I always felt selfish giving you all this food, and then you said you might not be happy with it... I love how happy I can make you with food and I never stopped! I put the same energy I would have into feeding you into... into not doing it as much!”, you said frantically. “Why didn’t you say anything? Is this why you’ve ignored me? Why you’ve-you’ve cut me out? Is this why you don’t like me anymore? Don’t want to be around me?”

Frankie slammed on the brakes and the whole truck lurched. He looked at you with wide eyed, his mouth open in shock.

The horn behind you sounded again, and if not for the moving traffic, you were sure that that Frankie was ready to jump out and punch the guy behind you’s lights out.

As soon as an opportunity presented itself, Frankie exited the highway and pulled into a parking lot. He threw the truck into park and ripped his seat belt off, then jumped out of the truck. You stayed put, watching him stalk around to the passenger side and rip the door open.

“What?!”, he barked, breathing heavily with a panicked face.

“What??”, you asked back, just as panicked as he was.

“You think I don’t like you?! That I don’t want to be around you?”

“Yes!”, you cried out softly, grabbing his face. “You keep pushing me away and I don’t know why!”

His eyes searched yours before he spoke.

“Tell me you want me to enjoy eating again.”

“I... what? Frankie, I’m trying to be serious here!”

“So am I! Say it! If you mean it, say it!”

“I...”

“Tell me you want me to eat everything on my plate.”, he growled, reaching around and unbuckling your seat belt. “Tell me you want me to hit my fucking limit every day at dinner.”

You felt heat pooling in your core. This was the most animated and hottest you’d seen him in so long.

“I want -”

“Tell me you wanna watch my clothes get too small again.”

He pushed you back and crawled up on the bench and shoved his knee right up to your cunt as he hovered over you.

“Tell me you want a fat guy to fuck you.”

“I want you to get fat again and fuck me.”

From the outside, it was clear what was happening in the truck. The door was wide open and your only saving grace was that you were in a parking lot for a nightclub, and it was 2:30 pm. Regardless, Frankie ate you out in the front seat of the car and you finally made it home around 5:00pm – just in time for dinner.

You made sure he finished everything you made – lasagna of course! Then, instead of Frankie hoisting himself to the couch, he backed you down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Never wanna go that long again without your pussy on my mouth, princess...”

You whined as you gripped his full – albeit smaller – belly. He grunted and one of your hands slid down to his hard cock in his jeans.

“I don’t want these jeans to fit you anymore, Frankie...”, you cooed as you palmed his cock. “Wanna watch you struggle getting them up... got too skinny for me...”

Frankie made a groaning sound as his eyes rolled and he shoved you onto the bed. You got your clothes off and frantically helped him remove his and you pulled him down on top of you.

“Fuck! I missed this!”, you growled, biting his ear lobe.

He shifted and laid on his side and pulled you into a feverish kiss. As your mouths danced, his hand slid between your legs. He groaned again with how wet you were.

“Can’t wait... need to fuck this pussy... need to feel it, princess.”

You nodded dumbly, shoving him to his back and crawling onto him. You spat in your hand, gave his cock a few pumps, then positioned yourself over him and sank down.

You both let out long, low moans, finally feeling like the missing puzzle piece was found. You started moving and his hands gripped your hips, keeping pace.

“Say it, princess... say it”

“I’m gonna make you so fat, Frankie...”

Benny pulled up to your house, determined to find out why Frankie had started coming up with excuses to avoid work outs. It had been almost two months since the last time he showed up and he’d looked like he’d put on a little weight then.

“Fish? Mouse? Anyone home?”, he yelled, banging on the door.

Frankie was sitting on the couch, letting dinner settle, and smiled at you then motioned for you to stay seated.

“I’ll get it.”

As soon as the door opened, Benny knew exactly why he wasn’t coming to work outs. Frankie’s stuffed belly was almost nearing where it was when Benny started working with him, and the shirt he was wearing looked to be at its maximum tension.

He grinned and gently elbowed Frankie’s belly. “See you’re putting in a different kind of work, huh, Fish?”

TAGLIST: @theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @nerdieforpedro @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@vabeachazn @clawdee @iamasaddie @tightjeansjavi@rubyfruitjungle @lilmizmoz

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #frankie morales #triple frontier #you ask beefro answers #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#🥩#the catfish & the mouse one shot #thot tank

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suzukiblu · 5 months

Note

Interdimensional refugees for wip Wednesday pretty please!

“. . . there’s a snack table?” Jon lifts his head, looking bewildered. It is incredibly weird seeing him so young. Kon's used to them being, well, physiologically the same age. Actually Jon might have a year or two on him; neither of them have ever been sure.

Depends on how you count the aging issues, and the dead thing, and the alternate reality incidents, and the time travel, and . . .

Look, it's complicated.

“Well, there’s a meal station with disaster supplies keeping everybody fed, at least,” Kon replies with a shrug. He’d just phrased it “snack table” because he’d figured that’d sound more inviting to a ten year-old who wasn’t, like, lab-built or VR-raised or like . . . whatever. “It’s mostly MREs and bottled water, but it’s something. And you should eat while you can, we don’t know what’s gonna happen next.”

#anonymous #wip: mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

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oliversrarebooks · 4 months

Text

Alexander's Sweet Dream Part 3: Alexander's Christmas

Not all vampires celebrate the holidays that humans do, especially the religious ones, but some still choose to hold on to the ceremonies they loved when they were human.

Previous Masterlist

TW: mind control, kidnapping, disordered eating, blood drinking, mentions of restraints and muzzles

Lex's stomach was twisting and churning.

He could smell it, smell that impossibly delicious blood just out of reach. He could smell it even past the stench of leather and sweat from the muzzle sealing his mouth shut. He wasn't sure what was wrapped thickly around his limbs, if it was chains or rope or purely mental bonds, but he knew that it was keeping his relief from him.

"Alexander."

His sire. He tried to staunch the flow of tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping off the muzzle onto the floor, tried to kneel and bow in perfect posture before his limbs were forced into place. His body protested, weak from hunger and lack of rest. Just get through one more night, he told himself. One more night, and he might be fed.

He couldn't take it any more, but it didn't matter how much he thought he couldn't take it any more. He was entirely at his sire's mercy. No escape. No respite.

"Lex."

His head was swimming, confused. That wasn't right. That wasn't his sire's voice. That was Fitz. He was here too, as trapped as he was.

It was all his fault.

"Lex. Wake up, love."

His eyes snapped open.

He wasn't restrained, wasn't muzzled. He was tangled in fine silk sheets in his own bed. The burning hunger dissipated into a low ache. And Fitz was here, resting comfortably next to him with concern in his eyes.

"You were having a nightmare," said Fitz. "I thought I should wake you."

"Thanks." Lex tried to steady himself back in reality. His sire was dust, he'd seen to it himself. Never again would he feel the sickening tug of his sire's power turning his body against him. Never again would he be confined to a cell for weeks on end with no blood. Never again would he take Lex's most precious thrall and render him broken. "Sorry. That was a bad one. It seems I've taken all of the bedclothes."

Fitz laughed. "You're hardly responsible for what you do while you sleep," he said, resting his head on Lex's shoulder. "You were calling out for blood again."

Lex pushed a hand through his unruly hair. "I suppose I must be hungry," he said, as his stomach twisted with need at the thought of blood. "But it's only been..."

"A few days, which is normal for a vampire. Isn't it?" Fitz had one hand idly playing with Lex's hair while the other fiddled with his hand, the touch soothing and familiar. "Your sire and his rules are gone for good. I'll remind you of that as many times as it takes."

"I do realize that, but..."

"Your sire and his rules are gone," said Fitz, more insistently. "Hell, I need to hear that just as much as you do."

Lex didn't miss the fear flashing through Fitz's eyes. "He's gone, forever. We're safe," he agreed.

"Right. And we have two top-notch, impeccably conditioned, and eager thralls between the two of us. There's plenty of blood. Plenty of blood for you to drink your fill."

He ached with desire, and felt a bit ridiculous. Fitz was right, after all. Oliver could spare the blood. There was no longer any reason to go hungry and deny himself. He didn't need to practice going without, to carefully ration his meals as though starvation could set in at any moment.

And even though the bedroom was on the third floor, well away from the areas the thralls occupied, Lex could practically smell Oliver's rich, delicious blood.

And something else...

"The thralls must be making dinner."

"Well, yes, it's Christmas Eve," said Fitz.

"Oh, it is, isn't it?" Lex took a deeper breath and found he could smell it more clearly: roast goose with bread and oyster stuffing, boiling potatoes, squash baking with cinnamon and spices, cranberry sauce. Fitz's thrall Roger had proposed the idea of an elaborate Christmas dinner several weeks ago, Oliver had enthusiastically agreed, and of course the two vampires couldn't deny their precious thralls such a reasonable request. They'd been given a generous allowance with which to buy whatever groceries were required, and had returned with cold-stung faces, heavy bags, and bright smiles.

The scent of the meal was enough even to awaken Lex's greatly diminished tastes for human food. It reminded him of when he was a boy, making himself a nuisance in the kitchen and tugging at maids' skirts to plead for a taste of the desserts, memories nearly forgotten and rarely disturbed.

"Perhaps, then, I'll take my meal after Oliver has had his chance to eat dinner and make merry," said Lex. "It's only right that we should both enjoy our Christmas Eve."

"That's the spirit!"

"As loathe as I am to leave the comfort of the bed, we should join in the festivities," said Lex.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind that either," said Fitz, reaching for a flannel dressing gown.

The smell of goose and cranberry and spice grew much stronger as Lex made his way down the manor stairs towards the kitchen. Many of the gas lamps in the first and second floors had been lit, giving the often gloomy manor a more cheery aura. A bright paper garland had been wrapped around the balconies, a potted poinsettia taking up residence near the front door. There was laughter coming from the kitchen.

"Oh, good evening, masters! And merry Christmas!" Oliver was stirring a bubbling something on the stove. He was wearing a bright red sweater and a practical brown apron covered in flour spots.

"Season's greetings, sirs!" Roger was sitting at the kitchen table, also decked in a bright red sweater.

"Merry Christmas," said Lex, drawing nearer to his thrall. Despite the competing scents in the kitchen, he could still smell the enticing undertone of Oliver's blood. He was glad Fitz talked him into feeding. He couldn't bear to go another night without it.

"Master...?" said Oliver, his eyes going dazed. He put down the wooden spoon he was holding and turned to Lex, tilting his head and exposing his neck. "Would you like to drink?"

Oh, hell, that was hard to resist. Lex gathered all of his willpower to reel his desire back in, snapping his fingers near Oliver's ear and patting him on the head. "Not yet, Oliver, although I appreciate the offer. But if I drink from you now, you'd ruin your cooking."

"I suppose, sir," said Oliver, eyes traveling reluctantly back towards the stove.

"Later, after we've exchanged gifts and had our festivities, that's when I'll drink, if that pleases you," he said, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Yes, master, that sounds perfect!" said Oliver. It was such a delight to have a thrall so enthusiastic for each feeding, especially one with such high quality blood. The perfect addition to the household -- even conditioning him had taken so little effort.

And as Oliver and Roger bustled to finish Christmas dinner and set it all up at the kitchen table, Fitz lightly teasing them and getting in the way, Lex felt truly grateful. He couldn't imagine any vampire living better than this.

His sire was dust and couldn't harm him any more, couldn't prevent him from filling his nights with music and reading and the company of his lover and his thralls. And just as importantly, his sire hadn't succeeded in turning Lex into a bitter, dissatisfied copy of himself. Oliver wasn't held here by cruelty. He was healthy and happy, the sadness and distance in his eyes from when he'd first been captured fading away as he learned where he'd belonged.

And Fitz was healing, too, his smiles coming easier. He laughed as he pulled Lex out of his thoughts and over to the table. Lex rarely ate human food, but he amused himself with a few bites along with a glass of wine.

More wine was brought into the music room, where a few wrapped presents had been set near the bench, including one suspiciously large and lumpy one wrapped in parcel paper and tied with a red bow. "I'd like to go last," said Fitz, leaning on Lex's shoulder. "Why don't we give the thralls their presents first?"

Lex agreed, and pulled the first of the presents from the pile -- soft cashmere scarves, a traditional gift for thralls. Oliver's was a deep green and Roger's a bright red, and Lex was delighted by Oliver's expression as he wrapped the scarf around his tender neck.

Next, Lex produced his personal gift to Oliver, who carefully removed the paper with nary so much as a tear and set it aside. His eyes lit up once more at the sight of the antique but well-preserved book. It was a tome on fae culture written by a sixteenth-century witch who had extensive dealings with the fair folk. This volume was highly regarded and not particularly rare among the supernatural, but it was unknown to humans, and this copy was in especially fine condition. Lex knew that the subject matter and presentation would appeal to his beloved thrall, and he was correct -- Oliver's eyes went wide as saucers as he reverently turned the pages to the many interesting illustrative plates.

"I have a present for you, too, sir," said Oliver, handing over a wrapped parcel that was very obviously a book. "Merry Christmas, Master."

"Thank you," said Lex, with a fond ruffle of Oliver's hair. Vampires generally didn't expect presents from their thralls, but Oliver was afforded a generous amount of both money and autonomy, and so capable of producing this pleasant surprise. Lex unwrapped the present to discover --

"It's a book on outer space, sir -- a new human book, with the latest scientific theories, and pictures from the most advanced telescopes," Oliver explained. "I thought since you enjoy stargazing, you might like a different perspective on the stars."

"It's perfect," said Lex, and meant it, running his hand over the silver embossed cover. It was exactly the kind of thing he would never think to purchase for himself, but which his perceptive human knew he would enjoy. A different perspective, indeed. "Thank you very much, Oliver. I'll treasure it."

Oliver beamed with the satisfaction of having pleased his master.

Nearby, Roger was giving Fitz a set of unusually large, gold-backed playing cards. "Something you can use in your act, sir."

"Oh, yes, this is ideal," said Fitz, dramatically fanning the cards and shuffling them back together. "Excellent taste. But I would expect no less from you."

"They're awfully flashy, sir," said Oliver.

Fitz's grin was enormous. "Aren't they just?"

"When you've finished admiring the new cards, I have your present as well," said Lex. He was still nervous that Fitz would like it, as though he was a schoolboy in the grip of first love and not a vampire who had lived far too long already.

Fitz pulled the beautiful gold pocket watch from the parcel. It was made with the finest Swiss clockwork and embossed with an intricate pattern of flowers and leaves.

"Another prop for your act, I suppose," said Lex nonchalantly.

"It's far more than that. It's absolutely gorgeous," said Fitz, and Lex could see the watch reflected in his eyes as he dangled it in front of his face. He looked genuinely moved -- not in his usual performative way. "I'll treasure this."

"I'm glad you --" Lex felt his mouth stopped with a kiss, and he leaned into it, the cold lips soft and willing.

No, it truly couldn't get any better than this.

They might've stayed pressed together forever, Fitz's hands running along Lex's back, if it weren't for a loud cough from Roger. Even so, Fitz never cared about engaging in displays of affection in front of the thralls -- but tonight, he clearly had something else in mind.

"My present to you! You haven't opened it yet," said Fitz. "Go on, go on!"

Lex laughed at his eagerness, removing the ribbon and paper from the -- "A hand-cranked gramophone," said Lex, admiring the fine wood and shining bronze horn.

"I know you've said that live music is better than anything a wax disc can produce, and I do agree, but this will allow us to dance together while the thralls handle the music," said Fitz. He reached under one of the chairs, producing a few records that he'd apparently hidden there. "Let's try it out."

"I don't see why not."

Fitz put a record on the machine and instructed Roger on operating it, then pulled Lex to a standing position as the gramophone flickered to life and began to play a lively waltz. Fitz took the lead, as he always had, guiding Lex across the music room floor with a smile on his face and effortless grace in his steps.

And for a moment, Lex could almost imagine that they were both human, young and warm and so in love.

"You're beautiful," said Lex, as Fitz swept him across the floor.

"Indeed. We both are. We're practically made for each other, I'd say."

"Awfully sentimental, don't you think?" Lex teased.

"You of all vampires don't get to tease me for that. Besides, it's Christmas Eve. If I'm not allowed to be sickeningly sentimental tonight, when else would I be allowed?"

The dancing was only a momentary respite from Lex's hunger, of course, especially with two delicious thralls so close, and it wasn't long before Fitz was nudging him in Oliver's direction. "Go on and feed. It's a holiday, after all. We'll both feed."

Lex nodded, unable to deny himself any longer. How sweet it was to have healthy, vibrant thralls to provide for them. How lovely it was to see Oliver perk up and focus his attention as Lex approached.

"I'd like to take my dinner now, if you don't mind," said Lex, sitting next to Oliver on the plush bench.

"Yes, master, please do." Oliver had clearly already fallen deep into a pleasurable daze just from the aura Lex was emitting. He pulled his red sweater off to expose more of his neck. "Please feed. I'm more than happy to provide my blood, sir."

"Such an excellent thrall," said Lex. "I'm so glad you're here with me tonight, Oliver."

"I'm glad too, sir."

Lex brushed his soft hair away from his ear as he hummed a soothing melody to prepare Oliver for the feeding, watching as his eyes shut tight in blissful half-sleep. And when his fangs finally punctured Oliver's neck, the taste was more rich and delicious than Lex had ever remembered.

Previous Masterlist

Happy holidays and happy new year!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives

#whump #vampire #mind control #whump writing #rare bookseller #writing #whumpee #vampire whumper #blood drinking #christmas #oliver #fitz #alexander #roger

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 7 months

Text

Amore Mio [Secret Trope]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Secret situation 1. Character A is keeping a secret from Character B, until it comes out in a dramatic moment. "Frank has been keeping something from you."

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Female Reader. FLUFF. Based on a wonderful request from @xxdrixx . I hope my Italian is not shit, but I know just a little bit from singing opera and kinda went off what I know from that.

WC: 734

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

Frank’s phone went flying across the room, landing with a plonk in the armchair.

You looked at him curiously, having just come back from making popcorn in the kitchen.

“What was– ?” you asked

“Picture of a snake. Fuckin scared me.” Frank responded

You rolled your eyes at the thought of the Big Bad Punisher getting spooked at a photo of a snake popping up on whatever app he was on, but you sat beside him and started the movie, the incident soon leaving your mind.

But several more times over the next few months, situations like this would happen. You’d walk into the room and Frank would suddenly get nervous and find an excuse to close his phone quickly.

If it were any other man, you might find it suspicious, but Frank was too loyal and honest for you to ever suspect anything nefarious.

Then came date night. Frank had taken you to an unusually nice restaurant, having even put on a pair of pants that weren’t jeans just to spoil you with a romantic evening.

Except his mind seemed a million miles away and he kept picking up his phone, reading something while muttering to himself, then putting it down suddenly when he noticed you staring.

You were about to ask just what the hell was up, when the waitress came over to take your order.

“Hi, my name is Francesca. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you guys started with some drinks?”

Your face lit up hearing her speak, recognizing a familiar accent in her voice.

“Sei Italiana?”

“SÌ!” she responded

You talked for a few minutes, reminiscing in Italian about where you were from. Frank watched the two of you, smile on his face as he knew how much you loved speaking in your first language and meeting people from your home.

The waitress was so excited to connect with you, she even brought you and Frank free dessert at the end of the meal, delicious creme brulee the perfect way to end the evening.

“Wanna take the scenic route home?” he asked, offering his hand out to you

You nodded with a smile, happy to have a date night with Frank that didn’t involve him rushing off halfway through to go deal with ‘business’.

There was a chill in the air as you walked hand in hand along the pier of Hudson River Park.

Frank’s jacket was draped across your shoulders, ever the gentleman keeping you warm when you prioritized your outfit over dressing for comfort and the weather.

You stopped walking after a while, leaning side by side on a railing and watching the lights of New Jersey sparkle across the water. Frank’s hand was splayed across your lower back, a quiet gesture of affection and protection.

After a few minutes basking in the comfortable silence of each other's presence, Frank finally spoke.

“Amore mio. My love.” he whispered in your ear

Your spine went rigid and goosebumps crawled along your skin. You’d never heard Frank speak Italian before.

“Hai cambiato la mia vita. You have changed my life.” he continued, voice trembling from nerves “Non riesco a immaginare un futuro senza di te. I cannot imagine a future without you.”

Was this really happening? Had Frank learned your native tongue just to use it for the most romantic proposal ever?

His familiar touch disappeared from your side as he knelt down on one knee beside you, pulling a velvet box from his pocket.

“Vuoi sposarmi? Will you marry me?”

You could feel the tears coming on as his big brown eyes stared up at you, waiting for your answer.

“SÌ” you responded with a shaky voice, too overcome with emotion to manage much else.

A grin like you’d never seen spread across his face as rose to his feet and kissed you deeply.

After he slid the ring on your finger, you knew you had to ask.

“How long have you been learning Italian, mio caro?”

“Bout six months. Wanted to get it good enough to do this. Maybe we can do our vows in Italian too?” Frank responded sheepishly, pulling out his phone and tapping the icon with the green owl to show you just how much he’d progressed on his own.

Now you understood what he had been hiding on his phone from you.

“Perfetto. Perfect.” you said, kissing him once more

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher #trope de sept #nmcu #jon bernthal

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