The Perils of Betrothal to a Man So Pretty He Must Be Gay
Valarr targaryen x foreigner reader
Synopsys: In which your fiance is so perfect he MUST be gay.
Word count: 3.4k
The first time you saw your betrothed, you thought the maester had slipped something into your wine.
It was the only logical explanation.
Prince Valarr Targaryen stood in the middle of the Red Keep's throne room, flanked by his father, the Crown Prince Baelor Breakspear, and his grandfather, King Daeron II. He was dressed in black velvet, the Targaryen three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his doublet. He was tall and lean, with the broad shoulders of a man who trained with a sword but the posture of someone who had never carried anything heavier than a book of poetry in his life.
And his face.
Gods be good, his face.
It wasn't just that he was handsome. Plenty of men in the Free Cities were handsome. You had grown up surrounded by the sons of magisters and merchants, men who preened and posed and thought very highly of themselves. No, this was different. This was obscene.
His skin was fair and clear, not a single blemish or scar to be seen. His dark brown hair caught the light, and threaded through it like a bolt of lightning frozen in time was a streak of silver-gold so bright it looked like spun metal. He looked like he spent his mornings being bathed in milk and his afternoons having rose petals gently buffed across his cheeks.
But it was his eyes that truly undid you.
They were⌠wrong.
One was blue. A clear, summer-sky blue that belonged on a painting of the Maiden.
The other was brown. Warm, rich, and dark.
It was the most beautiful mistake you had ever seen.
He caught you staring from across the room, and that mismatched gaze locked onto yours like he had been waiting for you his entire life. His lipsâsoft, pink, unfairly well-shaped lipsâcurved into a smile that was gentle, warm, and so genuine it made your chest ache.
You immediately looked away and decided you were going to be sick.
---
The engagement had been arranged for months before you ever met. Your father, a wealthy merchant from one of the Free Cities with more coin than titles, had jumped at the chance to marry his daughter into the royal family of Westeros. You had agreed because you were a practical girl who understood that life was about trading one set of problems for another.
You had expected a Targaryen prince.
You had not expected this.
The first week of your stay in King's Landing was a blur of introductions, formal dinners, and whispered conversations in corners. And through all of it, Valarr was there.
At the feast welcoming you to court, he sat beside you and asked you questions about your home. Not the polite, surface-level questions you were used toâ"Do you like it here?" "Is the weather much different?"âbut real questions. What did the markets smell like in the morning? What songs did the children sing in the streets? What was your favorite spot to sit and think?"
You told him about a quiet garden behind your father's estate, tucked away from the noise, where you used to read and pretend you were someone else. He listened with those mismatched eyes fixed on your face, and when you finished, he said, "I should like to see it someday. You'll have to show me."
You almost choked on your wine.
The next day, he found you in the library. You hadn't told him you were going there. You hadn't told anyone. But there he was, sliding into the chair across from you with a book of his own, as if you had planned it.
"Don't mind me," he said softly, already opening his book. "I won't disturb you."
He didn't. He sat there for two hours, reading quietly, occasionally glancing up to check on you like you were a flower he was trying to grow. When you finally closed your book, he closed his at the exact same moment.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.
"I⌠yes. Thank you."
He smiled. That same warm, gentle smile. "Good. I'll see you at dinner?"
And he left, and you sat there in the sudden silence, trying to figure out what had just happened.
---
It continued like that for weeks.
Valarr was always there. Not in an overwhelming way, not in a smothering way, but in a way that made you feel like the sun had decided to follow you around just to keep you warm. He brought you little thingsâa pastry from the kitchens he thought you might like, a flower he'd picked in the gardens, a book he'd heard you mention. He never made demands. He never pushed. He just⌠existed near you, quietly, contentedly.
And the way he looked at you.
Gods, the way he looked at you.
When you walked into a room, his attention snapped to you like you were the only person in existence. When you spoke, he listened like every word was a secret he'd been waiting his whole life to hear. When other ladies at court tried to catch his eye, batting their lashes and leaning in too close, he would give them a polite, distant smile and then immediately find you in the crowd, as if checking to make sure you were still there.
It was perfect.
It was terrifying.
Because you were a practical girl, and practical girls knew that things this perfect did not exist. There had to be a catch. There had to be something wrong with him, some hidden flaw that would explain why this beautiful, kind, attentive prince was acting like you had hung the moon.
You started watching him more closely.
He was too clean. Every time you saw him, his nails were immaculate, his hair perfectly arranged, his clothes without a single wrinkle or stain. When he sat, he arranged himself gracefully, like he was posing for a portrait. When he walked, he moved with a fluid elegance that made the other knights look like clumsy oxen.
He was too pretty. Men weren't supposed to look like that. Men were supposed to have rough hands and scars and stubble. Valarr looked like he could be carved from marble and displayed in a temple.
He was too kind. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper, never made a crude joke or leered at a serving girl. He treated everyone with the same gentle courtesy, from the highest lord to the lowest stable boy.
And he never, ever looked at other women.
Not once.
Not a single glance.
You had grown up watching men. You knew how they operated. You'd seen your father's business partners let their eyes wander over pretty servants. You'd seen the sons of magisters whisper and nudge each other when a beautiful woman passed by. You'd seen husbands at parties forget their wives existed the moment a dancer took the floor.
Valarr didn't do any of that.
He looked at you. Only you. Always you.
It was suspicious.
It was highly suspicious.
---
The thought crept into your mind one night as you lay in bed, staring at the canopy above you.
What if he wasn't interested in women at all?
It made perfect sense. It explained everything. His lack of interest in other ladies. His meticulous grooming. His gentle, almost feminine beauty. The way he seemed more comfortable in the library than in the training yard. The way he looked at you with such devotionânot with desire, but with the fondness of a dear friend.
Oh, gods.
He was using you as a beard.
You sat up in bed, your heart pounding. It was so obvious now. The arranged marriage was perfect for him. He got a wife to satisfy the court, to produce heirs, to make him look normal. And in return, you got⌠what? A lifetime of being married to a man who would never truly want you? A lifetime of wondering why you weren't enough?
The next morning, you watched him like a hawk.
He came to breakfast looking particularly lovely, his hair still slightly damp from washing, the silver streak gleaming. He smiled at you and asked how you slept.
"Fine," you said flatly.
His brow furrowed slightly, a tiny crease appearing between those mismatched eyes. "You look tired. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
He didn't push. He never pushed. He just accepted your answer and moved on, pouring your tea and sliding it across the table toward you.
Later, you saw him talking to one of the younger knights, Ser something-or-other with nice cheekbones. They stood close together, heads bent in conversation, and Valarr laughed at something the knight said. Laughed! And touched his arm!
You felt your stomach drop through the floor.
That evening, a lady of the courtâsome Tarly or Florent or somethingâapproached Valarr at a small gathering. She was pretty, in a conventional way, with dark hair and a sweet smile. She touched his sleeve and said something that made him smile politely.
He didn't lean in. He didn't linger. He extracted himself from the conversation as gracefully as possible and came straight to your side.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did you want to go for a walk? The gardens are lovely in the evening."
Normally, this would have made your heart flutter. Now, it just made you sad.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" you asked, nodding toward the lady he'd just left. "She seemed⌠interested."
Valarr glanced back, then looked at you with genuine confusion. "She was just being polite. I'd much rather be with you."
---
The paranoia grew like a weed.
You started noticing things you were sure you'd missed before. The way Valarr's voice softened when he talked to certain men. The way he seemed to light up around his brother and cousins, laughing and joking with an ease he didn't show around the ladies of the court. The way he dressedâelegant, refined, artistic. He probably was artistic. He probably wrote poetry. Beautiful, romantic poetry that he would never share with you because it wasn't about you.
One afternoon, you found him in the gardens with his younger brother, Matarys. The two of them were sitting on a bench, talking quietly, and Valarr had his hand on Matarys's shoulder in a way that looked so tender.
Your heart shattered a little.
Of course. Of course he was close with his brother. That made sense. But the way he looked at Matarysâwith such warmth, such affectionâ
Wait.
No.
That was his brother.
You were losing your mind.
---
Now you were sitting in the gardens of the Red Keep, watching your absurdly beautiful fiancĂŠ across the lawn, and your brain was slowly, methodically, driving itself insane.
"Look at him," you muttered to your handmaiden, a sharp-eyed girl named Melessa who had grown up with you and was therefore contractually obligated to listen to your nonsense.
Melessa looked. "I am looking. He's reading a book under a tree. It's very exciting. What's the title? I must know."
"He's sitting perfectly," you hissed. "Look at his posture. His back is straight. His hands are placed delicately on the pages. He's not slouching. No man slouches that perfectly, Melessa."
"Perhaps he has good breeding?"
"No." You shook your head firmly. "No, it's more than that. He cares. He cares about how he looks when he reads. He probably practices."
"YN, the man looks at you like you hung the moon. He barely speaks to anyone else when you're in the room. Last week at dinner, you dropped your napkin and he picked it up before it hit the ground. He's fast. That's not the behavior of a disinterested man."
"It's the behavior of a well-trained man," you argued. "Think about it. He's the grandson of the king. He's been raised in court. He knows how to act. He knows how to play the part. He's playing the perfect fiancĂŠ so well that no one will ever suspect that he doesn't actually wantâ"
"Want what? A wife? Because he's getting one. That's you. And he seems very excited about it."
"Too excited." You nodded sagely. "That's the clue. No man is that excited to get married unless he's hiding something."
From across the garden, as if sensing he was being discussed, Valarr looked up from his book. His blue eye and his brown eye found you instantly, and that soft, kind smile spread across his unfairly pretty face. He raised a hand in a small wave.
Your heart did a thing. A very inconvenient thing. You hated that thing.
You waved back, a small, tight motion.
"See?" You hissed to Melessa. "Look at him wave. It's elegant. It's refined. It's like he practiced waving in a mirror."
"Most people don't need to practice waving."
"A gay man would!"
Valarr closed his book and stood, brushing non-existent dust from his immaculate clothing. He was wearing a deep blue doublet today, embroidered with silver thread, and it matched the blue of his left eye perfectly. The brown of his right eye matched nothing because there was nothing in the world that shade of warm, perfect brown except his eye itself.
You decided to confront him.
Not directly, of course. You weren't a monster. But you needed to know. You needed to understand what you were getting into. If you were going to spend the rest of your life as a convenient cover for a prince who secretly preferred the company of men, you deserved to know the truth.
You chose your next walk in the gardens.
It was a beautiful day, the sun warm and golden, the flowers in full bloom. Valarr walked beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed, and he was telling you about some book he'd read, his voice soft and melodic.
"Valarr," you interrupted.
He stopped immediately, turning to face you with that attentive expression you'd come to know so well. "Yes?"
"I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
You took a deep breath. "You're very⌠kind to me."
His lips curved into a small smile. "You make it easy to be kind."
You ignored the flutter in your chest. "But I've noticed that you're not⌠that you don'tâŚ" You trailed off, losing your nerve.
"Don't what?"
You blurted it out before you could stop yourself. "Do you even like women?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valarr stared at you. His mismatched eyes went wide, then wider, and then his face did something complicated that you couldn't quite read. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "I don't think I heard you correctly. It sounded like you asked if I liked women."
"I did."
"You're asking if I, your betrothed, the man who is going to marry you and spend the rest of his life with you, like women?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Y/N," he said carefully, "I spend every moment I can in your company. I think about you constantly. I notice when you're tired, when you're happy, when you're worried. I brought you a pastry yesterday because you mentioned you liked sweet things. I had the kitchens make it specially. I noticed you liked sweet things because I pay attention to everything about you."
You nodded slowly. "I know. That's part of the problem."
"That's part of the problem?"
"You're too attentive. Too perfect. You never look at other women. You're always so clean and well-dressed and pretty. It's like you're trying too hard to be the perfect husband, and I thoughtâ" You stopped, suddenly aware of how insane you sounded.
"You thought�"
You sighed. "I thought maybe you were using me as a cover. Because you're actually interested in men."
Valarr blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then he started to laugh.
It wasn't a polite chuckle or a restrained snicker. It was a full-bodied, helpless laugh that bent him double and made his shoulders shake. He laughed until tears formed in those mismatched eyes, until he had to brace himself against a nearby tree to stay upright.
"It's not funny," you protested, your cheeks burning.
"It's a little funny," he gasped. "Gods, Y/N. You think I'm gay?"
"I don't know! You're very pretty!"
"Thank you?"
"It's not a compliment! It's suspicious! Men shouldn't be that pretty!"
He straightened up, still grinning, and stepped closer to you. "Let me ask you something. Have you ever seen me look at another woman the way I look at you?"
You thought about it. "No."
"Have you ever seen me seek out anyone else's company the way I seek out yours?"
"No."
"Have you ever wondered why I spend so much time in the library when I could be anywhere else in the castle?"
You frowned. "Because you like reading?"
"Because you like reading. Because I noticed on your first day here that you gravitated toward the library, and I wanted to be wherever you were." He moved closer still, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eye, the way the blue one seemed to hold the sky. "I'm not gay, Y/N. I'm not using you as a cover. I'm not secretly pining for some knight or squire or"âhe waved a hand vaguelyâ"anyone else."
"Then why are you soâ"
"Pretty?" He grinned. "Blood, I suppose. My father is handsome. My mother was beautiful. The silver streak is a Targaryen trait." He reached out and took your hand, his fingers warm and solid against yours. "As for why I'm so attentive, so focused on you, so uninterested in other womenâŚ" He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "Isn't it obvious?"
You stared at him.
He stared back, still holding your hand, still smiling that gentle, devastating smile.
"I'm an idiot," you whispered.
"A little bit," he agreed. "But a very sweet idiot. My favorite idiot."
"You're not upset?"
"I'm delighted. Do you know how long I've wondered what was going on in that head of yours? How many times I've caught you watching me with that suspicious little frown?" He laughed again, softer this time. "I thought you didn't like me. I thought you were looking for ways to get out of the engagement."
"No! I mean, I like you. I like you too much. That's the problem."
"Ah." He nodded sagely. "So you like me too much, and therefore I must be gay. That's sound logic."
"Shut up."
He tugged you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Make me."
You should have been embarrassed. You should have been mortified. But standing there in the gardens, with the sun warm on your face and Valarr looking at you like you were the answer to every question he'd ever asked, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.
"You really do only have eyes for me?" you asked quietly.
"Always." He touched your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "From the moment I saw you in the throne room. You were trying so hard to look unimpressed, and I thought, 'There she is. There's my wife.'"
"You thought that?"
"I thought that." He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "And for the record, I take care of myself because my mother taught me that presenting yourself well shows respect for the people around you. I'm clean because I don't like feeling dirty. I'm pretty, apparently, because the gods have a sense of humor. And I don't look at other women because why would I? I have you."
You kissed him.
It was probably improper. You were in the gardens, in broad daylight, where anyone could see. But you didn't care. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and when you finally broke apart, you were both smiling like idiots.
"So," he said, his voice slightly breathless, "does this mean you're not going to accuse me of being gay anymore?"
"No promises."
He laughed again, bright and warm, and tucked your hand into the crook of his arm. "Fair enough. Come on. Let's go find something to eat. I noticed you barely touched your breakfast this morning, and I know you like the lemon cakes."
You leaned into him as you walked, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
He wasn't gay.
He was just perfect.
And apparently, perfect was exactly what you needed.
Maybe a request for Frank, I do not know how many you have in progress but one where the reader and Frank both have a shared day off from PTMC and are ready to spend it with their kids until they found out that both of their kids have come down with the flu
I finally have this one posted! It started off with wholesome, domestic vibes but turned smutty really fast lol Not sure if smut is what you were looking for with this one but I got carried away and it was too late to turn back!
Hope you enjoy it though! Let me know your thoughts or if you have any other requests in mind
When the Kids Are Sick in Bed, Mommy Gets Some Head
Summary: With the kids sick and their fun weekend plans canceled, Frank and Y/n get up to some unexpected fun of their own.
Word Count: 4,383
Warning: Smut, NSFW, 18+
Author's Note: This one kind of got away from me. I initially started writing this for this submission with no intentions of including any smut. But once I started writing, things just took that turn and there was no going back lol Hope you all enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts!
Y/n always woke up at around 6 in the morning. Ever since Theo started preschool, her internal alarm clock always rang at 6. Whether it was the weekend or a weekday. Whether she slept early or late. Her body didnât know the differenceâor maybe it did, and it just didnât care. Either way, today was no different.Â
Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she checked the time. 6:05 AM. Exactly 25 minutes before their actual alarm would go off.
Glancing beside her, at her husband still fast asleep, Y/n sighed. It was tempting to let her heavy lids close once again and enjoy a few more moments of rest. Unfortunately, as nice as that would be, she couldnât. She shouldnât. Not when there was still a laundry list (laundry included) of things left to do.
Today, Frank and Y/n were taking the family out to the lake for a weekend full of sun, sand and some quality time together. They usually try to make the trip out at least a few weekends throughout the summer. But with a new project at work forcing Y/n to work odd hours, Frank having to pull overtime with the hospital short-staffed (as always), all on top of getting the kids to and from their summer programs, they just havenât been able to make it work.Â
After updating the communal calendar with their schedules for this week, Frank and Y/n turned to each other in shock. The stars finally aligned. For the first time in what felt like forever, they shared the same days off.
They knew exactly what they needed to do. More specifically where they needed to goâLake Eerie. Not only was a long weekend out on the lake well-deserved, it was also well overdue.Â
Back when it was just the two of them, it had always been their favorite way to get some quality time in and unwind after a grueling work week. Wading out in the water all day with a pack of beers. Returning to shore only once the sun began setting, and the clouds above them turned cotton candy pink. Afterwards theyâd usually chill out on the cabin deck, grill up some burgers. Sometimes, when things inevitably got hot and heavy between them and they were too lazy to head back inside, theyâd even end up in each otherâs pants, right there under the stars.Â
Of course, once they had the kids, lake weekends became a lot less practical and therefore a lot harder to come by. Now whenever they did manage to get out there, their itinerary evolved into a sanitized, child-proofed version of it once was. They traded in boozed up bonfires for building sandcastles. Their cooler was now filled with juice boxes rather than beers and seltzers. But the most notable difference was that it was far more work packing, unpacking, then packing everything all back up again, now that it was four of them rather than just two. But hearing the kidsâ soft snores and seeing their content little smiles from the rear view mirror on the drive back home made it all worthwhile.
Frank and Y/n stayed up pretty late the night before getting things ready while the kids were in bed. It was around 11 PM when they finally threw in the towel, deciding to leave the rest for their future-selves to figure out in the morning.Â
Now that it was said morning, Y/n cursed her past-self for making that selfish decision. She moved to get up and get a head start on it all but was held down by the arm draped over her stomach. âToo early,â Frank murmured. His morning stubble scratched her skin as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, urging her to stay in bed.Â
Already set on starting the day, she ignored him. But the harder she tried to pry his arm off her, the tighter he held on.Â
Who could blame him for wanting a couple more minutes cozying up in bed with his wife when the chance to indulge in lazy mornings together were hard to come by as of late. His lips pressed a hot kiss against that spot on her neck he knew would have her folding. And in no time, Y/n relented with a sigh. In part because, yes, he knows just what buttons to press to get what he wants. But also because she wasnât willing to exert any more energy fighting a losing battle with him this early. They had a long day ahead of them.
Turning over her shoulder, she shuffled closer into him. His arms wrapped around her tightly. He hummed in satisfaction as her fingers trailed up to the nape of his neck to rake through his messy head of brown hair. They stayed like this tangled under the covers, basking in the peace and quiet till their alarm finally went off.Â
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
Rolling right on top of Y/n, Frank groaned as he reached over to shut it off. The ringing and buzzing stopped, but he stayed in place, hovering over her, taking her in with his eyes. There was something about being the only one to see the beauty of her totally undone, to be the only one with the privilege of waking up beside her like this every morning, that stirred something within him. His eyes traveled hungrily down the delicate skin of her neck, to the swell of her breasts and the peak of her nipples hidden under one of his old college shirts. Then they went lower, admiring the curve of her hips and waist, stopping at the cheeky pair of striped panties peeking out from under the ratted hem of his shirt. When his eyes traveled back up her body, landing on her face once again, he was met with a disapproving look.Â
âNo,â Y/n said plainly.Â
âWhat? I didnât say anything.âÂ
âYou donât need to.â If his intentions werenât already painfully obvious by the look on his face, his knee nudging her legs apart gave him away for sure. Luckily Y/n slipped out of his grasp before he could press the other buttons he knew would have her in the palm of his hand.
âYou had your chance to get a quickie in earlier, before the alarm went off. You chose to sleep instead,â she said, already halfway to their bathroom. âItâs too late now.â
Their white sheets ruffled under the weight of Frank plopping himself down on them face-first. She was right. But he wasnât ready to give up. Stubborn as always, he rose from the bed quickly to join her in the bathroom. He came up behind her, hands resting low on her hips, pulling them against him as she stood up. She continued with her skin care routine unphased, ignoring both the stiffness pressing right against her ass, and the dull aching between her legs as a result.
âY/n,â he hummed in her ear. His striking blue eyes looking at her through the mirror. A wandering hand slid up her waist, across her stomach, cupping her breast greedily. âCâmon, we both needed the extra sleep, but weâre up nowâ âÂ
âYeah, weâre not the only ones up,â Y/n joked, reaching behind her to palm him quickly, teasingly.
Frank threw his head back, swearing under his breath, trying to get a hold of himself. The pained look on his face almost made her feel bad if it werenât a) so funny how easily riled up he got and b) such a turn on seeing the effect she had on him.Â
âThatâs not very nice,â Frank said, shooting her a sharp. His free hand came down on her ass with a smack.Â
The sound of her laughter cut off abruptly as she yelped in surprise. âThat wasnât very nice either,â she said, peeking over her shoulder to see a red hand print on her left cheek.Â
âYou started it,â he groaned, burying his face against the side of her head. He inhaled deeply, hooked on her scent, as he kneaded her breast in his hand. âCâmon baby. Please.â
âWe donât have time,â she said, closing a jar of moisturizer. âThereâs still a lot left to do.â
âItâll be quick baby, I promise.â His other hand wrapped around the front of her waist now, pulling her impossibly close to him. âYou feel that? How fucking hard I am for you right now? Iâm not lasting long.â
That dull aching between her legs started pulsing harder, and faster. It would be so easy to give in right now and satisfy both their needs. But Y/n stayed firm. His utter desperation for her was its own form of satisfaction that she wasnât done enjoying yet. It gave her just enough willpower to keep him yearning for her a little longer.
âHow about,â she started, offering a compromise, âYou take care of the kids, get them all ready. Iâll get breakfast started and finish the packing. And ifâand this is only ifâyou can get the kids all ready by 8:15, we can get a quickie in before leaving at 8:30.â
That was all Frank needed to hear. 8:15? Heâll make sure theyâre set to go by 8, on the dot, if thatâs the case.Â
â
Frank crossed the hallway to Theoâs bedroom, light on his feet, a spring in his step. His little deal with Y/n, aside, heâs been dying to share their weekend plans with the kids. Theyâd kept it a secret all week long, wanting to surprise them on the day of. To see their faces light up in excitement. To watch them rush to get ready because the sooner they are, the sooner theyâll get there.Â
Like their parents, Theo and Emmie loved going out to the lake. Theyâd splash around all day in the water till their little fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruned. Theyâd scavenge for shells and treasure along the shore. Theyâd usually end the night roasting marshmallows under the moonlight listening to Frank tell them spooky stories around the fire pit.Â
The hinges of Theoâs door creaked lightly as Frank stepped into the dark room. The only source of light came from the color-changing dinosaur lamp sitting on the bedside table. Knowing what a mess the room usually is, he treaded carefully. One wrong step meant tripping on a toy or slipping on a stray shirt laying on the ground. Drawing the curtains open, and seeing the mess heâd just traversed, Frank made a mental note to tell Theo he needed to clean up before they leave today.
The boyâs peaceful expression scrunched in confusion as Frank shook his shoulders gently. Groggy eyes fluttered open adjusting to the light. Little arms stretched out as he woke. Mouth opened wide to let out a yawn. But what came out instead was a scratchy, dry, cough. Quickly followed by another, then another after that, until the poor boy was doubled over in a fit of them.Â
Leaning back instinctively, avoiding the cloud of germs now floating in the air between them, Frank placed the back of his hand against Theoâs forehead. The boy was hot to the touch.Â
âI donât feel very good,â he said in a nasally voice. And taking a closer look at him, Frank saw that he didnât look very good either. Red, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks to match.
Frank tucked the boy back into bed, telling him to just go back to sleep before quickly crossing the hall to check on Emmie. He had a strong feeling she was probably in the same state as her brother. If one of them got sick, the other was not far behind. And unfortunately, he was right. Emmie was burning up too and a bit lethargic when he tried to wake her.Â
âJust lay back down bug,â Frank assured her, pushing tangled strands of hair away from her face. âIâll be back up to check on you in a little.â
â
Transferring all the bacon onto a platter, Y/n was too preoccupied to notice Frank enter the kitchen.Â
âSo,â he started grabbing her attention. Uh-oh, Y/n thought turning to face him. That tone was was a forbearer of bad news to follow. And when she saw his lips pulled in a tight line, she put the tongs down to brace herself for it.Â
âThe kids are sick,â he said, leaning against the counter, grabbing a hot piece of bacon from the platter. Y/n swatted his hands away but not before his sticky fingers got a of slice.
âFrank,â she scolded. He was no better than Theo and Emmie sometimes. The kids would often come in while she was cooking to ask for a âfree sampleâ (a phrase they learned from their trips to Costco) of dinner before sheâd even turned the stove off. Their impatience was clearly a trait they inherited from their father.Â
âHow bad is it?â Y/n asked.
âPretty bad."
âLike Halloween 2023 bad?â Y/n asked.
The kids gave Frank and Y/n a good scare that Halloween. At the beginning of the week, they had both come down with a flu that hit them so hard by Tuesday, aka Halloween, they were off to see Uncle Robby at the emergency room. Frank knew they needed medical attention beyond what he could give them at home. Emmie with a stubborn fever that refused to go down and Theo with labored breaths that paired with his asthma could be dangerous. Safe to say there was no trick-or-treating for the Langdons that yearâaside from the bowl of candy on Auntie Danaâs desk that she insisted they both take two large handfuls of once they were cleared to go home.Â
âNo,â Frank shook his head in horror at the memory. âDefinitely not that bad. But bad enough to cancel our weekend plans for sure.â
Y/n sighed, already switching gears to make a batch of chicken noodle soup, scouring through the cabinets for the ingredients resignedly. It was just their luck that the one weekend they finally had together as a family was going to be stuck at home. Not to mention it was too late to get their money back for the cabin or the boat they rented. But on the bright side, since they were both off they could at least tag team nursing her poor babies back to health together.Â
âIâll have some soup ready for them in a bit. Can you go find where we stashed the humidifier? I donât remember where we put it afterâŚâ Y/n trailed off as she felt Frank coming up behind her. She froze in place. His hands rested low on her hips, in the same needy, urgent way he had in their bathroom not that long ago. And his voice, still thick with that morning gravel, was low in her ear.Â
âItâs in one of the storage bins in the garage. But before we get to all that, I was thinkingââÂ
âAbout getting your dick wet while our kids are upstairs sick?â Y/n cut him off. âReally, FranK?âÂ
âWell, when you put it like that, I sound terrible. But yeah. We made a deal.â
âThe deal is obviously off.â
âNo. I kept up my end, now youâve gotta hold up yours.â
âOkay, even if the deal was still onâwhich it's notâyou didnât keep up your end,â she pointed out, turning to face him now.Â
âTechincally, yes, I did,â he said. Each word punctuated with a step forward, till he had her pressed up against the counter.Â
âHow so?â she asked. Inhaling a sharp breath, she kept her composure. Though there wasn't much of it left to keep. Not while they stood chest to chest. Their lips separated by a hairâs breadth. His arms, on either side of her, trapping her against the counter, not letting her slip away from him as easily as she had in bed. Ignoring that dull aching starting up again, she reminded him, âThe deal was you get the kids ready. And theyâre not. Theyâre not even out of bed.â
âExactly,â he said, lifting her onto the counter with ease despite her lame protests.
Their counters just happened to be the perfect height for him to settle between her legs. His hips lined up perfectly with hers, and he took full advantage of that, pulling her right to the edge, wrapping her legs around his waist so she could feel all of him. So she could feel how badly he needed this, how badly he needed her.
âI checked their temperatures, and tucked them back in. I got them ready to stay in bed and rest,â he explained.
âYou think you're so clever, huh?âÂ
âI think a dealâs a deal. And that youâre playing hard to get.â
âSo what if I am,â she challenged. Though her voice had no edge. She was losing herself in the sloppy kisses he laid along on her neck, hitting that spot, that button he knew would have her like putty in his hands, again and again.Â
âWe share two kids and a mortgage. Itâs a little late to be playing hard to get. Iâve already got you. That rock on your finger is proof,â he went on, hands roaming over every inch of her he could get his hands on. From her ass, to her hips and waist. But feeling her just wasnât enough. He needed more. âI mean whatâs a man gotta do to get in his own wifeâs pants? Beg?â
It was a joke, but he felt her breath hitch and her muscles tighten at the word. Beg. âIs that it baby? I have to beg?âÂ
Y/n hadnât quite put it together herself till nowâthat begging is what she was after. All she knew was that she loved whenever he got like this. So shamelessly desperate for her, cock literally throbbing for her. The high of knowing that even after all this time together, he still wanted her as badly as the first time made her feel so good. So sexy. So desired. Things she doesnât often feel when sheâs busy in mom-mode or doing chores or stuck behind a desk at work. So, yes. Some begging would be nice.
âCause Iâll do it, yâknow. Iâll get on my knees and beg,â he said, proceeding to do exactly that.Â
Their eyes locked as his lips grazed the inside of her knee, traveling up her thigh one feather light kiss at a time. There was no escaping him now. Not that she wanted to. She wanted all this just as much as he did. In her fight to resist him thus far, her insides had coiled up so tight they were about to snap. And the seams holding her together were on the verge of busting wide open. But she was too deep into this game that she started to back out now. She couldnât give in. Not yet. Not before she had him truly begging.Â
So before Frank could dive any deeper between her legs, Y/n grabbed a handful of his hair pulling his head away. âUh-uh,â she said, looking down at him in disapproval. âI donât hear any beggingâ
Frank let out a dark chuckle. âYou really want me to beg? Want me to tell you how bad I wanna rip these panties off of you, hmm? How I just wanna bury my face between your legs and get a taste? Will you let me, baby? Please? Please, let me eat your pussy out baby. Câmon.â
Heâd inched his way closer to her core, to the damp spot on her panties like an X marking the spot, hoping his words were enough. And they seemed to be as Y/n lifted her hips, allowing him to pull her panties off and place her legs over his shoulders. Spread out bare before him, Frank groaned at how wet and ready she was. Licking his lips, ready to finally receive some form of gratification, Y/n tugged on his hair again.Â
âYouâre killing me,â he complained, throwing his head back. It wasnât much of an exaggeration either. If his blood started pumping any faster he just might burst an artery.
âWhat do you say?â she asked, running her fingers through his hair just the way he liked, as if it would coax the right answer from him. âWhat do we always tell the kids to say when someone gives them something they want?â
âThank you,â he said. The second her hand eased its hold on his head, his tongue was at her entrance, licking a thick strip up and through her folds. He groaned, coating his tongue in her. âThank you so much, baby. Thank you for letting me have this sweet, pretty pussy.â
He continued lapping her up, starting off slow, savoring her intoxicating taste. âGod you taste so fucking good,â he said, speaking his praises right into her.
The vibration of his voice against her. The vice grip on her thighs, keeping her right where she was. The way he gradually increased his pressure and speed bringing her closer to unraveling totally. It was all too much. Y/n had turned into a moaning mess. His fingers spread her folds apart, paying special attention to her swollen clit. A shockwave of pleasure shot through her as he circled and sucked on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her head fell back against the cabinet with a thud and her hand dug into his hair again, this time pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.Â
âOh fuck,â she moaned. âJust like that.â
In that instant, with those three words, the power dynamic shifted. She was at his mercy now. He pulled back, just far enough to lose contact but still close enough for her to feel his hot and heavy breath.Â
âWhat do you say? Whatâs the magic word baby? â he taunted her, throwing her own words back in her face.Â
âPlease,â she said softly. Eyes shut tight trying to hold onto the fading feeling of his mouth on her. Â
âI didnât hear you,â Frank said. âWhat was that?â
âI said, please.â
Langdon smirked at the bite in her tone. Turns out the little game she started wasnât as fun now that theyâd switched courts. âPlease, what? Tell me what you want?â he said, torturing her the same way she tortured him.Â
âPlease, put your mouth back right where it was,â she said. âIâm so close, baby. Donât stop. Please.â
âLook whoâs begging now,â Frank teased. âAnd why should I give you what you want?â
âBecause I promise to get on my knees next.â
Now those were the magic words Frank liked to hear. Without warning, he dove back between her legs. Like a man starved, he was relentless and insatiable. Y/n had lost all her senses to him. All she could hear were the wet, lewd sounds his lips and tongue were making. All she could see were stars as her eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. All she could feel was him bringing her closer and closer. Until finally the chord inside of her snapped.Â
Her thighs clenched around his head, holding him hostage as she rode through her climax. When she finally opened her eyes, Frank had stood up and they were face to face. Immediately their lips met in a hungry, heated kiss. Still reeling from her own high, she had barely noticed Frank lifted her off the counter till her bare feet touched their hardwood floors.
She knew what he was trying to get at. And she obliged. He deserved it for being a good sport in all this. He played along when he couldâve easily just bent her over the counter and taken her the way he wanted to.Â
Her lips trailed over his stubble and down his neck. Her hands moved further down, running across his chest and down his abdomen appreciating each curve and dip of lean muscle before reaching his sweats. Keeping her hands on the band of them, she got on her knees. She paused, looking up at him through her lashes, enjoying the view of him from that angle. Parts of his chin still glistening with the evidence of her climax. The veins on his neck straining in anticipation. His blue eyes glazed over with lust.
Frank cupped her cheek with one hand, running his thumb across it, then over her soft lips. Y/n took it in her mouth eagerly, her tongue swirling around it, giving him a preview of what was to come. He didnât think he could get any harder until he heard his thumb leave her mouth with a pop.Â
Mouth watering and core slickening thinking about wrapping her lips around him, Y/n started pull down the his sweatpants finally setting free hisâ
âMommy?â a small voice called out from just around the corner.Â
Wide-eyed and frantic, Frank and Y/n scrambled to look presentable. When Emmie walked in just a moment later, Frank was still adjusting his sweatpants into place and Y/n had just kicked her underwear, that had been lying in the middle of their kitchen floor, out of sight.Â
âWhatâs wrong sweetie,â Y/n said, picking the girl up into her arms. Emmie whined and mumbled about not feeling good. Frank rubbed her little back gently. Despite being a doctor, there was nothing in his arsenal of knowledge that could solve the common cold. It just had to run its course.Â
âIâll bring her back to bed,â Y/n said.
âAnd then we can finish what we started, right?â Frank asked, just above a whisper. Y/n looked over her shoulder to see him gesturing suggestively at the on-going issue beneath his sweatpants.Â
Taking a page out of his book, Y/n took the upper hand once again. âWhat do you mean? We are finished?â
âNo. Dealâs a dealââ
âExactly. Dealâs a deal. I said Iâd get on my knees, and I did. Didnât I?âÂ
Frank rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair in frustration. âReal clever Y/n.â
âLearned from the best,â she winked, disappearing up the stairs.Â
You're gonna pay me a nice sum. I'm thinking $30,000. So I can help my dad really understand that it is in our benefit to work with you. Then after time, you're gonna pay me more. Get him to come around to the fact that if he doesn't get in front of this thing, he's fucked. So you want me to pay you to have a conversation? No, I want you to pay me to be a good son. He might listen, he might not. You never know. But at least you won't have to fight him 'cause believe me, that is a fight you will not win.
LEWIS PULLMAN as Rhett Abbott
OUTER RANGE 2.07 â The End of Innocence
