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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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i need a steve rogers 😣

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

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Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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my baby. my baby. my baby. I NEED HIM!!

Bunny-Girl || Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> Wordcount: 9.5K!!!!

-> When convinced to retrieve the money left by Frankie and his team left at the bottom of a canyon in Peru, you have to deal with the most annoying person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Thank you once again to @foxilayde for proof reading!

Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!

TW/CW: LONG-ASS SLOW BURN ISH FIC BUT THE SMUT IS WORTH IT I SWEAR. Enemies to lovers ya’ll. Santi being a sassy little bitch. Violence, death. Oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, degradation and dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex.

BANG!

Shocking you out of your tipsy haze is the slam of a shot glass against the wooden tabletop. The dingy bar is rather quiet this late at night and so the sound practically ricochets off of your eardrums. Paired with the raucous laughter of the men sitting with you at the table, you found it practically impossible to tame the wild twitch of your brow that only made an appearance when you were truly at your limit.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia had surpassed your limit astronomically. He’d stepped over the fence of exactly what you could tolerate, then set it aflame.

Fuck, you’d never hated someone so intensely. You were beginning to spend time awake at night trying to answer the burning, existential question of whether or not there was anyone, alive or dead, who deserved more resentment than Pope. Needless to say, the list of those who met the requirements was dwindling.

He’d sucked you into this mission so easily. It wasn’t even the promise of enough money that you could retire and live comfortably that enticed you. When Frankie had named you as someone who could fill in for Redfly in the undertaking to bring back the money the original team of five had left in the Andes canyon, Pope laid it on thick. That intense, smoldering gaze as he spoke you through each step of the plan had you wondering whether or not you still had the bottle to enter the firing line. You’d barely even processed half of the information you needed before you’d said yes, coaxed into an agreement when you saw the way his focus raked over your body.

Just looking at him made you want to reach across the table and punch him, to break that stupid fucking nose. Seeing him talk so carelessly with Frankie and the others, as though he wasn’t making your life a misery, was enough to boil your blood. The humid heat clings to your temple in beads of sweat, seemingly boiling your anger from the outside in as you scowl at Pope with an icy glare.

Thinking back on it, you’re not entirely sure when your relationship with Santi soured so significantly over the course of the three days you had been together. Perhaps it was that first night where you kept trying to have a serious conversation about faults in his ‘master plan’ only for him to be utterly engrossed by the bounce of your tits as you spoke animatedly with your hands, or the morning you woke up to him singing in the bathroom of your shared motel room in Peru as you waited for an unregistered vehicle from one of Benny’s old friends with only a towel to hide his modesty.

Everything Santiago did vexed you. Regardless of when it started, the situation had devolved to the point that the two of you could barely spend five minutes together without a petty squabble starting up. It was therefore unsurprising that Frankie and Benny had plied you with alcohol all evening in an attempt to dampen the rage that sparked between the two of you whenever you locked eyes.

It was, however, doing very little to maintain your short temper given the antics he had been pulling all night.

BANG!

A second shot glass practically bounces off the table with the force that Santi sets it down with, and you momentarily consider knocking it off the edge of the table so it shatters on the ground or picking it up and throwing it so it bounces off of his pretty head.

“Could you bang that glass any harder?” You finally snap, voice strained with a bitterness that coats your tongue better than the shitty, cheap tequila you had all been sharing.

“Are you asking if I could bang harder, Conejita?” Pope’s lips pull into a lazy smirk as he watches you fume across the tabletop. He’d purposely misheard your question, intending to frustrate you further with his flirtatious response. The men around the table all chuckle, Frankie sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest as he waits for the firework routine to begin.

“I’m not sure how you expect to ‘bang hard’ with such a small ‘glass’, Santiago. Do you not leave the girls wanting a little more?” You question, feigning innocence as you pick aimlessly as your cargo pants, the quiet ‘oooo’ sounding from Benny spurring you on. There’s a pause, Pope’s jaw ticking as he watches you act very fucking proud of yourself.

“Fuck, Frankie, do you hear this shit?” Santi scoffs, your below-the-belt comment clearly striking a nerve with him. Morales is swift to throw his hands in mock surrender, silently absolving himself of the narrative as Santi gears up to defend his honour- and the size of his cock in the process. “What’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart? Do you think about me banging you often? ‘S that what’s got you all worked up?”

“Oh you are so fucking dumb, Garcia,” you hiss, irate at this point as you actively ignore the way Frankie halfheartedly slides another tequila shot your way. It’s like trying to douse a forest fire with a water bottle. “What makes you think I’m that easy, huh? Because I’m the only woman in this fucking sausage fest?”

Benny nearly sprays the beer in his mouth as he attempts to hold back his laughter, and instead ends up choking on the now luke-warm liquid while Will breaks out into a fit of hysterical, drunken giggles.

You can practically hear Frankie’s eyes roll in his skull, gathering up empty glasses in a desperate attempt to escape the table that was inevitably going to become a warzone and retreat to the bar.

“I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m a fuckin’ misogyn-“

“That’s all on you, Pope, you’ve got a sex-god complex far superior in size to your fucking shot-glass-sized penis.” You project over him as he exhales slowly in an attempt not to raise his own voice at you. “It’s not like those very same illusions of grandeur have almost gotten us killed or anything, what with you fucking every single one of your female informants. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d fucked the male informants too!”

“You jealous?” Pope returns with a calm tone that somehow manages to incense you further. In what fucking universe would you be jealous of Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcias’ fuckbuddies?!

“No!”

The silence that answers you back is almost deafening. A victorious smirk settles itself on Santiago’s face as he takes another shot of the disgusting tequila, his eyes cast towards the bar as he shakes his head knowingly. Benny and Will remain silent, an awkwardness settling between them as they keep their eyes firmly planted on the label stuck to the bottle that Ben twists in his hand. Like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

It took you a few seconds, given the odd response, to realize none of the men at the table believed you.

“Oh, fuck off!” You sneer, standing from your seat and slamming your glass down on the tabletop in defeat. You’d rather get snatched off the streets of Peru by the cartels you were actively avoiding than spend another second with the narcissistic prick across the tabletop.

In fact, it’s a miracle that you didn’t turn back on your heel and launch yourself at him when he calls out to your back. “Can you bang that glass any harder?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie was never allowed to buy you alcohol again, regardless of whether or not it was a peace offering to make Santiago more palatable. Your head feels like it has been put in a vice, the sunshine leaking into your motel room through the window causing the migraine that ran down the backs of your eyes enough to make you want to hurl the entire contents of your stomach and then some.

Given the fact you had practically thrown yourself at the mattress the moment you entered the room after leaving the boys at the bar, you would have thought the extra sleep would have shifted the swirling sensation inside your skull. It’s possible that staying up at least another hour and stewing in your rage didn’t aid your condition.

You’d heard the lumbering idiots stumble back into their respective rooms while Frankie tried desperately to quiet them all down at a time that was utterly obscene, given the sun was already rising according to the orange tint in the sky when you had checked. Had you not been so exhausted after the ridiculous length of the journey to the coordinates on that tiny scrap of paper Pope carried with him so far, you would have kicked all four of the inconsiderate bastards out and forced them to sleep in the hallway.

Turning your back to the window to escape the glare of the harsh sunlight that seeps through your closed eyelids, you settle back into the thin linen covers as you try to ease yourself back into sleep. Warmth settles between your shoulder blades where the sunshine floods your skin, lulling you back into the in-between stages of sleep, where unconsciousness ebbs at the edges of your mind, but you’re still aware of your surroundings.

As a result, you hear Santi before you even see him.

“Up, Conejita, we’re leaving in fifteen.” He sounds rough as he throws the door open, his voice still laced with sleep and tone gravelly from shouting across the table all night. Had it been anyone else, you’d consider the drawl attractive, but it’s Santiago, so it’s definitely not.

“Mhmmm,” you groan in frustration, rolling onto your back, “You just burst into women’s rooms without knocking, Pope?” You grumble, making it clear that you’re lacking significant levels of patience to be dealing with his ridiculousness this morning.

Opening your eyes, you wince at the pain that sparks through your head as you glance over at Santi. He looks as rough as you feel, his short curls sticking every which way as though he’d drunkenly stuck a fork in an electrical socket. His clothes are crumpled, creases in every direction throughout his simple, gray cotton t-shirt, like he’d slept in it. Come to think of it- weren’t those the clothes he wore to the bar last night? His salt and pepper stubble has grown back on his chin and frames his cheekbones, despite you knowing for certain you had seen him shaving in the mirror only 24 hours ago.

Despite how tired he looks, you note the way his brown eyes, polished amber from the golden sunshine cast across his face, seem to drag down the silhouette of your body underneath the thin bedsheets. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.

“Fifteen.” He repeats curtly, turning on his heel and walking back down the corridor with thumping steps across the wooden flooring while leaving the door wide open.

“Heard you the first time, asshole,” you scoff bitterly to yourself, rubbing your palms over your face in a fruitless attempt to rouse you from your weariness. Swinging your legs over the mattress, you reach down to the zipper of the duffle bag you had stuffed fresh clothes into, reaching blindly into the carrier and fishing for the first shirt and set of cargo pants you could get ahold of. Living around these feckless men meant no real effort was put into your appearance on their behalf. It also meant you were ready within moments, completely contrary to Benny’s persistent joke that the team we’re always waiting on you.

Everyone knew Santi was always the one holding them up, you’d caught him a few times carding his fingers through his hair in the mirror as you screamed at him to get a move on.

Walking down the hallway after slipping on your combat boots to finish off your outfit and duffle bag in hand, you’re careful to observe the relatively damp atmosphere in the communal-kitchen area. Benny and Will are barely managing a plate of scrambled eggs and looking rather sorry for themselves. You lock eyes with Frankie as he leans his hip against the counter. He’s smiling at you apologetically as he holds out a chilled bottle of water.

“Sorry if I woke you last night. Wrangling these lunatics into bed took some effort,” he admitted softly, in that gruff southern accent you had grown to love over the coms in his helicopter over the time your two had served together before he retired. The condensation on the plastic bottle cools your palm as you take it from him, another liquid peace offering, lacking in alcohol, that would probably only maintain the tranquility of the morning for five more minutes.

“Yeah, I bet.” You grumble weakly as you twist the cap off the bottle, raising the rim up to your lips as you glance around the small space to locate Pope. “They were causing quite a scene when I left.”

The brothers audibly grimace at your sly dig, and you can feel the self-pitying, sorry gazes they throw your way without even looking at them. They know better than to side with Pope when the two of you start a verbal tug-of-war.

“Oh really?” Frankie muses, eyes settled on your face as he shoots you a toothy grin. “Last I was updated on the situation, it was you and Garcia who were causing the hassle, man. Bickering over the size of a shot glass really is a new low for the two of you, I must admit.”

“It was a euphemism, Frankie,” you deadpan, screwing the cap on your water bottle once again. “I thought you of all people would be smart enough to figure that out after all the time we spent together.”

Frankie doesn’t bother entertaining you as he points to the door that leads into the corridor of the motel, gesturing absentmindedly with a swirl of his wrist. “He’s outside, setting up the pickup for us.”

“I didn’t ask,” you say bluntly, glancing up at him through your lashes to catch him smirking at you. Frankie never has to say what he’s thinking, his expressions are like an open book written in neon pink. Even the fuckin Inca Tern birds in the trees outside the window would be able to piece together what he was thinking. ‘Just fuck him already’

Perhaps it had escaped you, the evidence that had convinced everyone that you wanted Santiago’s cock down your throat, because you just couldn’t understand why everyone was so certain that you had the hots for him. Sure Pope was an attractive man, arguably the most attractive out of the four, but that didn’t mean you wanted to fuck him. Not with that appalling attitude. If you saw one more set of eyebrows raising playfully, you’d break the nose of whoever they belonged to.

“I said fifteen, pendejo’s hurry up!” Santiago’s voice cut through the room as he opened the door to the motel room, his apparent hangover seemingly responsible for his aggressive tone as he leans against the doorframe.

He’s all sweaty, his light-gray shirt stained dark down his sternum from where his perspiration seeps into the cotton. His tanned skin has a sticky sheen to it, as though he’d been on a run in the middle of the afternoon, and his chest heaves a little as he catches his breath back after running up and down the stairs a few times to load the pickup truck.

Staring down Frankie in an attempt to show your disapproval at his shoddy attempt to play matchmaker, you pull the straps of your bag over your shoulder while making your way towards the door. Pope, in his utter stupidity, doesn’t move from the doorframe and instead puts the effort into slamming his palm against the wood a few times to urge the two brothers from their seats at the dining table. “Move it!”

“Shift, Pope,” muttering under your breath, you attempt to barge through the doorway with the large bag still slung over your shoulder. It’s a tight squeeze, the other side of the wooden beam catching on the bag and forcing you forward into his muscular chest as you attempt to work your way around him.

Meanwhile, Santi is twisting his body towards you to make space for you to squeeze past. You’re certain he’s not sure how close he is to you until your tits brush against his chest and his nose is bumping against yours. Any closer and you were positive his eyelashes would be tickling the skin of your cheeks.

Impossible not to notice, you catch the way his breath hitches at the contact between your bodies. His pupils dart down to your chest, where you’re pressed up against him due to the awkward position, before flicking back up to your face. He makes no attempt to move.

“Could you not have waited?” His tone is firm, if a little breathless- or were you imagining it? It’s not clear to you, your head swimming as though you’d downed another bottle of that disgusting tequila from the night before. You can smell the sweat on him, the pheromones that you’re almost certain are scrambling your brain. He smells good.

“Could you not have fucking moved when I asked?” You respond curtly, the curve of your nose still pushed against Santiago’s as you attempt to force your way through the small gap. Cruelly, your bag is caught on the lip of the doorframe, so your movements only aid in dragging your pinned body against Santi’s. It’s so much all at once, his smell, the press of his warm body against yours- “Fucking move, Pope, I’m serious!”

Santiago is uncharacteristically quiet at first, his eyes set on yours with such formidability that you’re convinced your knees will buckle beneath the pressure against your better judgment and ultimately give way to him. Why is he looking at you like that!?

“You’re not making much of an effort to move yourself,” he murmurs, the rasp of his quiet voice worming its way into your skull and frying your brain. This emotion it pulls from you, a mixture of acrimony and arousal, is so potent that you’re uncertain of the words that slip from your mouth even as you state them.

“You’re so fucking irritating!” The syllables come out sounding strained, vowels drawling slightly.

“Trust me, I don’t consider you an angel.” With that, he’s pushing his body past you, back into the motel room. A final drag of his chest against yours and you’re free, stumbling to grab the wall so the weight of the bag doesn’t tip you backward. “Get in the car, I won’t tell you again.”

You don’t want him to. You’re quick to make your way down the stairs and away from the other boys that you knew would have something to say about that little performance, racing to the street to ensure you had dibs on the seat as far away from Santiago as possible, and hopefully with Frankie Inbetween you to mediate your conversations. Though, you weren’t certain that even Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales would be able to referee the two of you in a confined place for what would be at least five hours after having been so close to Pope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luck had never really been on your side throughout your military career. During your time in the Delta Force, you had never heard of someone having as rough of a time as you. Every single mission you seemed to get into deep water; shot at in the open, just barely missing landmines. It came to a point that you were certain you were a cat reincarnated and that you had used up eight of your nine lives already.

Well. Consider this all nine lives used up.

Preempting where Santiago would choose to sit had failed miserably. Having driven the last shift before calling it a night yesterday, you were almost certain he wouldn’t want to take the driver's seat first thing this morning, and so you had sat behind it in the hopes he would take shotgun. Boy, you were wrong.

Santiago’s hands hold the steering wheel firmly and you can see over his shoulder that his knuckles are tight on the leather. He has multiple tie-bracelets on his right wrist, the different brown leather tones complimentary to his complexion. The salt and pepper of his hair peeks out from the seam of his navy baseball cap at the nape of his neck.

There you can see the scar from his neck operation, the one he claims is the reason he’s in this fucking mess in the first place. It’s a pale silvery-pink, raised and thick with a wrinkled appearance. It’s still relatively fresh, apparently, and you’d heard Pope tell Frankie he hoped it would become less noticeable over time. His gold chain rests over it in decoration, glinting in the afternoon sun.

It’s torturous. The three, maybe four, hours you had been in the truck had slowly driven you mad. Pope’s scent clings to you like gun residue, repetitively appearing again just as you think you have shifted it. You can only thank God that the boys are in here with you, Frankie’s knee knocking into yours whenever the tires hit a bump in the road. It keeps you grounded, and prevents you from doing something stupid.

“How far are we from the drop point?” You ask Frankie quietly, your tongue feeling a little too large for your mouth after talking for the first time in four hours. You had attempted to sleep, like Benny who was utterly incapacitated in the front seat, but you were still enraged from Pope’s antics from earlier.

“Hmm. Another hour of driving maybe?” He wondered aloud, scratching at his patchy beard as he glanced down at the map sprawled on his lap, “Then half an hour of climbing to the canyon itself.”

“You’re not having doubts are you, Conejita?” Pope speaks up, ever the instigator. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Frankie tilt his head back against the headrest as he resigns himself to the fate of having to referee yet another petty squabble.

“Don’t insult me like that, Garcia. It’s just that this journey has been long and you’re fucking annoying.” You strain, doing your best to keep your voice down so as to not wake Benny in the front. “You insisted upon driving even though you knew it would take longer.”

You see Pope’s knuckles brighten as he grips the steering wheel harder, the only external expression of his irritation towards you that you’re able to observe.

“If you must know, I ‘insisted upon driving’ because it was a lot more low-key than flying there. If you weren’t aware, the last time we were in Peru we had a whole cartel-army and a village shooting at us and I was a man down. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I didn’t fancy having to go through all that again so I decided to drive,” he drones sarcastically. “Though you would know that if you ever listened during briefings.”

Scoffing loudly, your irritation begins to get the best of you despite the hand that Frankie rests on your knee as though you were about to leap out of your seat, you launch into verbal attack.

“I don’t know why I should listen to you when you’re giving briefings. It’s not like you have any clue what you’re doing, you found all your intel in some girl's pussy.” You know exactly what route he’s going to take in his counterargument before you’ve even finished your sentence, as though you’ve peered into a crystal ball or pulled a card from a tarot deck that spells out THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.

“You jealous?” How fucking original. “I like it when you talk filthy like that, say it again-.”

“Knock it off!” Will cuts in now, utterly grossed out by now as he covered his ears with his palms like a child. How the fuck more of these idiots didn’t die in the raid last year, you’ll never be able to work out.

“-Besides, you should be listening, Conejita. It’s about your safety during this mission.” He insisted, his tone suddenly taking on a serious note that has you pausing in your seat. “I refuse to lose someone else to these fucks, and you messing around better not compromise that.”

You pretend not to hear him or the demanding tone of his final comment, turning to Catfish with a scowl plastered to your forehead. “Frankie, for the love of God please tell me what that means. He’s called me Conejita this whole fucking time and I have no idea what he’s saying!”

Frankie looks at you with a pitying gaze as Will bursts into laughter at your utter frustration. “Your Spanish is almost as bad as Benny’s.” He mutters weakly, rubbing at his temple in an attempt to soothe the headache that had begun to build in his skull. You were pretty certain that, unlike the others, this headache had less to do with the alcohol consumption of last night, and entirely thanks to yours and Pope’s antics.

Glancing to the front of the car, you catch Pope’s eye in the rearview mirror. That same intense stare, the one that had burnt down your defenses and adjourned you to join him on this wild chase gazed back at you. It makes your stomach feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, flipping and twisting in your abdomen and you’re physically unable to look away. It’s really not too dissimilar. Pope is just as thrilling yet utterly devastating, waiting for you to make the jump from the unstable ledge without a parachute.

Instead of leaping you close your eyes, resting the curve of your skull against the window beside you. The vibrations of the truck's wheels against the bumpy road keep you from sleeping, but at least you don’t have to look Santiago in the eyes this way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Temperatures plummet the longer you stay up the mountain. The terrain is treacherous even with your combat boots on. Within an hour of climbing, you were certain you’d almost popped your ankle at least three times, the snow and ice on the loose stones akin to a walking death trap.

In spite of this, you can’t find it in yourself to complain when Will is being hoisted up and down the freezing cold canyon with climbing equipment. Each time he reaches the bottom of the crevice, he picks up as many of the fully-loaded bags as he can carry and the boys pull him back up, stack the bags away from the cliff face and send him back down.

You daren’t turn your eyes away from the horizon to watch their incredible teamwork. You hadn’t expected the area to be quite so open. While that meant you’d see hostiles approaching from miles away, it also dictated that you were sitting bullseyes against the bright background of snow, ice, and light grey stone.

“Still clear, Conejita?” Pope calls over to you, his voice strained with pain. No doubt his knees and neck are beginning to seriously hurt now with the strain of hauling twice, sometimes triple, Will’s body weight in duffel bags of money. At least he’d be able to afford a good masseuse at the end of this shitshow- probably one he could fuck when she helped him recover. The thought makes you hate him more.

“All clear,” you insist, index finger resting on the trigger of your carbine gun with practiced ease. “How much longer?” You’re not sure you can promise them safety after so much time in the open. The cartels have been searching for the four of them for a whole year. No doubt you had been clocked entering the country. It was almost common sense they would lay in wait in the mountains, letting the group come to them.

“We have one more drop.”

“Make it quick then,” you insist, eyes on the horizon still. You can’t shake the feeling things are a little out of hand. Collecting the bags takes much longer than expected- the nylon fabric has been exposed to the harsh weather of the mountains for so long that some of them had begun to degrade, making them more precarious to carry for Will.

“You good Will? Last one!” Santi informs him, “Benny can finally get that Ferrari he wants so bad!”

“Thought you’d learnt not to count your money until it’s in your pocket, Pope,” Frankie cuts in, stacking another set of bags and tying a rope to them like chain links. It helped to carry large quantities of the bags apparently, a trick they acquired last time they were here.

Turning your head over to Benny, you find he’s watching his elder brother with an anxious expression. You understood the feeling, your heart had nearly fallen out of your ass when he first leaped over the ledge an hour or two ago. No amount of combat training or life or death situations could possibly prepare you enough to be willingly pulled up a sheer cliff with only a rope tied to your waist. There’s a sense of relief as the final bag is pulled over the unsteady edge and Will finally plants his feet on solid ground for the first time in two hours. Fuck that.

BANG!

The crack of a gun ricochets off the mountain face, and before you even have a moment to register the sound there’s a tearing sensation that rips through the curve of your shoulder. Military experience kicks in almost like second nature, body dropping to the floor heavily. The rocks jab into your abdomen underneath you, but your spike in adrenaline and the pain of your bullet would mean you barely feel it.

“I’m hit!” You call out to the boys with a strained voice while you feel at your shoulder. Blood comes away on your palm, painting the skin crimson.

“Fuck! Are you okay?!” The tinge of fear in Santiago’s voice is just as loud as the hail of bullets that spray toward him. The larger boulders surrounding you all are the only form of cover you can use.

“I’m fine- it just grazed me. Focus on yourself!” You call back, steadying the carbine as you assess the horizon to find the threat. “Five of them, Santiago!”

“We're pinned here, do you have a clear shot at them?” Frankie called out to you, head shielded by a small rock. When you quickly glance back, all four of them are on their stomachs on the rocky floor. They’re relatively exposed, and they’re without their guns after working on the bags of cash for so long. You’ll have to do the dirty work.

“Yeah!” You call back, facing the hostiles once more. Considering the anxiety you had felt waiting for them to arrive, in the face of open fire you found yourself relatively at ease. Balancing the barrel in a crevice on the boulder you hid behind, you prepare yourself to take them out one by one.

The scope makes it much easier to pinpoint them. It’s like painting a red marks point on their forehead, a big fuck off neon sign that reads ‘shoot here’. Popping your head up with perfect timing, you pull the trigger of the gun. The crack of the bullet ejecting is deafening after years of being out of active combat, and the wait for the lead to travel and pierce between the cartel members' eyes feels like hours.

“First one down,” you call out your kills, dropping down behind the rock as a spray of bullets ricochets off the stone with golden sparks. Fuck fuck fuck this was bad. How the fuck had you even ended up in this position anyway? You swore you’d never see active duty again, yet here you were fighting for your life once more. This was the last time you’d help any one of these fucking idiots with their ‘master plans’.

You wait patiently for a pause in the firing before lifting your head again and glancing down the scope. It’s quiet for a few seconds until their heads peer out from the rocks again. Two take the plunge, but you’re ready for them and pull the trigger within relatively quick succession to take out two in one go.

“Three down!”

“For fucks sake, be careful!” Pope hisses. He sounds utterly wrecked, overwhelmed with nerves. Again, you didn’t know him well enough to say with certainty, but it sounded as though Santi was relatively level-headed given the stories you’d heard from Frankie. It was unlike him to be so anxious.

“Just keep your fucking head down!” You snap back, raising your voice over the hail of further bullets, “They must have kept tabs the whole time we’ve been in Peru.” You’re reloading, wanting a full cartridge for the last two hostiles should things get ropey.

There was a large pause between shots, which indicated to you that the shooters were changing position. Your shoulder stings, pouring blood into your thermals. Sure, you’d been shot before, it was like a right of passage in the Delta Force. Maybe it was because you were getting older, but the pain sears down the muscle of your bicep worse than you’d ever experienced from a graze.

Peeping over the curve of the rock, you scope the area for any sign of where the shooters had settled for the final assault. They’ve fallen back slightly by the looks of things, gathering their thoughts and setting up a plan. It allows you a moment to look to Santi, crawling belly down in the rocks to get to you.

“Hand me the gun.” It’s not a question, it’s an order. You’re swift to pass the weapon over, back pressed against the uneven rock surface and chest heaving. You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until the assault rifle leaves your hands.

When the shots sound again, you’re swift to cover your ears with your bloodied palms. Santi is an expert marksman, it doesn’t take him very long to zero in on each of the two shooters and take them out with deafening cracks of the carbine that bounced off the rock face of the Andes mountains. He counts them off one after the other, punctuated by shots that cause your eardrums to ring even with the muffling effect of your hands.

Busted eardrums are disorientating. You’d experienced severe tinnitus following a botched mission in Chile a few years ago, and for weeks you didn’t know up from down- so when Santi grabs ahold of your chin and forces you to look at him you find yourself gazing up at him with what’s probably the dumbest expression you could ever imagine, like a child caught stealing chocolate from the fridge.

He looks enraged, yelling at you with a creased brow and reddish face. The veins in his neck protrude and the force in which he holds your jaw with his fingers is bruising. You can’t hear him, the sound of his voice faded and is overshadowed by the prolonged ringing in your ears. Reading his lips, you can only really catch that he’s calling you stupid, totally on brand.

When his hand reaches for your shoulder, you flinch in pain and the pressure bubble in your ears pops suddenly. The flood of sound is dizzying, the heaving of Santiago’s breath and the rattle of the carbine rifle as it hits the floor. “Fuck, baby I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful-“ he’s stumbling over his words, applying pressure to your wound despite the cry that sounds from your throat.

“Benny, pass me a medkit now!”

“Pope, she’s okay, it’s just her should-“

“Now!” You’re certain he’s hyperventilating, the wheeze of his breath rattling against his ribs as wild eyes assess your expression and the wound at the same time. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m- I’m okay, Santi, I-” you’re trying to reassure him, but he appears to panic further, ripping the fabric of your thermals in a desperate attempt to gain a visual of the damage. Cold sweat covers his brow, and you realize, a little late, that he’s having a panic attack.

Pushing his hands away despite the fight they put up, you grab ahold of Pope’s gorgeous face with both bloodied palms, painting his tanned skin with blood as you try to get him to look you in the eyes. “I’m okay! I am okay, Santiago. Breathe.” You tell him softly, stroking your thumbs across his cheekbones soothingly.

Recognition bleeds across his expression, and his head drops suddenly. Tears are streaming down his cheeks within seconds, grasping onto your wrists with his thumbs pushed into the flesh there. He can feel your pulse, the blood flowing there indicating you were still here. “Oh fuck,” he chokes weakly, straining so hard to keep it all in. He thought he’d lost you, thought he’d find you slumped against the rocks with a hole in your forehead, eyes rolled back into your skull like Redfly. He couldn’t afford another Redfly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper gently, easing him down from that emotional ledge with a soft voice, “I’m okay. We’re okay.” It’s a simple word, but it does exactly what you intend it to as you hold Santiago close. Within minutes, he’s okay too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pressure against your wound keeps you awake at night, the searing pain having dulled to a mild ache with the aid of some strong painkillers. The cool linen of more hotel bedsheets eases the humid nighttime air against your relatively bare skin, having stripped down to a thin T-shirt and your underwear to battle the oppressiveness of the warmth. The team hadn’t stopped for three days until the truck's tires passed onto American soil in an attempt to stay one step ahead of the cartels and avoid further confrontation.

Santiago refused to allow anyone else to get hurt, staying awake the entire time to keep his eyes out for any sign of a threat.

Closing your eyes slowly, you feel the buzz of the painkillers working. Things feel a little slow, your vision taking a few seconds to catch up with you whenever you turn your gaze to the other side of the small hotel room. It’s a surprisingly pleasant, warm feeling and you settle back into the pillows as you allow the sensation to wash over you.

“How are you feeling?”

It takes significant effort for your eyelids to peel open again. Santiago stands in the doorway, hand on the doorknob in a firm grip. He looks exhausted, dark shadows coloring under his eyes, and his stubble having grown further since your observation from a few days ago.

“Still don’t knock, huh?” You drawl, words a little slow to sound from your lips. He chuckles weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he approaches the bottom of your bed with careful steps like he’s concerned he’ll fall through the floor. Once again, he leaves the door wide open. Classic.

“Oh come on, don’t start that shit, man,” he grumbles, rubbing at the nape of his neck with his palm with a flat expression. “I thought you’d at least thank me for saving your ass back there.”

A scoff works its way up your throat, bitter and acrid like that fucking tequila from Peru that haunted your every waking moment. “I didn’t need you to ‘save my ass’, Pope. I had it under control before you wheedled your way over and demanded control like you always do. I killed three of them-“

“They almost killed you. Shit, a blind man could do a better job of keeping an eye out than you, you’re lucky that they were such a shit shot!” Typical Santiago Garcia, deciding to have a critical conversation while you’re doped up on meds, exhausted, and utterly fed up with his bullshit.

“Did you even listen to anything I said in the truck?” he speaks firmly, jerking his outstretched palm animatedly while he speaks with a tone that you just know he uses with those inferior to him in the force. “I was trying to keep everyone safe and I could have fucking lost you!”

“Oh fuck you Garcia!” You snap loudly, “I was one person doing a 360 sweep for two hours while you and your fucking pals fucked around trying to get every single dollar you could get your hands on! How the fuck was I supposed to have eyes in the back of my head? Huh?! Besides, I’m not yours to lose!”

“Why are you being such a shit, Conejita?” He grits his teeth, a vein protruding at his temple.

“Because you’re such a shit yourself, Pope! You’re constantly manspreading. Makes it impossible to be comfortable in the backseat with you when you take up so much space. You listen to Metallica on repeat at top volume in your earphones, you might as well play it out loud at that point because I can hear everything,” you count off the infuriating things he does on your fingers, voice raising slightly with each point. “And you never know when to shut the fuck up. Just shut up!”

Santi has crossed the floor so he’s standing in front of you on the bed. He reeks of alcohol and his face is flushed- you didn’t notice before.

“Did you go to the bar and not fucking invite me?” You whisper now, voice a little breathless from your blinding rage. You’d fucking helped these fuckers, got them out of deep shit and they didn’t bother to ask you to celebrate with them?!

It’s Santiago’s turn to scoff, rubbing at his beard and across his mouth. The divots in the skin of his lips, the creases, drag slightly against his touch, and the crackly sound of his knuckles brushing against his stubble permeates the quiet room much louder than it should.

“Alcohol thins the blood,” Pope grumbles, eyes closed with exasperation while matching your volume, “I didn’t want you to bleed any more than you already have, Conejita.”

“God, fuck you Santiago!” You snap, grabbing ahold of the collar of his shirt so you’re face to face now. “Fuck your and your fucking ego- You always have an answer for everything! I fucking hate yo-“

It all happens so quickly that you’re not even sure what happens at first. Santiago’s lips smash to yours in a devastatingly needy kiss, the force in which he kisses you is almost bruising, and you’re scrambling to push him away.

“What the fuck Santi?!”

“Just shut up, for fucks sake,” he grits his teeth, pulling you in again. Santi’s palm is at the nape of your neck, and the rage you feel for him bubbles over before you’re reciprocating with equal fervor almost instantaneously. You can taste the tequila on his tongue, along with the slight hint of salt and lime. It’s almost as intoxicating as if you had downed half a bottle on your own.

Pushing your fingers through his short trimmed curls, you settle your grip on the hair at the base of his skull, pulling at the strands with a harsh tug. He groans low and deep, the sound causing your abdomen to spark with arousal as he pushes his palm roughly into your lower back so your chest is pressed impossibly closer to his.

Jesus, you hate him. Hate the way his teeth push into the flesh of your lip, despise his hands for grasping their way down your waist with ardor and squeezing at the pliant flesh at your hips. It’s infuriatingly sexy, the burn of his stubble against your chin as he kisses you with such zeal that he’s practically bending you backward.

You fall back against the mattress once more, yelping into his mouth as your shoulder makes contact with the mattress.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he groans against your lips but doesn’t make the effort to stop. You don’t want him to, he’s climbing over your body that’s now splayed across the mattress, one hand pressed into the bed above your injured shoulder and the other trying to feel at the hem of the shirt you had been trying to sleep in. You know he wants to rip it from your body, but he’s careful to go slow so that he doesn’t hurt you, dragging the fabric over your waist and tracing his thumb across the expanse of your ribs before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it across the room.

“No you’re not!” you gasp weakly, pulling away from him to press the base of your skull into the mattress, but he’s chasing your mouth and pressing burning kisses to the corner of your lips.

“No. I’m not,” he repeats, eyes dragging over your bare chest before lowering his head so he can sink his teeth into your clavicle. You cry out at the sharp pain that blooms through your skin, hips rocking upwards. He’s a fucking prick, laughing condescendingly as he’s sucking at the indentations his teeth leave so a bruise definitely blossoms in its place.

His body is settled between your thighs as you hook your ankles at his lower back, sobbing out weakly as his stubble scratches down your chest, mouth biting and sucking a path down to your nipple before dragging the flat of his tongue over your hardening bud. Meanwhile, his hands are exploring the flesh of your thighs, groping hard as he pushes his fingers underneath the fabric of your underwear and squeezes at your ass with a feverish need.

With the hold he has on the lower half of your body, he’s lifting your hips off of the mattress so they grind into his own, his hardness pushing into your clothed cunt and practically winding you with the sudden intensity of how quickly a typical argument has turned into dry-humping your best friends colleague in a hotel room at four in the morning.

His cock is straining against his cargo pants, twitching against the fabric as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. Fumbling with your hands, you reach down between your bodies and grasp shakily at the brass buckle of his belt. It’s a struggle to undo, given Santiago is grinding his hips into you while you fight with the metal prong.

“Fuckin’ stay still!” You snap, desperate to have his cock out of his pants. The only response you get is a particularly vicious bite around the skin of your breast, causing your hips to rock up in shock. “Fuck!”

Finally, despite your blind arousal, the buckle comes loose, and you’re pulling it out of the loops of his pants with such vigor you can hear the thwip sound of the leather coming loose. The metal clatters to the wooden floor as you throw it blindly into the darkness of the room, but you’re too engrossed in battling with the button and zipper of his trousers now.

Again, Santi is laughing at your struggle, skimming the sore skin of your breasts with the flat of his hot, wet tongue. He blows at the saliva that paints your skin and the sensation is icy cold, causing goosebumps to settle on your skin which is now littered with all forms of color from crimson red to deep purple.

Somehow you work his pants open, immediately slipping your hand past the fabric to palm at his erection through his boxers. Fuck he’s throbbing in your hand, a groan ripping through his throat and causing his hot breath to fan across your sternum. Got him.

“Hah, cat got your tongue, Pope?” You tease breathlessly as his eyelashes flutter against the bare skin of your chest. His cock is drooling in his boxers, a wet patch forming in the fabric. You focus there, brushing your thumb against the tip of his cock through his underwear. Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s in heat. He’s grinding his cock up into your hand, chasing the pleasure that’s settling in his stomach. You allow yourself a moment to imagine how embarrassing it would be for Santiago if you got him to cum in his boxers, how empowering it would be for you, and how you could hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

“Fuck!” He practically growls, violently ripping his body from your touch. He’s no longer gentle with you, grabbing your thigh and hooking it over his shoulder. The position is a little awkward, hips lifted off the mattress and focusing all of your weight into your shoulder blades. Yes, the ache of your bullet wound settles deep in your flesh, but the sharp pain of Santi’s teeth sinking into the flesh of the junction of your inner thigh, nose pressing into your panties and brushing against your clit as he does completely throws you off complaining with anything more than a wordless yelp.

His digits work your now soaking panties to the side, groaning as your cunt is exposed. “Fuck, Conejita. You’re dripping.” The slick sound of his fingers passing through your soaked cunt is mortifying, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut to escape your embarrassment. It means you’re not prepared for the feeling of his tongue swiping through your folds, nor the loud cry of shock that accompanies it.

Pleasure rocks through your lower body and you find yourself mindlessly chasing it. You use your heel in his back to push your hips further into his face, forcing your palm into the curve of his head. He’s ruthless with his mouth, nipping at your clit and swirling his tongue to ease the sparks of sharp pain. He’s humming at your taste coating his tongue, the vibrations rushing through your pussy.

You sob brokenly, back struggling to arch at this awkward angle. You can see his eyes peeking over the curve of your sex, dark with need as he watches your expression twist in ecstasy. You must look stupid, hair a mess, and jaw slack. Even as it begins to get intense, your eyes welling with fat tears, he doesn’t let up.

“Santi- Santi, oh fuck, pl-please!” You barely recognize your own voice, the pitch is all wrong. Cramp tightens your calves as your toes curl into the flesh of his back and you’re struggling to see straight. “Oh god- Oh god Santi please don’t- FUCK SANTI!”

You didn’t mean to yell, you really didn’t, but Santiago is pulling his lips from your cunt the moment your orgasm begins to crest. The pleasure wound up so tightly dissipates almost as quickly as it had been built, and your tears spill down your temples as you mourn the loss of what could easily have been the best orgasm of your life.

Meanwhile, Pope is moving to his feet and pushing down his cargo pants, taking his boxers with them. His cock is weeping precum now, the clear substance slipping down the top of his purple-tinged cock.

“Act like a bitch and I’ll fuck you like one,” his voice is gruff with arousal when he grabs your hips, pulling them to the edge of the mattress so he can angle you *just* right.

“Oh god!” You sob loudly, the lewd sound devolving into a scream of bliss as Santiago pushes the head of his cock at your entrance and pushes all the way in with one particularly harsh thrust. He’s splitting you open with gritted teeth, punishing your cunt for your shitty behavior. “Fuck Santi! Fuck!”

The brutal pace he sets liquifies your brain. You’re reaching over your head for something to hold onto, to either side of your body, but there’s nothing for you to find purchase and you find yourself sobbing louder. His grip on your hipbone is bruising while using his grip to bring you down harder on his cock as it spears deeper into your cunt.

You knew Santiago seduced his informants, knew he fucked the information out of them, but none of this knowledge could have prepared you for just how skilled he was at coaxing mind-blowing pleasure from you. Within moments of him finding his preferred angle, his perfect pace, you’re biting down so hard on your lip you can taste blood as you whimper his name pathetically.

“Santi-“ you hiccup, tears once again settling in your waterline, “Santi I can-I can’t!”

“You will,” he growls, moving forward to hold the crown of your head with his palm. This way he can feel your tits bounce against his chest with each brutal snap of his hips. “After everything you’ve put me through these past few days, you fucking will.”

You can’t help it, can’t stop the debauched moans of pleasure that he forces from you. They punctuate each of his thrusts, rising in volume each time he hits that perfect spot inside you that has your thighs shaking violently around his hips.

“Yes, that’s it,” he breathes, focusing so that he tortures that spot inside you every time he works his hips forward, “That’s it, I want them all to hear. Let them all hear it, baby, come on.” He’s begging you now, coaxing you to cum on his cock.

The coil of pleasure that he’d spoiled a few minutes ago was working up again, this time quicker than before. Your knuckles are white as your nails dig into the flesh of your palms, but you can’t feel the pain where they cut in and leave four crimson crescent moons, because Santiago is grinding into you with such obscene precision that all your mind and body can focus on is the way it teeters on the precipice of a blinding orgasm.

“Come on baby girl, come on. That’s it~” You hear Pope whisper in your ear, his own voice unsteady as he reaches between you. His fingers manage to brush shaky circles over your clit once, twice, three times.

You cum so hard your voice cracks when you scream his name. Intense pleasure works its way through your abdomen and leaves utter devastation in its wake. Shocks burst up your spine, causing your body to twitch violently as you grasp onto his short curls.

Uncertain just how many more times Santiago thrusts into you, all you know is that when he cums, he gasps your name brokenly. Your real name. Cum seeps from your cunt with each thrust, soaking the inside of your thighs while Pope finally comes to a halt, resting his head against your sternum with a shaky groan.

Panting heavily, you lay perfectly still underneath him. It’s mortifying to admit, but the idea of moving an inch resulting in him leaving you alone in this bed terrifies you. The afterglow of your orgasm buzzes through you, skin sticky with sweat and cum, but you refuse to adjust.

As you scan the room, you note the mess you’ve made. The bedsheets had somehow slipped from the mattress and fallen onto the floor, pooling at the base of the bed. Pope’s belt lays haphazardly across the wooden flooring, and you find your cotton t-shirt balanced on the lampshade on the bedside table. It’s only now, as you scan the room, that you notice the door is still wide open.

“… Do you think they heard us?” You whisper, hoping that at least talking isn’t enough to convince him to move. Pope lifts his head, gazing up at you with a shit-eating grin that’s wide enough for you to want to break his perfect nose.

“Oh, they heard us. Benny banged his fist against the wall a few minutes ago.”

Horror runs through you at the concept that you had been loud enough for one of the boys to complain, your face heating up at the thought of even having to face them in the communal kitchen tomorrow after everything they’d heard Pope say. They were never going to let you live it down. “Oh god!” You hadn’t even heard it!

Santiago laughs, pressing soft kisses to the hickeys that paint your chest. He seems entirely unbothered, far too preoccupied with easing you both down from your post-orgasm haze to feel guilty about ruining his colleagues' sleep.

“How is your shoulder?” He asks with a whisper, sitting up in order to assess the bandages that cover the wound. When you tilt your head down to check with him, the gauze is still a cream color, lacking the crimson blotches that had stained the previous dressings.

“It feels okay,” you admit, watching as Pope reaches over to gently ease the pillow behind your head to support your shoulder. He’s extra delicate, far more tender towards you than he had been previously.

When you note that it doesn’t appear as though Santi plans to leave the comfort of your arms, you finally allow your tense muscles to ease beneath the weight of his body. Closing your eyes, you listen.

“Where were you thinking of going with your millions?” He murmurs as he continues to press kisses against your skin now that you’re comfortable, fingers brushing down the curve of your waist.

“Monaco.”

“Oh funny! That’s where I was thinking too!”

“Fuck off, Pope.”

END

🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart t @buckys-other-punk

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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OLD MAN??!!! ugh I loved this so muchhh 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

SECONDHAND SMOKE

PAIRING: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: Waiting for Logan back at the X-Mansion, he welcomes you into his arms and enjoys his cigar with you on his lap.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUTTY. Thigh Riding. Dirty Talk. Kissing. Scent Kink. Light Oral (f receiving). Established Relationship. Older! X-Men Logan implied. Age Gap Implied [Logan looks to be in his 40s, Reader is in their 20s]. Reader is a telepath & telekinetic mutant with a human appearance. Telepathic communication. Logan is a tease and a lover boy, he uses multiple terms of endearment. They match each other's freak.

WC: 2.2k

A/N: I've been meaning to upload another Logan fic especially since watching the D&W movie on Friday, and I wanted to share this with y'all. This story is also technically part of a larger idea, but that will be talked about later. I have other things planned for Logan as well for X-Men Logan, old man Logan, and variant Logan. That man is not going to be safe on my watch. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and the motivation to keep writing for this man, and shout out to @zloshy for taking part in the aesthetics and the encouragement with the yap sessions. I adore you both. Anywho, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’ve been waiting for him all day while he was out with the rest of the leading group of X-Men, something regarding a history lesson that needed to be handled. You stayed at the mansion on Xavier’s orders, tending to the younger class of gifted mutants until the veterans arrived by nightfall. To keep yourself occupied, you perused the many books Logan kept on his shelf towards the far end of his bedroom, picking up a well-loved novel from Hemingway to delve into.

Carefully turning the pages, the wording and storytelling entranced you, each paragraph manifesting into visions that played in your head like a live-action film. Half of your senses remained in the book while the other listened for the familiar creaks of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway.

You sensed him before you saw him. Halfway into the book, you lift your head at the sound of the door opening, spotting Logan standing by the threshold of the room’s entryway. Closing the door behind him, he steps towards where you sat on his bed, holding your chin upwards to face him. Bending forward, he placed a soft kiss on your lips, followed by a content sigh that made a smile creep up on your face.

“Hey,” you said, meeting Logan’s softened gaze as he moved away from you to the other side of the room, plopping down on the leather armchair in a heap. He exhaled heavily through his nose, throwing his head back along the edge of the chair. “Long day?”

“The fucking longest,” Logan grumbled, his brow bone creasing before he relaxed.

“I thought you liked hanging out with Scott?” you questioned, the end of your voice trailing off into a playful tease as you sat up on the mattress.

“Sweetheart, that man has a pretentious stick up his ass. You couldn’t pay me to spend time with him.” You laughed at his mild irritation, knowing Logan’s faux vexation towards his friend was a facade to cover his true feelings of fondness.

Reaching for a box of cigars to his right, Logan clipped the cap off a fresh one and popped it between his lips, holding it by his teeth. He glanced at you, the corner of his lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“Come here, you gotta light this for me.”

With a smile, you obliged, quickly rising on your feet and striding to where he sat in the chair, swinging your legs around to situate yourself over his denim-clad lap. Straightening your back, your eyes briefly flashed black as you materialized the metal lighter from its place on the bookshelf before Logan, flicking the spark wheel until the red flame brightened his chin. The foot end of the cigar sizzled as it burnt to ash, the familiar scent of finely aged tobacco filled your nose as he drew in his first breath.

“Sneaky.” He mumbled around the cigar, taking a harsh pull of air before curling his fingers to hold it, huffing the smoke out on the next exhale.

“I call it being efficient.” You grinned to yourself, accepting the reciprocated hum rumbling through Logan’s broad chest. Your fingers skimmed his collarbones that peeked through the white tank under his flannel, admiring the bob of his throat and the steady rise of his body whenever he breathed.

“What were you up to in here? Snooping through my shit?” His sight darted to the burgundy button-down you wore, ending right at the top of your bare thighs. He brought his free hand to caress your leg, running circles over your skin and feeling you shiver slightly under him. “I was looking for this shirt last week, you know?”

“First off, this was gifted to me,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, smacking Logan across the chest and forcing a dry chuckle out of him. “And secondly, I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying you missed me?”

“Surprisingly, I did.” You sneaked your other hand towards Logan’s neck, curling your fingers around the thick hair at his nape. He almost purred at the touch, smoking his cigar and looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Besides, it’s nice and quiet here. You also gave me permission to be here for your information.”

Since dating Logan, it has been a slow start to accomplishing milestones for either of you, taking things one step at a time to avoid scaring the other off. Now that things have been good between you, he gave you free reign to be in his bedroom at the mansion, usually spending the day here for some solace or sleeping in his bed instead of yours on the other side of the estate. On a mental note, he intended to make your presence in his life more permanent.

“Damn, I forgot I gave you permission to take my stuff,” Logan quipped, somehow becoming more cocky than he usually was. You loved him for it either way.

Asshole. Although you didn’t verbally say the word, he heard your voice in his mind, taking the telepathic route. His smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigar, the smoke heavy in the air as it circled the two of you.

“All yours, darlin’.” He offered you a wink, squeezing your thigh with his other hand to keep you in place, seated on his thick thighs.

You spent a few minutes talking to him, giving him a rundown of your relatively calm day and mentioning the book you read earlier. It was oddly domestic, something that most mutants would not be able to partake in, and Logan silently thanked whoever granted him the opportunity to experience it.

A comfortable silence occupied the room once Logan was halfway down his cigar. Enjoying his company, you nuzzled into his neck, taking in his natural scent. A mix of pinewood and leather filled your senses, musky and so clearly him, your belly twitched at the warmth of his body against yours. Absentmindedly, you began to litter kisses over his skin, placing a few more along the base of his throat and moving upwards to the corner of his jaw. He could smell the shift in your behavior; arousal mixing in with the lingering haze heightened his senses, and his attention was directed back to you.

“Need something?” His voice dropped an octave as he asked you, running lines up and down your leg, the sensation making you squirm.

“Need you, smartass.” Holding his face, you kissed him on the cheek and once more on the tip of his nose, reaching his lips along the way. His eyes closed at the touch, wanting nothing more than to feel the caress of your tongue and sink his teeth into your bottom lip.

“I want you too, but I’m on my smoke break.” You were ready to pout at him before Logan adjusted your positioning, shifting you more off to the side so your pelvis sat on one of his thighs. The thickness of the denim covering the hard muscle of his leg rubbed against your underwear, a moan settling in the back of your throat at the contact.

“Get yourself off while I finish this. Promise, it’ll be worth it, hun.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, knowing what he was asking for, yet your cheeks warmed under his stare. He merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow and patiently waiting for your next move.

Doubtfully, you pivoted your hips forward, dragging yourself across the vast expanse of his thigh before drawing backward. The first few passes felt strange, but you quickly found your rhythm, rocking your hips in even thrusts. The material of his jeans rubbed just right against your panties; the thin fabric that separated your body from his added more friction to your sensitive clit. Your lower spine grew warm with Logan’s free hand idly holding your waist, calmly guiding your movements over him until he was confident you got it handled.

Logan leans back into the chair and plants his feet on the floor, giving you more leverage to work with. His keen eyes take in the way you flutter yours shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration at getting the perfect angle and drive. He can hear your heart beating in your ribcage and can feel the pumping of your blood flowing through your veins to rush between your legs.

Muffled moans pour out of you, gripping the fabric of Logan’s shirt and tilting forward a bit more, digging your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. The secondhand smoke from his cigar amplified the incessant throbbing down South, a second pulse that pounded through your body with a need clawing at your gut. The motion of your hips grew more persistent as your slick seeped into your panties, known to Logan when his nostrils flared to catch your scent in the air.

“Feeling good, princess?” You heard his voice filtering through the light mess of your thoughts, focusing on making yourself feel good under his orders. You hummed against his neck, nodding and keeping your even pacing as you leaned into his muscular body.

“Yeah, I know it’s good. Bet your pussy is just crying for me now, probably tastes just as sweet too.” Logan’s vulgar mouth only motivated you to grind your hips harder against his leg, reminiscent of a bitch in heat the more you moved over him.

There was something erotic about getting yourself off while Logan observed and enjoyed his smoke. To him, you were quality entertainment, a sight for sore eyes after a hectic day full of learning things he was trying to retain. Your mind grew clouded, full of the many ways Logan handled you, things like this that kept you on your toes the way he knew how. Flashbacks of this morning flickered before your eyes, reminiscing the feel of his tongue slipping inside you and his bicep tucked under your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Logan could picture it too, traces of your daydreams passing by in his head, instances where he made you feel so good you had nothing left to give. He wonders how wet you are, could taste your cunt on the back of his tongue, missing it since he left you with a weary grin on your face as you slept in his bed. He hopes you stained the worn denim that separated the two of you and prays that you leave your mark on him, no matter how temporary.

“Getting close?” he asked. He didn’t hear you respond, but your voice remained floating in the confines of his skull.

Yes. Fuck yes. So close. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please.

“I will sugar, promise I will.” His hand ran up the curve of your spine and gently curled around your neck, pulling you backward to hold his gaze. Your glossed-over pupils dilated at the sight of him, irises darkening and filling with ink. The embodiment of your powers made him curious at first, with blackened eyes at the indication of specific actions, but he quickly got used to seeing the signs every time he made you fall over the edge.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Make a mess on my jeans, and I swear I’ll treat your pussy the way she deserves, the way she needs. Let me feel it.”

Logan. Logan. Logan.

“Fuuuck…” You whined under your breath, doing three more harsh passes over his thigh before your body abruptly tensed, legs shaking and pressing into his hard body as the wave slammed over you. Mind clear and body lax, you hummed against Logan’s throat, pulse thumping against your lips as you placed a light kiss.

He took one last pull of his cigar before smudging it into the ashtray on the end table to his left, ideally saving whatever was left of it for after he fucks you. Wrapping his thick arms around you, he brings you closer to him, pulling your hips over his to hover over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Need something?” you taunted, parroting his earlier words with equal tone and sarcasm.

“Yeah. Need to clean up the mess you made.”

Crashing into your lips, he kissed you deeply for the first time that night, curling his tongue around yours in affectionate swirls and releasing an audible groan. Holding you close, he stood up on his feet and picked you up with ease, strolling towards the bed in three strides. Lighthearted giggles tumbled out of you, making Logan’s heart beat in tandem with yours. The sides of his face creased as he mimicked your smile, tugging hastily at your sodden underwear and tossing them to the side. Rough fingers curled around the soft flesh of your thigh, parting your legs to admire his handiwork as he heard your voice in his head again.

Greedy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” As if to prove your point, he licked a broad stripe up the length of your cunt, your wetness coating his tongue as he placed a complimentary kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, re-igniting the fire he started.

“Now be good and let your old man have a taste.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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love love loveeee

EXILED NOMAD SERIES

a series of encounters that could have happened between Civil War and Infinity War

Steve doesn't regret going against the The Sokovia Accords. He never would have signed them, he had to be there for Bucky, and together they had to stop Zemo. He doesn't regret anything, but he's not happy that he and some of his closest friends are on the run from 117 116 of the governments of the world. It eats at him. That festering wound leaves a Nomad who's not the Steve he used to be.

And it's this exiled Nomad Steve Rogers you cross paths with.

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] SOFT DARK STORY, explicit smut, rough sex, emotionally damaged Steve, lonely reader

SERIES: ↠ July 3, 2017: When He First Got Me (Steve POV) ↠ March 10, 2018: It Fit Too Right ↠ March 21, 2018: Puzzle Pieces in the Dead of Night ↠ more coming soon

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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Thank you, thank you!! 🥹🙈🫶🏼

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : a lot :P

[ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬. ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : innocent y/n x priest Ransom Drysdale

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Ransom helps a young choir girl fulfill God's will.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Non/dubcon, religious themes, age gap, fingering, vaginal sex, virginity loss, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, corruption kink, manipulation, explicit language, slight dd/lg (mostly just dd), degrading, smut, 18+.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own. this book does contain dark themes. please do not read if any of these topics trigger you. i have had this plot for awhile and literally froze when i realized Ransom embodied this role. i took my time and care for this work. i know tis’ is long but please bare with me. since it is my first posted work, i wanted to make it count. all love and light ~ always, always, always ~ A

"He hath come to the bosom of His beloved.

Smiling on him, He beareth him to highest heav'n."

The youths choir singing echoed throughout the church. Not a corner free from their angelic tones. Though the choir ranged from ages, the difference of genders were noted by the boys standing tall in the back and the girls in the front. All of their faces were recognizable to him now, since he was present for most of their rehearsals before every Sunday, but your face had always stood out to him from the beginning. Even now you outshined the rest of your peers- by both voice and presence.

But even still Ransom watched you from the corner of the chapel, hidden in the shadows. Yes, he did appear every now and then during their rehearsals for appraisal or even just the view, which was always you. But when he watched you perform, he didn’t want to constantly be observing the other pupils as well. He wanted only to watch you and this dark archway was perfect for that.

Most nights he lay in his bed, trying to push out the thoughts of everything his life lacked now. Everything he had before, he quickly realized how much he had taken for granted during his first night in that dim and barely furnished apartment. To consider it a home would be charity in itself, but he couldn’t afford much more. He had lost everything when he came here a few months ago.

He came here on the run, wanted for murder though he wasn't responsible for it. It was an accident. A mistake.

Sometimes his brain got so clouded and he got aggressive. He always seemed to lose himself in those moments but he never mean't for Jonie to fall like she had. He remembered standing over her body, realizing what he had done. There was no mistaking the empty look in her eyes.

So he ran.

There was no time for alibis, he had a mile long trail of proof behind him, so he outsmarted them. His family all knew his patterns and lifestyle, and it didn’t make it any easier that they all probably would’ve gladly sent him behind bars. So he went to the last place any of them would’ve suspected: to church.

Tricking the deacons was a lot easier than he had thought. He figured they would've wanted some sort of resume, but they were so desperate for a new father that they were putting a robe on him that day.

Becoming a preacher was more work than he had signed up for though. He had to prepare a weekly sermon, bless the sick, baptize sinful, visit the poor, help the elderly- the list seemed to be never ending. Not even to mention he was paid a set salary, a percentage already taken out to help provide not only for the church but also for the poor and elderly. And on top of all the things he had to add to his life, there was about ten fold of things he had to remove : sex, language, drugs, alcohol....sex.

It was humiliating that a man of his stature had resorted to his right hand. He hadn’t used his own hand to finish since he was 16. Once he lost his virginity, and experienced real pleasure? There was no need to go back to such desperate measures. But here in this small town, there was no slew of women ready at his feet and word seemed to travel fast. He learned that when he had walked into the chapel and the whole congregation was waiting for him with open arms once they heard of their new pastor. He couldn’t risk his position now because of a few(most) horny nights.

But when he met the choir that day as well and your face eagerly peered up at him? It was a shimmer of light in his very dark tunnel.

He let his thoughts wander to you some nights and it helped him cope. How your voice rang higher than the rest of the choir. How your face scrunched in concentration when you sang. How sometimes when you would sing a solo or a particular high note your eyes would open and your cheeks would flush with embarrassment as if you weren’t stealing the breath out of everyone watching. How Ransom was sure you made the exact same face when you came as he fisted his cock at night.

Because though Random didn’t know your name, he had watched you long enough to actually know you.

You didn’t like the spotlight. You would much rather be apart or even behind the crowd rather than in the center-but never a follower either.

You were quiet, observant. When the director gave criticism you took it eagerly, always seeking to please. To improve.

You were never late, either. Never missed a practice session. You never complained neither. Not when rehearsals ran long or if the director was particularly impatient some days.

And all of these qualities came wrapped up in a cute lil’ innocent body. Because though Ransom noted these things about you, and saw the potential for his own personal use, it was initially your body that he had noted.

Your presence so delicate and naive. When his eyes had met yours for the first time, your smile had that perfect pleasing tilt. But your eyes had that glint in them. Knowing. Teasing. Practically speaking to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Break me.

And he wanted to. Right then and there. Even in front of your parents. But he just shook your hand and introduced himself. And because he was so occupied with how your hand felt in his, he had completely missed your name.

He regretted it that was for sure. He racked and racked his brain. Even tried to picture names just as perfect as you, but none fit. For months he wanted to rectify that. He needed a name for his little girl but he had yet to find it. But today he planned to change that.

Just your name, that was all he needed. And as Random stepped out of his alcove and headed past the pews towards the foyer door casually, he knew today was going to be that day.

“A little off key, altos but! I am highly impressed with how all of you have gracefully learned this song. I know when ya’ll are prepared, the congregation will love this hymn!” The choir directors voice called behind Ransom as he reached the last pew. He heard the movement of feet and knew the choir was already descending off of the stage towards where their belongings lay strewn in the front pews.

“Alright, great work today you guys! Remember to rehearse and memorize this Sunday’s hymns at least once this weekend. I will see you all Sunday at 9:00!” As the director finished speaking to his students, Ransom turned and tucked his hands into his pockets in a casual stance next to the opening of the foyer. The church opened before him and he watched as all the choir readied themselves to leave for the evening.

The students were quick to pull off their robes and stuff them in their bags that they brought, all chattering with each other. Some were already heading towards the entrance of the building, either with each other or alone but all still moving with quick steps. As they neared Ransom and passed him, a forced smile took over his lips and he gave words of encouragement and thanks to the choir as they passed him. Some responded, some simply just smiled in response to him but Random couldn’t have cared less.

His gaze kept returning to you, still at the front of the pews, carefully hanging your robe on a hanger and placing it in a bag you had brought with you. You weren’t in a hurry like the rest of the choir. Well not enough to crumple your robe in the process. Ransom loved that. You were patient. Sure minded. Never mind that you were the last one left, no, you would take your time.

Ransom watched as two kids, giggling and running down the center aisle, approached him. One chasing the other but as they headed straight for Ransom and the exit he heard your voice call out softly.

“Please don’t run in the building guys!” It was soft, silky, heaven to his ears. Sounding just like when you sing, and Ransom had to stop himself from letting a possessive growl escape his throat. He wanted to hear your words directed at him and even though he was craving your attention more than ever, he couldn’t help but note your words.

You had wanted those kids to listen to you, but you didn’t command them. You had barely even lifted your voice, you weren’t used to speaking above others. Ransom took it for what he knew it to be: you didn’t want to be the one to order others, you needed to be ordered yourself. Mentally Ransom checked off another box that you filled and he couldn’t help but think you were made for him.

You approached Ransom down the aisle and his hands curled into fists in his pockets as he took in your outfit.

You were wearing a form fitted top: a similar one he would wear when he worked out except he always opted for black whereas you wore white. And you paired it with a matching white tennis skirt. The skirt only reached down mid thigh and all that leg was going to be his downfall. Ransom noted your tennis shoes and socks that were also white and if he believed in angels- this was as close as he was ever going to get to one.

“I apologize for the kids running.” You smiled up at him, your eyebrows down in apology and your lips only slightly tilted up.

“Don’t be.” Ransom quickly responded. He forgot about his thoughts just heartbeats before and focused his attention solely on you for right now. “It’s not like it is your fault, right? Plus, I like to think of our church as a home. Though reverence is due, I enjoy to see when our members are relaxed as well.” His imsuchaforgivingandcomfortingmanbecauseimaholypriest attitude had always come naturally to Ransom since it was everything he was not.

“I love that.” Your eyes lit up as you clutched your robe to your chest as it rested over your arm. Though quickly your eyes lost the light in them as you seemed to remember something. Your smile slowly fell as well and your attention turned to your shoes below you.

Ransoms eyebrows scrunched and he couldn’t help but reach for you. His hand caught the bottom of your chin and he eased your face back up to meet his eyes again. Though portraying the perfect appearance of worry, Ransoms was fighting to urge to lift his thumb higher and catch your bottom lip. Maybe even to just cup your face. Anything, anything, to have more contact with you.

“What is it?” He asked you softly.

“I…” Your voice was so soft and hesitant. “I need to speak with you.”

Ransoms eyebrows lifted in surprise, that was certainly not what he figured you would say.

“Well i’m right here. You’re welcome to say whatever you need to.” Princess.

You turned your head, Ransoms hand falling from your chin, your eye line aimed at the choir director still at the pulpit.

“I was hoping it could be a private conversation.” You whispered and Ransom had to still his features as to not give off too much of what was running through his head from your words.

You wanted to get Ransom alone.

Ransom wasn’t so much delusional, he recognized when even his thoughts could take things too far. But here you were, wanting to be alone with him. You must’ve taken notice to him just as much as he had been watching and dreaming of you.

With a casual ease, Ransom smiled at you comfortably and nodded. “My office is just in the back. We’re welcome to speak there and no one will overhear.”

You nodded shyly in response. Your gaze averting his as you took your bottom lip in your mouth nervously.

You were nervous.

So, you had always had a craving for him just as he had wanted you. This must’ve been what a blessing was that he had always heard the members speaking on.

He let his hand fall to your lower back as he headed towards the hall that led to his office in the back. Gently he pushed you to follow beside him and he noted how you lowered your head and your steps blindly followed his.

Of course a pretty thing like you would be nervous, but you almost seemed ashamed. Ransom could handle nerves but ashamed? No. You should be honored. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. But then again, Ransom never really went for the plastic surgery and egotistical women. He always preferred the shy and inexperienced type. He always found more pleasure in taking firsts. Even after the night was finished Ransom always walked away knowing that the women he was with never would experience better than him and that was a bigger turn on for him than their pleading for more. Soon you would know. You would even plead. He would make sure of it.

As they passed the pews, Ransom caught sight of the choir director moving the lectern back into place in the center of the pulpit.

“We’re going to a chat in my office, Roy. Go ahead and head out when you’re done. I’ll lock up on our way out.” Ransom spoke to the man. He smiled in agreement in reply. “Of course, Father. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Ransom nodded and then headed into the hallway, just passing his spot from moments before.

In silence Ransom led you down the hallway. He had to calm himself every few breaths, restraining from the eagerness that overtook him. Ransom never got eager, especially not in moments where, though unspoken, both parties knew what was about to commence. But months of abstinence had made him impatient. He hadn’t let himself indulge in any past actions, but you never pass up a free dinner. Even Ransom knew that.

Opening the door for you he led you inside. “Go ahead and take a seat.” He cooly told you as he shut the door and made his way around the desk that your chair faced.

Ransom spent many days and nights in this office. He figured it better than his soulless apartment. Though full book shelves lined the wall and a computer sat at his desk 90 degree angled desk, he had barely touched any of the objects. Including the bible sitting idle on the desk corner. The only thing that showed his presence in this room was his coat hung in the corner and the name plate given to him a few weeks after accepting the job. Besides that, he got all of his sermons online and used his common sense for his role. His only use for this room was the occasional bible study or just simple mental escape. It wasn’t much, but his time alone helped.

As Ransom sat in his own office chair, he grinned at you. He was ready to quit the bullshitting and feel every inch of you and now that you both were alone, his dick was slowly starting to harden at the thought itself. God, he was desperate for you.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he realized it. For comfort or seduction- whatever you wanted to take it as- he didn’t care. Now that you two were alone, he wasn’t putting on a front anymore.

Your pretty little eyes roamed the room. Never going high enough to meet his own but quickly moving, just like whatever thoughts were spinning in the small head of yours. Ransom calmly licked his lips and couldn’t stop himself from slightly leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on his desk. Whatever words left your mouth next, he was gonna love.

“I…” A flush rose on your cheeks and you stopped yourself for a moment, nervously chewing your bottom lip. “I-I have a confession to make.”

Oh, you couldn’t even look at him as you said that. Your eyes had scrunched just to get those few words out.

“So, confess.” It came out more impatiently than he intended but he couldn’t help it. He was already imagining what your carnal sin was. That you had lusted after him. That at night you couldn’t help but imagine him there with you, feeding into all your desires and more. Probably fucking yourself dry with your fingers, just trying to curve the craving of his cock in you. Maybe even riding a pillow, desperate for friction on your small bud.

“I let jealousy consume me…”

That was definitely not what he was expecting.

His reaction was nearly physical. It felt like a slap in the face and pressed pause on all of his fantasies of you.

You came to him because you got a little envious of someone? That was your big confession. No, that wouldn’t do. All your doe eyes and coy smiles and now you finally sat in front of him, alone, all because you got fucking jealous. What?

He couldn’t mask the confusion on his face as he repeated your statement. “You got..jealous?”

“Yes, well. I mean…I did but it wasn’t only that.” You were talking so quietly now. Your hands nervously fidgeting with each other as you stammered out your words. Your eyes cast downward in shame.

“I let it affect me and my relationship with others. One day I came home and was short and said angry words to my mom. I ditched my friends in the mall last week because they practically called me crazy and just overa-“

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Ransom chuckled and shook his head, holding his hand up to pause you. “I guess i’m just confused because…well, what does a pretty thing like you have to be jealous about?” He tried to mask his irritation with a charming smile but it was half hearted and clearly forced.

Ignoring his compliment you cocked your head and went back to staring at your hands as you continued on with your explanation.

“There’s this boy that i’ve liked forever,”

“A boy?” His voice proceeded to get more agitated as he cut you off again. Ransom brought you to his office because he thought he was going to be able to bend you over his desk. Now you were plowing through his plans because you had a schoolgirl crush on some post-puberty prick?

“Yes, his name is Timothy. You probably,”

“Look at me when you’re speaking.” The command came out fast and the shortness of it even shocked Ransom. He was losing his composure much quicker than he realized.

He could’ve sworn he heard you squeak in surprise but immediately your eyes were on his and you didn’t combat his harsh tone. Clearing your throat you continued, your eyes never leaving Ransoms again.

“Timothy is on the choir as well. He sings tenor. We both grew up here together. Even playing tennis together, sometimes practicing with each other in our free time. For years i’ve had a crush on him and didn’t help that our families were close as well, so I see him pretty regularly. But then a few Sundays ago, he brought another girl to church with him. I guess they met somewhere on campus. N’ ever since then, Timothy has just been solely focused on her. And I just…I can’t help but be jealous of her. She is where I have wanted to be for years and I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Ransom tried to make sense of your strewn together thoughts. So what if your little boy crush found his own snatch? You were the prettiest little package just waiting to be opened. Ransom had never been selfless, he was aware, but he knew he couldn’t let you leave this room until you knew that you were deserving of so much more than that bare chested twig.

Licking his lips subconsciously, Ransom knew just how to convince you of it.

“Baby, you got nothing to be jealous of.” He enunciated his words with a casual cock of his head. Your cheeks heated and he grinned at your helpless reaction.

“She’s blonde and tall. She looks like a model!”

“Honey, I guarantee, whatever she’s offering him- you can offer better.”

“Well, no. It’s not like that for me. If Timothy likes her then I want him to be happy. I don’t think I can do anything better- I don’t want to.” Your words came out in a plea of defense and he just about groaned at your innocence. You were so fast to defend others, you would run yourself into a hole. You were so perfect, so clean- wanting nothing more than to do right by others. He needed to show you just how much you were worth.

“But you already have.” Ransoms statement clearly caught you off guard as you blanched back an inch. Confusion marred your face and Ransom took advantage of this moment to stand slowly, his eyes never leaving the prize in front of him.

“Here you are whining about this boy that broke your heart, but honey you have a man right in front of you.”

Your mouth formed into a perfect o and Ransom immediately wanted to see it filled. With trained poise though, he eased slowly around the desk and neared you.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying, father.” Your eyes still didn’t leave his own as he approached you and he mentally reminded himself to praise you for that later.

“Baby, you offer so much more than you realize. He may not have noticed that, but I have. I’ve watched you for a while now and I know just how precious you are. A real man would never waste an opportunity with you. Lemme’ show you, honey.” He let his hand trace the side of your face as he spoke. Ransoms pointer finger catching a lock of your hair between his thumb and he let it ride between his fingers as they snaked downwards before he finally cupped your cheek.

“I…” You were speechless at his confession and finally your eyes left Ransoms. “Father, I”

A groan left his mouth so softly but he knew you heard it from your frozen features.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just love when you call me that.” He rubbed coaxing circles into your cheek to ease his action, but having you wide eyed and below him because of the white collar he wore was turning him on more than he usually got. “Continue, honey. I wanna hear what you have to say.”

You peered up at Ransom in stunned silence and he watched as you nervously swallowed.

“I don’t think this is appropriate, Father.”

You said it so quietly but there was no sureness in your statement and Ransom knew he had you.

“Isn’t it? God brought you to me, baby. He knew what I needed and here you are.”

“Well, maybe but..but we shouldn’t let ourselves take our own preferences to what is before us. It could lead us to sin.” He tsk’ed at your response.

“You let me say what is sin or not. I’m the priest, remember?” You nodded in response and Ransoms smile was approving.

“I know how i’ve felt about you from the moment we met. Now, I know we’ve spent little time together but I know you’ve felt it too, princess. N’ I can bet there’s some proof of it coated on your panties, huh?”

Your response was a shake of your head. You tried to move your head out of Ransoms clutch but he was quick to wrap his hand in your hair at the bass of your neck, keeping you still.

“Lust shouldn’t cloud us.” You whimpered out to him.

“It’s not lust if we were destined for each other. I know this was in Gods plan to bring you to me.”

“Satan can tempt you-.” Ransom didn’t like your response and jerked your head forward.

“Nothing is tempting me. There’s temptation and there’s knowing. I know what I can do for you. I know that you can please me. Don’t you wanna please your father, baby?” Ransom was growing impatient with your protests. He needed you weeks ago and he wasn’t about to let this perfect moment slip from his grasp.

“We’re not husband and wife. We can’t.” You were whispering now. Your silent pleas laced your words but Ransom wasn’t going to let you go and resort to another night with his hand.

“God sent us to each other. He knew I needed you and He knew you needed a real man like me. So what does it matter if we wait until after a piece of parchment is signed. It’s all apart of the plan, honey.”

You nervously chewed on your lip in silence. Your brows were down in worry but he saw his words work its way into understanding behind your eyes.

“But we will be married then?” The question was hesitant. Your final resort and protest to your priest. Ransom just smiled in response, his grip on your hair turning gentler.

“Lord willing.” He stated.

Two, three, maybe four heartbeats passed before your chin dipped. It was barely a nod, but Ransom took it.

“Stand.” He demanded and you immediately listened. Fear or obedience, Ransom didn’t care what fueled your actions-just that you had obeyed.

Without releasing you, he swept the objects off his desk in one quick motion with his free arm. You gasped in shock but he didn’t care. His hands grabbed your waste and he planted you firmly on his desk in front of him.

You were right where he wanted you now. His for the taking, the breaking, and there were no more protests from your pretty full lips as you spread your legs so his hips could hit between them.

“Over here speaking about temptations, when you wore this teasing- skimpy outfit.” Pure want laced Ransoms voice as his hands traveled down your thighs. They met the edge of your skirt and he couldn’t help but slip them underneath, running his hands higher up your bare thigh.

“I-I had tennis practice before rehearsal. It ran longer than usual. I didn’t have time to-.”

“Shut up.” Ransom didn’t want to hear any more of your ramblings. He only wanted you.

In a rush of excitement, with less restraint than he usually practiced, he leaned forward and pushed his mouth onto yours. The kiss was hungry and demanding as your mouths slid together. You fought to keep up but it was impossible with Ransoms hunger.

His cock was already straining against the front of his slacks and his desperation got the better of him as he gripped the top of your thighs aggressively. You let out a whimper in protest to the pain and Ransom seized that moment to slip his tongue into your open mouth.

You tasted of peaches and mint and damn it, Ransom couldn’t remember when he had tasted of anything better. His tongue moved expertly around yours, catching a fast rhythm but yours was wild and inexperienced. Had you even been kissed before? Maybe, but properly like this, probably not. Being a girls first and knowing they wouldn’t have better was a huge turn on for Ransom, but even with a kiss? Ransom wasn’t sure he would be able to handle himself slowly when it came time for him to fully take your innocence.

The thought alone forced a growl up his throat. His hand left your thigh simultaneously, cupping your chin aggressively. Pulling your suction on each other apart, he watched as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

Your pupils were blown, lips swollen from barely being kissed, and your cheek was flushed beyond measure. You were the perfect picture of innocence and Ransom needed to contain himself. He was so fucking turned on that his mind kept skipping 3 steps ahead and there was so much pre-cum coating the front of his boxers from you. But that wouldn’t do. No, he needed to make sure you fit him and if Ransoms anticipation kept growing he would actually end up breaking you, but he was tired of kissing you now. He just wanted to feel how tight he knew you were.

“Lay down.” He commanded you in a husky impatient voice.

Immediately your back was pressed against the table and your head was angled so that your eyes were still on him. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. You were perfect.

Ransom let his hand release the hold on your face and slowly draw down your neck and fall in the middle of your chest. In reaction you gasped, your back arching off the desk slightly. But the movement had brushed your cunt with the front of Ransoms slacks and he knew you both had felt it when your eyes widened.

“My baby’s so eager, she’s rubbing herself on my clothed cock.” Ransoms body was out of his control now as his hand gripped your thigh and his hips rolled to firmly rub your clothed crotches together. Your whimper and response at his phrasing could’ve been enough to make him bust in his pants. He had just jerked off last night-what was wrong with him?

Letting Ransoms hips roll and press into you, he quickly made work of pulling your shirt off of you. Once he caught sight of how you looked laying in front of him without your shirt- he was on autopilot. In a frenzy your bra was next, Ransom only stopping for a moment to give one good squeeze to your tits and huskily saying:

“Baby, you fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand.”

Before he was moving to the rest of you. Shoes, socks, and finally he was ripping your skirt down your legs before he stilled. Taking in the sight of you lying on his own desk, he was rendered speechless. This was perfection in itself, like his own fantasy coming alive- here. Naked except for your underwear. Your face already looked so fucked out and he had barely touched you!

You didn’t like his stillness and immovable gaze as Ransom watched you. You whimpered at him and your hips raised slightly as you were desperate to get back the contact you lost from him.

“Father..please. I need you, back.” You whimpered at him and Ransom groaned in response. He knew he would eventually have you pleading for him, but you were still innocent and shy. He didn’t think you would’ve used your words that quickly.

In answer Ransom let his hand cup your calf and slowly draw up your leg. You gasped in response. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk and your head fell backwards as the response of skin contact with you.

As Ransoms hand got higher and closer to the last clothed piece of you, you were impatiently writhing on the desk. A whimpering mess as his hand got nearer to your mound.

As Ransoms hand got just centimeters away, he pulled back and clutched your thigh instead. You whined in protest but he couldn’t give two shits what you wanted. Despite the constant throbbing in his pants, he suddenly had all the patience in the world.

“Tell me, princess. How often do you touch yourself?” He grinned wickedly down at you. You raised your head to look up at him, your body stilling. There was shock written on your face from his words.

“I-never, father! I promise!” Your words were begging of belief but Ransom knew better. Nothing was ever pure and certainly not a pretty thing like you.

“Don’t lie.” He grasped your thighs harshly and gritted his teeth at you. “I asked a question, now answer. Honestly this time.”

Worry took over your features and you shook your head at him. “I promise, i’ve never touched myself down there. Not like that.” Despite Ransom wanting to believe differently, he knew you were telling the truth. Holy shit. There was no way the universe let him get this lucky.

“Then what is the reason for these pretty lil’ panties, huh?” Your undies were pink with a white trim. Bikini cut and a little bow took place on the top hem.

“I just like them, that’s all.” Of course something as innocent as you would naively pick something that would have every guy on his knees at the sight.

“Well you’re ruining ‘em, baby. They’re all soaked in the front.” His index finger ran over the darker shade on your panties and he groaned as he properly felt how wet you were. Your body was craving and calling for him and to think moments before you were trying to tell him no.

You whined and bucked your hips at his contact and he pushed your hips down in protest.

“Sit still.” He commanded you and with a whine you obliged. Little pants left your mouth instead and he watched as your bottom lip slid between your teeth as he pressed harder on your cunt. Snapping your eyes shut, you jerked your head away but couldn’t stop the gasp from leaving your mouth.

So fucking reactive.

Ransom let his finger softly trail around on your undies, teasing and taunting you. He wanted more from you. He wanted to see your control slip. Finally, he let his thumb press into your clit and rub a slight circle.

Obeying Ransoms command to not move, you tried to keep your hips frozen but couldn’t help it as your back arched. Your grip on the desk tightened and a helpless sound left your throat as a spark ignited up your spine from his thumb.

You had never felt anything like this. Your whole body felt Ransoms one touch and you felt like you were vibrating. You needed more. More of him, of his touch-just more. The craving of friction between your legs was so strong and you wanted to close your legs so bad but restrained from fear of Ransoms reaction. But he was teasing you. His kiss was pure fire and lacked restraint, but now he was still. Every one of his moves intentional. Maybe if you asked he would oblige you, even though he hadn’t before.

“More, please, I need more.” Your eyes stared at his but he didn’t look up at you. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, his eyes seared wholly on his thumb as he gently nudged you. “Father…” You begged and finally he looked up.

Once his eyes met yours and he saw the eagerness in them, his resolve snapped. In a blink your panties were off and you lay bare before him.

You were so much more soaked than Ransom had realized. It was practically pouring out of your hole. He needed to fill you now.

Something between a groan and a growl left his mouth and he reached forward for you. Clutching the back of your neck he harshly sat you up. His other hand was already waiting and was quick to push past your surprised mouth.

“Suck.” You immediately took the two fingers around your tongue and obeyed, your wide eyes never leaving his.

Pulled his hand from your mouth, Ransom let it fall to its rightful place between your legs. Fuck him, you were dripping. Messily he smeared your wetness around on your cunt, “All of this for me, baby, and i’ve barely fucking touched you.” Your eyes flashed as you recognized his language but you didn’t do more than whimper at his assault on you.

In circles he rubbed your bud, abandoning the idea of two fingers and using his whole hand. You whimpered and panted as you looked up at him helplessly. Towering over you, he tightened his grip on the back of your neck and pushed you higher to meet him.

Just as your mouths met, he pushed one finger inside of you. Fucking hell, you were tight. Ransom didn’t think he had ever had a cunt this tight before. Not even mentioning the fact that it was untouched. He knew you were going to be the death of him.

You let out a low moan at his intrusion in you and he couldn’t help but let his need out by gripping the back of your head harder and his mouth moving against yours faster. As he moved his single digit inside of you, you let your head fall back and Ransom watched as your eyes fluttered shut. Tired of ordering you around but wanting your submission to him, he changed tactics.

“So fucking tight but you’re grinding on my hand like a bunny, baby. Just because you’re a virgin doesn’t make you pure, honey. You’re a slut just like the rest of ‘em, huh?”

Because of his words or because he had slipped a second finger in you, harsh and quick, your eyes snapped open meeting his. Your jaw was slack but the only sound that left your lips was helpless moans and whimpers at his pace inside you. You shook your head no at Ransom but he only grinned in response.

“Really? ‘Cause i’m fucking you stupid with my fingers, haven’t even gotten my cock yet, and you can’t even form a sentence.” His tone was mocking and condescending and you couldn’t help but whimper. You shook your head at him harder in denial but with a curl of his fingers you were back to being subject to the onslaught of his fingers.

Ransom quickened his fingers rhythm and tried to add a scissor motion within you to help widen you out, but fuck. You were still sucking his fingers in just as much as his first one. Even if he had to tear you hole to hole, he was gonna make his cock fit. You would take him.

“Don’t fucking argue with me.” He seethed down at you and your response. You whimpered but Ransom gripped your neck harder, forcing your face up to his. “Your soaked cunt is sucking my fingers in like it just can’t get enough and only greedy whores act like that.” You whimpered but didn’t shake your head at his words this time.

“Admit you’re nothing but a greedy slut.” He ordered and you gaped up at him. At first your mouth opened and closed in shock but finally you swallowed and obeyed.

“I’m nothing but a greedy slut,” It left your lips so shamefully and was followed by a soft moan from the constant motion of his fingers and he growled. Fuck this, he wasn’t waiting any longer.

“Undo my pants.” He grunted out to you and his gaze dropped to his hand sinking into you. With fumbling fingers your hands met his belt and you quickly tried to undo it. It was haphazard and took you longer than you wanted but you blamed it on the two fingers inside you.

Once his belt was loose and his fly was down you looked back up at him expectantly. There was a glint in his eye as he licked him lips and focused back on you.

“Take my dick out.” Ransom watched as your throat bobbed nervously, your hands lacking less urgency as they moved to the waste-band of his slacks. With a slight push, his pants lay at his ankles and he stood before you in his black button down and boxers. “Take it out!” He ordered harsher this time and his fingers matched his cruel tone as they pressed harder inside you.

You moaned helplessly and obeyed. Pulling at his boxers until they slipped down his legs, you freed his dick. You didn’t want to look at him, at his most intimate body part, but your eyes couldn’t help but ogle.

Ransoms dick looked almost angry- all puffy, red, and dripping in need. But it was the length and size that made you gasp. He was big. Bigger than his fingers, big. You already felt so stretched from his two fingers alone, how were you ever going to take him? As if he could read your mind Ransom cut off your thoughts.

“I’ll make it fit. ‘N you’re gonna take every fucking inch.”

Like they were never there, his hands left your cunt and he mixed your juices with his as he stroked himself with the same hand he just had inside you.

You whimpered helplessly at his lack of contact on you again. Your body was alive, buzzing and burning, and you felt…close. Close to what- you weren’t sure but you knew you needed him back.

His hand dropped from around your neck and he pushed your chest until you lay back on the desk again. Nerves bundled up into your stomach as you saw him move himself closer to your mound. This seemed like a really bad idea.

Ransoms hand cupped your breast and squeezed as he tried to ease the tension building within him. He was stroking himself as he leaned forward and pressed the tip of him into your clit. You whined at the pressure, it was everything but not enough at the same time.

He moved his dick around on your cunt, groaning to himself at the sight. Your hips came up slightly as you sought for more pressure from Ransom and he obliged tapping quick, sharp slaps to your bud with his cock. This was about to be the best fuck of his life.

Finally, he lined himself up with your entrance. His hand pressing down on your pelvis to keep you still. His eyes flickered up to you for a split second and he cursed under his breath at the fear that was held in your eyes, as you should be.

With precision he rolled his hips forward and felt as just the tip slid inside you. You whimpered from below him and he couldn’t even blame you. He could feel all of you, wrapped around just that bit of him and he still had so much more to go.

With a little more pressure he pushed forward and immediately you gasped in protest.

“I can’t! It’s too much! Father, please!” You pleaded with Ransom and your eyes screwed shut at the pressure and pain at your hole. You weren’t ready, you were scared. He was too big.

“Shhhh…” Ransom shushed you and left your breast to cup your chin. “It’s okay. You just need to relax, baby.”

You shook your head at him. You couldn’t do it. But just when you thought it was already too much, Ransom pushed into you some more. A cry left your mouth and you moved to get away from him. Your hands came up in a flail, pushing at his shoulders and you tried to move your legs to gain leverage to push him off of you.

You couldn’t help the tear that left the corner of your eye as the pain sank down your legs. You wanted him off now, but Ransom was ignoring your resistance. He only held onto you harder as the pressure and pain became worse between your legs. In desperation you slapped at him and he growled angrily as he finally lifted his head to your attention.

“Stop fucking moving.” He ordered at you and released his hold on you to grab your moving arms. In a second, they were pinned at your sides, his breath heavy above you. “It’s only going to hurt worse if you don’t stop fucking moving. So when I tell you to relax-you fucking relax. Now stay the fuck still and take it.”

“But it’s too much!” You cried at him.

“Then fucking scream for all I care but stop moving.” He growled at you and you whimpered. Your breaths came up short as you tried to stop your crying but nothing helped. The pain didn’t fade, it only got worse as Ransom started to push forward again.

He wasn’t even in halfway and you were already a blubbering mess. ‘N fuck, he couldn’t seem to get any further. Your cunt was practically pushing him out but he wasn’t gonna fall for that.

In one stroke he pulled himself out and then gave a sharp thrust into you, your body heeding at his force and Ransom had to release your arms to catch himself on the desk. Fuck-he felt like he was about to cum. His thrust had worked, he was sitting in you almost to the hilt, but you were so damn tight around him he couldn’t move. How fucking pathetic of him if he got this far only to cum in one stroke.

Underneath Ransom though, you were not as happy. Your now free hands were gripping his biceps as you sobbed in pain underneath him. You felt him everywhere, was he in your stomach? He was so deep and you were so full but it didn’t feel good at all. It was nothing like the sharp tingles he was giving you earlier with his fingers-no it was pure pain and intrusion. Tears left your eyes and you mumbled incoherent pleads to Ransom to stop. You didn’t like this at all, and it only seemed to be getting worse the longer he sat inside you.

“Fuck, baby. Your cunt is gripping me like a vice. I don’t even feel like I can move, you’re holding me so tight.” Ransom lowered his forehead to rest on the desk above your shoulder.

Inch by inch he rolled his hips backwards easing out before slowly plunging back in until finally he sat fully inside you. You cried out loudly but it seemed to be drowned out by his loud groan. The movement burned and scraped your walls. Your nails dug into Ransoms shoulder as you tried to find some outlet for the pain but nothing was helping.

“Please, it hurts!” You tried one more time and you felt Ransoms breathe on your shoulder before you heard him chuckle.

Slowly he leaned back up above you, his eyes meeting yours again. His eyes held pleasure and mischief whereas you knew yours were full of tears and pain. How could be laughing at you, right now?

In a slow thrust he pulled out of you before pushing in again, harder this time. You cried out woefully as the pain bloomed again within you.

“Baby, nothing could stop me from fucking you right now. This is the best pussy i’ve ever been in and I would have to be fuckin’ crazy to give it up.” With his words he stood fully up again, seated in you.

He reached down and lifted your legs, locking them around his waist. Nervously you played with your hands again, unsure what to do with them now that they left his biceps. Ransom reached for them and lifted them above your head. He placed your grip on the edge of the desk you were lying on.

“You’re gonna need to hold on, princess.” His voice washed over you like water and you listened.

Your grip tightened on the edge as he pushed into you again. A whimper left your lips and you let your head fall back as you accepted your fate. Ransoms hands roamed your body greedily before he anchored them on your hips.

His thrusts were hard but measured as he started his slow rhythm inside you. He let his gaze wander from your pinched face to your tits. They bounced when his body found yours each time. He was in pure heaven. His cock wrapped by your tight cunt and the sight of you finally submitting to him.

He couldn’t help it as his hips started to roll into each thrust, desperate for contact with you. As he moved your eyes flew open and a gasp left your mouth.

“Fuck, I found that spot didn’t I?” He mocked you as he rocked and you whimpered in response. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before and the feeling blooming in your stomach was better than just his fingers. Everything you were craving before seemed to be answered by his thrusts. As your body heated again, you felt that familiar buzz on your skin and you moaned helplessly as he started to pick up speed.

“Fucking milking my cock.” Ransom teethed out and you felt a sharp hold on your jaw.

“Open your fucking eyes.” You quickly obeyed and he pulled your face up, angling at the lewd act in front of you.

Blood coated the base of his dick and he let out a moan from the sight of your lost innocence.

You watched as he disappeared in you over and over again and moaned as each thrust hit home. Watching, as well as feeling him inside you, sent jolts across your skin.

“That’s right,” Ransom huskily said to you, seeing your reaction to him. “What would that prick Timothy think of you if he could see you being fucked, right now. Hm? That you’re a fucking whore? Being fucked by your pastor in the back of the church he attends every Sunday. Such a god damn slut.”

His words sunk deep and you tried to deny his proclamations but they only fueled the fire in you. He was so deep and you felt every single thrust. The buzz in your bones reached further and you helplessly tried to meet each of his thrusts. Your clit caught on his pelvis at each rock of his hips and you couldn’t stop the little noises that left your throat as the feeling within you reached a pinnacle.

Ransom felt your pussy spasm around him and he grunted at each thrust. Releasing your face, you fell limply back flat onto the desk and he rutted into you harder as he grabbed onto your waist again. He knew you were close and it was all but animalistic how he chased it for you. He wasn’t gonna let some wimp bastard steal your first orgasm. It was going to be him, all of your first were going to be with him and, fuck, that made his hips roll harder.

One moment you were present, the lewd claps and sucking sounds echoing through your head, and the next you were in the heavens. Your body arched off the desk as blood rushed into your ears and you barely heard as you cried out from the feeling that overtook your body. It was pure electricity. Running from your toes to your skull and you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want it to stop though. No, you wanted to live here. In this constant state of pleasure and stars. It was the best feeling you had ever experienced and it consumed you whole.

“Hol-ly shit!” Ransom shouted. Your cunt squeezed his length as you came and he knew he was right fucking there. You grasped him perfectly, every inch being swallowed by you and watching you come around him was all it took for him to find his own nut.

He fucked you through your shivers and spasms and you still whimpered underneath him as his thrusts became faster and irregular.

“Fuck, fuck-FUCK!” He grunted out as finally his orgasm overtook him. At his dicks first flex within you he fell on top of your still body. His hips still moving as his cum bursted out of him in quick ropes.

His own orgasm seemed to last for hours. His dick still twitching as he finally got the hearing in his ears back. Never in his life had he came that hard. Even when he was a virgin, pussy didn’t feel that good. Cumming didn’t feel that good. No, that was all you. Ransom gave you that credit.

You moved beneath the weight of Ransom, your breathing slowly starting to become normal again. You couldn’t help but let your hands fall onto his back, slowly feeling the muscles that were hidden beneath his shirt. Realization struck you as you both settled down from your highs.

You had just lost your virginity. Had sex before marriage. Let him curse and mock you as he took it from you and you couldn’t help but feel…content. You knew you should be regretting your actions. Shoving him off of you and leaving the room in a hurry, but you didn’t.

It was the priest who took it from you. He knew much more than you and you couldn’t help but feel pride that it had been with him you gave yourself to. Still worry pinched your stomach.

“Am I going to get pregnant?” You questioned. It was more of an inward thought but you had whispered it aloud to Ransom.

Fuck, he had forgotten a condom and of course you wouldn’t be on birth control. Never had he been so consumed by pussy that he let safety slip.

Ransom groaned as he pushed himself up on his forearms. He was rarely ever spent after sex. Maybe on very drunk nights he lazily passed out or even after multiple rounds but you had exhausted him just from that one cum alone. Looking down at you he took in your state. Your hair was a mess around your head and your cheeks were still flushed from being fucked. He had the urge to take you again but the urge to sleep was stronger.

“I’ll take care of it.” He responded. He didn’t really have it in his budget right now to pay for a fifty dollar pill but it was better than the thousands spent on a kid.

Pushing himself fully off of you and standing, Ransom eased out of you and you hissed in protest. Your walls were sore from the sex and he knew he had done his job properly. Hopefully you wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a couple of days.

Tucking your elbows under you, you leaned up fully taking in the sight of you. Faint bruises laced your hips from his grasp and you gasped. Had he really been gripping you that hard?

Ransom moved to tuck his dick into his boxers as he pulled his pants up, quickly tightening his belt. He tossed you your under things and clothes and you stared at him in confusion. That’s it? So much had just happened and he was giving you your clothes like it was casual. This was not casual.

“But,” You moved to sit up as you quickly worked to cover your nude state. “we’re gonna be married right?”

Ransom turned to you. The question catching him off guard. No one had ever asked him such a wild question before and it brought reality back to him. He was a priest, you were his pupil, this could spread like wildfire and his whole position could be threatened. He didn’t want to stay here permanently but until things cooled down for him, it was his safest option. Marriage, on the other hand, was a little too permanent for his liking.

But as Ransom took in the sight of you, wincing as you stood and frantically trying to put on your undies, he was reminded just how perfect you were. You were easy and convenient. You had obeyed his every command without fail and none of his previous fucks had ever gotten him off like you had.

He smiled at you and moved to cup your face with his hands. Pulling you up to your toes he let his lips press into yours. So different from the previous times he had kissed you, he put meaning and care into this one.

“Baby, you were made for me. Of course we’re getting married.” You smiled at his response, leaning back into his lips.

But you missed the glint in his eye when he spoke. He wasn’t gonna marry you because it was the proper way for you to be treated. No, he was marrying you because there was no way in hell another man would ever touch you again. You were his. For whenever and wherever he pleased. An object for his pleasure, not yours.

Ransom released you and let you return to finish dressing. He desperately needed to shower off the sweat that had collected on his back and go to fucking bed. Your pussy had drained the life out of him but he couldn’t complain if every time he fucked you it left him this spent.

“I’m all sticky and wet. It’s uncomfortable.” You whined as you finished putting on your last shoe. You moved awkwardly as you stood. Your face scrunched at the feeling of cum running out of you. Ransom wished he would see it dripping out.

“Let it sit, baby. I want you to remember me for a little bit longer.” He grabbed hit coat off the rack and folded it over his arm.

“Can I tell my parents we’re engaged?” There was so much hope in your voice as you collected your belongings yourself.

“No, not yet.”

“But they’re gonna be thrilled by the news!” You eagerly looked up at him and he felt irritation climb his spine. Maybe a sweet cunt wasn’t worth this much annoyance. Youth was also an ignorant curse.

“Some people won’t understand us, princess. Won’t understand God joining us together. Just give it time and i’ll let you know when we can tell them. Together, hm?” He cupped your cheek and even appeased you with a kiss on the forehead. You still sighed in complaint as you both head towards the door, but stayed silent.

Ransom knew you would abide by his word and wouldn’t tell a soul. Maybe one day you would realize the fault in letting him command you, but it wasn’t today. ‘N he knew it wouldn’t be for a long while. He had you whipped good. Especially when your soreness passed and you were craving only what he gave you, you would come to him begging for more. Probably go down on your knees for him.

Blood rushed to his dick and the thought and he grinned to himself. It was only after he had flipped the light switch and closed the door behind ya’ll, sealing the memories of your actions in the room did he realize he didn’t even pick up the stuff from the floor that he hurriedly shoved off.

He didn’t even catch your name.

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carnalactivities · 11 months ago

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3 years in a row too

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