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✨On The Line {Modern Bodyguard!Din AU} He makes you feel safe. The kind of safe you know you could not be safer in any other arms than his.

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inspo tag: #bodyguard!din 

New Ao3 drabble (with art!)

✨Kissing Strangers in the Dark {Neighbour!Javi} He has no reason to look out for you - but he does. playlist // inspo tag

✨The Three of Us  {Threesome AU} Frankie Morales/fem!reader/Marcus Pike

~~

You let him tug you down on top of him, content knowing that the effect you have on him is equally disarming, “Hey, this was your idea, remember?” 

Sinking into the worn leather of the couch, you brace yourself on his shoulders, knees hugging him on either side, your dress bunching over your thighs.  His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down, blowing a hot breath out of his mouth when he catches a glimpse of the dark lace between your legs. He looks weak and starved all at once, running his hands up your thighs, curving around your ass, giving you an appreciative squeeze.

“Mmhm...” he hums, hooking an index finger under the one strap, sliding it off your shoulder, he sits up, his mouth focused on the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your bare skin. “I've got more ideas and all of them include this dress on the floor right now.”

“How am I supposed to resist that?” Sinking your fingers into his hair, you guide his mouth to yours.

His hands slide underneath your dress. “I hope you can’t.”

///

It’s taken all damn day and three caramel apples but he’s finally got you standing in line with him, sharing popcorn and more junk food, and every few minutes when the line advances, his hand finds the small of your back, tracing soothing circles, and you think maybe it’s the way he’s just licked cotton candy off your thumb, or maybe it’s the fact that he could not seem to keep his hands off you all day, but whatever he’s doing is working because the nervous flutter in your chest isn’t so bad anymore. 

From across the pier, it didn’t seem that big, but now that you’re standing directly under it, this is by far the worst ride in the entire park and you blame the sugar high for letting him talk you into this. He senses your jitters again and he tucks you into his side, pressing his lips softly to your temple. Your free hand slides into his back pocket and the brim of his ball cap skims the top of your head, he is warm and solid and more of your tension bleeds away. The next empty bucket that jerks to a halt is for you.

“You owe me for this, Morales.”

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer; he just laces his fingers with yours, that dimple in his cheek melting the rest of your resolve and fuck, it’s kinda hard to deny him anything when he smiles like that. He leads the way up the ramp and into the open metal carriage with the narrow bench big enough for two. 

Everything from your elbows down is hidden from sight inside the swaying bucket.  The sturdy bar positioned across your lap looks like it was painted blue at some point but had long since been overtaken by rust. You resist the urge to look up.

The ride operator steps up, reaches inside and jostles the restraint over your lap, testing its latch before shutting the half-door with a clink. Without warning your bucket is yanked backwards a few feet and your stomach lurches, knuckles turning white on the rusted bar. The bucket then jolts to a stop to let the next people in line a chance to get on. 

Yep. Worst idea ever. 

“Oh god,” Taking a shuddering breath, you would give anything to be as relaxed as he looks, knees splaying, back slouched, “I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

He pulls you into the circle of his arms, his calming, “Breathe, baby, I’ve got you,” is the only thing that makes the next few jolts bearable as you climb higher. He reaches across your lap and gently tugs your knees together pulling them snug to his side. 

Turning your face into his shoulder, you wait for him to tell you this is nonsense and that you have nothing to worry about. 

But he won’t because that’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that. 

“Hey,” he coaxes into your ear, “you’re okay, I’m not letting go of you.” 

Forcing yourself to breathe, you relax your grip on the bar in front of you just as another jerk propels you backwards again, then another, and another and now you’re halfway up the back of the massive wheel. Squeezing your eyes shut, your heart is beating inside your throat now and you’re fairly certain your stomach is lying somewhere on the ground below. Frankie has to pry your hand off his thigh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Watching me lose my shit over the damn Ferris Wheel.” 

“But you’re doing it,” with his nose, he nudges your face up, pressing his lips to yours, “even though you’re afraid.”

The truth was, you wouldn’t be doing it if he weren’t with you. And he knew that. 

When he’d learned there was only one thing you were scared of, he found it hard to believe at first and also adorable as hell, but he never bugged you about it; he knew what it was like to be teased about something you can’t control. The irony is not lost on you that your boyfriend happens to be a pilot. The only thing he'd said at the time was, only idiots are not afraid of anything.

Jerking to a halt again, you’re above the trees and now it’s the unobstructed view that captures your attention and steals your breath. It's spectacular, all glowing neon and twinkling lights. The sun is sinking, turning the sky into breathtaking orange and pink, matching the sprawling scene below.

“Oh," you breathe, "this is gorgeous.” 

"Yeah," he lets go of your shoulder to drag his thumb down your neck, placing his mouth just below your ear. “It is.”

Your shiver is accompanied by a familiar surge of warmth under the softness of his voice because he's not talking about the sunset.

Deep down, Frankie knows there would never come a day that his heart would not trip over itself and spill butterflies into his stomach whenever you’d enter a room. 

There used to be a time he'd thought he’d never be enough, but you’d put those deep-seated fears of his to rest a long time ago. You’d been the unshakable and constant stability in his life that left no room for any doubt. Not that he’d had any qualms or cold feet about spending the rest of his life with you; it was quite the opposite.  The purple velvet box at the bottom of his pocket induced enough butterflies to fill his truck bed if that was any indication of how strongly he felt about you. The rush he'd felt in his insides during his very first simulation at the academy was nothing compared to the glow he felt today and he had to keep hiding his smile against your shoulder to try and rein it in. 

The ride starts to glide smoothly and okay; all things considered, this wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought. Dusk is beginning to settle and Frankie’s arm rests warm and heavy across your shoulders. The wind on your face feels fantastic and you’re not quite sure when your nervous energy changes into something else but every time you feel the downward pull on your body, your face splits into a grin and if you weren't so damn happy, you'd be rolling your eyes right now wondering when your life turned into a fucking rom-com. 

When he faces you, the sun leaves dazzling flecks of deep gold in his eyes, making them shine like bronze. His crooked smile pulls softly at the corner of his eye, a smile that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking, a smile that makes your heart lose its balance. It’s the same look he’d had when you came out of the bedroom this afternoon; the same look you’d pretended not to notice all day, wandering the pier together. Your heart is suddenly fluttering again and it has nothing to do with being three hundred feet off the ground.

“Okay Frankie, what’s going on? This all part of some plan of yours?” 

He takes off his ball cap and then replaces it in the same spot on his head, clearing his throat. “What plan.” 

“Getting me on the biggest ride here, winning me over with… with enough sugar to last a year and all your sweet talk and... listen, it's gonna take a lot more than a few well-placed kisses to get me into your co-pilot seat.” 

You feel his chest beginning to shake with laughter, “Baby, my chopper is much safer than this fuckin rust bucket. The-,” 

Your mouth gapes.  “Oh fuck you.

Just when you were starting to relax.

He blocks your loose fist with a gentle grip before it hits his shoulder, uses it to pull you in, your affronted gasp cut off when his lazy grin bumps with your open mouth. You had a dozen comebacks for the way he just teased you, but they all melt before they have a chance to materialize. His eyes glitter with amusement and something else but he doesn't give you a chance to examine it. 

“Lemme kiss you properly and then you can think about fucking me, ok.”

It's a little hard to be irritated; it’s a little hard to think straight at all when his fingers start dancing up the inside of your knee. The rush in your stomach now has nothing to do with the way gravity is forcing you down into the seat. Damn this guy and his ability to silence every single thought in your head.  

The ride is nearing the end, and you find yourself disappointed remembering how nervous you’d felt about it at the start. It slows and eases to a stop, suspending the two of you at the highest point in the rotation. 

The sun half gone now, the clouds are washed with purple and dark orange, the leaves in the treetops kissing each other in the breeze. It’s peaceful up here, hanging above the world and you understand why Frankie loves it. And your heart just might shatter right now because for the first time you realize that’s why he wanted to share it with you. 

Your throat clogs up and you don't trust yourself to speak but you don't need to because he shifts slightly, angling you so he can slip his arms around your waist from behind, tucking his chin into your shoulder. He's the one steady hand in your life. You fall asleep at night and wake up knowing that he's never going to be anywhere but beside you.

“You're right,” you manage, "this was worth it."

The edges of his heart twinge at the lightness in your voice, he soaks it up, knowing he’s the one responsible for it, knowing all the things he wants to promise you, knowing he’s the one you lean on, the one you call in the middle of the day just to say hi, the one you trust, the one you’ve said countless times you want to grow old with so why the fuck was he so nervous. 

That’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that.

A fragment of a forgotten conversation echoes in his head, something he’d told you a long time ago: Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything. 

He ignores the trembling in his fingers and reaches into his pocket.

~~

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you don't remember his pants coming off but you do remember how your ankles curl possessively around his legs and it’s torturously slow and intense and he feels like he’ll lose his goddamn mind if he lets go of you 

and afterwards you both crash hard, you can’t help it, the first soundless sleep you've had in weeks. When he wakes, it’s dark and you’re still sprawled over him and he smiles knowing that you have not moved in hours. Careful not to wake you, he snuggles further under the blanket and easily drifts back to sleep 

Then there are days you see him in the kitchen making coffee and toast and your gaze travels over the breadth of those shoulders and down to the dark jeans hanging off his hips and flawlessly rounded outline just beneath and your mouth waters and fuck 

you tease him about being late for work and that’s when he sees you’re still in your towel, damp from the shower

Maybe you end up on the kitchen floor, or up against the door jam, or on the sofa 

Even better if his clothes are still mostly on because there are more important things on his mind than taking his shirt off

And there aren’t any pillows at all, and not much talking either

Because Frankie can’t always say what’s on his mind, he’d rather just show you instead 

other times you’re on the thick rug on your bedroom floor or sitting on his workbench in the garage with your legs wrapped around him and sometimes you're in the driver's seat of his pick-up, sweat pooling between your bodies, windows fogged up and dripping, breathing ragged, unable to speak at all

It’s a hazy combination of your sweat and his flushed cheeks and jagged heartbeats, fingers digging, unable to release his grip from your hips or your hair. His face buried in your neck, struggling to catch his breath

And finally, his head is blissfully fucking empty, his jaw is slack and it takes considerable effort to even hold his eyelids open, his sweet soft ‘fuck’, only for you

the delicious slick throb where you're still joined, your shuddering breath on his neck makes his blood feel like sludge and he doesn’t think he’ll ever move again

He hopes there are no bruises on you, aside from ones he didn’t want there in the first place

He doesn’t know how long it takes but eventually the haze lifts and softens into lazy smiles and low hums and gentle fingers over damp temples that bring you both back to reality. 

Even then he still can't keep his hands off you, or his mouth 

He never thought it was possible to feel this way about you after such a short time but he cannot deny the ache in his chest when he’s not with you

but now he is late for work and ‘it’s all your fault’ as he playfully digs a thumb into the soft skin just below your ribs making you laugh and flinch. 

Your eyes dance and he effectively cuts off any more giggling with his mouth. The sharp drag of your fingertips over his shoulders is worth being late for work 

Fingertips sliding along your hairline, nothing compares to how wet your mouth is and how perfectly your hips fit over his.

The kiss is unhurried and sluggish and when he finally pulls away you find yourself chasing his mouth because sweet hell the man knows how to kiss you

and also because he is still buried in you and he feels you clench hot and wet

‘fuck, you feel good’  rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest 

the only response you can manage is a whimper and it’s the dirtiest fucking sound, more heat spilling out of you

the wide muscles of his thighs bunch underneath you, the movement rocks your hips forward, the new angle makes your mouth go dry, taking all the air with it 

there is a sinful curve to his mouth as he watches you grind selfishly, the filthy wet sound of it pulls more words out of his mouth  

‘look at my girl… so fucking needy’ 

If he wants to, all he has to do is lower his voice a bit more and sink his teeth into the bottom of your neck. He’ll tilt his hips brushing over that magnificent spot inside and your back will arch and you’ll shatter to pieces for him again

And he wants to

~~

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