#dark!danny ramirez x reader

[jazziejax]

I caved….

😜

[sillygoose067]

Soft (and Hard)

This is based off of a coversation I had with a friend last year about her boyfriend and I just thought it was so comical that I needed to write something about it.

Dick Grayson x Inexperienced Reader

You lay curled against Dick’s side, your head resting lightly on his chest. Afternoon light spilled gently through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. The quiet was comfortable—no need for words—just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear and the distant hum of the city.

Your fingers traced aimless patterns on his shirt as he scrolled through his phone, one arm draped around your back, anchoring you in place. You felt calm but your mind kept drifting back to the same question, twisting in your stomach like a secret you wanted to share.

Finally, you swallowed hard and broke the silence. “Hey.”

He looked down at you with that easy, half-smile—the one that always made your heart stumble. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “Can I… see it?”

His brow lifted in amusement, lips twitching. “See what? My report card?” He grinned. “I’ll warn you—I wasn’t exactly top of the class in math.”

You buried your face against his chest and laughed quietly, but forced yourself to look back up, eyes flickering down to the area between his thighs. “No. I mean… you know.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, then laughter bubbled up. “Ah.”

“I’m just… curious. You’ve had experience, and I haven’t. Sometimes I catch myself imagining things and getting scared. Maybe seeing it will help—make it less scary.”

His smile softened, kindness shining in his eyes. “You’re allowed to be curious. And you’re allowed to ask.”

He shifted slightly, lowering the blanket, and with a quiet grunt, shimmied his sweatpants down just enough to reveal himself. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help it—the size was surprising, even softened like this. He was thick, with prominent veins running throughout, bulging out of the smooth skin. Long and almost reaching his bellybutton from the position it was in currently.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, a mix of wonder and worry. “If this is how big it is when you’re soft… how am I supposed to… fit it in when it’s hard?”

Dick froze for a beat, then laughter spilled from him—rich and genuine.

You flushed. “Hey! I’m new at this.”

He grinned and leaned back a little, leaving himself exposed just enough. “Look,” he said, voice gentle, “you can ask me anything. No pressure, no judgment.”

You blinked, relief slowly trickling through you. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” His hand cupped your cheek, warm and steady. “I know it can be awkward, but questions are good. Better to ask than guess. I’m here.”

You swallowed and took a breath. “Does it hurt? When you get hard?”

He smiled softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Sometimes, if I’m tense or not careful. But usually, it’s just… natural. Nothing to be afraid of.”

You nodded slowly. “And how does it work? I mean… how does it go from soft to hard?”

He laughed quietly, clearly amused but patient. “It’s about blood flow—when your body responds to touch, to thoughts, to feelings. The blood rushes in, and that’s what makes it stand up.”

You pictured it, intrigued. “So, like an engine revving up?”

“Exactly,” he said, eyes twinkling. “And like any engine, it needs time and care. You don’t just jump into full throttle without warming up.”

You smiled and nodded in understanding, the knot of nervousness loosening in your chest. “Thanks. For being patient.”

“Always,” he said, pulling his pants back up and holding you close again. “No rush.”

[dare-writes]

i don’t know if i like this and idk how to properly tag this?

but

for this ss: cw: nsfw warnings, ddne

IF ANYONE WANTS TO BETA THIS AND HELP W TAGS PLEASE DO

ok so wait yall aren’t writing the nastiest freakiest fanfics about ash garver cause i might have to

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Falcon & the Machine

summary: joaquin confronts you about your attempt to “protect” him.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!assassin!reader

contents: mentions of canon typical violence, angst, pining/longing, kissing, happyish ending

wc: 1,652

an: i just love the idea of joaquin and his lover being on the opposite side of things or having different morals. idk it makes their love that much better to me 🫶🏾🤭

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The car stops somewhere deep in the Virginia woods—far enough from the base to mean it’s not casual, close enough to mean someone wanted this private but not remote. It has your alarm bells ringing.

You narrow your eyes at Sam through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said this was a tactical meeting.”

“It is,” he says, his voice too casual and smooth. “Tactical for your emotional wellbeing.”

He’s out the car and your door opens before you can snap something back. You step out, instincts sharp even when you’re exhausted. The world around you is quiet, deceptively peaceful. The trees, the sound of wind stirring through the leaves, the birds distant but constant and everything feels still.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know how to feel still anymore. Not after everything.

You see Joaquin as you keep walking, and all of your practiced cold, all your walls fall away like a sheet of glass hit from the inside.

He’s standing in a clearing, arms crossed, Falcon wings holstered tight to his back. You can’t see his eyes yet, but you know he’s looking at you. You can feel that same raw tension in his gaze, the same pull between you that neither of you can ignore.

You haven’t answered his calls in three weeks, or let him near you since the mission in Turkey went sideways. Since the extraction turned into a bloodbath, bodies hitting the floor from your hands. That’s when the questions started to follow you—yes as always— but him too.

Questions that could ruin everything Joaquin’s shed blood, sweat and tears for.

The second hardest part of all this isn’t having to kill the people that come after you, the people they send to ask questions or torture you. Its the way you saw the fear in Joaquin’s eyes when he realized how far into the dark you were willing to go to protect him, and everyone else. He saw the worst of you. And still…he never wanted to walk away, he never turned away.

The hardest part? Letting him.

Because your file isn’t redacted, you can’t hide in the shadows while living this full life. People know who you are and what you do. You’re a fixer—not in the clean, shiny way that heroes are. You don’t wear the white hat, you don’t dawn the stars and stripes.

You’re someone who does the dirty work when governments, organizations, or even the Avengers themselves need it done. You erase people and trade lives like currency and manipulate systems from the inside out. You’re good at it, but it’s not who you are. At least, not the person you want to be—not when you’ve been given someone like Joaquin by the grace of the universe to stand beside you.

But the world isn’t kind to ghosts, to those who lurk in the shadows. And Joaquin… he’s everything you’re not.

He’s visible. He’s everything that is right and pure and true in the world. People believe in him and they believe in his future. Not in yours, not in the mess that’s followed you around all your life.

“Seriously?” you mutter, glaring at Sam, but he’s already slipping away from you, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Talk to him or don’t. But, if I hear either of you whining and brooding one more time, I’m putting you both in a room with Bucky. You know he’s tryna therapize everybody now that he has a shrink.”

You roll your eyes, but his words sit with you long after Sam disappears back into the trees. Talk to him or don’t…did you truly have a choice? He’s right, neither of you have stopped talking about the other. You turn toward Joaquin, who hasn’t moved an inch.

His face is collected, but it’s not just the expression—it’s the way he stands. There’s an edge to him now, something rough, jagged in his posture that makes your heart tighten.

You don’t give him the chance to speak. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you explain, your voice shaking under the weight of the tension.

Sam must’ve told him about the way you’d broken down earlier in the week, how much of a toll trying to do right by him took on you.

He lets out a dry laugh, one that starts to give away that he’s hurting too. You hear in the way his voice cracks. “You mean seeing you be real? Not that— that machine you become. Not worrying about who you are and who I am, just feeling it?”

You flinch, but he doesn’t look at you with judgment. It’s just the truth in his words—raw and impossible to deny. You’ve always tried to protect him from that. From you.

“I meant what I said, Joaquin,” you say, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. “You have a future.

“We had a future.”

“Did we? You’re the Falcon– you’re Captain America’s right hand. People need you.”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes flash as they finally meet yours, the intensity there almost too much to bear. “And you don’t?”

“I’m one person. People believe in you. They trust in you.”

He already has a complicated relationship with the pressure of being a superhero. Could he keep something? Not his privacy or his image but you? Or would living his dream take everything from him?

“And they wouldn’t if they knew that I love you? That you love me too?” he asks, voice quieter but no less fierce.

You bite down on your lip, trying to steady yourself trembling under the depth of his words. Your own pour out of you almost frantically. “If they knew what I’ve done? If they knew what I still do? I torture and kill for a living, Joaquin. I’ve crossed lines you can’t even imagine. There’s so much that I can never tell you. If the wrong person finds out about me, about us, everything you’ve worked for could be gone in an instant. Your reputation, your team, your wings, maybe even Sam’s shield. I won’t do that to you.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your words hang in the air, unspoken truths that neither of you wants to face.

He doesn’t look angry and he doesn’t look scared either. But he looks tired—in the way people look when they’ve spent too long running from something that was always going to catch up with them.

“I don’t care,” he says finally. The words come out rough, a quiet certainty threading through his voice.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“I said I don’t care what they say,” Joaquín continues, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, each word carrying weight, but with something else behind it—something real. Something charged that makes butterflies swirl in your stomach. “I don’t care about politics, or optics, or keeping it clean for the cameras. I care about you, I love you. What matters more to me is you. Not the job or the title. Not the wings—you.”

Your chest feels tight, the weight of his words pushing you down, making your breath catch.You want to pull away, to let the distance between you both grow to protect him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing there—when he’s been so damn sure about you from the first time he laid eyes on you.

“I’m not good for you,” you whisper brokenly, the vulnerability you’ve been trying to shield yourself from finally breaking through.

“Maybe,” he says, eyes never leaving yours, his voice softer, like he’s holding onto every syllable. “But I want you.”

Before you can respond, he’s there. On you, surrounding you. His lips are on yours, pulling you into a kiss that’s fierce and desperate, raw with need. Your hands find his chest, and then his arms, gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. The world around you becomes nothing but noise and movement. The distant rustle of the leaves, the pounding of your heart. The overwhelming rush of warmth, heat, and everything that makes this moment feel like it’s been years in the making.

He presses you against the rough bark of the tree, his body flush against yours, his hands moving over your skin with a care and hunger that makes you ache. His lips leave yours only for a moment, just long enough for him to speak, his breath warm against your ear.

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs.

You don’t know how to respond but you don’t have to because he’s kissing you; no consuming you. The fear in your chest starts to melt into something else—that deep, raw desire that you’ve been trying to bury under the fear of ruining the one pure thing in your life. But the way he’s holding you, the way his fingers press into your chin and throat as he holds you, grounds you—he’s not letting go.

Not of you. Not of any of this. He’ll be damned.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice breathless from the kiss, from how warm his mouth feels as it skates against the skin of your throat.

“I’ll show you how,” Joaquin says, his voice steady, confident between kisses. “One step at a time. Just trust me. You trust me right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m doing. Trust that I know I meant to choose you. Can you do that for me?”

You nod and close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat settle against your own. You don’t think you’re ready for this, for everything that comes with it. But maybe, you can trust him to help you figure it out. Because with him, you’re not a ghost, not just a handler or a murderer or whatever the contract names you to be.

You’re just you. Just his.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @seraphibunni, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl, @blackwomanchronicles

[andy-15-07]

Imagine Mickey Garcia courting you for months. And ypu finallu made it official by giving him a surprise kiss in a photobooth while you two are on a date!!

Click

PAIRING: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 550✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist

You’d always liked the way Mickey Garcia looked at you. Careful. Hopeful. Like he was holding his breath every time you smiled at him. For months, he’d been the picture of old-school charm , showing up with coffee when you worked late, texting you “Good morning” before you even opened your eyes, standing a respectful few inches too far away every time he dropped you off at your door.

And you liked him , God, you liked him. The kind of soft, slow liking that settled into your ribs like sunlight. But you made him wait. Not because he wasn’t enough, but because you wanted to be sure.

Tonight, you were sure.

It wasn’t fancy , just a late-night street fair that popped up on the edge of town every summer. Fried dough, cheap rides, strings of warm lights tangled in the trees. Mickey paid for your tickets with a shy grin, held your hand when you slipped on loose gravel, called you mi reina under his breath like he didn’t think you’d hear him.

You did. And your heart did somersaults every time.

When you spotted the photobooth , old, battered, squeezed between the funnel cake stand and a shooting game , something in your chest lit up.

“Hey,” you said, tugging his hand. “Come here.”

Mickey laughed. “A photobooth? What, you need evidence you were seen in public with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Get in, Garcia.”

He ducked inside first, holding the curtain for you like he always held doors, the car, your hand , gentle, warm, patient. You sat on the little cracked bench, thigh pressed to his, the camera’s red light blinking awake above your heads.

You could feel his eyes on you even in the cramped dark. You could feel his heartbeat in the brush of his arm against yours.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, that grin curling up one side of his mouth.

You turned, just enough to face him. The machine whirred. The countdown started. 3… 2… 1…

“Smile,” he started to say, but you cut him off.

You kissed him.

Soft, sudden, sweet. The shutter snapped once , a flash catching his wide eyes before they fluttered shut. His hands landed on your hips, like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission to touch you like this.

The second flash popped when he laughed against your mouth, pulling you closer.

The third caught the tiny tilt of your head, deepening it, your fingers tangling in his hair.

By the time the last one clicked, you were both breathless, noses brushing, grinning like idiots in the tiny dark box.

When you pulled back, you found him staring at you , flushed, blinking, wonderstruck.

“Does that mean,?” he started, voice rough.

You kissed him again , quick, playful , then rested your forehead to his.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “That means yes, Mickey Garcia.”

His laugh was pure sunshine. He kissed you again, softer this time, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

Outside, the fair went on , kids screaming on the Ferris wheel, neon lights buzzing, a breeze carrying the scent of sugar and popcorn. But in the little box, it was just you and him, the soft whirr of the machine spitting out a strip of proof.

Four little pictures. One big answer. Yes.

[sepherinaspoppies]

Tell It To My Heart

pairing: Original Male Character x Modern! Reader x Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen

summary: In her honeymoon with her new husband, Armando, she can not help but crave her first husband's touch, Aemond.

warnings: mentions of slight violence, handjob, p and v sex, and future spoilers to my main story. reader is Latina!

wc: 2,478

main story masterlist

my masterlist

notes: I'm still deciding if I should let Armando live or not lol. but anyways enjoy besties! btw Armando's face claim is Danny Ramirez ;)

“M’ not drunk, mi amor.” (my love)

Armando bibulously says as she settles her, now husband, into their honeymoon bed. She chuckles, shaking her head side to side in disbelief. “Sure you aren’t, I’ll be the judge of that in the morning when you wake up with that hangover.” She playfully quipped back, untying Armando’s shoes to get him nice and comfortable. 

“Well I had to drink for two since you can’t—” 

“Hmm, I never asked you to drink for me, Armando.” She continued to tease, holding his gaze. 

Armando smiled lovingly before he sat up straight as his tipsy self could, “I know you didn’t but I wanted to, Mrs. Flores.” It was not the new surname that made her blush beet red, but the low and suggestive timbre of his voice. 

Armando’s smile slowly abated into an angry expression as his eyes trailed from the precious diamond wedding he slid hours ago, to the faded scars around her wrists. One could hardly see them from afar but up close where he sat, he was able to make out thick circular and pink markings. 

Armando had known the cause for such ghastliness. She had confessed the whole elusive truth to Armando, in the following weeks she had moved in with him to Oaxaca. It happened when Armando started growing concern for the sixth time in a row, waking up to ear-piercing screams in the middle of the night from his fiance. 

She expected him to push her away or call her crazy, that she’d been forcefully transported into a world she only knew existed in books. Armando’s expression showed nothing of disbelief or skepticism, he listened to everything attentively letting his amor explain it all to him. (love)

What Armando could not wrap his head around, was what kind of man could ever do such malice in the name of love? Love is kind, tender, and respectful. At least that’s how Armando grew up with defining it. 

Now that they were finally together, he vowed that he would never hurt or mistreat his wife. And may the Gods strike him down if he ever did. 

She trembled as her curly headed husband brought her hands closely to study them. His touch was delicate, making sure he didn’t press too firmly on the pink scars. 

“I meant what I said in my vows,” Armando softly speaks, his brown eyes holding steady against her own. “That I will never hurt or mistreat you.” 

“I know you won’t.” 

“But at any given point that I do, you can smash a wine bottle on my head too.” Armand laughed, and immediately she threw her head back, joining in to his giggles.

After she explained all the details of her grand escape, Armando tried to hide his amused smile, proud that she’d knocked Aemond out with a wine bottle to his head. Though what was more hysterical, was Aemond orgasming in the process. She did not mention that to Armando, not that he needed to know. 

Armando’s hands intertwined with her own as his lips brushed the skin where her scars laid, giving featherlike pecks all around. She sighed, closing her eyes, comforted by the feeling of her new husband’s warmth. 

“As long as I’m alive, you and our child are safe.” Armado promised devoutly. If it were possible, her heart almost soared out of her chest. 

When Armando confessed his love for her, minutes before he got down on one knee, she had asked him if he could still love her pregnant with another man’s baby. That did not discourage Armando one bit, the twenty-five year old loved her and the child she was carrying. To him a baby was one of the greatest blessings a couple could have, and Armando would help raise and care for their child like a good husband would do. 

In Armando’s eyes, the frijolito was his too. (little bean)

Blood doesn’t make you family. Family is who is there by your side, through the good and the bad and who love you regardless. 

Armando paused, his face becoming crestfallen. “I-I know you may not love me—” He stuttered full of nerves before she interrupted.

“Armando.”

“But… I do want this marriage to work. And I’m willing to wait as many decades more until you are ready to give me your corazón.” (heart)

She hesitantly shifted, before she swung her legs to either side of Armando’s to sit on his lap. Armando’s eyes widened in full surprise, taken back at her sudden boldness. They’ve never sat this close before nor been in such an intimate position. 

They have kissed, yes, but only mere pecks to each other’s cheeks and once on the lips when the priest declared them as man and wife. 

Armando knew his wife had no love for physical contact. Especially if she did not see it coming. After both Alys and Aemond, she wanted no one close to touching her. Though, she did feel guilty when Armando would approach her in a hug after coming home tired from work. 

Little by little she tried to work over her fear. First it was holding pinkies to the mercado but with a good distance between them. Then once that voice inside her head became hushed, she granted him permission to hold her hand out in public, shoulder to shoulder. (market)

The pecks began when a certain desire started blooming inside her. It was natural, of course, her doctor told her so. So when Armando came home with a bag full of tacos and a bundle of her favorite flowers, she approached him with multiple kisses to his face. 

Later on that night, she ashamedly humped her pillow with Aemond’s tunic she kept during her escape back to the modern world. For some reason she could not explain, she didn’t get rid of it. The lustful part of her was overjoyed she didn’t as she used it for the sweet release her body deeply craved. 

In such a position, she could smell Armando’s sandalwood cologne and admire the freckles she never knew he had. She thought about what Alys had said, about opening her heart out to him. 

Little by little. 

“Mi corazón es tuyo.” She whispered softly, her lips brushing his. Armando didn’t have time to respond, choosing rather to tug the back of her neck to close the thin gap between them. (my heart is yours)

He groaned at the softness of her lips he desperately yearned for. Her kiss topped any others his lips laid on. The sort of kiss worth dying for. If she didn’t want to continue further, Armando could finish just by this alone. 

She swiped her tongue on his bottom lip, requesting access before he granted it to her. His kiss was the opposite to what Aemond’s had been. With Aemond, it was needy, rushed, and possessive. But Armando kissed her delicately, without hurry, and most importantly consensually. 

Armando began to whine as her hips started to slightly rock against his pelvis, where he knew his member was surely growing hard. 

“Wait,” Armando suddenly pulled away. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I’m perfectly content with just watching our telenovela and ordering some tortas and aguas frescas.”

She giggled, using her hands to push his chest down onto the bed. “It is our honeymoon, it would be a shame if we didn’t break the bed in.” Besides they could do all that in the comfort of their home, she wholeheartedly wanted him.

“I’m sure I want this, Armando.” 

It was all Armando needed to hear, but before acting he needed to confess something he thought was embarrassing. “Um, I’m gonna need you to help me. I’ve actually never done this before and I reckon one of us oughta know what they’re doing.” He admitted with his eyes casting downward. 

Her jaw dropped at his unexpected confession, “You’re a virgin?” She reassured, wanting to hear it again. Armando nodded with his eyes closed, awaiting for her to get off him. Though he wished she didn’t. 

“I’ve only done it once, though I don’t recall much of it. We can both figure it out together.” She figured that if he confessed something private about him, so could she. 

Armando opened his eyes and gave her an encouraging smile. 

They began making a work out of their clothes, she anxiously chuckled when she couldn’t reach the zipper of her dress but with Armando’s help the garment slid right down at her waist, exposing her bare breasts to Armando’s curious eyes. 

“Beautiful.” He murmured loud enough for her to hear. With a nod of approval, he palmed each heavy breast and almost immediately pulled back as she gasped in both relief and pleasure, small beads of milk running down his fingers. 

Armando hummed at the taste, it was sweet. He found himself a little jealous of their unborn child for it would be dining on her sweet breasts. 

“Please use your mouth,” She abashedly pleaded, pushing her breasts close to his face. Armando didn’t need to be told twice, he took each pebbled nipple to his mouth, swirling and suckling his tongue, digesting her sweetness. 

She sighed, lacing her fingers through his curls, tugging his head back for another kiss. Little droplets of her milk remained on his lips yet she didn’t care. 

Armando’s free hand pulled down the rest of her dress off, leaving her with just her white lacy underwear. He cheekily smiled, it had been a gift from him for their wedding but she was unaware of it. 

Her fingers unlooped the red tie around Armando’s neck, throwing it somewhere across the room along with his dress shirt. She let her hands wander around the smoothness of his chest, feeling his heart race at her palm. 

Armando shuddered once her fingers started to trail down the patch hair right below his belly button, stopping right on the belt of his pants. “Can I?” She questioned, nudging her head to where he needed her the most. 

Armando fervently nodded, “Gods, yes, please. I think I’ll die if you don’t.” 

She giggled, unbuckling the belt, his pants and boxers down his legs. With curiosity, she let her eyes linger on his cock. It was a good length. Enough to not hurt her the slightest. Where Aemond’s was impressively long and overly thick, Armando was less smaller yet firmer. 

She thought about what her friends had told her: “Sometimes big doesn’t always mean great.” 

Gods she hoped so. 

She reached forward, wrapping her hand around his length, hot, heavy, and pulsating. Armando mewled, instinctively bucking his hips up desperate for some friction. Wanting to give her husband just what he yearned, she began to give him slow pumps up and down his length. His sounds of pleasure increased and she found herself also releasing soft moans, getting wetter and wetter by it alone. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come.” Armando heavily panted. She worked her hand faster, brushing her thumb lightly on his flushed tip, causing him to stutter his release. 

There was a dazed look in Armando’s eyes as he tried to take in the aftereffects of his climax. However, the sight of his wife bringing her come-covered hand to her mouth, instantly made him grow hard again. 

By all means, Armando’s taste wasn’t unpleasant and it resembled the amounts of oranges he often ate. 

She leaned forward to kiss Armando again, allowing him to taste how sweet he was. He ardently kissed her back with equal fervor, flipping them around so that she laid beneath him. Her huge bump pressed against his lower stomach, a primal feeling he absolutely loved. 

After pulling down her underwear, Armando slowly started to make his way down between her thighs, when she looped her fingers through his hair. “I want you right now,” She writhed against the sheets. 

Armando arched a brow, “You don’t want me to return the favor?” He pouted whilst looking down there. She shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

Though Armando wanted to have just a simple taste of her goodness, he did as she wished for. He gave himself a few more tugs before swiping his tip between her folds, gathering some of her excessive wetness to not hurt her as he went inside. 

Her eyes, which she did not realize were closed, shot open. There was a slight sting, not painful enough to move away but sufficient to feel little shocks of pleasure. With Aemond, it had hurt even with the two rounds of preparation before with his mouth and fingers. 

Armando’s eyes rolled at the back of his head, he didn’t know if he could last in such paradise he felt. She was so warm, wet, and tight around him. 

He took a deep breath and with a nod of encouragement, he slowly thrust his hips at an angle that made her squeeze his length so deliciously. “You feel so good, amor. So fucking good,” Armando praised, rubbing his palm around her belly. 

She moaned against his neck at the praise. While the speed of his thrusts felt good, it wasn’t enough to get her there. She wanted him to go faster and harder, to fill every single crevice within her that desperately needed to be filled. 

Shame started to loom at her as she subconsciously knew she craved the way Aemond hit that special spot inside that had her moaning loud, deep in the castle of Harrenhal. 

Even universes away she craved him. 

And she hated it. 

“Faster, please.” She pleaded, bucking her hips up with his thrusts.

Armando halted, moving his head out of her neck. “I don't want to hurt the baby.” Last thing Armando wanted was to cause her premature labor. She was still months away from her due date but he didn’t want to risk it. 

She shook her head, “You won’t, please. Por favor amor, I need it.” (please love)

Armando hesitantly quickened his thrusts, feeling his euphoric release closely approaching. 

She rolls her hips against his, it was slightly better but still not enough. She almost wanted to cry in desperation, instead she grips Armando’s hips, guiding him into that special spot. Her grip was vice-like causing Armando to hiss in both pain and pleasure. He only needed a few more thrusts to near his end. 

She moans when she starts to feel it. “Oh Gods,” She whimpered, digging her nails on Armando’s hip bones, tugging him deeper and harder similar to Aemond’s movements. 

Armando’s release washes over him like a tide. He never felt this good before, especially with the woman he always loved. He lets his wife chase her pleasure like the good husband he is. 

But what he hears next causes his loving smile to drop. 

“Oh, Aemond!” 

Notes: I'm sorry Armando lol.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

take me by the heart, take me by the hand [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!reader]

a/n: Just a lil something sweet for my Danny Ramirez babes that wouldn’t leave my mind after my hc’s yesterday -- it’s insufferable, I know. Sorry.

pairing: mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!reader (established relationship; all my readers are ambiguous, but I write them as latinx!readers; no use of y/n). It’s his sunshine girl, ultimate sunshine x sunshine pairing.

w.c.: 0.8k of sweet suggestion and the thin veneer of self-control.

warnings: none, other than some cheesiness, my writing, and the barest suggestion of smut. 16+.

summary: a drive-in movie, a little joke, and some sweetness with your Fanboy.

--

"Oh, Mickey," you croon, your voice a velvet purr in the dim light of his car, the flashing images of the drive-in's creature feature splashing light across your features as you snuggle up to him. 

Your lips trail from where you had been kissing along the slope of his neck to the fine bone of his cheek, thrilled at the feel of him as his hand grips your waist ever-tighter at your attentions… 

"... You're so fine," you hum, the compliment cased in the cadence of the old tune.

It was a movie date, a movie date, he repeated to himself. Lost in the throes of the very feel of your body pressed against his, snacks long-forgotten as his mind churned to keep up with just what you were saying, as your sinful tongue followed your cherry cola kisses, and where had he heard it before.

Pleased with yourself, you press your lips to the corner of his upturned mouth, enamoured with every smile in his arsenal.

"You're so fine, you blow my mind." He turns fully at the sing-song of your teasing words, a million-watt grin in full effect now before the warmth of his mouth realizes yours, like the warm, slow drip of sweet honey into full-bodied coffee, a splice of sugar entrenched in boldness. 

He kisses like a dream, your Fanboy. Dizzying and delicious, your head in the clouds, just like your pilot's.

He parts from your lips after what may well be either a single second or your heart's eternity. 

Who are you to say? 

When your love looks at you now through his dark, nacreous eyes ... They are glinting stars enmeshed in the depths of galactic oilslick. He pauses to nuzzle his nose over the peak of your own, his ever-present grin blinding to you, even in the low lights of the long-forgotten movie. 

His warm hands cupping your cheeks, everything about him so cinnamon-warm. You would swear he was moments from eternal love's undying declaration as he parts his lips to once more impart something to you, when --

"That was corny, amor," he whispers, a hair's-width from your mouth -- a good-humored secret from his lips to yours. "Truly terrible. Almost unforgivable."

If Payback had put you up to this, you weren't allowed to talk to him anymore, he decided. But the cheeky, pleased look on your face told Mickey it was all you. His sweet thing.

Quick as a flash, Mickey presses his lips against yours once more in a cheeky peck, loving the way his mouth slots so perfectly with your angelic lips. Loving the way you taste, in this moment, of Red Vines and cherry Coke. Loving the way the skin around your eyes would crease at the smile and slip of laughter that lit up your entire face. Loving the way your giving hands would cup his chin, as though he were immortal, eternal.

Sweet, he thought. You were sweet. And so far out of his league he'd fly to the tippy-tops of the clouds just to be in the same realm as you. Sunshine. Everything he does, he does for you.

Swatting good-naturedly his arm, your grin never far from your lips or from the dancing light in your eyes, you adjusted yourself on the beach seat of his old classic ride. Allowing yourself to sink ever-deeper into your boyfriend's embrace.

"You loved it," you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder and focusing once more, momentarily, on "The Creature from the Black Lagoon."

Mickey turns his head, eyes gazing out the passenger side window and into the velvet night sky as he grazes his lips, once more, as always, against your skin. Tenderly against your forehead this time -- as he allows his thoughts to swirl, twirl, like caramel-drizzled fondness on the feel of you in his arms, on the depths of his love for you.

Every moment to be savored. And he feels it in his chest, against his ribs, and in time with the beat of his heart. More G's than in a fighter jet.

"Yeah," he smiles -- he could never not smile with you -- against your skin. "Yeah I did."

He kisses you again, his mouth yearning to spill every truth to you as he sucks your lower lip between his own with reverence, scooping an armful of you and guiding you down, down, down. 

Your back against the bench seat and his thigh now slotted between yours… And your Fanboy above you, with no choice but to follow you and show you just how much he loved it, loved you.

"And do I have you?" He whispers into your skin, a slip of silky, amorous admission.

"You have me."

--

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @thegirlwhowritesfics @anna-phora @thatredheadwriter @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @mrshipsmcgee @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @aphrogeneias @realspideyspice @levylovegood @2clones-1kamino @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @lavenderluna10​ @writercole​

[whirlybirbs]

studying.

pairing: college!peter x reader rating: all audiences welcome to this fluff what to listen to: roll up by fitz & the tantrums a/n: for the anons who gave me some ideas, here is the start of a potential series? or, as i would say, peter crushes on his TA.

After months of applications and tours and accepted student days, Peter had finally settled on MIT.

(It had helped that Tony had written his recommendation letter. A lot.)

September brings a new leaf.

Peter trades in the hustle and bustle for NYC for that of Boston. It is less shiny, less new. He likes it though; likes the cobblestone, the spirit, the history and the rhythmic rattle of the T under the Kendell stop. The late summer breeze is crisp as Peter shrugs his hoodie on, bagel dangling from his mouth as he chews and launches himself up the steps towards the quad.

His sense are in a haywire; it is the new environment. His sunglasses are maybe a little darker than they should be.

A week ago, his phone had been buzzing with kissy emoji from Aunt May, a good luck text from Tony and of course Ned -- his friend had settled in only a few T stops away at Harvard. The first day of classes had come and gone, bringing it with it an overwhelming sense of belonging. For once, Peter didn’t feel like an outlier.

The only text Peter is paying attention to this morning is yours, though.

pls help me study for my bio quiz later, peter, i am begging u

It makes him laugh. Peter grins, dimples digging in a little bit as he settles into a quick pace. Strawberry converse beat against the jagged cobblestone.

I mean, he wasn’t going to lie to himself -- you were, like, gorgeous. And funny. And you thought it was cool that he’d binged the entirety of Jason Todd and the Outlaws in one night. The fact that you’d excitedly added him on Facebook last Friday after class was enough; he’d messaged you, asking if avoiding the chicken at McCormick was a smart move.

You were a sophomore. You knew the ropes. Peter is totally using it as an excuse.

it’s literally the second week??? who is giving quizzes already??? who’s THAT evil???

You’re laughing, crossing the quad on the opposite side of campus when you get his texts.

It was only happenstance you two started to become friends. His first class, an 8:30am entry-level history course run by Professor Frankfurt (which was really just one big Captain America fanboy session) happened to be the class you’d decided to TA for -- and in turn, the class you’d first met Peter in. Forced to sit front row after arriving late -- he’d had trouble finding the Tang Auditorium -- he ended up being the one to sit next to you.

He was wearing a Saint Motel t-shirt. You’d stopped him after class, nervously chirping your admiration of that particular album. He’d stuttered in surprise. You were a little mortified, mostly since you had realize how pretty he was. He had big brown eyes and dimples. Dimples.

From that point forward, it was like you couldn’t escape him. He joined the Broadcasting club -- and you’d laughed out loud when he walked through the door wearing a different Saint Motel t-shirt. Comic Roundtable wasn’t safe either, as Peter Parker had suddenly become the fresh face among the small club of eight. It truly culminated when you realized Peter had taken up residency on Danny’s floor -- the R.A. was a fellow Anthropology major, and one of your closest friends.

So, yeah, texting him and asking for help on a Gen Ed Bio course quiz was kind of pushing it. You wanted to hate Peter, honestly -- as a freshman he’d already met a handful of prerequisites through his famed Stark Internship, working his way through a good half of the first year Computer Science and Molecular Biology course load. The air at MIT was competitive, but for some reason Peter didn’t feed into it. You felt okay admitting a fault.

It wasn’t like you were going to go to Academic Computing. They’d definitely roast you for not understanding cell structure and osmosis and all that other shit. You were an Anthropology and American History double major for god’s sake. You didn’t need that stuff in your brain. You needed room for other things.

So, you text Peter back.

it’s prof steck. don’t play urself. stay away from her. but is that a yes??? bc if it is i’ll swipe for u at baker!!!

Peter’s slipping through the auditorium doors when he texts you back.

Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you laugh a little when you read the message.

only if u buy me mozzerella stix!!!!

He shoulders you as he sits down. The touch is enough to light up Peter’s nervous system; he ignores the happy tingle that creeps up his back.

The stack of graded papers is jostled a bit by the movement -- Frankfurt had done an assessment on Wednesday, intending to get a gage for what he was working with in the class. So much for syllabus week. You, of course, had been tasked with grading. Not that you minded, though, it had distracted you from asking Peter to come out with you on Saturday night.

“You know,” you chirp, “Baker has make your own stir fry tonight...”

“No way!” Peter’s voice clips a bit, high and excited, “Then forget the fried cheese sticks, buy me stir fry.”

“Only if you don’t make fun of me,” you hum, rolling your eyes a little, “This quiz on is the simple stuff and I don’t know why, I just don’t get it.”

“Well,” Peter chides, settling back in his seat. His fingers dance across the trackpad of his laptop, waking it up, “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

You deadpan.

Peter grins. It’s toothy.

“Is that what the Stark Internship taught you?”

His laugh is boyish. Those dimples are back. Your chest caves a bit, face hot with a gooey expression. What the hell is wrong with you? Going gaga over a freshman?

“Naw, memes taught me that one.”

“Oh,” you wave your hands as Professor Frankfurt throws himself into the auditorium in a huff, “Even better.”

You’re both silenced into a hush as the rest of the first year class follows suit. Professor Frankfurt calls roll. Your name is called after Peter’s. You hand out the exams, and then sit beside Peter for the rest of the class, basking in the warm glow of his semi-permanent smile.

“You know it’s not a date, right?”

Your roommate has her fists halfway into a family sized bag of doritos. Netflix glows from the top bunk. You’re fixing your hair in the mirror hanging on the door.

“I know, but,” you sigh, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a freshman,” she waves as The Office drones on, “He’s fresh meat -- dead in the water. That’s social suicide, you know. At least wait until after Rush Week.”

“Peter doesn’t seem like the fraternity type.”

“Yikes.”

“That’s not a bad thing!” you huff, tugging your hair up and away, “Seriously, there’s a reason why you keep getting your heart broken by dumb boys.”

“Is it because I have an affinity for beefy rich assholes named Brad?”

“That’ll do it, honestly.”

“Fair enough,” she tosses a grin your way, “Good luck on your dinner date with Peter.”

“It’s not a date!”

--

It’s not a date.

Totally not?

Why is he so nervous?

Oh god, his hands are sweating.

“I’ll have the sweet and tangy sauce, please.”

The box of stir fry is handed to him -- you’re already digging in with a goofy grin on your face. You much on the lo mein noodles happily. You’re covering your own nervousness well. Thank god for deodorant because Peter has you sweating -- literally. It had climbed into the high 70s by late afternoon, leaving Parker in a t-shirt that seemed too tight to be legal and a pair of shorts. He was tan. And he had freckles. Everywhere.

Your hair is swept into hazy curls by the late summer heat. Peter watches the curls along the back of your neck as you both work your way through the check out in the dining hall.

You both make your way to the Hayden Library, strides slow. The sky looks gold, and the clouds glow in the deep blue of the September evening. Traffic drums on, but you both are locked into conversation. Nothing is breaking it -- not even the wave of friends across the street.

“So, New York, huh?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, taking a bite from his takeout container, “My Aunt told me that if I ever went to a Red Sox game, she’d murder me in cold blood.”

“Yikes,” you chatter, “You’re missing out -- I mean, no Big Papi anymore, but Hanley Ramirez is a big deal. Be a shame if you never saw him play in Boston.”

“Are you trying to convince me to go to a Red Sox game?” Peter’s voice hitches, “Because that’s not happening.”

“C’mon, the Yankees suck,” your smile is challenging and Peter laugh as you take a few steps ahead, turning around to watch him as you skip backwards, “Turn to the dark side, Peter! It’s more fun! We have a green monster.”

“I think I’d rather take the Hulk, honestly.”

“Me too,” you wink, “Bruce Banner is an absolute babe.”

Peter laughs at that -- loud and rowdy in the late summer heat. It’s intoxicating.

Your takeaway boxes have been abandoned, licked clean, in favor of a biology textbook and notepads. Though, it wasn’t a welcome abandonment. You wanted to pull your hair out. It showed.

Your lips are pulled into a pout. Peter watches your brows screw together. The study room is filled with the chatter of a Bio101 Youtube video he’d pulled up, hoping to explain osmosis and semipermeable membranes and the importance of saline.

“See?” Peter’s pen taps the screen, “From high to low!”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“Sounds fake,” you hum, mushing your cheeks together as you lean on the wooden table, “But okay.”

“It’s not fake! It’s science.”

“So,” you lean back, waving your fingers, “... magic?”

“Basically,” Peter shrugs, “My formal title after grad school will be Wizard.”

“I want to be a wizard.”

“Then --”

“And make this whole quiz disappear.”

Peter drops his head into his hands, laughing softly as he rubs his brows together. You were getting it, albeit slowly. He couldn’t say he really minded losing his Monday night to you -- in fact, he found himself enjoying this a little bit too much. Your knee brushes his under the table as you shift, eyes drawn back to the video.

His skin tingles. Hot and prickly.

“How about one more hour of studying?”

“Thank god,” you whisper, “I can do that.”

“Power hour?”

“Power hour.”

He walks you back to your dorm.

Even though it’s in the opposite direction of his.

“I hope I helped,” he sighs, “Even if it’s a little bit?”

“You helped a lot -- seriously, I think I’m a wizard now.”

You blossom with pride as he giggles, eyes screwing shut as his head falls backwards. His converse scuff against the pavement as he shoves his fingers into his pockets. Peter glows under pinks and yellows of the streetlights. It’s cute. You wind your own fingers together, toeing the ground.

There’s a weighted pause between you both. Brown eyes burrow into your own.

It’s broken by the door to your dorm swinging open and a group of guys bustling by. It prompts you both to laugh again.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday, then?”

“Yeah! And, uh, I’ll let you know how I do on my quiz!”

“Make me proud!”

He waves, you wave, and you swear it’s the warmest you’ve ever felt.

[andy-15-07]

Hello since ur request are open and there isn’t anything about Danny’s characters yet, could I request some smut aka face riding/ sitting with who ever u want to write about ? Depends on who’s fitting the most? Thank you already <3

All Yours

PAIRING: Ash Garver x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 671 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

"You're staring again," you say, your voice soft but laced with challenge as you stand by the flickering fireplace.

Ash sits back on the couch, legs spread, arms resting across the worn leather. He doesn’t deny it. "Yeah," he says simply. "I am."

You raise an eyebrow, half-smirking. "You gonna say something smart, or just keep undressing me with your eyes?"

His smile curves slowly. "Why not both?"

The storm outside growls against the windows, wind thrashing snow like a warning. But in the warmth of the lodge, the air crackles with something heavier than winter,desire, tension, something that’s been building since the moment you met him.

"You always this confident?" you ask, stepping closer. His eyes follow the motion of your hips like he's memorizing it.

"Only when I know what I want," Ash murmurs. "And right now..."

You stand directly between his knees. He looks up, eyes dark, full of heat.

"Say it," you dare him.

He leans forward, his voice like a slow flame. "I want you to sit on my face."

Your breath catches, but you cover it with a laugh. "You don’t even ask nicely, huh?"

"Didn’t think I had to beg. But if that’s what it takes..."

He reaches for you, hands sliding along your thighs, thumbs dragging against your skin just under the hem of your shorts. His touch is slow, reverent.

"I’ve been thinking about it since the first night you walked in here," he says, voice low. "The way you talk, the way you walk around like you know exactly how badly I want you. You gonna make me suffer, or you gonna give me what I need?"

You place a hand on his shoulder and push him gently back into the couch. "Then shut up and lie back."

He obeys, grinning, shifting down until his head rests comfortably on a throw pillow. You straddle him slowly, deliberately, knees digging into the cushion beside his head.

"Let me see you," he whispers.

You slide your panties off and toss them to the floor. His hands grip your thighs like he owns them.

"God, you’re beautiful," he says, like he’s stunned, like it’s a prayer.

You hover just above his mouth, watching the tension in his body coil like a spring. His lips are slightly parted, waiting, hungry.

"You sure you can handle this?" you tease, heart hammering in your chest.

His voice is a dark promise. "Sit, baby. Don’t hold back. I want all of it."

You lower yourself onto his mouth, and the second his tongue touches you, a shiver rolls down your spine. He groans against you like he’s starving. The stubble on his jaw scratches lightly at your thighs, but his tongue is soft, firm, relentless.

"Fuck, Ash"

His hands grip your ass, guiding your movements, encouraging you to grind against his face. His moan is muffled but desperate. Every flick of his tongue makes you cry out a little louder.

"Don’t stop," you gasp. "Right there. Shit"

You roll your hips against his face, fingers tangling in his hair. He lets you use him, his moans vibrating through you.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he groans between breaths. "Keep going."

You ride his mouth faster, your body trembling. His tongue never falters. He groans again, deeper this time, and your thighs tighten around his head.

"Ash…" your voice breaks. "I’m gonna…"

He grips your thighs harder, holding you there as you come against his tongue. Your whole body shudders, and he doesn't stop,not until you're gasping and twitching from overstimulation.

You finally lift off him, legs shaking. He’s panting beneath you, face slick, eyes blown wide.

"Holy shit," you breathe, sliding off to sit beside him.

He laughs, pulling you into his lap. "That’s one way to warm up in a snowstorm."

"That mouth should be illegal."

"Nah," he smirks. "I think it should be put to better use."

You tilt your head. "Already planning round two?"

"Baby," he says, kissing your jaw, "I haven't even started yet."

[nathanbatemanfucker]

This with Joaquin!❤️

Muerto de Hambre

about this; pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader, wc: 790, contents: NSFW/MINORS DNI/SMUT, oral (f!receiving), simp!joaquin, an: sorry this took so long omg but i hope you like it!!! also i realize that i make joaquin a munch so often but like…im not wrong 🫶🏾

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The door clicks shut behind him with a soft thud.

You glance over your shoulder, startled but smiling when you see him standing there. He’s still in half his tac gear— dusty boots and flight jacket— his hair tousled, and eyes locked on you like he’s been starving for the sight of you for days.

“Hey, mi amor,” you breathe, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

Joaquin doesn’t answer, not right away. He simply stares for a moment, like the sight of you knocked the breath out of his lungs. Grounding and unreal all in one. But then he’s moving; crossing the room in a few quiet steps, dropping his bag to the floor. By the time he reaches you, there’s a tremble in his hands.

You open your arms, and he falls into them like he belongs there. And he does.

“Long week?” you murmur, running your fingers through his hair.

He nods against your shoulder. “Felt longer without you.”

You hum softly, letting him hold you, letting him press in like he needs to memorize your warmth all over again. His arms lock around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You feel the heat of his breath, the weight of something heavier than exhaustion settling into your chest.

“I was just finishing dinner,” you say gently, brushing your nose against his temple. “Are you hungry?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark and fixed on yours, gaze sweeping your face like he’s trying to decide if this is real.

“Muerto de hambre,” he says, but you know this look, know that the heat in his eyes means he’s not talking about being hungry for food.

Without another word his hand reaches past you and turns off the stove with a slow twist of the dial. The burner clicks out, and silence fills the space between you, warm and charged.

You part your lips to speak, but he’s already kissing you—soft at first, like a whisper. He goes deeper, hungrier, lips parting yours with a low groan that spills from his throat like it’s been building the entire time he was gone. His hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, rough palms splayed against your lower back, pulling you flush to him.

“Te extrañe,” he breathes, kissing down your jaw.

“I missed you too,” you barely can get the words out, your hands clutch at his shoulders, dragging him closer even as your knees begin to weaken. “Joaquin—”

“Shh,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Let me have you. Can I?”

“Yeah, have me. I’m yours.”

Then he turns you gently, guiding you until your hips meet the edge of the counter. His hands are firm as they spread you there, nudging your legs apart just enough. He kisses the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, then drops to his knees behind you with a quiet groan that sounds like prayer.

You brace yourself against the counter, breath catching when his fingers hook into your waistband, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one smooth motion.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you gasp, and the second? Steals all the air from your lungs.

“Fucking— Joaquin, please—”

He hums against you, like he’s savoring every taste, every sound, every shake in your voice. His hands grip your ass, thumbs spreading you open as his mouth worships you with unrelenting devotion. He buries his face between your legs ravenously, like it’s the only way to survive, like he needs this more than anything.

“You taste like home,” he nearly growls, voice low and wrecked.

Your hands curl around the edge of the counter, body arching as he licks into you again and again, slow at first—then faster, more focused, chasing the rhythm of your moans. He doesn’t stop until your thighs tremble and you’re crying out his name, hips jerking against his face, the world cracking and breaking open as you come hard with his mouth on you.

You sag against the counter, boneless, and completely dazed. But he doesn’t let go.

Joaquin kisses your lower back, mouth skating up until he’s at your shoulder, before pulling your leggings back up with careful hands. When he stands, his eyes are dark with want, but gentle—like he’s still savoring the way you tasted on his tongue.

He lifts you without a word.

One arm beneath your knees, the other around your back—he carries you out of the kitchen like something precious, his lips brushing your forehead as he walks. Your pulse thrums, heat still lingering, curling low in your belly as he kicks open the bedroom door and steps inside.

“Dinner can wait,” he murmurs against your skin.

nsfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69 , @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl, @soularsss, @everydaydreamer, @violetpassionfruit, @seraphibunni

[andy-15-07]

Close Enough

PAIRING: Manny Alvarez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1159✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

request:https://www.tumblr.com/madaqueue/785548252448800768/dry-humping-where-hes-on-top-of-you-and-you-can

The rain hadn't stopped in hours. It beat down on the windows in uneven bursts, filling the silence with a rhythmic thrum that almost masked your breathing. Almost.

The abandoned apartment creaked with every movement. Boards groaned beneath your boots, and the faded wallpaper peeled in strips from years of water damage. But it was safe...for now. And that was enough.

You sat on the floor near a busted couch, legs outstretched, arms wrapped around your knees. Your shirt clung damp to your back. Across from you, Manny Alvarez paced the room like a caged animal.

He was still dripping from the downpour. Dark curls stuck to his forehead. His rifle rested in the corner, discarded once the two of you had confirmed the place was clear.

“¿Estás bien?” he asked suddenly, glancing your way. “You’re quiet.”

You looked up. His voice was low, softened by the storm, but it still cut through you like always.

“I’m fine,” you said, but it came out hoarse.

He crossed to you in two steps and crouched low, eyes scanning your face. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold,” you lied.

Manny exhaled hard. “Bullshit.”

A beat passed. Then another.

And then he reached out.

Warm fingers cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone, slow and aching. You leaned into it before you could think better of it.

“We could’ve died today,” he whispered.

Your eyes locked. “We don’t die, Manny. Not us.”

He gave a soft laugh, bitter at the edges. “You still believe that?”

“I have to.”

Because the alternative meant giving up. And you hadn’t made it this far just to break now.

He was too close. You could feel the heat coming off him, could see the tension in his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

“We grew up in hell,” he murmured. “And somehow… you’re still the only thing that feels real.”

Your heart cracked a little at that. You reached for him,whether to comfort or collapse, you didn’t know. But once your fingers brushed his collar, it was over.

Manny surged forward, and his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss was wild. Messy. Teeth clashing, lips slipping, breath catching.

His body pressed flush to yours, pushing you back until your spine hit the floor. He braced himself above you with a shaky breath, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

You clutched his shirt like a lifeline, hips arching instinctively when he settled between your legs. And when he ground down,slow, dragging,your breath hitched sharp in your throat.

“Fuck Manny....” you gasped.

His forehead dropped against yours. “I know,” he panted. “I know.”

There were too many layers,his jeans, your soaked pants,but you felt him. Every movement sent sparks down your spine. He was hard, heavy, and pressing just right against your core. Not inside, not yet,but the friction alone made your thighs tremble.

He rolled his hips again, slower this time, and you moaned softly, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”

You barely heard him over the sound of your own heartbeat. Your eyes fluttered shut as he rocked into you again, his breathing going ragged, uneven.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he whispered into your skin. “Since we were kids, you know?”

Your eyes opened. “Manny...”

“Not like this,” he rushed. “Not like,fucking on the floor of some shit hole. But just… you. Always you.”

The way he said it,like it hurt,made you arch up and kiss him again, pouring years of unspoken want into his mouth.

You kissed like you were starving. Like you could undo every missed moment with just your hands and breath and mouths.

Your hips met his in rhythm now. Slow. Desperate. Rubbing, grinding, dragging moans from both of you. It wasn’t sex, not really,but it was so close. Close enough to feel him throbbing against you. Close enough to ache.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, your collar. “I’m not even inside you and I’m already ,fuck”

His hand slid under your shirt, rough palms against warm skin, just above the waistband of your pants. You whimpered into his mouth when he rocked again, harder this time.

“I want you,” you gasped. “I want you so bad...”

“You have me,” he said quickly, breath breaking. “You’ve always had me, cariño.”

Your back arched, pressing harder against his cock, straining for more. His body trembled. He was panting now, mouth open against your cheek, voice shaking as he thrust shallowly, again and again.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“I’m gonna” he gasped. “Fuck, baby,hold on”

You clung to him like the world was ending,which it always was, in some way and you felt it. The tremble in his thighs. The tense clench of his jaw. The way he suddenly buried his face in your neck and groaned, long and low and wrecked.

His body shook as he came, grinding against you in short, frantic motions. His breath hitched hard, his hands gripping you tighter than ever.

And when it was over, he collapsed on top of you, chest heaving, face pressed to your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and felt his heart racing against yours.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

When he finally lifted his head, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes still glassy. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” you said. “Don’t be sorry.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You mean you didn’t mean for it to happen here.”

He smirked, sheepish. “Fair.”

You reached up and brushed a curl from his forehead. “I meant it. I want you.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just don’t want this to be… I don’t know. A war fuck.”

“It’s not.”

You cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the scar near his jaw. “It’s always been more.”

Manny closed his eyes for a moment, pressing into your hand like it was the only solid thing in the world. Then he leaned down and kissed you again,softer this time, slower. Like he finally had time.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours. “You and me,” he said. “We make it out of this. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “We will.”

You had to.

Because in a world full of broken glass and bloodstained concrete, he was the only thing that still felt like home.

[andy-15-07]

Imagine Joaquin Torres overstimulating the reader cuz she never orgasmed before and hes mad that her previous relationships never made her cum she he took it upon himself to do it

BONUS: Slight AU cuz idk why i love bodyguard Joaquin so much but optional

His Protection, His Rules

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 2284 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

You’d never planned to tell him. It just slipped out , a stupid, breathless confession in the back of the black SUV when he pressed you up against the tinted window and kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole damn life.

Your thighs were still wrapped around his hips, his belt digging into your skin. You were gasping when he pulled back, both of you half-drunk on each other, your fingers fisted tight in his shirt. His lips were red, pupils blown wide in the soft, passing streetlights.

“Fuck, querida , you’re so good,” he panted, his forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your lips.

You laughed. It just spilled out , too raw, too honest. “I wouldn’t know.”

His brow furrowed. He froze , his hands, warm under your thighs, went stiff. “What?”

You swallowed, throat tight. “I mean, I’ve never… not with anyone else. I’ve never,”

You didn’t have to finish. You felt him tense , felt the air change, the gentle sweetness he wore for you flickering out, replaced by something darker, something possessive and sharp that made your stomach flip.

“Never?” he asked, voice low and dangerous in that way that made you shiver all over.

You shook your head, your nails still digging into his shirt like you needed to hold onto him or you’d fall apart. “They just… never got me there, I guess. It’s fine, Joaquin, I,”

“Don’t you dare say it’s fine.”

His tone made you flinch , not from fear, but from how deep it hit. You’d never seen him mad like that. Not at you , never. He was your shield, your shadow, your bodyguard who stood too close, touched you too soft, called you mi vida when he thought you weren’t listening.

You didn’t make it to your apartment. He didn’t even give you the chance.

He carried you inside the safe house instead , the security keypad blinking green behind him while he slammed the door with his boot. He didn’t say another word while he set you down by the bedroom door, his dark eyes locked on you like you were something holy he’d been ordered to protect at all costs.

“Take your clothes off.” His voice was quiet, steady , a command, not a request. The kind of tone that made your thighs press together, uselessly trying to calm the ache already blooming between them.

“Joaquin,”

“Now, baby.” He stepped closer, thumb brushing your jaw, his fingers tilting your chin up until you met his eyes. The softness was there again , but underneath it, a threat. No one gets to waste you ever again.

“I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna ruin every fucking name that ever thought they deserved you. Understand?”

You nodded, lips parted. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing your forehead before he pulled back enough to watch you undress. You tugged your top over your head, skin prickling under his heavy stare. Your panties came last , you hooked your thumbs in the waistband and hesitated, your cheeks burning.

He raised an eyebrow, just a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Need help?”

You shook your head , but you weren’t fast enough for him to resist. He stepped in, dropped to one knee like it was a prayer, and peeled them off himself , slow, careful, his knuckles brushing the insides of your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he rasped, pressing a kiss to your hip, then another lower, lips dragging fire across skin no one had ever worshipped properly.

By the time your knees hit the mattress, your heart was hammering so hard you thought you might choke on it. He stripped off his shirt without breaking eye contact, belt clinking open as he followed you onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

He kissed you deep , unhurried, tongue sliding over yours like he had nowhere else to be. When you whimpered, his hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, keeping you there so he could taste every desperate sound.

“Relax,” he murmured against your lips, kissing a line down your throat as he nudged you gently onto your back. “You’re mine tonight. Only mine. I’m gonna learn every piece of you they didn’t bother to touch.”

Your thighs trembled when his mouth reached your belly, when his hands pushed your legs open. He pressed his lips to the soft inside of your knee, then lower, trailing heat that made your fingers fist in the sheets.

“Look at you,” he growled, breath hot against your folds. “So fucking sweet and they didn’t even try. Useless. Fucking useless.”

“Joaquin, please,”

He kissed your clit, just a whisper of pressure that made you jolt. “Please what, baby? Tell me exactly what you need. I’m listening.”

You gasped, your thighs trying to close around his head, but he pinned them wide with strong hands, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours , waiting, hungry.

“Please,” you breathed. “I want your mouth , I want it so bad, Joaquin, please,”

He grinned , sharp and wicked, teeth grazing your inner thigh before he groaned low against your skin. “That’s my girl. You ask, I give.”

And he did , he gave you everything. His tongue traced slow circles that made your back arch off the bed, made your eyes flutter shut until he growled look at me, and you obeyed because you couldn’t not. He sucked your clit into his mouth, gentle at first, then harder when you whimpered, your fingers tugging helplessly at his hair.

“Good girl,” he praised against you, his voice wrecked. “So fucking good for me. Gonna come for me, yeah? Let me feel it.”

It built fast , so fast you almost panicked. Your thighs shook, your stomach clenched, your mouth fell open around his name as your vision blurred.

“Joaquin, I’m, fuck, I’m gonna,”

“That’s it, corazón,” he rasped, his tongue relentless, his fingers bruising your hips to keep you where he wanted you. “Give it to me. Every bit. Nobody else gets to have this , only me.”

You came so hard you sobbed his name, your legs trying to squeeze shut around his head while he licked you through every wave, groaning like he was starving for you.

When you tried to squirm away, too sensitive, he caught you by the hips, kissed his way up your belly while his fingers slid where his mouth had been. Two slid inside you slow, knuckles deep, his thumb brushing your clit until your hips jerked.

“One’s not enough,” he murmured against your throat. “Not for you. They didn’t give you any , I’m giving you all of them.”

You tried to speak , tried to tell him you couldn’t, that you were spent , but the second orgasm slammed into you before you could form the words, your walls fluttering tight around his fingers as he whispered that’s it, pretty girl, that’s it.

When he finally pushed inside you , thick, hot, so deep you gasped , you felt every inch. He caught your wrists, pinned them above your head in one big hand, his other palm braced next to your head as he rolled his hips slow, so deliberate it made your chest ache.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his nose brushing yours, teeth scraping your jaw. “You’re gonna come on this cock for me , and you’ll know who you belong to.”

You did , you lost track of how many times. Each orgasm hit harder than the last, your whole body trembling under him while he whispered praise, filthy promises, soft good girls that turned your bones to liquid.

When he finally came , deep and warm and groaning your name like it was the only word he knew , he didn’t let you go. He stayed buried inside you, his nose tucked into your neck, his breath hot against your skin while your heart pounded out the last of your strength.

Later , when he pulled you to his chest, tangled in the sheets, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back , you found enough breath to tease him.

“You’re gonna be impossible now, huh?” you whispered, half-asleep, voice wrecked and sweet.

He huffed a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Damn right. Nobody else gets to have you. Nobody else can.”

You lifted your head just enough to kiss him , slow, grateful, the kind of kiss that made you feel like the safest girl in the world.

“Only you,” you murmured against his lips.

He smiled, warm and wicked all at once. “Only me, baby.”

Your breathing finally steadies , or tries to , but your thighs still twitch when you shift in his hold. Joaquin notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Easy, mi vida,” he murmurs, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead with the back of his fingers. “Did so good for me, huh? You’re shaking.”

You want to roll your eyes , or maybe slap him , but all you can manage is a weak giggle. “You made me like this.”

“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that smug grin that should be illegal on a man so pretty. Then he dips down and kisses your collarbone , slow, warm, lingering like he’s grounding himself in the taste of your skin. “Gonna do it again, too.”

You squirm weakly, batting his chest. “I can’t even feel my legs.”

“That’s the point,” he teases, but his voice is soft as a lullaby. His thumb brushes your cheek, then your bottom lip, tracing where your skin’s still pink from how hard he kissed you before. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Before you can protest, he’s up , moving like a soldier even now. He tucks himself back in his boxers but leaves your clothes in a messy pile by the bed; he’ll pick those up later, you just know it. He lifts you easily , arms under your thighs and shoulders, your head lolling against his chest while he carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing at all.

You blink at him, dopey and dazed, mumbling, “You don’t have to,”

“Shh. Not a word.” He bumps his nose against yours, all fake stern. “I do have to. This is my job.”

“Pretty sure ‘making me come five times’ isn’t in your bodyguard contract,” you slur, half giggle, half moan when the cold bathroom tile hits your back as he sets you down by the sink.

Joaquin raises a brow as he turns the shower on, testing the water with his palm. “You’d be surprised what I’m willing to add to the job description for you.”

Steam curls around his bare shoulders while he peels your wrecked underwear fully off , tossing them aside with a smirk , then helps you step under the spray. The heat makes you gasp, goosebumps rising where his big hands slide down your hips, steadying you when your knees threaten to buckle.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now, all worry threaded through the teasing. He always slips when he’s close to you like this , the soldier and the soft boy mixing together.

“Better than okay,” you breathe, leaning into him while the water washes over your shoulders. “Tired. Sore. Perfect.”

His grin softens into something that makes your chest ache. “Good. Sore is good. Means I did my job right.”

He grabs the soap and lathers it up in his hands first , warm, gentle circles over your arms, your collarbone, your stomach. He makes a point of pressing soft kisses to your shoulder every time he rinses you off. When you shiver, he chuckles, low and warm in your ear.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he whispers, like it’s a secret just for the steam to hold. “No one else touches you like this, yeah? No one else ever will.”

“Just you,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut while he tilts your head back to wash your hair too, fingers massaging your scalp until you’re half sure you’ll melt into the tile.

He rinses you off with one arm braced tight around your waist, holding you steady when your legs try to slip. When he’s done, he turns the water off but doesn’t let you move , just stands there, one hand cupping the back of your neck while your foreheads touch.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says softly, even though it’s not really a question. “I’m not letting you sleep alone.”

Your heart stutters behind your ribs. He’s always the bodyguard, the protector , but this? This is different. This is his.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yours.”

He smiles like he’s carved out of soft thunder, warm and fierce all at once. “Mine.”

He towels you off so gently you almost fall asleep standing there. He slips one of his old shirts over your head, and it drowns you , soft cotton, his scent, the hem brushing your thighs. You swear you feel him grin against your temple when he sees you in it.

By the time he tucks you back into the warm sheets , your legs tangled with his under the heavy blanket , your eyelids are drooping again. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, each one slower than the last.

“Sleep, mi amor,” he murmurs against your hair. “I got you. Always.”

You smile into his chest, your fingers curled in the dog tags resting against his heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, you do. You sleep. You’re safe. You’re his.

[andy-15-07]

Hi love! Can you do one of Joaquin x ex widow! reader where they came back from a mission with Sam that was exhausting and she tried to lightening the mood but Joaquin snapped at her. She got hurt and was avoiding him for almost a week. ( I love your work. You are amazing!!)

Soft Target

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1077✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The debrief droned on forever , overhead lights buzzing, a stale pot of coffee you’d stopped bothering to drink hours ago, Sam’s voice steady while everyone else blinked through exhaustion.

When the glass doors finally swung open, you stepped out into the hallway next to Joaquin, shoulders brushing his. He looked dead on his feet , scraped knuckles, a bruise on his jaw, dried blood at his temple he hadn’t let you clean off yet.

You were bone tired too, but you’d learned long ago that silence could kill you faster than a bullet. You’d spent years trained not to flinch, not to laugh, not to talk. Now you filled every empty space with words, warmth, anything to push the old version of you further away.

So you nudged his elbow, soft. “Hey, at least you got a cool new scar for your collection. Makes you look tough.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept walking, boots echoing on concrete. You pushed again , light, teasing, hoping for that crooked grin that made your ribs loosen.

“C’mon, Lieutenant , you know you look hot all banged up. Gonna get fan mail from half the base again,”

“Can you just not right now?”

It came out sharp , louder than it should’ve been, bouncing down the empty corridor like a gunshot. You stopped so fast you nearly stumbled. Joaquin turned on you, eyes dark with something you didn’t recognize.

“I’m serious. Just, don’t. I don’t wanna hear it, okay? Not tonight.”

You stood there, heart slamming against your ribs , a muscle memory of old training screaming don’t show it hurts. So you didn’t. You bit the inside of your cheek, forced your lips into something neutral.

“Okay,” you said, voice so small it made you want to punch a wall. “Got it.”

He opened his mouth , like he might say something else , but he didn’t. Just ran a hand through his hair, turned on his heel, and stalked off toward the barracks.

You watched him go until the echo of his boots faded , and for the first time in a long time, the hallway felt as empty as that old Red Room cell.

He texted you later that night. Hey. You up? You let the screen go dark. Next morning: Eat with me? You left him on read.

When he found you sparring with Sam in the training room, you just ducked Sam’s swing, shot Joaquin a half-smile, and wiped your nose with your glove like nothing was wrong. He didn’t push you in front of Sam. Of course he didn’t.

You’d spent years surviving on don’t react, don’t flinch, don’t feel. You hadn’t thought you’d have to use it on him.

Almost a week later, you were alone in the rec room , legs tucked under you on the couch, an old black-and-white movie flickering on mute while you scrolled aimlessly through your phone.

You heard the door swing open behind you but didn’t look. You didn’t have to.

He didn’t speak at first , just stood there. You could feel him, like a storm rolling through the empty space.

Finally, his voice, rough and low: “Hey.”

You didn’t look up. “Hey.”

Silence. Then the couch dipped under his weight when he sat down, close but not touching. You kept your eyes on the flickering TV.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Nothing to talk about.” You flicked to the next thing on your phone, your thumb trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t see it.

He huffed a breath, the kind that always meant he was working up to something. “I was a dick.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t sugarcoat it. What was the point?

“I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you. I shouldn’t’ve,” He cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face. “I just, I fucked up.”

You laughed , but it came out more like a crack in the wall you’d been patching for days. “Don’t apologize because you feel bad, Torres. You were tired. You were pissed. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he snapped , then softened instantly when you flinched. He reached out, then stopped himself. His hand hovered over your knee but didn’t land. “Fuck, I hate that look. I hate that I put it there.”

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to stay on the TV. The movie flickered , two actors in black and white pretending at forever while your chest felt like an open wound.

“You know what it costs me to do this?” you whispered. “To say dumb shit. To joke. To be… normal? I wasn’t trained for normal. I was trained to shut up, keep my head down, break people if they made me feel too much. I don’t wanna be her anymore.”

The words fell out before you could stop them. You felt him watching you , felt the ache in your ribs that said don’t cry in front of him.

Then you felt his palm cover your knee , warm, grounding, real.

“I know,” Joaquin said, voice wrecked. “I know you don’t wanna be her anymore. I don’t want you to be her. I want you. The dumb jokes. The terrible flirting. The way you make everything feel lighter when the world’s gone to shit.”

You finally looked at him. His eyes were soft and raw and wide open, that crooked grin nowhere to be seen , just him, stripped down to the bone for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, thumb brushing over your knee like he could erase the hurt. “I’ll never throw it back at you again. I swear.”

You hated him a little for how easy it was to believe him. You hated yourself more for wanting to.

“You hurt me,” you whispered.

“I know.” He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “Let me fix it. Please. Let me try.”

You didn’t move , not for a heartbeat, not for two , and then your phone slipped from your fingers as you curled into him, your knees bumping his thighs, your arms winding around his shoulders like they were made for it.

He pulled you in without hesitation, buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Not you. Never you.”

And for the first time since the Red Room, since the blood and the orders and the silence , you let yourself believe that maybe softness wasn’t weakness after all.

[andy-15-07]

he’s overwhelmingly good at eating you out you’re already pushing his head away but he’s still latching onto you, manhandling you back in place and to stay still

Pinned

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1150✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

A/n:  For this request I thought I would put Danny Ramirez because I think he is suitable for this idea.

It starts slow , slow enough to fool you into thinking you’ll survive it.

Danny’s hands are warm on your thighs, thumbs tracing lazy circles just under the hem of your sleep shorts. He’s sprawled between your knees, hair falling onto his forehead, that crooked grin flashing up at you like he knows exactly what he’s about to do to you.

He does. He always does.

“Danny…” you say, voice already breathless, fingers tugging at his hair as he hooks his thumbs into your waistband and peels your shorts down your legs.

“Mm?” he hums, kissing your knee, then the inside of your thigh. His stubble scratches just enough to make you shiver.

“You’re teasing.”

He laughs, soft and low. “Baby, I haven’t even started.”

Your back hits the pillows as he settles lower, spreading you open with one big hand braced on your inner thigh. You suck in a shaky breath when he drags his mouth up the crease of your thigh, so close and still not close enough.

“You good?” he asks, voice smug, lips brushing your skin.

“Danny,”

“Use your words, sweetheart.” He flicks his eyes up at you, and that look alone makes your stomach flip. “You want me to stop?”

“No, no, don’t you dare,” you breathe, nails digging into his scalp.

“That’s what I thought.”

His mouth finds you all at once , warm, wet, hungry. You gasp, hips bucking when his tongue flicks just right, when he sucks your clit between his lips like he’s tasting something he’s been starving for.

“Fuck, Danny,!”

You try to pull back, overwhelmed already, but his free hand shoots up, palm flattening over your stomach, pinning you to the bed.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs against you, his voice dark and muffled. “Stay still, baby.”

Your fingers curl in his hair, tugging when he sucks harder, when he slides his tongue down and back up in slow, torturous strokes. He hums when you moan, like he likes feeling it vibrate through your thighs.

“Danny, too much,”

He pulls back just an inch, licking his lips, eyes dark and blown wide. “You say that every time.”

You try to catch your breath, hips rocking involuntarily, thighs threatening to snap shut. He growls, low and dangerous, and pushes them apart again with his shoulders.

“Keep ‘em open for me, hermosa,” he orders, squeezing the inside of your thigh until you do. “Don’t make me tie you down.”

Your laugh cracks on a whimper when he dives back in , wetter now, messier, his tongue circling your clit until your whole body arches. You try to pull away again, hips lifting off the bed, but he clamps his hand harder on your belly, forcing you back down.

“Danny, I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” he purrs, voice rough and smug. “Take it for me. Be good.”

Your toes curl, thighs trembling around his head. He moans when you tug his hair harder, when your hips stutter under his hold.

“Danny, please, I’m gonna,”

“Good.” He sucks harder, tongue flicking quick and filthy until your back bows off the bed and you cry out his name like it’s the only word you know.

You’re still shuddering when he pulls back just enough to drag two fingers through the slick mess between your thighs. He pops them into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Could eat you all night.”

“You already did,” you whine, pushing at his shoulders weakly when he lowers his mouth again. “Danny, I can’t, too much,”

He laughs against your thigh, nipping the soft skin there until you gasp. “Baby, I’m not done. Stop squirming.”

You try to twist away when his tongue flicks you again, overstimulation making your thighs snap shut around his head. He groans, shoving them apart again with a rough shove of his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises.

“Danny,!”

He growls, mouth vibrating against you. “You’re not going anywhere. Be still.”

You whimper when he latches onto you again, this time harder, relentless, tongue and lips working you until your vision goes blurry. Every flick of his tongue sends another shockwave through you, too much and not enough all at once.

“Please, please, please,” you babble, voice breaking on every word.

“Fuckin’ love when you beg,” he groans, pulling back just enough to breathe, his lips shiny, chin slick with you. “Look at you, baby. So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Danny, please,”

“What, baby?” He smirks, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk. “Want me to stop?”

You shake your head frantically, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes. “Don’t stop, don’t, I can’t,”

He huffs a dark laugh. “So which is it, huh? Want me to stop or want me to ruin you?”

“Ruin me,” you gasp. “Please, Danny, ruin me,”

He moans, filthy and desperate, like the words went straight to his cock. He buries his face between your thighs again, sucking you so deep and hard your thighs tremble around his ears.

You try to push him away when your second orgasm slams through you , try to shove at his forehead, his shoulders, your hips rolling back in panic. But he just growls and manhandles you down again, both hands locking your hips to the mattress.

“You’re gonna take it,” he pants between licks. “Gonna come for me again , fuck, baby, give it to me,”

You sob when it hits , another wave crashing over you so hard you can’t breathe. You feel it everywhere: your fingertips, your toes, the base of your spine. And Danny, still licking you through it like he’ll never get enough.

When you finally slump back, limp and boneless, he drags his mouth away with a satisfied hum, licking his lips like he’s just had dessert.

He crawls up your body, eyes wild, hair a mess, chin shining. He kisses you sloppy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re insane,” you mumble, voice hoarse, your hands sliding through his hair.

“Mm,” he hums, grinning into your mouth. “Told you I could eat you all night.”

“Please don’t,” you giggle weakly, pushing at his chest. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughs, a real belly laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. That’s my girl.”

You tug him down, burying your face in his neck, still trembling as he wraps his arms around you. His heart is pounding just as hard as yours.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now, warm and rough in your ear.

“Mm,” you hum, kissing his jaw. “Okay. Wrecked. But okay.”

He chuckles, nose brushing yours. “Next time, I’m tying you up so you can’t push me away.”

“Next time?” you squeak, voice muffled in his shoulder.

He kisses your temple, so sweet it makes your chest ache. “Next time,” he promises.

[andy-15-07]

Joaquin Torres x f!reader

You was having a nightmare, she was tiptoeing and go to kitchen. You drink some water, think a little and go back to bedroom. As Joaquin was in little awake that he cuddle you that something is wrong with you. You don’t want to talk about it, let it rest

Just Let It Rest

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 952 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The sheets were tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. Your breathing came in shallow, uneven puffs as your body jolted awake from the dream you didn’t want to remember. You blinked into the darkness of your shared bedroom, heart hammering, throat dry.

Joaquin was asleep beside you, or at least you thought he was. His body rose and fell steadily, arms sprawled across the mattress like he hadn’t moved in hours.

Carefully, you peeled yourself from the bed, legs unsteady as they touched the cool wooden floor. You didn’t want to wake him,not when he looked so peaceful.

You tiptoed your way through the quiet apartment, dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Your bare feet padded against the floor as you made your way into the kitchen. The fridge’s hum was oddly comforting, grounding you in the now.

You grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it at the sink, the cold water stinging slightly as it slid down your throat. You let the silence stretch, staring out the window above the sink, blinking hard as if doing so would erase the images still clinging to the back of your eyes.

You didn’t even know why this nightmare had shaken you so much,it was blurry and nonsensical now, flashes of loss and helplessness and dark figures you couldn’t name. But it had left a weight in your chest that pressed down with every breath.

“Y/N?”

You jumped, sloshing some of the water onto your hand.

You turned around to see Joaquin standing in the doorway, his curls messy, one eye squinting at the brightness of the overhead light. He wore only his boxers and a thin T-shirt, and he looked half-asleep, his voice still rough with dreams.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You okay?” he asked, stepping forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “You weren’t in bed. I noticed right away.”

You gave a tight smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“You were tossing and turning,” he murmured. “Then I heard you get up.”

“I’m fine, really,” you said quickly, brushing past him to place your glass in the sink. “Just…needed some air. Or water. Or both.”

Joaquin’s brow furrowed. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You paused, hand resting on the edge of the counter. “Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Joaquin…”

He reached for your hand gently. “I’m not gonna push you. But don’t pretend it didn’t mess you up a little. I know you.”

You let him tug you closer, resting your cheek briefly against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, calming. Still, you didn’t want to talk about it,not now. Not when the words would make it real again.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just let it rest.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Okay.”

You pulled away slowly. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Joaquin hesitated. “Come with me now?”

You sighed but nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He guided you back to the bedroom, not saying anything else. The sheets were still rumpled from your restless sleep. Joaquin climbed in first, lifting the blanket for you to crawl under. As soon as you settled beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close.

“Your skin’s cold,” he murmured against your shoulder.

“Kitchen was chilly.”

“Should’ve grabbed my hoodie.”

“You’re warm enough,” you said, tucking yourself tighter against him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. His hand traced lazy circles against your side, his breath soft against your neck.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” he asked gently.

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

Joaquin was quiet for a beat. “Okay. Just…don’t carry it alone, yeah?”

You gave the faintest nod. “I know.”

He pulled you even closer. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You always are.”

“I always will be.”

You smiled faintly, letting your body sink into his warmth. Your heart still felt heavy, but being in his arms dulled the edges. He didn’t press you. He didn’t ask again. He just held you like he was anchoring you in this world.

“Did I wake you?” you asked after a while, voice muffled against his chest.

“Not really. I felt you leave and missed you. That woke me.”

You smiled sadly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather wake up and find you safe than not wake up and…” He trailed off.

You knew what he meant. The images in your dream had twisted that very fear,being lost, being gone, being too late.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t. I just…care. That’s all.”

You reached up, touching his jaw lightly. “I know.”

There was a long pause, the kind only two people deeply familiar with each other could share comfortably.

Joaquin broke it with a soft chuckle. “If you don’t talk soon, I’m gonna have to distract you with kisses.”

You huffed a tiny laugh. “Tempting.”

“I mean it. I could annoy you back into reality.”

“You already do that on a daily basis.”

“Ouch.”

You smiled for real this time. “But I love you for it.”

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Love you too. Always.”

The tension in your body began to loosen, the memory of the nightmare fading just enough for your eyes to feel heavy again.

“You gonna sleep this time?” he murmured.

“I think so,” you said, voice softer now.

“Good. I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He smelled like warmth and comfort, like cotton sheets and sleepy safety.

“Night, babe.” you whispered.

“Night, cariño.”

And that was enough,for now. No more words. No more darkness pressing on your chest. Just his arms around you, steady and present.

You could rest.

[andy-15-07]

Can you write another Ash smut where they're both switch pls?

Roommates Don't Do That… Right?

PAIRING: Ash Garver x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 838✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist

Ash was stretched out on the couch, long legs splayed wide, game controller in hand, hoodie pushed up to his elbows.

You sat beside him, knees tucked to your chest, pretending to scroll on your phone, but your eyes kept drifting.

It was impossible not to look.

"You good over there?" he asked, not looking away from the screen.

"Fine," you lied.

He side-eyed you. "You're staring."

"You're cocky."

He smirked, jaw ticking as he fought off some digital enemy. "Only 'cause I'm good."

You stretched your legs out, your foot brushing his thigh. He didn’t flinch.

“You ever gonna stop playing that game and hang out with me like a real roommate?”

“Babe,” he grinned, “I am hanging out with you. Just with my priorities straight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your priorities are trash.”

Ash paused the game. Turned slowly toward you. “Yeah? What should they be?”

You didn’t answer. Just gave him a look.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Lingered.

“Say it,” he murmured.

You smirked. “Make me.”

He dropped the controller.

And then he was on you.

Fast. Smooth. Like he’d been waiting.

Your back hit the cushions and his hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head. He hovered close, face inches from yours, breath warm.

“That what you want?” he asked, voice low. “You want me to make you say it?”

You smirked. “Think you can?”

He kissed you hard.

His mouth moved against yours like he was starving. Tongue teasing, teeth scraping, hips pressing you into the couch. You moaned into him, grinding up, and his groan rumbled in response.

You tugged your wrists free and grabbed the hem of his hoodie, yanking it off.

He let you.

Then you shoved him back, straddling his lap. He blinked up at you, surprised and turned on as hell.

“That how it’s gonna be?” he rasped, hands landing on your hips. “You taking control now?”

You rolled your hips over his, the heat of your core dragging against the growing bulge in his sweats. “You’re not the only one who can play rough.”

His eyes went dark. “Prove it.”

You leaned down, kissed his jaw, bit his earlobe. He shivered under you.

“I could ride you into the fucking cushions right now,” you whispered.

Ash grabbed your chin, tilted your face up to his. “Then do it.”

Instead, you slipped off his lap and dropped to your knees.

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching you.

You tugged down his sweats and boxers in one smooth motion. His cock slapped against his stomach, thick and flushed. You wrapped a hand around the base and leaned in.

“Y/N,” he warned, already breathless.

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, then swirled your tongue around the tip.

His hips jerked.

You sucked him in deep, bobbing slowly, teasing him with your tongue. His fingers tangled in your hair, but he didn’t push,not yet.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You moaned around him, letting the sound vibrate through his length.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “Up here. Now.”

He grabbed you, lifting you like you weighed nothing, settling you over his lap again.

Your shorts were gone in seconds. Fingers sliding between your thighs, finding you soaked.

“Dripping,” he murmured, dragging slick fingers over your clit. “You loved sucking me off, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” you breathed, grinding into his hand.

He slid two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling until your back arched.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, biting your shoulder.

You whimpered. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Where?”

“Right here. On this couch. Now.”

Ash lifted your hips, lined himself up, and slid inside you in one steady thrust.

You both gasped.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, gripping your waist.

You rode him slowly at first, both of you savoring the stretch, the heat, the way his cock dragged against your walls. Then faster, harder, hips slapping together, moans tangled in the air.

Ash grabbed your throat, just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter.

“Mine,” he growled.

You clenched around him. “Then prove it.”

He flipped you, pinning you beneath him, one leg hooked over his shoulder.

And he fucked you.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

You screamed his name, nails raking his back.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”

You shattered.

Body trembling, legs shaking, vision going white.

Ash followed with a broken moan, thrusting deep as he came, then collapsing on top of you, face buried in your neck.

Later, tangled in his hoodie and a blanket, you lay with your head on his chest, listening to his heart slow.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “You?”

“Better than okay.”

He kissed your forehead, held you tighter.

“That was intense,” you mumbled.

“We were overdue,” he said.

You looked up at him. “So what now?”

His thumb stroked your cheek. “Now we stop pretending this is just friends.”

You smiled, kissed him again. “Yeah. That sounds right.”