#I need to brush up on my Spanish again for cases like this

[needy-is-so-hers]

Did my laundry today and this sweet Spanish couple/family needed help with the washing machine and they didn’t speak any English at all but thank god for google translation we communicated through that and I was only able to remember small words but it got the job done . They even translated how helpful and kind I was for helping them today.

[ripmattitude]

HIGH - matt sturniolo x female reader

summary: you and your best friend matt get high together and leads to a heated make out session.

warnings: use of y/n, smoking weed, best friends to ???, latina reader, make out, not proof read

-

you had developed a crush on matt a couple months ago, and it had blossomed ever since. you hadn't acted on it though, the thought of flirting with your best friend and making him uncomfortable dissuaded you from taking action, so you just hoped one day he would feel the same and let you know in small ways. maybe his hand brushing yours, a look turning into a stare, a subtle red tint painting your friend's cheeks, anything.

"y/n" he mumbled, looking down to his lap. "have you ever smoked weed?" he asked nervously.

furrowing your brows, you answered "where's this coming from?"

"i just- i don't know, im sorry. forget i ever said anything" he quickly said, clearly regretting ever asking you anything. "it was stupid anyw-"

"yeah i've tried some, me and my friends smoke every couple weeks i know you don't like this type of things but that doesn't mean i will stop or-" you confessed, as you sat up straighter and tried to sound firm. but as quickly as your rant started, matt cut you off.

"no no, that's not where i was going" he laughed a little. "i just wanted to try some and was curious" he said softly, finally looking at you and putting a hand on your knee as to ease your nerves.

"oh" you embarrassedly said, thinking this talk was going a whole different road. you started to blush a little, and the placement of his hand wasn't helping much. "in that case" you say while standing up and looking away.

you feel matt's confused gaze as you go to your room and come back with a small, innocent-looking wooden box. you sit down on the couch and open it up, revealing your secret stash and a pre-rolled joint.

your best friend's eyes widen in realization, and an equally excited and nervous grin flashes on his face. he reaches out a hand and cracks open a window, already feeling the smell of the box and knowing it wouldn't get any better when smoking. you can see the band of his boxers, the brand name now flashing out of his jeans thanks to his t-shirt coming up due to the stretch.

to distract yourself from the dirty thoughts on your mind, you start lighting up the blunt between your fingers and take a hit. after exhaling, you give it to matt, and show him how to hold it properly.

"um, how do i.. smoke it?" he asks, feeling a little dumb for not knowing how to do this type of stuff. seeing you do it so naturally and swiftly only made his feeling worse.

"oh yeah, sorry. basically put it between your lips" you take his hands and guide them towards his mouth, you fingers gently brushing his soft lips. "inhale and let it sit a bit in your lungs. then, exhale" you instructed to the best of your abilities, wanting his first experience to be as pleasant and comfortable as possible.

he followed each step carefully, trying his best not to blow it out before he should, but his need to cough got the best of him.

"it's okay, no one does it perfectly their first time. you should've seen me, i was a mess!" you say, letting him know you don't expect him to smoke like a pro. "you wanna try again?" he nods and takes another hit, this time doing it perfectly. you smile and take the joint, chasing the feeling of relaxation it gave you.

you two had smoked the whole thing, and had chosen to head to your room to lie down in her bed. something about matt's actual state was so attractive to you: his constant smile, his droopy eyes, the slight rasp of his voice and the way he was always in contact with your skin.

"did you know i used to take spanish in high school?" you giggled at this, knowing he spoke your first language but said he was really bad and didn't want to humiliate himself in front of a native speaker.

"yeah, you told me but you never want to show me your talent! you know, marylou said you were one of the best of your class after nick but you still don't want to show me" you pout playfully, maybe today is the day you get to hear him speak spanish.

he laughs, and continues "yeah, it was one of the only classes i liked. i love the language! it's so sexy, it actually is a kink or turn on to me" you feel your heart skip a beat and yourself clench at the thought of you turning him on. a sudden wave of boldness washed over you and an idea came up in your mind.

a smirk came over your face as you said in the most sultry voice you could "que sientes si empiezo a hablar en español?"

you saw him tense up and look up at the ceiling, lying flat on his back as to avoid your gaze.

"te excita que hable así matt?" you continued, still using the flirtiest tone you could use. shaky breaths left his mouth.

"y-y/n, don't" he mumbled quietly, still avoiding your eyes.

"no te escucho, me puedes mirar a los ojos?" he turned his head and looked at your eyes. you bit your lip, trying to hold back from continuing this act, but his reaction was just too much for you.

"puedo besarte?" your best friend asked, licking his lips with desire. surprised at his perfect pronunciation and sexy tone, you nodded frantically and connected your lips with his.

the kiss was full of lust and want, your arms snaking to his neck and your hands beginning to play with his hair, earning a moan from matt. you used this opportunity to deepen the kiss, pushing your tongue into his mouth.

matt sat up without breaking the kiss. his hands first grabbed your waist firmly, but then slid to your ass where he squished your cheeks and continued his way down to your under thighs. he lifted you and put you down so you were now sitting on his lap.

the feeling of kissing matt made you feel so fuzzy and overjoyed, butterflies buttering in your stomach. you had become addicted to his lips and didn't know what you would do without it.

his fingers trailed up and down your thighs, each time getting closer and closer to where you needed him most. whimpers and whines came out of your mouth, expressing your want need for friction between your legs. you began straddling him, gaining a groan from him. you felt his cock hardening even more than it already was, which made you moan.

matt threw his head back at the feeling of your clothed pussy rubbing against him, leaving room for you to move your kisses to his jaw and neck. his moans only encouraged you to suck and bite his skin, leaving marks. he massaged your cheeks and guided your movements as you continued kissing his neck and collarbone. "fuckkk" he exhaled in pleasure, wanting to feel more of you.

suddenly, something clicked in your head and you realized what you were doing. you were making out with your best friend and you were both stoned. this wasn't right. guilt started to take over you and you stopped your movements and hopped off him, standing up from the bed to create space between you and him since you knew if you didn't, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from jumping on him again.

your actions somewhat startled him, watching you with complete confusion in his face.

"i'm so sorry matt" you said quietly turning around to ignore his gaze. "i'll.. sleep on the couch" you said quickly, grabbing a pillow to take with you. "goodnight matt"

"y/n-"

he was shut up by the closed door.

-

author's note: hii this is my first fic so PLS no shaming but i will take constructive criticism🫶 i could turn this into a mini series, i got something on my mind but i would love to hear your thoughts first! also, the title is shit, i didn't know what to write😭😭

[headphones-ct-09978]

Sopapillas. 

Miguel O’Hara X Reader one-shot

Summary: You and Miguel share a small moment.

A/N: I haven’t seen the movie yet, so this is based on what I could scavenge from various Marvel websites and some spoilers. This in and of itself holds no spoilers, but I’ll tag it under “Spoilers”. 

Warnings: None. Maybe some really bad spanglish (I’m Mexican but my spanish is fucking AWFUL)

(If any of my spanish is cringe or bad, please please please, correct me and suggest phrases to me. I'm totally open to criticism here!)

. “Miguel? Eyo, ¿dónde está, man? I got you some sopapillas! I think some sugar could do you some good.” 

You wandered around the large room where most of the tech was located. Various holographic screens were up, displaying what appeared to be some kind of surveillance system. Miguel was the one working tirelessly to find a way to…well you honestly had no idea. All you knew was that you were here, in this corner of the multiverse, with others like you. Apparently you were supposed to be a spider person, but something in your timeline went wrong, and you ended up there. You had no powers, but also no motivation to return to your former life. To be fair, going back to that absolute shit show of a life was the last thing on your to-do list. Instead, you settled for being a sort of assistant for Miguel. He usually had you run small errands, maybe keep tabs on certain things, or help with technical issues. You often wondered why, since Miguel seemed more than capable of doing everything himself. But, he did seem very overworked and just downright stressed out 24/7, so perhaps he did need the extra help.

You looked around, holding the styrofoam box in your hands. You were about to call out to him again, when a screen to your left suddenly flickered off, revealing the towering man behind it, causing you to jump. “GAH!!” you exclaimed, startled by his sudden appearance. 

There were slight bags under his dark eyes and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days (which was actually the case).

“Geez dude, you keep giving me heart attacks.” you said as you handed him the small box. “Got you a little something to help with the night shift.”

His brown eyes flicked down to what you were handing him and he blinked, his nose twitching in what could only be confusion or exhaustion. After a moment he sighed and took the box. “Thanks.” he mumbled before opening the box, grabbing a sopapilla and biting it. You caught a glimpse of his fangs, which made you shiver. ‘Dioses, those things look freaky.’ you thought. 

“Did you double check that timeline I told you to investigate?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow at you, his eyes regarding inquisitively. You nodded. “Sí,todo bien. I triple checked too.” 

You waited for a snarky remark about something or other, or for him to suddenly get annoyed by something, but nothing happened. Instead, he just stared at the screen to your right. You turned and saw…another version of yourself. You, the you in the video, were at a party it seemed. You were dancing and laughing, looking happier than you’ve ever felt. 

“When is that?” you asked, pointing to the holographic display, the orange glow of the screen reflecting off the gold wrist cuff you wore. 

“It’s apparently you in earth-3499, pre-serum you.” he said before taking another bite of his snack.

“Pre-serum? I don’t get bitten?” 

“Nope,” he wiped some sugar granules off his bottom lip with his thumb, and licked the rest off. He put the box down on the consol beside him and brushed his hands off. “You, in this canon universe, were injected with this serum that combined the original super-soldier serum paired with an experimental serum that had both spider DNA and some other experimental tech.”

I cringed. “Oh no, not the nano robot thingies from earth-7569.” 

“Nah, it’s something else.” He turned the screen off and leaned against the consol. He nodded to you, beckoning for you to join him up on the consol platform. You hurried up the steps and joined him. Beside him, you could clearly notice the size difference, realizing how tall he was. You glanced at him and leaned against the black console as well. 

“¿Qué pasa, hombre? No eres tú mismo. Dime, ¿qué te molesta?” 

Unlike most of the spider people around, he seemed more relaxed around you. He shared things with you, usually about his family. You couldn’t fathom why, but you consider yourself lucky to at least be in this man’s good graces. 

He looked at you, curiously, brows furrowed as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. 

“¿Por qué no quieres volver? Tenías una vida, una familia, cosas que la mayoría de nosotros luchamos por recuperar…”

You started to fidget with the sleeve of your jacket. “No sé... Supongo que mi vida canónica no fue tan... genial como la mayoría supondría.” 

Miguel placed a hand on your shoulder, in a consoling manner. You continued, “No significa que no los ayudaré a todos, simplemente no me siento obligado a volver a mi antigua vida.”

He nodded. He was about to say something else when another screen popped up with a new developing timeline. He swiveled his head, and watched as the events unfolded. He groaned in annoyance. “Oh great, what now, another canon fuck up?” 

As you both watched the timeline thingy, you unflinchingly watched as the spider-person on the screen got hit by a train. 

“Canon?”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do?”

He pointed to the box you had given. “You get yourself something to eat. I don’t want you hangry tonight.”

You scoffed playfully. “You’re one to talk.”

 He shot you a miffed glare and threw the box at you, which you caught with ease. You chuckled, both out of unease and nervousness. “¡Que era una broma! ¡Solo una broma!”

“Uh huh, yeah, sure.” he said, sounding unimpressed.

You chuckled to yourself as you left the room. Had you turned around, you would’ve seen him shake his head and allow a small smile to grace his lips. “You’re a pain in the ass.” he mumbled. 

-end-

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels. 

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations. 

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you. 

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself. 

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal. 

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return. 

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually. 

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear. 

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.” 

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask. 

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily. 

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level. 

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady. 

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command. 

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move. 

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know. 

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too. 

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed. 

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table. 

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums. 

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?” 

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile. 

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.” 

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.” 

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids. 

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity. 

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.” 

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.” 

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee. 

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.” 

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection. 

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest. 

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples. 

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure. 

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back. 

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time. 

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg. 

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?” 

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.” 

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip. 

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you. 

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you. 

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance. 

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.” 

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing.  He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact. 

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers. 

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance. 

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.” 

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths. 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

[lorsdelapluie]

The scene takes place in the world of Puss in Boots 2, in Far far away. The reader in all my one shots concerning this world is the incarnation of bad luck, they are literally just trying to go through life and enjoy however they can.

IT IS HERE THE NSFW CHAPTER LADIES AND GENTS. EAT THIS UP. Im sorry it took so long but I hope it's gonna be worth it :' D

Note: "Chiqui" is spanish pet name that means "Little one".

Part 2- Mi Pareja.

Death was a jealous entity, you got to learn this the hard way. After your first encounter, which occured now several months ago, the wolf would oftenly visit to check on you. Pretending to check if the Lloronas weren't still mad at him for stepping in their ritual and therefore would take their revenge on you. Of course, you didnt buy any of this, you were pretty sure that Las famosas Lloronas didn't hold grudges against you and they probably forgot about that accident. As they were deeply focused on the man they were hunting and not you, you just happened to be in the way. And how would any creature in Far far away dare to hold grudge against Death itself.

Right now, you were stuck in a pool of mud, your high boots now uneapperant as you had your feet deep in this. You couldn't move, and by some strike of luck, a group of men were trying to help you. Tying a rope around you waist as they were trying to pull you away. You perceived every word with crips clarity as they gave you instructions to help you get out of this mess. Hearing every scruff and octave in the men's voice, something which reassured you in some way, making you think of the voice of your protector for the past few months. You felt the rope dip under the back of your belt, scratching your skin. That hurt. But as the pression on the rope grew, the pulls too, you soon could pull out your leg of the mess. You were walking right through this shit, and soon as you came closer to the shore, a hand extended to you.

Your eyes roses, encountering the face of the guy in front of you. He had pale blue eyes, strong face features and pretty brushed golden hair. His outfit, his face and his gentle way of brigging you back on the land with soft smile, even though you cleraly looked like a mess, made you wonder if you were not in front of a prince. What prince, this you could not know. Why ? Cause there was not only one prince in Far far away. Many of them were wealthy, which was the case of the one in front of you, you assumed.

"Who are you ?" you murmured out of curiosity. You turned around, looking at the lake of mud that you just left then your eyes met those pale blue eyes that were looking at you with concern. "Oh, sorry, I completely forgot about the part where i need to be civilized. So, thank you !"

"Vania. Prince Vania. And you are ?" So he was a prince indeed. He slowly grabbed your arm pulling you on the earth, further away from the lake as he looked at the rest of the men that looked like they belonged under his orders. He was ordering them to get you something to clean your... destroyed boots. "And please dont mention it, it's normal to help anyone in distress right ?"

You nodded, forgetting totally to answer the first question. You didn't see the need in doing so. Why would a prince need to know the name of someone who was selling flowers to get by life. Right ? But his gaze never shifted, one brow arching as to ask you to, silently, once again.

"Y/N... I'm sorry sir, I have nothing to offer you, I'm a simple florist... I can't see what any of my possession could bring to your Majesty."

"Fear not my dear. I do not seek for gifts. A smile on this soft face of yours, is already plenty enough to re-pay me." Did all prince talked that way ? What a weirdo you thought. Did he really expect you to swoon like the princesses or other women might do. You let out an awkward chuckle as you slowly slide your arm away for the grasp of Vania.

Deep down, you could sense that the discussion going on right now wasn't right, it was weird. The prince in front of you didn't do anything wrong, no. And here he was kneeling in front of you as he took care of your shoes once a towel was handed to him. Did he thought of you as another potential concubine ? Please, God no. And as soon as you were about to tell him that he needed not clean your shoes that you were much capable of doing so yourself, you could hear a whistle.

No one seemed to notice it, except you. This whistle... You knew where it came from. From a place that wasn't bathing in the sunlight, coming from the muzzle of that dear.. dear wolf. You turned around, searching for him.

As the sunny day turned into piercing winds and low temperatures, like those early dusk and unforgiving pitch-black nights. Was it already that late ? You were standing, facing towards the lake of mud, your eyes searching desperatly for the silhouette of the wolf that you knew was there. You shivered and wrapped your shawl tighter around your shoulders. You needed to go back home, if he manifested his presence to you, he wasn't pleased. You turned around to look at your savior.

"I need to go back home. Thank you once again." You didn't wait for an answer as your legs decided it was time for you to go. And you ran, you needed to go back home. You knew you weren't gonna be safe there, but something inside your mind just yelled at you to go there. For what ? Find an angry wolf ? Why would he be angry for anyway ? Where was he hiding, you could feel his piercing eyes on your back, burnin two holes that didn't help you feel at ease at all. He didn't say a single word, just a simple whistle. This whistle that have heard him do with so many of death's victim. You could picture the glint in his eyes that you knew so well, going from annoyed, to neutral, to hot. This was not good for you in any way. As your mind wandered, you were running, running for your home. When you could see the field of colorful flowers appearing behind the hill, you sighed of relief, your small home resting next to the prettiest lake that might exist. You took the stairs that were leading to your nest. And once you were inside, door closed behind your back... You sighed as you let yourself slid down against the wood. You looked at your boots, taking it off rapidly to throw it to the side. Stupid muddy lake.

But as soon as you stood up, you could sense a freshness settling inside your home. A shiver ran down your spine, feeling your heart rate increase whenever you knew he was inside your home. Inside your safe walls.

"Made a friend back there Chiqui ?" and there he was, his low and raspy voice coming out of the only dark corner of the room. Could he possibly travel thanks to the shadows. You could ask him that someday. But that someday was surely not today, with how the situation was turning. Embarassment settled in your chest, why were you blaming yourself when you did nothing wrong. He just helped you.

"He just helped me... I would hardly call that befriending someone." This must have been a wrong answer considering the low growl that came out of his muzzle. To his own eyes, Death was rarely wrong, moreover was never wrong when he was angry. Which he painfully looked right now?

"Are you implying that I imagined what I saw? That kid on his knees in front of you? With his hand around your arm?" As these words came out of his snout, the wolf’s paws left the shadow in which they comforted. He approached. Dangerously. His lips retracting and that growl coming from the bottom of his throat was a clear indication of his annoyance. "His eyes scanned through you when you were facing backwards, looking for me. I shouldn’t have whistled. I should have come out of the shadows and taken the head of this cheap prince."

Fuck. You made the wrong decision, didn’t you? This is exactly what to do if you want to get murdered. Don’t scream. Don’t get angry. Let him ramble. You looked down, you knew better than look at him right in the eyes when he was angry. It scared you.. Not a lot but a little, probably a natural instinct to fear what was created to end one's life.

Fuck. Miercoles...

But Death wouldn't take you right ? Not because of some misunderstanding. He cared about you. But that behavior awfully looked like a...

Territorial behavior.

It’s just two words, but the implications behind it make your lungs constrict and your heart race. Other adjectives spring up around it, bringing a wave of excitement with them.

Territorial. Possessive. Jealous. You were probably just thinking it right now. Sure Death has been following you around like a shadow those past few weeks. You were awfully suspiscious about that behavior. You even joked about it, but now.. Now he seemed more agressive than usual. And you would be damned but it did aroused you. Well.. Still does.

"Chiqui ?"

He called out, and as you rose your eyes from the floor, the wolf was now in front of you. Did he call for you prior to that ? Wait, he was really close. His eyes were looking right throught you, those white pupils locking into yours. There he was, doing it again.. Reading right through you. And right now ? You were pathetic. Patetically blushing head over heels as you realised your arousal over the wolf in front of you and his display of possessivity.

His muzzle opened, but no voice came out of it. You raise your eyes to look at the wolf ashamed of the feelings curling up inside you right in the moment. And you could have sworn, you saw his eyes darken for a moment. And before you could say anything to defend or ask what was he on about.

"Me vas a volver loco." he breathed in a strained voice as if he was holding himself back. Holding himself from launching onto you.

You will drive me mad, that's what he said. And you murmured back, in that splendid language that was spanish, that he already did that to you. Hearing you speak in your native language always made him stop for a moment. His chest halting as if Death was catching its breath.

“How much do you like this shirt?” he asks, voice lower and more gruff than he probably intended.

“Not much.”

And just like that it shreds with a quick jerk of his claws, and the pieces land somewhere near the corner of the room as he tosses them aside with a careless flick. Some yelp left your mouth, and yet as you should feel afraid.. Embarassed to be half bare in front of him, you didn't try to hide away. You swore that as he looked at you, you saw his throat boped.

You shake your head and laugh softly, trying to ease the tension that was building inside of you as you got shyer and shyer because of his gaze on your body “I feel like some kind of sacrifice in front you like this.”

His blood races, and his muzzle that was above you a few moments ago fell into your neck as his tongue licked that sweet skin of yours. You gasped, but dont try to lean away from the wanted touch. Feeling the teeth brushing on each other side of your throat, when his hands were now roaming over your body hurrying themselves to get you off those layers.

“A worthy offering,” he says, unwrapping that tissu belt and your pants as if you were his most precious treasure. “Any entity would be pleased with such a gift.”

You come to him willingly, eagerly, running your hands over the back of the wolf, nuzzling your fingers inside the white furr. Pressed against his body, the warmth of your body warming up his cold one, as his mouth left your throat to nibble on your ear.

“What about...Hm. A terrible, fearsome monster? Would I make a worthy sacrifice for him, too?”

“That depends on whether you were a willing tribute.” he answered as he stopped himself from nibbling the rest of your body.

“And if I was?”

“If you were, Chiqui…” he says, as his hands slides now on your bear cheeks to carry you towards what was your bed. “Then I would have no choice but to worship you.”

The words are low and rumbling, spoken into the soft skin of your inner thigh as he inches closer and closer to your inner thighs. You gasps again and shifts for him, opens for him, trembling with anticipation. Never you would have thought to see The so feared wolf between your thighs, ready to devour you. And with the first swipe of his tongue over your warm, swollen flesh, you cry out and arches against his hold.

The sight of you struggling to keep your voice to yourself, and those thighs closed is more erotic than anything he ever could have imagined. Wrapped around you soft, plush body, squeezing you tight, keeping you still when you buck and writh with pleasure, it draws on that same dark instinct howling up from the bottom of his soul.

A word keeps repeating in his head, like a mantra as his muzzle devour you, making a wet mess of yourself.

Claim you.

But he was settling for devouring you instead, savoring the offering you bring to him so sweetly.

The taste of you only stokes those instincts higher, stronger, closer to the brink of blissful oblivion. Something he never dared to imagine as he was...Death himself. And you were nothing but a beautiful alive being. Your thighs bracket the sides of his head, pushing against his soft furr and he grunts in approval, tightening his grip on you and sinking his fingertips into the curve of your ass.

You were both lost in the moment, him not caring for the claws of his back paws clawing at the floor and leaving marks in the wood. And you not caring enough to keep your voice down as you were riding, the soft sensation of his tongue and teeth literally eating you out.

Knock knock.

That caught you off-guard. You both stopped, looking at each others. The ears of the white wolf perking at the top of his head. Before you could see a frown appear on his face, a growl pushing its way behind his teeth. Unhappy. Who was-

"Darling are you okay ?"

Wait.. That voice. You were pretty sure you recognize it. It was the prince from earlier. Did he follow you here ? Did hear you ? Wait. Darling ? That nickname was revolting. The face of the wolf raising from between your thighs, as his tongue passes upon his upper lip, a growl settling in the back of his throat. Not a desiring growl, but a threatening one. That was not good, your legs grabbed him in place, crossing behind his neck. Blocking him.

"Chi-"

"I'm quite busy at the moment ! Could you please go away." you ask in a strangled voice as you were slowly coming down from your high state. You didn't really catch what he answered you cause the next moment Death's tongue was back on you. It doesn’t take long until your body is taut and straining again, cries wishing to grow louder and more insistent. Mostly when the wolf between your thighs pushes against that sweet sweet spot. And yet you could hear that SO annoying voice coming from behind the door.

"Desaparece cabron !" You yelled, ash he stroked and eased you through every spasm of your climax, keeping you firmly held on the bed as you were doing for him, coming apart against his tongue.

Stars. You were seeing stars, literally. A laugh rumbling between your thighs, as you looked down at Death sliding his thumb to collect the rest of you on his lip. When you were finally settling down, your thighs were freeing the man you had in a choke hold.

"If I only knew you could curse like that."

"Is he gone..?" You breath out.

"Por favor, don't mention him ever again. He is far. Now it's my time. And I need to know, one important thing."

You looked at him frowning, wondering what could he possibly ask in that moment. You pray, please no more question about if they were friends or not..

“How much of me do you want, Chiqui?”

How much ? You asked yourself that question a while back. You were looking at Death's back as he was walking in front of you in some dark forest, two months ago. The spores of some mushrooms in the environment making your imagination run wild. You wondered if he knew already back then.. You pictured him above you, licking his teeth like he often does when he is about to eat up a meal you prepared. Hungry or impatient... You couldn't say. And you would look down at his inner thigh, cheeks growing hot. Would you like that ?

The answer doesn't come right away, Death wondering if you were unsure. But his eyes wandered, looking at your still moving hips, chasing the pleasure he was more than willing to give you. When he pressed his teeth into you skin in a small reminder, though, you gaze up so lustfully up at him.

And fuck, were you beautiful, once again you could see his chest raise. Your eyes glazed with pleasure, lips parted on a gasp, cheeks flushed.

“All of you,” you whisper. “I want all of you, Death.”

His answering groan echoes in the room. Leaving you breathless, you could almost taste the anticipation and the craving in the air.

“Are you sure?”

Soflty, your hands run through the puff of his cheeks. Your fingers ruffling the white hair. And your look gave the answer, you were looking at him like he ever wanted you to look at him since he first laid his preying eyes on you.

Maybe it’s what he always needed. Someone to be patient with him. Someone to be dedicated to him.

He has now a hand on each of your thighs, holding you open, as he raised from the floor, towering you down, one knee resting now on the bed.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” You breathe. “Yes, I trust you.”

One hand leaves your thigh, catching your chin between his fingers, tipping your head forward. “Look down, Y/N. See what you do to me.”

Between your legs, you could see his cock, hard and pulsing against your damp thigh (wait when did he get rid of his pants), you could feel the red rushing to your cheeks. That was...big. And it didn't look like any human male sex you had ever seen.

Not like you intentionally seen lots of them.

A laugh echoes in the room, while the wolf deciphers the expression you display. His face regaining its previous poise, his mouth opening and laying his fangs around your throat. Slowly, the fingers that had explored your entrance find their place again to continue this work of relaxation. He and you both knew that if you weren’t relaxed enough, this whole thing could be a lot more painful than either of you wanted. You push your head back, resting on the matress within a soft moan.

“That’s it,” The wolf grates out when you bear down and shift open to take him deeper. “Just like that, Chiqui.”

You could feel his voice rumble against your throat as he slides his tongue against you skin once again. Pressing his jaw around you, catching your breath. Enough pressure to cut your breath when you took too deep breaths. As warmth floods through you with his graveled praise. Warmth and trust and painfully sweet tenderness that only ratchets up every other sensation.

The feeling of Death’s fingers breaching you, filling you, diving deep and branding you from the inside out, is like absolutely nothing You’ve ever felt before. Pulsing and alive?, twisting and shifting and fitting itself to the shape of you. And you could feel him grind against your thigh, trying to releave some of that build up tension in between his legs.

“So mesmerizing. Do you think you can take some more?”

He asked as he pulled his teeth away, locking his gaze into yours. You nod, but he brings his free hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up toward him.

“Let me hear your words.”

“Yes! I want more. Por favor.”

“Ask, and it’s yours,” he rasps, and pushes in another finger that makes you gasp.

Your thighs shake from the impossible, building waves of pleasure and the Wolf tightens his hold on you, spreading you even wider as his three rather larger fingers dives deep and retreats.

His knotted cock bumps up against your inner thigh, and a small pulse of uncertainty moves through you. You had no idea how you were going to take all that. Long, thick, and already weeping from the tip, your core tightens just looking at it.

Death seems to read your hesitation as if you were an open book in front of him, because he leans in to whisper low and dark into your ear.

“I’ll make sure you’re ready for me, Chiqui.”

Inside of you, the fingers he’s impaled you on shifts and twists, growing thicker somehow as he spreads them. The stretch of it boarders on too much, making you squirm and moan and press back against him, but you are not about to ask him to stop. When you tangle your hands into his furr and pull his head forward to claim his mouth, he growls and presses even deeper, fitting himself against the spot he drove you wild with just a few minutes ago.

There, right there, hitting that sensitive spot inside and ripping another scream from you as you climax crests and breaks. He works you through every spasm, drawing the pleasure out until you are half-certain you are going to pass out from it.

"Death-"

Your words cut off at his sharp growl and his tongue crashes past your lips. He’s ravenous as he strokes his tongue deep, hand on your throat, keeping you pinned in place. And when he notches his cock against your entrance, the clawing need to have him inside steals your breath.

Death breaks the kiss and looks down. Expression hungry, an animalistic growl, he watches himself nudge against you once, twice, before sliding the blunted tip inside.

Just that—just the smallest part of him—is already enough to make you feel stretched and full. His shuddering breath breaks against your shoulder as he drives his hips forward another inch, then another, until you are meeting him thrust for gentle thrust, groaning at the impossible feel of him sliding deeper.

“Dios,” he says. “Déjame tomarme mi tiempo contigo. Me estás absorbiendo.”

You hear him, but with each inch gained you are getting more impatient. Letting out a small moan of protest, you shift your hips, straining to take more of him, and his answering growl rumbles all the way through you.

“Greedy. So greedy, my Y/N. Shall I be merciful and give you what you want?”

“Please,” You gasp. "Por favor, deja-"

You don’t get to finish begging.

With a powerful upward thrust, he fills you up entirely and wrenches a ragged scream from the back of your throat. He’s there, bottomed out, sunk to the hilt in you. You are stretched so full that for a few long moments all you can do is drop your head back against the bed and close your eyes, trying to adjust to the feel of him.

“Bellissima,” he murmurs, rolling his hips in a way that makes another moan rasp from your throat. “Look at you taking me so well, my mate.”

Mate. You knew that was a language used between wolves. Inside a pack... A mate is a partner. A partner for life. You knew thanks to that , that Death is mindless at this point, too far gone into the magic being woven between the two of you to think about what he’s saying.

When you look down and see yourself stretched around him, feel the insistent pulse of him inside of you and the light press of his teeth against your neck, searching a way for the back of it, there’s no part of you that shies away from that word.

My mate.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough. Reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck for leverage, you grind into his thrusts and move restlessly against him, begging for more. More pleasure. More touch. More of the wild, incredible feel of him.

You must moan at least some of it out loud, because he growls low in his throat. “You need more from me, Chiqui?”

“Yes! Please.”

When he pulls out of you, you cry out sharply in protest. It’s only a couple of seconds, though, before he’s got you turned around and pushed up against the cotton of the sheets,his teeth finds the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your body, his hand pressing you into the bed, as he slams back into you.

It’s more intense than before, heavier, deeper. You don't know if that was the bite at the back of your neck that was driving you to madness, or the feeling of his knot pushing inside you. Stretching you to the maximum, making you scream his name. It was burning you up from the inside out until it breaks with a ferocity that blanks your vision out for a few long, ecstatic moments.

He comes just after you do, driving deep and exploding in you, locked by his knot, with a wash of heat that makes your belly flutter and your body go lax under his.

You obviously had a hard time coming down from that feeling you just had. But so did he. The erastic breathing that you could feel against your neck as the fangs did not let go, brought you little by little back to the world of the living. Soon you could hear the movement whipping the air from the wolf’s tail. Then the bed began to crack. Death let go of your neck, the moment the creak reach his ears, he was leaning to hard on the bed, and was about to break it.

Slowly, you could feel his weight lifting up from you, and his tongue running on the mark and the droplets of blood he left behind. A soft sigh left your lips as you could feel the knot of the male above you softening and he could finally pull out.

And as slowly, he reaches down to take your numb body against him, his nose nuzzling against your jaw just under your ear his a soft hum.

"You smell like me."

A small laugh escpaed your lips. You surely didn't expect that to come out first. You were relaxed in his arms, completely sated, andhe couldn't help but internally purr in pleasure to see you so undone. And a smile even peeked out at the sound of your laugh.

His mate. Satisfied. Happy. Utterly fucked-out and his.

"You reeked of the kid earlier. I thought I was going to lose my mind." he growled against your ear, flattening his ears back at the thought surely bothering him again.

"Feels like you did."

Despite your laugh, the wolf growls at the mockery. "It is not a mistake, Chiqui. You are mine. And now... Everybody will know that Death itself maked you."

Oh... And here you go blushing again, and it was his turn to laugh.

[imaginedreamwrite]

For flashback Friday- when ari explains to sweetpea what being his Luna means to him and to the pack? Maybe this is their first kiss?

The door had been opened for you, and a woman in a sleek black dress was waiting inside with a leather bound menu and a glass of fine French water. She had greet you with a small tilt of her head and a professional smile that was aimed solely at you.

“Good afternoon, chef Levinson is waiting for you at a private table near the back.” She had beckoned you to follow her and then she spun on her heel and started walking briskly throughout the restaurant until she had come to a table and stopped, directing you to a high-back cushioned seat.

You had pulled the seat out and sank down to the cushion, tucking your purse between your feet on the floor. You had reached for a menu and opened the front docket, gazing at the menu with bewilderment at some of the featured prices.

“You don’t need that, Sweetpea.” It was Ari’s voice that had distracted you and made you lower the menu, though it was his appearance that had nearly made your heart leap out of your chest.

You didn’t believe it was physically possible for someone like Ari to exist and be so breathtaking and yet every day he had proven you wrong. Even now, wearing the tradition chefs coat, and the double breasted buttons, Ari looked as if he had stepped off a runway cover with his classically handsome appearance.

“You wanted to meet me here?” You questioned, drumming your fingers against your leg. “Val said-“

“You don’t always eat lunch, do you?” Ari had begun unbuttoning the jacket, a dark coal grey shirt beneath rolled up to his shoulders, and the pair of jeans he wore underneath was unfairly sexy.

“I mean I’m busy…” you nibbled on the inside of your cheek and hummed, looking him over shamelessly.

“I have something for you. My sous-chef has a special that she’s always finished with.” Ari had taken the place across from you, situating himself before he spoke again.

“I missed you, my little luna.” He smiled charmingly, and reached to his left, grasping hold of the chilled wine at the next table.

“You just saw me.” You countered with a slight drawl, wondering why exactly he wanted you to meet him.

“Would you like some wine while we talk, Sweetpea?”

“Is it going to be an awkward conversation?” You reached for your glass after Ari filled it, and lift it to your lips.

“Its all what you make of it, sweetheart.” Ari had poured himself a glass then took a sip to match yours. “Its about being my luna.”

“Luna…moon in Spanish but I’m guessing there’s more to it.” You hummed, tasting the deep flavours of the wine burst on your tongue.

“You’re beautiful, baby. Just so gorgeous.” Ari praised, and set his glass down before he reached for your hands.

“Traditionally, a luna is a female wolf. Either called a Luna wolf or a she-wolf depending on the position on the hierarchy ladder in the pack. A Luna wolf is a high-ranked female wolf, and in rare cases, is called an alpha female. Although, a luna-wolf seldom has the status of the alpha male. A she-wolf is known to be a female individual within the pack.”

“And non-traditionally?” You quivered at the intense passion in his voice, the immense devotion and respect.

“I’m the alpha, you’re the luna. You’re my mate, and my everything. You’re my equal in every regards and your position as Luna puts you at the forefront of the pack with me. We’re a bonded pair, or we will be, and its integral for the survival of the pack.” Ari had explained while brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

“So if it was a monarchy, you’d be the king?” You pondered, debating what he had said.

“Yes, sweetpea. And you’d be my queen, its like that.” Ari was pleased with you, and he had let you know by squeezing your hand. Afterward, he turned his attention to the double doors that had opened, watching his sous-chef bring out your food.

“Eat, Sweetpea. Enjoy yourself and I’ll answer all your questions.”

[margeraforever]

Dico (Brandon DiCamillo) headcannons

request: dico x male reader hcs would be awesome he needs more content

——————————————————————————

sooo this was a request by @mallofbam so like tysm!!! i’m still so sorry I couldn’t do male reader…… anyways let’s get on with the hcs right 🤭🤭

tw: none, just lovey dovey fluff 😏, pet names ( pretty baby, honey) , gn reader (no pronouns or implications of gender.) , no capitalization (overrated 😒)

not proof read.

——————————————————————————

- you and brandon met at the arcade.

- you had been working there since the start of the summer just to get some extra cash before college had started back up again.

- it was really common seeing him there, this time you thought he came for the new mortal combat game that just came out.

- y’all had started talking and all and now you were there, standing before the prize counter with him asking you if you’d wanna go out for a date after your shift.

- you. were. shocked.

- I mean yea, you did have a small….no actually you had the most massive crush on him. I guess he finally caught on.

- so of course, you agree.

- he tells you after his shift, he’ll pick you up and take you to a nice bar/cafe .

- he picks you up, and you had a blast.

- he talked about bam’s cky videos and how he participated in it. he also told you about haggard and jackass.

- you of course, already knew but you didn’t wanna seem creepy.

- couple of weeks later, you asked him to date

-thankfully, he said yes.

——————————————————————————

months later

- you and dico are 2 peas in 1 pod.

- to the hip a little bit literally.

- y’all played console videos game together until the sun rises.

- now you fix his almost non-existent hair and would brush it so it doesn’t start standing up on his own head.

- you’d now be in viva la bam and would help out with pranks and such.

- you would be the assistant of dico when he was trying to teach don vito spanish. you’d be writing on the board, casually misspelling half of the words.

- you still work at the arcade, just in case.

- he would come around to play the games for free and would play all the claw machines for free and whenever he won something he gave it to you, knowing that you had the key to it was able to just open it and grab it yourself.

- still, it earned you a sweet little duck plushie and a kiss to the forehead.

- when y’all were alone, he was the sweetest person to come across the earth.

- physical affection being hugs around the waists, picking you up bridal style or just a simple piggy back, kisses to your forehead and cheeks and lips and simply all around your face.

- if any of the boys tried to prank you on viva la bam, he made sure they would get the most embarrassing role/performance in any of the skits. it would be extremely gay or extremely gross. he just wanted to pay the price.

- cute little phrases like:

“lord have mercy, look who we have here.”

“let me just get one more kiss, pretty baby, please just one more..”

“wow, how did i score this one….”

“hey honey, do you know if you could get me the new street fighters? I’ll give you like hundred thousand kisses and i’ll buy ur favorite sodas?”

“why cant you buy it yourself?”

“i’m trying to save up for more costumes for more bits on viva la bam….”

“lord help us…”

overall y’all are just are best friends who are romantically attracted to each other.

——————————————————————————

i tried my best! 😰😰 i hope this was original enough tysm for the request tho!!!.

[detroit-grand-prix]

if she wants me - susie wolff x female oc

part 2: someone above is looking with a tender eye

Summary: Amelia forgets all about the job overseas she applied for, until she gets a phone call one day from a strange-looking phone number she doesn’t recognize. 

Tags/warnings:  First-person OC perspective, negotiated polyamory, fluff and smut, porn with plot, lesbian character, bisexual female character, boss/employee relationship, divorce (but not the Wolffs, don’t worry)

Previous Chapter

A few days later, I noticed a missed call on my phone that came from a strange number - it didn’t look like any phone number I’d ever seen, with an odd country code. I was puzzled until I realized it was probably a Monaco number, and I called it back immediately. It was Sophie, and she had been calling to let me know to expect a formal offer letter in my email. I was speechless. My head felt like it was about to float away, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as I tried listening to what she was telling me. She said that it would take a few weeks to sort out my work visa and permits, which was fine - it gave me time to tackle a to-do list that had suddenly grown gargantuan.

Over the next few weeks, I put in my notice with the university, hired a property management company to handle renting out my house (I didn’t want to sell it right away, just in case things didn’t end up working out overseas), decided what I wanted to take with me and sold or donated a lot of things I didn’t want or need any more. I kept the majority of my furniture, opting to rent my house out as a furnished rental, while I found a furnished rental flat in Nice, and arranged for some things to be shipped there. I bought a rail pass for the SNCF train that I would be riding for my commute to Monaco, and a SIM card for cell service and a French number. I brushed up on my French through an iPhone app, and thanked my lucky stars that I took French in college instead of German or Spanish. I turned in my car early, and the dealership was kind enough to waive the early termination fees for the lease. I opened a bank account with a French bank and exchanged some of my savings into Euros. I debated buying a bike, but decided that I could wait until I’d landed.

Just about the second I got confirmation that my visa was approved, I purchased my plane ticket - one-way. Detroit to Charles de Gaulle to Nice Côte d'Azur. A ten hour flight to an entirely new life. It felt strange. Emily and I had been to France before. We’d been to lots of places. I’d booked plenty of plane tickets, but I’d never envisioned myself booking a one-way ticket somewhere.

Speaking of Emily, I had initially decided not to tell her I was moving, but I decided for some reason that it was the right thing to do. So, the night before my flight was due to leave, I dialed her number - I’d deleted her from my phone’s contact list a while ago, but I still had her number memorized. I couldn’t bring myself to tap the green call button, though. I opted to just send her a quick text, mostly just to let her know that I would be out of the country for the foreseeable future, and left her a forwarding address in case she needed it for anything. I watched the indicator in my texts change from “Delivered” to “Read”, but she didn’t say anything. I guess I wasn’t really expecting a response, and I wasn’t sure if I was hoping for one, either.

I didn’t sleep at all the night before my flight. I was too nervous. I arrived at the airport several hours too early. I bought an iced coffee and a sandwich that I couldn’t bear to finish because my stomach was doing somersaults.

Once I was on the plane, I managed to relax a little. The sound of the plane engines and the darkness of the red-eye flight lulled me into a fitful sleep, and I woke up a couple of hours later over the Atlantic, already in a new time zone. It was a strange feeling, knowing that I was officially out of the US without knowing when I’d be back again, aside from the United States ePrix in the summer, when I’d be going to Brooklyn with the team. I certainly didn’t know when I’d be back in Michigan again.

I landed in Paris at 8 in the morning, but my body was still trapped at 2am. I was very glad that I would have a few days before I started at Venturi to adjust to the time change. I had only about an hour-long layover before my flight to Nice. From there, the hour-and-a-half long flight was uneventful. I took an Uber to my new apartment once I’d landed.

I hadn’t done too badly for not seeing the place other than pictures - it was a small, one-bedroom apartment. It was cute, comfortable, and not too far from the city center or the train station. The only thing I did once I’d arrived was unpack the package with the bedding I’d ordered, made the bed, and promptly collapsed.

When I woke up after about fifteen hours of deep sleep, I was disoriented. It took me a moment to remember where I was. “Oh yeah. I’m in France. I live here now.” I laid in bed while I checked my phone. I had only just switched over to my French SIM card when I had landed at Charles de Gaulle so it surprised me that I’d already had a text that wasn’t auto-generated.

It was from Susie. I remembered that I’d given the company my new French phone number when I got my new SIM card, and had told them when I’d be arriving, so maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Susie Wolff: Hi, Amelia! I just wanted to make sure you landed safely and welcome you to this side of the pond! If you need anything, or have any questions, don’t hesitate to let me know.

My face flushed involuntarily at seeing her name come up in my notifications, and I got that warm feeling in my chest again. It was something I’d have to get used to.

Maybe when I was working with her, even the sight of her name would make me stop feeling this way - the way my heart would skip a beat, the way my breath would catch in my chest, the way my face would burn. It already felt like torture, though the most pleasant kind of torture.

My eyes focused on the singular “me”, and “I” in the message. Business-related communications, in my experience, used “we” and “our”. Maybe I was reading too far into it.

I considered my response for a few moments.

Me: Thank you! My flight got in yesterday. It was good! I’m looking forward to getting out and exploring a little today.

I put my phone down and stared up at my ceiling, considering everything I had to do that day. I needed to unpack my suitcases and the things I’d ordered for my apartment. I needed to find my way to a grocery store and get some food for my kitchen. I needed to walk around and try and get familiar with my neighborhood, even though in my sleeplessness when the Uber pulled up to my door, all of the buildings looked the same. It was a beautiful neighborhood, rows of butter-yellow buildings with elegant features, but it was block after block of buildings that looked the same. I needed to figure out the trains so I could make it to work the next week.

Another incoming notification took me out of my reverie, and took me by surprise. Susie had sent me another message.

Susie Wolff: That’s great to hear! You’re living in Nice, right? I know you’re probably not familiar with the city yet, but do you know what neighborhood you’re in?

The open-ended questions confused me. I was sure she was just being polite, though.

Me: I think it’s the Musician’s Quarter. I’m a little bit south of the main train station, I think. I’m still trying to get my bearings. I’m near Rue Verdi and Rue Hérold.

Susie Wolff: Oh! I actually know of a good restaurant near there called Maison Joia, if you’re looking for somewhere to eat.

I punched the name of the restaurant into Apple Maps, but Susie had texted me again before I could get a look.

Susie Wolff: Speaking of food, I was wondering if you wanted to come to dinner this week before you start. It would be with me, Jerome, and and a few other people you’ll be working with. Just to get to know you a little better before you start. :)

Without thinking, I responded:

Me: That sounds wonderful! Just let me know when.

Susie Wolff: How about this Wednesday, maybe at 6? I can pick you up at your apartment, if you need. It’s not a long drive from Monaco to Nice.

I blanched at the idea of my boss picking me up at home to go to dinner at her house before we’d even formally met, in-person.

Me: Well, I’d actually like to take the train out to Monaco, just to get a chance to get familiar with it before work. But I don’t know anything about Monaco itself. Is your place far from the train station?

Susie Wolff: It’s a bit further than you might want to walk, so I will meet you at the station. I’m really excited to get to know you and to start working with you soon.

I smiled.

Me: Me too. I can’t wait.

I spent the next few days on an emotional rollercoaster. Experiencing everything from elation because my French was good enough to not have the woman at the neighborhood bakery roll her eyes and speak English to me by default, exhaustion from the last dregs of jet lag starting to wear off, and the frustration of finding the grocery store in my neighborhood being closed when I visited a few minutes after 6pm (“Why does everything here close so early?!”).

I managed to get my things unpacked, though, and my apartment was starting to look more homey. Not having as much space as I did in my house in Michigan was taking some getting used to, but I thought it suited me for now. My apartment was small, but comfortable, and the view out of my windows onto the street made me think I was living in a painting when the morning light came in just the right way. I’d also managed to buy a used bicycle, which I could bring on the train to work with me to ride around Monaco.

By the time Wednesday came around though, I was in a state of low-grade panic. I upended my freshly-arranged closet and dresser trying to figure out what to wear. Everything I tried on made me feel like I was underdressed or overdressed. I settled on a nice pair of jeans, ballet flats, and the nicest button-down blouse I had. The train station was a short walk from my apartment, and the train to Monaco left every half hour. I arrived a little early for the 5:21 train because I wanted to make sure I was at the right gate, and had the right time as I wasn’t used to looking at a schedule in 24hr time.

The idea of taking a train to work every day was a little strange, too. In Michigan, I commuted to work by bus every day, but there were only a few cities in the US that had train systems, and mine was not one of them.

Thankfully, I found my gate without issue and managed to board the right train (I checked with a conductor just to make sure). The route followed the coast, and I made sure to get a window seat.

I had thought the view out of my apartment was like a painting, but this - this looked like something that could only be imagined. It took a few minutes to get beyond the city, but the view of the sea left me in awe. I’d never seen anything like the color of the water and the sky, and the way the sun, starting to make its westward descent, glinted off of the rocky cliffs. Even the buildings in Nice, behind us, looked like they were all made of gold. There were innumerable sailboats at anchor in what the map on my phone told me was the Gulf of Saint-Hospice.

I’d traveled to a lot of places, but this was the first time I’d ever seen something like this. I was also struck by how verdant the greenery was, with palm trees interspersed with leafy trees and evergreens. I’d grown up near a lakeshore, my small town not far from Lake Michigan, and I always thought the beaches and dunes at home were one of the most beautiful places in the world. But even those shores seemed cold and foreboding in comparison to this. Where Lake Michigan was a deep, dark blue, the water here was a gorgeous shade of teal. I could not believe that this would be the view of my daily commute.

The train passed through a few tunnels and into the Monaco-Monte Carlo station. It was a quick trip - not even a half an hour. I exited the train onto the platform and up the escalators, into the sunlight of the station lobby. I glanced around the busy station, feeling myself on the edge of being overwhelmed, but I spotted a familiar-looking blonde woman standing by the schedule boards. She was dressed in navy blue slacks and a matching shirt, with a teal wrap top over it that was the same color as the sea. She looked effortlessly elegant, even though she’d undoubtedly had just come from work. Her face changed to one of recognition as we caught each others’ eyes as I approached.

“Susie?”

I smiled and stuck out my hand for a handshake, which she accepted. “Yes, hi! So nice to finally meet you, Amelia! I’m glad you made it. Bienvenue à Monaco!”

“Ah, merci”, I said. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

She touched my shoulder and said, “I’ve parked in the garage, this way.” and led the way to the parking garage, to some sort of obviously high-end Mercedes. She opened the passenger-side door for me, and I climbed in, struck by the fact that I was now in what was probably the nicest car I’d ever been in. With my boss. We chatted amicably as she pulled out of the garage into the street, but I was a little distracted by the alien world we’d driven out into.

Monaco was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It seemed to be built right into the surrounding cliffside, building after building seeming to sit on top of one another, almost. The buildings were unbelievably close to the narrow, busy streets, with Susie navigated with ease. I was trying to take in everything we were passing, but everything seemed to catch my eye. She must have noticed that I’d gone a bit quiet, eyes fixed out the window.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

I turned my head to look at her.

“Yes… I guess I’m just more used to… everything’s so… close here. And it’s so busy. I don’t think I’ve been anywhere quite like it.”

“I thought the same thing when I came here the first time. You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”

She pointed out different landmarks and districts as we drove along, and pointed out the fencing that goes up during “Grand Prix season” that forms the boundaries of the Circuit de Monaco.

Finally, we’d arrived at a short gray apartment block somewhere on the east side of the principality. She mentioned that many current F1 and FE drivers lived nearby, and a lot of former F1 drivers as well.

She pulled the car into a parking garage, a beep activating the automatic doors, and parked in a reserved space. I felt a little awkward as I followed her into the building and into the most elegant elevator I’d ever seen. I detected a bit of a theme with this journey so far, and felt the creep of imposter syndrome coming in. What was I doing in a place like this? Was this a dream?

“Here we are,” she said, interrupting my thoughts. The elevator opened and we stepped into the hallway, and then into the door of her apartment - though “condo” was probably a more apt description. From the entryway, I could see that it was large and stylishly appointed - all clean, minimalist lines of white and gray, with touches of teal and blue. I noticed other shoes at the entryway and toed mine off.

“Hello! I’m home! And I’ve brought company!” Susie called to the inside of the condo, and a man stuck his head out of what I assumed to be the kitchen. It was Toto.

“Hello! Hello, welcome! Please, come in, make yourself comfortable.” He said, with a smile. “Dinner will be ready soon.” He hugged and kissed his wife in greeting, and turned to me. I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes as he offered me his hand for a handshake - I was not expecting him to be so tall. “I’m Toto, Susie’s husband. You must be Amelia. I’m so glad you’re here!” Now I heard where the odd vowels in Susie’s accent came from.

“Yes, I am,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wo - uh, Toto.”

Susie touched my shoulder again - something else I would have to get used to, I suppose - and led me into the living room, gesturing at the sofa and chairs. “Please, make yourself at home. Did you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll… uh, just some water?” I said, trying not to seem like I was as out of my element as I felt.

“Sure, did you want sparkling or still?”

“Uh…” I was not expecting to have a choice. “Sparkling?”

Another man came out of the kitchen, who I recognized as Jerome, and a woman I did not recognize. They must have been chatting with Toto while Susie was fetching me from the train station. More handshakes, more greetings, more “glad you’re here” and “so nice to meet you”. The woman’s name was Delphine, and she was the team manager. She was an elegant woman with a French accent. I was feeling admittedly a little disarmed by how friendly everyone was so far. It wasn’t that I’d expected them to be cold or anything, but I was acutely aware that I was now working in an entirely different culture and social strata than I was used to. It all still felt very alien.

“We’re just waiting on Vincent, he’s the other system engineer that you’ll be working with. And I hope you like pasta,” Susie said. “Neither Toto or I are very handy in the kitchen, honestly, but we ordered from a place nearby that makes a dish we love, and it’s traditional Monaco cuisine, so I thought that would be good for your first meal here .”

“Who doesn’t like pasta,” I said. Almost as if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and another man walked in. “This must be Vincent,” I thought. It was. He also had a French accent, and said that he was excited to be working with me, that he’d seen my CV and was impressed. I thanked him, but still felt like he was saying it to be polite.

At last, dinner was plated and on the table. It was a delicious spread - plenty of gnocchi with a buttery sauce with a side of fresh shellfish, a fresh green salad, and some sort of savory pastry called “barbagiuan” that was apparently a Monegasque dish. It was a dough pocket that was fried to a golden crisp and filled with ricotta and some sort of green vegetable, which I was told was Swiss chard.

“These things look like something we have at home in Michigan, called a pasty." I said, putting some of the barbagiuan on my plate. "I think they’re originally Cornish but they got popular because of the copper and iron mining boom a long time ago, but they’re still popular, especially with tourists. They’re hearty, good in the cold months. I haven't had one in years, though.”

There was also plenty of white wine. Susie poured me a glass and I took a generous sip - it was delicious, something likely more expensive than I was used to, but I was happy for a little bit of liquid courage. Not too much, though - first impressions were everything, after all.

Most of the conversation during dinner was asking me questions, which I supposed that I was not surprised by, given that everyone else knew or worked with each other already, and I was the newcomer. They asked me questions about Michigan - (“Oh, the Motor City! Did you live in Detroit?” “No, about an hour away.” “It’s very cold there in the winter, isn’t it?” “Yes, and hot and humid during the summer.”) If I liked racing (“No, my parents were NASCAR fans but I couldn’t ever get into it, Formula E and Formula 1 look more exciting, at least it’s not all in a loop.”), if I watched other sports, (“Hockey, mostly, it’s hard to not be a hockey fan in Michigan.” and “No, I don’t really watch American football, I never understood it.”) and about my family. (“No, I have a pretty small family and no siblings, and we’re not super close.”)

“So,” Toto said at one point, “Are you married?” I knew he was just trying to make small talk or get to know me, but I had been dreading someone asking. It was still too close to the bone because of the divorce, and while I figured it was probably okay to be open about my sexuality in this company, one could never be sure.

But, it was probably good that it came up then. I figured that I may as well get it out of the way before I was too far in. Plus, I could feel the wine starting to work its magic in loosening my lips.

“Actually, no… my wife, ex-wife I guess, and my divorce was just finalized a few weeks before I left.”

I looked around at everyone’s face, studying carefully for any sign of derision or disgust at my mention of “my wife”. It sometimes did happen, even in 2022, even in a liberal university town - you’d see someone’s face change and then the tension in the room would rise, and they’d look at you like some freak of nature. Things would get uncomfortable and they’d try to exit the conversation as quickly as possible, and that’s if you were lucky. There were worse alternatives that I couldn’t even bring myself to consider. Just about every gay person learned at some point that coming out was never a singular act - in a world where being straight is default, you came out every time you talked to someone new.

Thankfully, everyone’s expression was either neutral, or sympathetic.

Toto just said, “Oh, that’s too bad, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s certainly not easy.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But, I’m on a new adventure now, so I’m happy with that.”

“Speaking of which,” Susie said. “I did want to ask how you found the posting for the job. Not that we’re not thrilled to have you, but we don’t get many applicants from the US or outside of motorsport.”

“Oh!” I said. “The administrator for my old department, at the university, has an aunt that is from Scotland, and went to school with you, or something? I’m sorry, I don’t recall what her name is, but her niece is named Laura. Anyway, Laura saw her aunt share the posting on Facebook or something and sent it to me.”

“Huh,” Susie said. “What a small world. I need to figure out who that was so I can thank her for connecting us with you.”

I blushed, but I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t from the indirect compliment or from the wine.

The rest of the evening went well. I really liked my future coworkers, and Toto and Susie were incredibly kind and generous hosts. I did not see their son, but they mentioned he was in the UK with his grandparents at the moment, as it was the start of his school vacation.

Susie drove me back to the train station, parking and walking me all the way to the escalators that led down to the platforms, “Just so you don’t get turned around.”

“Thank you for having me tonight, really. It was so nice to get to meet some more people from work. I’m really excited to start”, I said, as we were standing at the entrance to the escalators.

To my surprise, she pulled me into a hug. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m really happy you’re here. I think you’re going to be a great fit with us.”

She released me from the hug, but one of her hands remained on my shoulder. “If you need anything between now and Monday, please let me know. I’ll be out of town tomorrow until Sunday evening, but I’ll find someone that can help with whatever you need.”

“I should be okay,” I said. “Like I said earlier, it’s all a lot to take in.”

“New adventures, right?” She said, giving my shoulder a parting squeeze. “Have a good night, and text me when you get home so I know you made it okay.”

There it was again - that squeezing, warm feeling in my chest, that fluttering in my stomach. It lasted my entire train ride home. I felt like I was floating when I was walking from the train station to my flat.

I texted her as instructed - “Made it home safe. Had a great night. Thanks again for such a warm welcome.”

I stared at my phone and saw the read receipt change from “Delivered” to “Read”. Then, a reply.

Susie Wolff: Glad to hear it. Can’t wait for Monday x.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 13 - The Way

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Female!OC

Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.

⚠️ 18+ | 2kish Words | Third-person omniscient | Dark?fic/Fluff? | AU/AT |

Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma, the effects of this in adulthood, smut mention, blood mention, established relationship, maybe some typos,  **Fluff is not my strong suit but these guys need a quick break before the coming chapters ;)

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings. I wrote this entirely as a trauma dump.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter list 

"It's the way you walk, the way you talk, babe It's the way you love, the way you fuck, the way It's the way you are, you're a star, babe" -"The Way" by Kehlani

 It's incredible how the world can skew the perception of your own thoughts and memories. How you can grow up being told by everyone in your life that you're a liar or misremembering details of events and, in turn, develop a sort of imposter syndrome. 

This was the case for Simone. She had spent her life surrounded by nonbelievers and manipulated to the point where she didn't fully accept if she remembered things correctly or not. In the grand scheme of things, this was both a blessing and a curse.

She brushed off Jake the Taximan as one of these events where she thought something happened, and it didn't happen exactly how she felt it did. While in that taxi, she was positive that that man had shared a face and body with her companion. Thinking back, she assumed she was just drunk and exhausted. 

As time passed, it became more apparent that this had to be the case. The more time Simone spent with Marc and Steven, the more she swatted the idea away like a fly buzzing in her ears. She knew she would sound crazy bringing up the taxi driver, who may or may not have looked like Marc if he spoke fluent Spanish from New York, so she dismissed the thought entirely. 

In the circumstance of Marc and Steven, however, they were none the wiser to Jake the Taximan and would have never assumed he was the cause of their blackouts and lost time unless Simone brought it up first. They kept those events to themselves still, afraid of how she may react, and began to keep up with them when they were the most frequent to make any crucial plans during those times. 

This meant Monday nights, Friday nights, and Saturday mornings were all Simone's.  

On this particular Tuesday morning, her alarm blasted from under her pillow, telling her to get up and ready for work. Just as she was awoken by it, Steven took the liberty of silencing it before she could get to it. 

"What a beautiful day to take sick leave." He said sleepily. Simone snickered,

"Yeah, right, and postpone all of my appointments out for the rest of the week and keep me in the office longer. Not a chance." She responded sarcastically. 

Steven groggily propped himself up on his elbow and admired her as she stretched her body, head pushed back into the pillow with arms extended above her, breasts fully exposed. He checked the time on her phone again, knowing she had an extra 10 minutes to laze around before she had to rush and get ready. He took advantage. 

"Let's start your day off right then, yeah?" He spoke as he pulled the covers over his head and snaked down her body. It was her turn for morning oral, but they didn't typically do this on work days. This fact did little to cause her to protest. 

 Once the morning escapades concluded, Simone was left with only enough time to brush her teeth and take a quick shower to freshen up before dressing and giving them a kisses goodbye.

The commute to work was shorter from Marc and Steven's place, so she arrived at the office with nearly 3 minutes to spare before her first appointment. She got her coffee pot started and glanced at the whiteboard calendar above it, feeling nauseated at the big red circle smack in the middle of the month as always before her eyes drifted to a sticky note in the corner that read:

Call Maxine.

Simone decided she would do that during her lunch break. 

After Simone left for work, Steven and Marc began to argue over the urgency of telling her about their lost time. Steven was pro-tell, and Marc was anti-tell, at least for now, as he would defend. 

"I want her around just as much as you do, but what if she's here one night, and we black out? If this is anything like those times before..." He trailed off, assuming the worst. The thought brought back the times when he would suddenly snap back to reality surrounded by ravaged bodies covered in blood. He feared that same fate for Simone.

Marc knew the risk, but if he lost Moni again, he feared he would lose his mind along with her. Steven was confused over why Marc was suddenly the less rational one. How he could sit back and keep this to himself was beyond him, seeing as Marc's always been more protective. 

"We can't assume that. We have this thing pretty well figured out. We just have to stick to it." Marc popped back in to say. "Besides, when was the last time we had a situation like that?" 

"Cairo, I know. We can't hide it forever, though, Marc! She will find out eventually." 

"Then we need to get this figured out first. You saw how weirded out she was when it was just you and me. I won't lose her again."

 Later in the evening, after a more thorough shower than the one from that morning, Simone put on her lounging clothes and enjoyed having the apartment to herself until she eventually broke and went back to see her best boys. From there, she got comfortable, ate dinner with them, and had a spike in creativity that led to her pulling out a notepad and scribbling words like she used to.

"I'm surprised you didn't become a writer to some degree," Marc told her, leaning down to reach over her shoulder and place kisses behind her ear. "Though, I'm not surprised that you're a doctor either. Shocked it's for the brain and not the body." he finished, sitting beside her. Simone looked up from the pad,

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you were always fascinated with human anatomy." He said, eyes grazing over the words she had written down so far. It was just as he remembered: comparing intimacy to silk sheets and body parts to candy. Simone smirked, 

"It's called having an unhealthy relationship with your body, others' body, and sex. Growing up, being told you can't even think about those things because they're bad. Leads to being tempted and damn near obsessed but feeling guilty about actually doing it and staying a virgin until you're 21 years old." She explained it as it was explained to her before, long ago, by other people who experienced the same.

"I guess you really only know that because you're a head doctor," Marc pointed out, assuming she learned that from her studies. The conversation begged another question that had been on his mind. "So, uh, who had the pleasure?" 

"Pardon?"

"Who took your virginity? I've been curious."

Simone was amused by the question, realizing it never came up in conversation. She'd told him about her exes and experiences, but her first time was never something she thought to explain. In fact, she imagined the affair would probably cause him to ask questions she didn't know the answers to. Still, she trucked on. 

"My roommate in uni, actually. Her name was Trina." She said, doing her best to hold back the rouge that demanded to rise to her cheeks. Marc's eyes widened, 

"Simone Alejandra Fredrick, I had no idea you swung that way." He gasped in disbelief. 

"I didn't know if I did at the time, actually. Trina did, and she had a very similar experience as me with her family and got me into a support group she was in for it. Essentially, it was for the sake of helping me out of the mindset that these things were bad. She made me comfortable." Simone explained. 

Marc got the answer he wanted in a completely different way than he had pictured. He was comforted by the knowledge that she could handle things her way and figure herself out away from the things that wanted to harm her. 

Simone interrupted his thoughts. "I showed you mine; you show me yours." 

"I was 19, in the Army. Her name was Sarah, and that's all I remember." Marc explained with a shrug. Simone met his shrug with her own, thinking about how well he kept her in his mind, not the unknown Sarah. 

"We're two very different people now, huh?" She asked, knowing the obvious answer. Marc didn't have to reply, but he took her free hand into his. He wanted to bring up everything happening and realized that there may not be a better opportunity than right then. 

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"What's that?" She asked, keeping her eyes on his face. Marc felt the words on his tongue and knew how easy it would be just to say it-

I've been losing time and blacking out. I need your help. 

But they held onto his teeth, refusing to move like sticky caramel candy. He pictured her bright eyes suddenly melting into disappointment or fear, and he just couldn't do it. What came out instead seemed easier to explain. 

"It's about Chicago. I was at that bar you went to, specifically sitting at the bar. You touched my back and called me handsome. I was too chickenshit to say anything." He blurted, trying to make it seem like a big deal. The nervous thumping of his heart disappeared once he had the wrong confession out into the open.

You nearly had it, mate. Fuck. Steven thought as he watched behind the eyes.

"Oh my god, I knew it! Ericka said I was losing my damn mind!" Simone exclaimed excitedly, pulling her hand from his and thinking back to the time and how she believed it all wrong. This made her question what other things may have been brushed off or second-guessed throughout her life, but Marc spoke back up.

"Speaking of, since when did you hang out with Ericka?" 

"Baby, after you left, Ericka was the only person who treated me like a human being. Then we got into some trouble and were separated, but that's a whole other story."

"Tell me about it."

Simone took the time to explain all the mischief she got up to with Ericka before being sent to her uncle's house. Much of what she explained surprised Marc, as he didn't know Moni to get up to much of the stuff she did after he left. She was always a bit rebellious but clearly held back what she wanted to do in his presence. He was always a good boy, after all. 

 Tuesday nights were not Simone nights. She always went back home until Friday night, but this time, she stayed a little later than intended and fell asleep with them. Marc and Steven made the mistake of letting her. 

Simone was startled awake by a shuffling in the dark of the flat. She felt around the other side of the bed, searching for the other body that was meant to be there but felt nothing. She sat up, and as her eyes adjusted in the dark, she saw him putting on clothes.

"Marc?" She asked the shadow, wondering why he would be up this late. He pivoted around to face her as he buttoned his pants and cocked his head,

"You really gotta stop calling me that, Chi-town."

[invisibleraven]

Bed sharing bed sharing! 9 rulie

Julie wondered if she should be afraid of how used she was getting to hearing knocking on her window at night. "It's open!"

Probably way too much.

"Hey Jules!"

Julie waved. Reggie then. It was usually him, Alex choosing to hide out with Willie when he needed refuge from home, and Luke usually left in the middle of the night and went to the studio. Reggie came by most nights, either because his parents were at it again, or his mind was restless and the walk helped calm him down. Julie knew she probably shouldn't condone it, him climbing up the tree next to her window, but she'd rather have him there with her than wandering the streets of LA.

Julie had the tip of her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she applied another coat of nail polish. Reggie sat next to her wordlessly, taking the brush and painting her other hand, then offered his hand to her.

"Red or black?" Julie asked. Reggie handed her a deep dark purple colour instead, complementing the electric blue of her own. "Okay, what's up? You usually don't deviate from your faves."

"Felt like it was time for a change," Reggie replied with a shrug. "Something needed to."

"Tell me about it," Julie replied with a scoff. "But then again... change is terrifying. So much has changed lately, so the sameness was nice for a while."

"Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same..." Reggie hummed. "Anyways, what do you wanna do tonight? Movie? Jam session? Prank Luke and Alex?"

"Can we just... talk?" Julie asked, blowing his nails dry.

Reggie nodded, a wide grin on his face. "Have you ever thought about the stars? Like, they're this big burning balls of gas a million light years away but we use them for navigation and stories and see all these symbols in them. It's wild."

"I always loved the stars," Julie mused. "They can make you feel so small, meaningless, but also there's a hope that they represent something more. A hope for humanity. But mostly they just remind me of stargazing with my mom. Dad telling us the legends in Spanish, using a telescope on our roof."

Reggie flopped back onto the bed, patting the spot next to him. "Tell me your favourite memory of her."

Julie recalled the day in the dahlia field, taking a picnic out with her parents, enjoying the sunshine. That was the day they told her she was going to be a big sister. Her dad had taken the picture that now sat on her nightstand just as Rose had whispered the news into her ear.

Reggie didn't have many happy memories with his own mother; a cold and distant woman who barely tolerated him. But he had plenty of MeeMaw stories. Riding horses, picking berries, being brought to the lone Temple in Georgia to study Hebrew. He extracted a wrinkled photo from his wallet, of MeeMaw and a tiny smiling Reggie, missing his two front teeth, yarmulke on his head.

"She sounds lovely," Julie whispered, her lights turned down as the hour grew late. She knew her dad probably wouldn't approve of Reggie being here well past midnight, but she also knew he wouldn't turn him away. Best not to tempt fate though.

"She really is Jules, and I bet she would love you. One of these days I gotta bring you with me, let you see where I grew up," Reggie said, his sentence punctuated by a yawn.

"That sounds magical," Julie said, fighting to keep her eyes open. "I can't wait to meet her." Julie sank down further into her pillows, blinking sleepily at Reggie, nuzzling their noses together.

He grinned at her, then urged her to sleep, following right behind as the sky began to lighten.

The next morning, Ray began to wonder about Julie, she normally wasn't one to sleep in, and it was getting closer and closer to noon. Maybe she was sick? He crept up the stairs, just in case, and eased open her door. There was Julie, still fast asleep, curled in Reggie's arms, the man dozing right beside her. They were still dressed, and looked almost too sweet to disturb. Almost.

"Ahem," Ray let out a loud cough, biting back his smile when the couple startled awake, looking at him with guilty expressions. "Seems we need to go over the rules about visiting hours again. Reggie, I trust you're staying for brunch?"

"I-if that's alright Mr. Molina."

"Ray, I've told you a million times." He then looked at Julie, his eyes stern. "Don't let it happen again and I won't tell tia. Deal?"

"Deal," Julie replied. Ray nodded and walked off, leaving the two of them staring at his back. "Crap," Julie swore. "He totally thinks..."

"Yeah. But he knows I have way too much respect for you both to do something like that! Plus we aren't even together!" Reggie protested.

"I think we might have a time convincing him of that," Julie stated, nodding towards her still open door.

"What, friends can't fall asleep cuddling?" Reggie joked. "Yeah, I'll go down and talk to him, let you get dressed."

Julie reached out and grabbed Reggie's hand, holding it in hers. "We'll talk to him together." She stood and intended to press a kiss to his cheek, a reassuring gesture. But Reggie turned his face at the last second, connecting their lips. Julie's eyes opened wide for a moment, then closed, the sheer rightness of the kiss washing over her. Reggie's other hand came up to cup her cheek, pressing a little more intently, making the kiss deeper, sweeter, and then slowly pulled away, leaving the two of them staring at one another.

"Yeah, I think the talk may have changed," Julie whispered.

"I don't think it's even necessary now. Why try to convince him of something that isn't true... or won't be after I take you out later?" Reggie asked.

"If you think he's letting me out of the house after this, you're insane. But maybe after my grounding is over?" Julie counter offered.

"Sounds like a date," Reggie said, leaning in to kiss her once more, only breaking apart when they heard Ray banging pots in the kitchen extra loudly. They giggled and went down the stairs hand in hand, ready to face the consequences, and eager to see what lay in the future for them, groundings or no.

[stlispenard]

066: on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.

“you will take half of my ration.” all, if he gets it his way. 

      james’ face twitches when eskel grunts. apparently he’s aware enough to protest even if his swollen eyes remain half-shut and his mouth is the same washed-out colour as his skin. james’ humourless laugh hangs in the air between them as he reduces their conversation to an exchange of sounds. thus, nothing much is changed in the haze of eskel’s fever. except, perhaps, the urgency of it. 

      battling an infection when you are days (weeks even — james just can’t afford the pessimism) from your target, and there is a shortage of food and supplies, is not what you want. fleas and pests live in the crevasses between the floorboards; blood, dirt, feces live on the hands of all men on board, with no real way of avoiding it. james has delegated command and left silver at the helm. the captain scarcely believes his crew will see another sunrise (at least without any trouble). mutineers may very well wait at the threshold of his cabin, rope in hand, guns pointed, but the thread is negligible as long as eskel’s suffering subsists. consequences be damned. james has removed him from below deck, barred the cabin door, and propped the man against pillows and a pile of fabrics (discarded scraps, shirts, blankets). he has cleaned, dressed and re-dressed his wounds, brought ale, wine and rum to parched lips and cursed at his inability to swallow.

      james has watched him in stillness, counted his breaths, flipped through the pages of the book in his lap that he won’t read, paced from one end to the other. watched eskel’s face morph into thomas’ and back into itself or a terrifying hybrid with their features fighting for dominance. lose one in the war you wage for the other. another fucking sacrifice to the all-devouring james flint. eskel’s blood will leave his hands with another permanent stain and he will join miranda and gates in tormenting him. the apparitions that poison his mind like some shakespearean banquo, the prelude to madness that he, like macbeth, must fend off:

avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! / thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold / thou hast no speculation in those eyes / which thou dost glare with! 

      he has hallucinated the death rattle, his final breaths, and eskel slipping through his fingers like sand or ashes. he’s imagined the worst to prepare himself for when the feverish snore that prompts it is no longer just that. james doesn’t sleep in case he misses it. he wants to be there to cradle the body until someone finally forces him to let go. he imagines the satisfaction he’ll feel from punching silver or billy or joji when they try. they’ll leave him be if they know what is good for them; they will leave him be and take him to shore to bury another lover. such lovely bones would be wasted lost at sea. 

but the fever does break.

      “and i might leave you on the next fucking island i see and make sure you have no other choice, but to recover. considering that you’re not a fucking pirate, either, i suppose i could send you to the spanish or the english and they will have remedies and food that i can’t provide. you’d look handsome in red and blue, but i suppose it will make me want to punch you a little.” 

      is there any sanity left? he wonders as he bends besides eskel — like a man kneeling in prayer — placing one hand on his bandage-covered abdomen and the other near his face, thumb brushing over where the scar on his cheek cuts his upper lip. he traces it backward, up his face and over his cheekbone and back down again. this time his finger moves over his lips, feeling them softly yield to the touch, and down to the cleft in his chin. he shifts himself forward and presses the lightest kiss across the other man’s brow and the side of his face: “your journey is not yet complete. i need my companion still.” 

@blzna/@nohtora

[lorloubee]

Espressos and Assumptions

You were sitting at the Espresso bar in the hotel that the Spanish National Team were staying in for some friendlies with Mapi Leon, nursing a now cold coffee.

“You need to tell her how it is making you feel y/n.” Mapi said poking your shoulder in jest.

You shook your head.

“I don’t want to seem like I have a problem.” You replied glumly swirling the dark liquid round in the white cup.

Mapi sighed folding her arms on the bar and resting her head on them.

“Not to point out the obvious but you do have a problem and yeah she isn’t helping matters. I don’t know why the rest of the team can’t know it’s been what a year now.”

“Eleven months.” You corrected her, your mood considerably downcast.

“Would you like a fresh one?” The barista asked smiling at you. You nodded and she quickly took your cup.

“I don’t know how you can be with her but barely acknowledge each other in public, sounds more like a booty call to me.” Mapi said lifting her head up and sitting back on the stool.

“Yeah thanks Mapi!” You glared at your friend. She put her hands up apologetically.

“I just mean I want to spend all my time with Ingrid and not just in the bedroom.” She explained.

You continued to glare at her.

“That doesn’t make it better Mapi, besides, Alexia would rather spend time with Jenni and the others.” You reasoned defending the absent woman.

“Hola.” Andrea Pereira shouted happily trying to jump on to the stool next to you but failing, she used the foot rests to climb on and smiled triumphantly at you at and Mapi.

You laughed, Andrea never failed to amuse you. Mapi chuckled softly beside you.

“That’s right laugh it up you giant.” Andrea laughed shoving your shoulder.

The barista returned with your fresh espresso, as she placed it down she made sure to brush her hand against yours.

“I’m a big fan by the way, I have a break soon if you would like to, you know, discuss tactics.” She winked, slipping her handwritten telephone number on the bar in front of you before turning and walking away, swaying her hips.

Mapi raised her eyebrows in shock whilst Andrea raised her arm waving her hand.

“Could she not see me?” She asked frantically. “Didn’t even take my order.” She grumbled. You laughed again at your friend, picking up the number you handed it to her.

“Here, maybe call it through.” You picked up your espresso and excused yourself from your friends, heading outside to the small hotel garden.

Andrea finally got her coffee, albeit from a different barista and together with Mapi walked back to the breakfast room the rest of the team were in.

“Hoy Andrea where’s our coffee?” Leila laughed from where she sat with Alexia and Jenni.

“This coffee is sacred I had to wait ages, whilst y/n got served not only coffee but the baristas number!” Andrea exclaimed as she sat down not noticing the look that came over Alexia’s face.

Mapi smirked at her friend.

“Well she’s single so why not?” Mapi answered earning a glare from Alexia who knew that the blond was well aware of the relationship. Jenni who also knew tensed from where she sat next to the Barca Captain.

“Go on y/n!” Leila cheered earning a laugh from Ingrid who had come over to sit with her girlfriend Mapi.

“What’s y/n done now?” She asked leaning over to peck Mapi on the lips.

“She’s going to meet up with the barista of the coffee bar on her break.” Andrea answered inspecting a croissant closely before trying to fit the entire thing in her mouth.

At this, Alexia stood up abruptly from her chair, her knees hitting the table causing the cutlery to clang.

“Excuse me.” She said before storming towards the Espresso bar.

“She must really want some coffee.” Andrea said amongst a mouthful of croissant.

Jenni looked at Mapi who simply shrugged her shoulders, Jenni being Alexia’s best friend also knew about the relationship and stood up to quickly follow her friend in case she did anything stupid.

Andrea watched her go, swallowing her food she sipped on her coffee.

“Jenni must really want some too.” She mused.

Leila looked around bewildered.

“What just happened?�� She asked looking directly at Mapi.

Mapi just shrugged her shoulders again, Leila stood up and chased after Jenni, Ingrid slapped Mali’s shoulder who groaned and stood up preparing to defend you if needed. They followed Leila out.

“Well it is good coffee.” Andrea said to herself as she continued her breakfast.

Alexia had asked a passing barista where they usually took their breaks, perplexed they had simply pointed to an exit that led to the side of the building.

She rushed out and found who she assumed was the barista that had flirted with you and stormed up to her.

“Where y/n?”

The barista took an step back shocked at the angry woman approaching her.

“I don’t know, I asked her to meet me but she hasn’t turned up.” She replied.

Alexia turned abruptly seeing her teammates behind her she stormed back into the hotel and passed the espresso bar where she saw you through the glass windows sitting in the garden with your eyes closed.

A shadow cast itself over you as you were enjoying the morning sun. Opening your eyes you saw Alexia with a furious look on her face.

“The barista gave you her number.” Was all she said. You frowned seeing your team mates huddled behind the furious woman, Mapi mouthed an apology to you.

You stood up, Alexia didn’t move back so you were now practically nose to nose.

“I didn’t take it.” You responded calmly.

“Good!” Alexia grasped the back of your neck.

“Because you’re mine.” She finished before pulling you in for an aggressive kiss.

Behind her your team mates, apart from Mapi and Jenni stood staring in shock.

You broke the kiss, staring at Alexia.

“Everyone will know.” You whispered not quite believing Alexia had outed you both.

“Let them know.” Alexia smiled stroking the side of your face.

“I love you y/n and I want everyone to know that you are mine and I am yours.” She said softly, you could hear Leila awwing in the background.

“So all I had to do is make you jealous?” You asked teasingly. Alexia frowned slightly and shook her head.

“No please don’t do that.” She pouted and kissed you again.

The back door slammed open revealing Andrea with yet another coffee and croissant.

“Did you guys get your coffee?” She asked munching on the French delicacy.

“I mean the service isn’t great but it’s worth the wait.” She sipped her drink. Leila shook her head in disbelief.

“I can see now she genuinely didn’t realise what she was telling me did she.” Alexia laughed at the smaller Spaniard juggling her food with her cup.

You laughed pulling Alexia in for a hug.

“I love you too Ale.” You whispered in her ear.

[bugsy-maria]

Newt Scamander x Reader (Smut)

A/N: found a thigh riding fanfic last night and was sad that it ended too soon and am in a pretty lemony mood, so here you go

it was a normal winter day in London, the cold air from the window nipped at my nose. the chilly air caused me to curl myself closer into Newt's chest while wrapping the blanket closer to my body. I heard the fire crackle and newt flip a page in the book he was reading. I closed my eyes, listening to the beating and feeling the rise and fall of his button-up-clad chest.

I wrap my legs around his, my hands rest on his chest. I enjoyed the warmth while I could because I knew that at some point he would have to go back and work on his book in his case. I felt him move the leg, the one that I was wrapped around and rubbed my sensitive core.

(There's nothing quite like writing smut in Spanish class, am I right?)

I shift uncomfortably but soon found that it was a bad decision as I just ended up adding more friction. I inhale his scent to try to ignore the wet feeling between my legs. I grip his shirt tighter, and I swear to merlin that he can read my mind cause he keeps moving his damn thigh.

I hear him set the book down and wraps one of his arms around my waist, the other one rests in the back of my head. his arm around my waist tightens, the tips of his digits pressing into my skin, and the hand on my head lifts the blanket I was hiding under.

"You warm in there?" he asks with a goofy smile. moving his legs again.

"MMMMM." I hummed, hiding my moan in it. but I guess it came out as more of a moan than I meant because he looked at me weird. almost examining me in a way. he moved his leg again, testing if his theory was correct. I gripped onto his shirt tighter, confirming his assumption.

"You like that?" he asked with a smile, pulling the blanket off and sitting up with me straddling his thigh. "Hmm?" he hummed, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer, causing a soft moan to escape my lips. my head leans against his shoulder and he moves my hair to the side so he can kiss my neck and nibble at the sensitive skin.

(I'm going to hell aren't I?)

while he kisses at the sensitive parts of my neck his hands moved. one hand on my hip and the other one lost in my hair, pulling my head to the side. the hand on my hip forcefully moves my hips back and forth. a light sigh escapes my mouth every time he rubs my clothed bud across his thigh.

his arm hooks under my legs, lifting me from his lap when he stood and his other arm hooking around my waits. I feel him hook his fingers under the elastic band on the panties that were hidden under his large knit sweater that I wore quite often.

"Is this okay?" he asked in a dark whisper. I nodded so fast I was sure that I was going to get whiplash. in a swift motion, they were off and I felt the cold air brush past my soaking core. he sat down on the edge of the bed, placing me back down on his slack-covered thigh. his left hand slicked down to my core, touching the pound of what was already there.

"So wet for me already huh?" his deep monotone voice sent chills down my spine.

(Should I give him a choking kink??? oh I'm so sorry for ruining this pure cinnamon roll.)

His right hand wrapped itself around my neck, putting pressure on the sides.

"Answer me when I talk to you." he looked me dead in the eyes.

"Yes sir." I whimpered, not used to newt being so dominant over me.

"Good girl," he said, letting go of my neck, both hands grabbing my ass. pulling me forward and pushing me back. "You think you can do the rest on your own, baby?" he asked while biting at my neck.

"Yes sir." I moaned out, wanting nothing more than the pleasure of fast friction on his thigh. he let go of my ass and I moved my hands from his chest to his shoulders. finding a speed that I quite enjoyed, he slid his hand under my shirt with the other one lost in my hair once again.

the tightening in my stomach grew more and more the longer it went on, my moans got closer together. newt took note of this though and flipped me over so I couldn't get the sweet release that I so desperately needed.

his hand went around my neck while he pinned me to the bed. he roughly kissed my lips, bruising them, his legs on either side of me. I moved my arms to the zipper on his pants and attempted to get them off of him, but he had grabbed my wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Please Mr. Scamander I need you." I pleaded, using the name, Mr. Scamander' to make him more satisfied.

"What do you need?" his lips hovered over mine. it was quiet for a bit, his hand that held my wrists had them now pinned to the bed and the hand around my neck was now at my heat. ghosting over the surface of the opening. "I don't think I heard you, baby."

"you, sir, I need you in me." I pleaded, my back arching. I just wanted to feel the release that was on the edge.

"Fine," he said. taking his pants and boxers off, getting off of me to get the condom from the tin in the nightstand on his side. he got on top of me in a matter of seconds. his hand went to my neck again, he kissed me when I finally got what I wanted. he trusted into me. his hand moved from my neck to my hair, pulling to the point where my neck was 100% exposed to him. his other hand lifting my back from the bed so get a better angle.

(Is it obvious that I'm still a virgin?)

I was sure that I was going to tip over the edge right there and then, but when he started to abuse my neck again I had started to feel more pleasure than I thought was possible. I had finally felt the tightness in my abdomen become too much, causing me to soon release. it wasn't long before newt followed.

once he threw the cum filled latex rapping away, we laid under the covers, embracing each other.

"You should have told me you like that sooner," he mumbled into the top of my head, kissing it.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in it is all."

"Are you kidding me? I've been wanting to do that forever," he said, leaning his head back into a pillow.

[insomniamamma]

Surrender: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x F!reader

A/N: My hand slipped. Soft little sick fic. Same Reader Character as “Ephemera” which was meant to be a one-shot, but you all know how it goes. I’m relying on Google Translate for Spanish because I took Latin in high school like a dumbass, so please be kind.

Warnings: Implied legal age gap. Class and power dynamics. A little bit of angst on Reader’s part. Illness. References to sex but nothing super graphic. Mostly just soft, fluffy fluff. I wasn’t feeling great when I started this and wanted some comfort from our sweet, out of touch Nico.

I'd like to see you.

Your phone buzzes and you find it in the drifted pile of tissues on your dresser. You sigh and that turns into another series of coughs, hard enough to send black floaters behind your eyes.

I can't. I'm sick.

I'm coming to get you.

Nico no. I feel like shit.

You let the phone fall back into the mountain of used Kleenex and shut your eyes. You're about three hours out from your last dose of NyQuil and the neighbors are blaring their tv again, muffled enough that you can't make out words, but the argumentative tones of afternoon soap operas are enough to jolt you out of sleep every time you feel yourself drift. The phone buzzes a half-dozen more times and then rings.

           "Dammit, Nico," you murmur and reach for the phone.           "I am coming to get you," says Nico, "I will be there in thirty minutes."           "Nico, I feel like crap, I haven't showered I haven't even brushed my teeth-"           "Your apartment is too loud for you to rest properly," he says, and he's not wrong. Christ almighty when the commercials come on it's even louder. Why the fuck does anyone need to have their tv that loud? It's the middle of the day, you can't even justify ringing their doorbell or even pounding on the wall. What good would it do?           "'M all gross--"           "I don't care. Pack your toothbrush and a clean pair of pajamas. I'll be there shortly."           "Nico--"           "Let me care for you, Osita." You sigh over the open line. If it was anyone else you'd bristle. Part of you does bristle. You don't need Nico to whisk you off to his house in the hills above the ocean. You don't need him to do things for you. Sometimes this wordless thing you have with him feels like a weight, a cocoon and ever tightening shroud, whatever it is you are, lovers? Fuck-buddies? Are you his mistress? His charity case? You hear him breathe on the open line, and you are too tired to deal with these questions. When you are with him, you feel like the center of the universe, the burning heart of a galaxy.           "Please," he says, "Please, mi Osita." You make a sound of frustration and you swear you can hear him smile. Mi Osita. You don't know what it means, and you're not sure you want to know, but you like the sound of it, purred against the shell of your ear as he moves inside you, said with a warm wide smile and sparkling eyes when he kisses your cheek and pulls you in for a strong embrace after an absence. You know you won't say no and so does he. It's hard to tell him no.           "Okay," you say, "But I--" whatever you say dissolves into a series of coughs.           "My poor girl. You rest. I'll text you when I'm close."

          You shuffle out to meet Nico, puffy eyes slitted against the light screaming up off of the sidewalk and he immediately starts fussing over you, shucks his jacket and drapes it around you, takes your bag and wraps his arm around your waist as if you might not manage the few steps to his idling car. You smile despite how crappy you feel. He is so worried, so agitated. He presses his palm, and then his scruffy cheek to your forehead.           "It's just a cold, Nico, I'm not gonna die." He opens the door and maneuvers you in, speaks briefly to his driver and then joins you, offers you a bottle off water, cold and sweating and it feels like heaven on your scratchy throat.           "How long have you been ill?"           "I dunno," you say, "I had a sore throat when I got up on Thursday."           "It's Saturday."           "So?" His face is pinched with worry, little line etched between his brows, worries his lip with his teeth before speaking.           "You could have called," he says, "I would have come for you."           "I had to work, Nico," you dig your fingers at your throbbing temples, "You know? That thing people do to pay their bills?" And when you look up at him, his eyes slide away from yours, still smiling but his hands clasp each other in his lap, curl together like small animals. You reach for him, peel his hands apart and fold your fingers around his.           "Sorry. I'm tired. And my head feels like a giant bowling ball full of snot." Nico chuckles. He pulls you close, draws you down so you are resting across the bench seat, draped across his lap, smooths your forehead with the pads of his fingers, and you feel yourself relax under his touch. He talks, something about a bit of land in Ireland that caught his eye, a stone house along the cliffs, needs restoration, two people could live there quite happily, we could look out over the sea, between his voice and the highway hum and the warm pressure of his palm on your forehead you finally sink under.

          He leads you into the cool sanctuary of his house like being inside an eggshell. Mostly muted cream with little pops of color. A cobalt blue vase of calla lillies burgundy shading to velvety midnight purple, a room divider, flying cranes in shimmering gold and pearl and lacquered black. Not so sterile now that his furniture has arrived, but still, cream colored walls and pale carpet, it feels like a pocket universe, everything muffled and cool, soft breezes through curtained windows, sun-sizzle filtered, tamed. And blessedly quiet. The only sounds are the sigh of wind lifting the filmy while curtains like wings, the tinkle of wind chimes the occasional low cry of the parrot that shifts inside its cage. Nico installs you in a chair in front of the window where the breeze can touch you while he draws a bath.

          The parrot's name is Jerry. You'd made a face when Nico told you.           "I didn't name him. He belonged to the prior owners. The husband was suffering dementia and the wife had no desire to care for Jerry. She never liked him I suppose. I have contacted a bird rescue but they have not returned my calls."           "You're not going to keep him?"           "They live a long time," said Nico, "As long as a person. Some think they are as smart as a human child. I cannot care for him. I travel too much. I am away too long. It would be cruel I think."

          Jerry grumbles and shifts in his cage, painted eggshell white, another pop of color. Sometimes you feed him banana slices, green grapes from Nico's fridge. There's always fresh fruit. Jerry's still here and so are you. He makes a sound that reminds you of the baby raptors in the Jurassic Park movies.           "I know, Jer," you say, your eyes growing heavy, soft breeze and wind chimes and bug-buzz drifting in through the windows.

           You are nearly asleep when Nico reappears, offering his hand to pull you upright. Nico at home is a different animal that Nico out and about, jacket and slacks exchanged for a soft henley with buttons undone, loose linen pants. Nico likes softness, curls his toes in the plush carpet. Absently runs his hands over things as he speaks. He pulls you to your feet and wraps his arm around your waist and you lean into him, surrender yourself to his care.

          The bathroom is stupidly huge, cavernous like everything in this house, lit by skylights, sunlight catching the billowing steam in curtains of milky light. You can smell eucalyptus oil even with your head stuffed up, between that and the humid air, your nose starts running instantly. Your clean pajamas are laid out on a low table beside a neatly folded towel. Nico helps you undress, gentle, lingering touches that would lead to more if you weren't feeling so crappy, broad warm palms skimming up your back as he removes your top, braces you as you step out of your pajama bottoms, helps you into the tub, a restored clawfoot, the water just shy of scalding, the way you like it, he pushes up his sleeves and hunkers down pressing his thumbs into the place where your neck and shoulders meet, slides a folded towel under your head and leans you back. Kisses the crown of your head.           “You shouldn't do that," you say, eyes sliding closed, breathing in the smell of eucalyptus and peppermint, cooling your scratchy throat, and your nose runs helplessly, gross, but it lessens the pressure, swipe absently at your face with the back of your hand. It is so good just to be still, the have some quiet. The faint slosh of the water when you move, soft sounds of Nico padding around the house, your own snot-laden breath. You hear him re-enter the room, small sounds of his body shifting, hunkering down.           "Can you sit up for me? I need you to drink this." Nico presses a dose-cup of green goo into your hand.           "That's the nighttime stuff," you say, "It'll make me too sleepy."           "You need to sleep," says Nico, "You will rest. Even if I have to tie you to the bed to make you stay still." You chuckle, at what he just said and at his face as his mind catches up to what just fell out of his mouth. Nico grins, and giggles start bubbling up, his cheeks and ears going pink. Nico laughs like he's trying not to, like those giggles are something that should stay down, stay hidden, as if he is embarrassed. When he lets himself laugh freely he is beautiful, it's a rare thing, like an eclipse. You wish he would do it more.           "You know full well what I meant, you wanton thing." He says, "Take your medicine. Please. For me."           "Okay,"

          The water grows tepid, and there's no sign of Nico. You dry and dress, loose-limbed and clean and breathing easier, your nose and eyes are still running like crazy, but anything is better than that churning pressure in your sinuses. Even muzzy-headed from the medicine you still know where to find him.           Nico sits on the edge of the pool, lazily kicking his feet through the water, phone pressed to his ear, speaking animatedly in Spanish. For someone trying to do the California thing, your Spanish is abysmal. One more thing that you didn't think of before taking this endless, idiotic gamble. Too broke to stay and too proud to leave. You push this thought away and take a long look at your lover. Sunlight shining in his curls, the breadth of his shoulders, the sweep of his neck, the rise and fall of his voice, his guilty giggle. You must make some small sound because he turns towards you, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He stands.           "...tengo que irme. Mi osito me necesita..." Nico closes the space between you, fast when he wants to be, wraps his hands around you upper arms and peers into your face.           "I am so sorry, I had to take the call, these developers you know how they are--"           "It's fine, Nico."           "How are you feeling?"           "Better," you yawn and it distorts your answer, "Sleepy though."           "That is good. You need your rest. Come."

          The overfilled air mattress is gone, long-replaced by a king size bed with a teak frame that looks like the height of modernity circa 1972, but the sheets are crisp and cool and welcome as Nico tucks you in. Your eyes slide closed, and you hear him move, small sound of a jar unscrewing, and his warm hand sliding beneath your shirt. Rubs the greasy, pungent balm on your chest like your grandma used to do when you were small, lets his palm rest there briefly, a warm, welcome pressure on your sternum, smoothes his hand over the soft swell of your belly and withdraws. You must make some small sound of protest.           "I'm getting you some water for when you wake," he says, "I'll be right back."

          You rise back up out of shallow sleep to the dip of the mattress as Nico lays himself beside you.           "You're gonna get sick," you protest, eyes closed, even as he pulls you to his chest, cradling you against his heart.           "I will not," he says, and tightens his arms around you. "I have a very strong constitution." We'll see, you think, but tuck yourself against him all the same.           "Tell me a story."           "What about?"           "Tell me about your friend from Milan, the one who almost got you arrested." Nico giggles.           "You've heard this story, Osita,"           "Tell me again. It's funny." Nico squeezes you so tight, so so tight.           "Alright, Little Bear, but it won't be any different than the last time. The story won't change."           "Doesn't have to," you say, relishing the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders, burrowed against him, sinking into his warmth like sinking into sleep, your ear against the steady beat of his heart. "Sometimes it's nice to hear the same stories over again."

          You wrap your arm around him, unthinking, slipping your hand just under the hem of his shirt, smiling at the little hitch in his breath. Nico is very ticklish. You have to be careful.

[misspearly1]

Be My Redemption

Chapter xx11

Pairing: Joel Miller x You

Summary: We are jumping in right after the last line from the last chapter.

WC: 6.K

Warnings: 18+ Angsty vibes. Smut, unprotected PIV. Both Gentle & Rough sex. Feud between Tommy and Joel. A little fluff in here. Lots of upsetting themes, series situations and tough decisions. Also, I got the Spanish translations from google translate so forgive me if they’re wrong and not accurate.

AN: This is the end of it my lovelies. I am sad to be finishing this series. I left a couple of 'in-game' references in there. Added fiction to the backstory of some characters. Just in case you don't understand the refs or don't remember, I'll leave the meaning meaning it in the comments below. Thank you my friends, enjoy the read <33

“I love you too, but don’t ever leave me again,” you whimpered sleepily into Joel’s chest.

Pulling on the fabric of his shirt, trying to pull him in closer, impossibly close. Joel felt your need and responded by putting his leg between yours, wrapping his arm around your back and ducking his head down to level with yours while stating clearly, “I won’t ever leave you again.”

You cried. It was painful to your eyes, they were so sore causing you a headache but you cried to Joel about how much you’ve missed him, cried about the situation about Jackie, Johnny’s and Mary’s current whereabouts, about how they’re still missing.

He held you in return and continuously kept holding you, comforting you and whispering how much he was sorry. He regretted leaving you. He told you how much he loves you and that he shouldn't have left in the first place.

Joel kept soothing your state, all the way up till you fell back to sleep, with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose, you fell asleep against his chest, and even after that, he brushed the hair out of your face, kissing the corners of your mouth lightly with tears in his own eyes, sniffling back his own stuffy nose, telling you again, “I won’t leave you, baby. I’m so sorry.”

He spent a long moment looking at you, your beautiful face marred with worry, he can see it in the bags under your eyes and it pains him deeply to see you in such a state. “I love you, darlin’,” he whispered to you in your sleep and he will say it again in the morning when you awake.

Just as Joel closed his eyes to go to sleep with you, Tommy moved away from the door behind him, saddened to hear his brother crying, heart-broken to hear you so torn apart but also, he was sad for himself after hearing Joel say he won’t ever leave you. It’s not selfish for a brother to feel sorrow from that statement, especially when that means he can’t be with him.

This time, Tommy has to leave Joel.

Awaking with a shallow gasp, you opened your eyes panickingly until you were met with Joel’s face so close to your own.

He’s here and he looks so peaceful.

Your face softened, muscles relaxed and your heart settled when seeing his face sleeping soundly beside you. You thought it might have been a dream last night. That he wasn’t really here, but he is. Pulling your hand out from under the blankets, you ran your fingers along his jaw, caressing his skin lightly, enough to let him know you're here too but not enough to disturb him.

He looks exhausted, just like you. Eyes heavy and sunken into the pockets, Joel looks like he needs a week's worth of sleep and you can’t even begin to imagine how you look.

Leaning in, you plant a good morning to his mouth, softly, and again not enough to wake him. He needs his sleep. But the most important thing is that he is here.

But where is here? You ask yourself, looking at the room behind his bulky frame that you’re staying in, it looks modernized and sleek. The wallpaper is fancy, the cabinets look expensive and for a second, you wonder if you’re inside the QZ, until you turn your head to locate the shimmer of light.

That shimmer of light being the sun peaking over the horizon off in the distance, coming through the large window, a large window at the top of a very, very high building. You could see all of Boston. The whole city almost. You’re in the downtown area.

Turning back to face Joel, you looked him over once more, giving him another kiss but to his forehead this time before pulling yourself out from the covers. Even standing by the bedside bringing the covers back up and covering him again, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, feeling like if you did, he would disappear.

He still looks so at peace and calm. Until he wakes up later, you’re left to wonder what the hell has happened to him these last few days but as of right now, he is safe and sound, and that’s what you need.

Turning around and walking towards the window, you look out to see Boston. It’s… beautifully sinister to look at. Mother nature has reclaimed its earth but the nature of humans is still evident. The roads were now covered in snow, grass peeking out from beneath with trees along the sidewalks, tall and spiky with no leaves, the spring and summer has yet to replenish it.

Ivy had wrapped itself around high rise towers, some are completely engulfed, even the window you look out from had tints of green moss on the glass and it looks beautiful, but other worldly at the same time. Cars were either overturned, obliterated or sunk deep in years worth of grime and snow.

Some towers were completely windowless. Shattered beyond belief and had fallen on their side, leaning against other buildings from bombings. You heard of the government trying to bomb it’s cities back at the beginning of the outbreak, in a effort to contain the spread of the virus. It didn’t work, of course, however, it left a truly unimaginable sight behind like this.

How can something be spin-chilling to look at yet jaw-dropping at the same time?

This is Boston and in the midst of it all, somewhere out there or over the river at Cambridge or Somerville, is Jackie, Johnny and Mary. Another worry that is yet to be extinguished. You’re in some lavish bedroom, warm and cozy with Joel while your friends are out there.

If you could just loo- “Hey, babydoll,” Joel cut off your inward thinking. Wrapping his arms around your front and pressing his chest to your back while peppering light kisses along your neck. He’s hot. Crowding you with his large arms, his natural scent and the soft touch of his lips is overwhelming.

You’ve missed him so much that the proximity of him is overpowering and you moaned. Without even realizing what you were doing, you were directing his hands up your shirt, silently asking for more. You need to feel him. You need Joel to physically quench your anxieties. To take your mind away from your worries.

“I got you, Y/N,” he murmured against your ear. Brushing his bearded lip across your lobe and your head fell back to his shoulder, mouth open with a soundless inhale when he pebbled your nipples between his fingers, “I’ve always got you, darlin’.”

Slipping his hand down your pants, he found your clit quickly and snatched your moans in a kiss. Joel slid his tongue in your mouth, grunting while you bucked your core into his hand, seeking friction and he provided that, and more.

“Joel,” you whined when he pushed two of his fingers inside of you, working you open by pumping slowly. He dropped his other hand to pull your pants and underwear off, letting them fall to your ankles. Joel was multitasking wonderfully.

Kissing you, with his two fingers knuckle and stroking your walls in a come hither motion while pulling off his slacks, you kicked off your shoes and stepped out of your pants. “Oh, baby,” you closed your eyes when feeling his hardened member spring out on your back.

“Shh, darling,” he whispered, thrusting his fingers deeper and held onto your chest for support, “Nearly there, baby. Come on my hand.”

You let go on his command. Stars bursting behind your eyes, clenching around him and soaking his fingers as he kept stroking. As the euphoria flooded your body, a whole heap of tension faded. “Good girl, that’s it Y/N.” Joel’s voice praising you snuffed it out entirely, your worries - for the time being - were gone.

“Please,” whimpering to him, you pulled his hand away and reached around to wrap your hand around his member. He sighed. A heavy and wonton breath cascaded down your neck while you stroked his cock, begging him, “Joel, I need you, please baby.”

“Put her hands on the window, darlin,” he kissed your cheek to which you nodded, granting his request. Removing your shirt along with your bra, you placed your two hands to the glass and gasped when feeling the head of his cock breach your entrance.

“Fuuck, Y/N,” Joel groaned. Thrusting his hips forward and burying himself to the heat, your cunt was dripping with your desire and you took him easily, walls instantly relaxing around him, you mewled out for him to move.

Holding onto your hips for leverage, Joel rolled his hips into yours, languid and deliberate thrusts, it was breathtakingly deep and slow. His calloused hands massaged up and down your spine, deft fingers trailed along your shoulders, pulling the hair out of the way so he could see your pretty face.

“C’mere, baby,” Joel moved forward, carefully placing his chest flush against your back. Your breasts and cheek were pushing against the cool glass of the window as he buried his chin into your neck, kissing you and mumbling, “Much better.”

Joel needed you too, all of you. Bringing his hands around to your lower stomach, he pushed you back onto him as he rutted into you from behind. You could feel every ridge of his cock stroking through your fluttering walls.

“Y-Y/N-N” he stuttered. You felt his shuddering breath on your face as he’s nearing his climax and when you came again, tightening your grip around him, his hips faltered, struggling to push though your vice-like grip as you cried out his name with your orgasm.

“Oh, fuck!” pulling out and spilling ropes of his seed down your inner thigh, his sweaty chest heaved against your back, laying his damp forehead to your shoulder as he breathed through his high.

You and Joel stood in silence, comfortably. He brought his hands up to the glass, threading his fingers between yours while kissing your cheek and whispered into your ear, still out of breath. “I love you, Y/N.”

He was wrecked, you were too. Rubbing your face against his, you smiled and whispered in return, “I love you too, Joel.”

Pulling himself away from you, and immediately missing the closeness of him, he turned you around and wrapped your arms around his neck while walking towards a bathroom. Joel kissed you lovingly while ushering you inside, you didn’t break off from his embrace, even when reached out to turn a nozzle and you heard the water running.

Moments later, you felt the heat and saw the steam filling the bathroom, but even then, you wouldn’t pull away from him. Instead, he waited till the water got cool then lifted you inside the shower with him. That hunger to feel him came back tenfold. It was a mutual feeling too, as his hard member lay against your lower stomach.

Bending his knees, he hooked his hands under your legs and lifted you off the ground. “Tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart,” he said, warning you beforehand exactly how much he indeed needs you. Nodding to him, you sunk yourself down onto his cock and wrapped your legs around his back, ordering him, “Take me, Joel, I’m ready.”

His pace was brutal and fast. Thighs slapping thighs under the spray of the water, drowning out your wails of pleasure and Joel’s grunting groans into your ear. His eyes never left yours, lusty and dilated, he was infatuated with pleasuring you, lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing him and dedicated to making you a weeping, overstimulated mess.

“Give it to me, Y/N,” He growled. His two large hands were perched on the underside of your ass, slamming you down onto him and when you came on his command for the third time that morning, you drenched him.

“Joel!” Crying to him with overstimulation from the hairs on his mound rubbing against your clit, it was too much but it felt so fucking good. With real tears falling down your cheeks, you could barely speak and Joel praised you through your orgasm, “There, darlin’, just like that.”

He kept fucking you through your post coital bliss, drawing out every ounce you could give before he quickly pulled out and spurted his second load onto your pussy, smearing his soakened cock through your folds, his desire and yours coating your legs.

You weren’t even on this planet anymore. With closed eyes, you kissed Joel passionately, whimpering into his mouth and running your hands through his hair, telling him how much you’ve missed him.

He lowered your wobbly legs, deepening the kiss and held onto you roughly, as if he were scared to let you go. He wouldn’t. That’s a mistake he would never repeat again. Joel knows that now more than ever.

You were too wrapped up in his love to even admire the fact that the water had been running at a nicely hot temperature for a long time now, if they have a limit, you and Joel were using a heck load of it during your time in the shower. If it were possible, you’d stay in the moment for as long as you can.

Soapy hands rubbed up and down your body, cleaning off days worth of grit and dirt. How do they even have soap? And shampoo? You didn’t really care enough to inquire any further, instead, you expressed a faint smile to Joel, bringing his head under the shower head to wet his hair again.

That guilt was creeping back. The guilt of being somewhere as fortunate as inside a hot shower in a safe building while your friends were out in the cold somewhere. Joel could see it on your face and brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your palm, “Well find them, babygirl.”

He couldn’t promise that and neither could you. Shaking your head with a deep exhale, you distracted your thoughts for now while grabbing the bottle of shampoo. Squeezing a dollop onto your palm and emulsifying it between your hands, you looked back up into his eyes, “thank you, darlin’.”

Rubbing the substance through his hair, he closed his eyes and ducked his head for you to reach the top better, groaning deeply in content at your fingers caressing his scalp. He loved this.

Just as much as he loved you, he loved the sense of normality of taking a shower, even though your in the middle of a bombed city just outside of a QZ, in a world full of flesh eating, mushroom covered creatures. It felt domestic. It felt like home.

Joel opened his eyes to look into yours when allowing the water to spray down on his head, washing away the shampoo. His eyes were deep, filled with adoration as the droplets rolled off the ends of his hair. He kissed your forehead, whispering, “Your turn.”

Handing him the bottle, he copied your prior actions, squeezing a dollop of shampoo to the palm of his hand and rubbing it together before lathering it through your scalp. Your head lolled back with the sensations, eyes closed while you hummed peacefully. The sight of you like this made him smile, a warmth pooling in his belly.

Bringing you close, directly under the spray of the showerhead, he kissed your lips while washing your hair. His body felt so big against yours, chest tattered with hair which grazed against your nipples and your hands landed on his pecs while his two hands lay at either side of your face.

Sooner or later, you both would need to get out of the shower, but the desire to live out this small luxury for as long as you can was higher. To live in this intimate moment with Joel. Who knows when your next hot shower will come around? Does the QZ have hot showers? Is it as nice as this tower you currently resided in?

You couldn’t answer these questions and neither could Joel. Only the fireflies inside this building could.

When the water began to run cold in the shower, that is when you both stepped out. Freshly washed and smelling clean, you and Joel dried off together with a new set of clothing.

All of your clothes in your bags had been washed as well as a couple items being added to it. Like new underwear, pants, shirts and jackets. The fireflies, so far, seemed to have plenty to offer and you thought about what else they have. Like, maybe a decent meal.

Joel’s stomach, as well as your own, has grumbled a couple times this morning and you both need to eat. Finishing off getting dressed by pulling a thick hoodie over your head, you looked over to Joel fastening up his belt buckle and you stopped him, placing your hands atop his, “Let me.”

He smiled down at you, resting his hands to your shoulders while you pulled the belt through the loops. Buttoning up his jeans and clasping the buckle shut, you looked up into his deep brown eyes, “there, handsome, all set.”

“Thanks, baby,” he leaned in to kiss your forehead before there was a knock on your door with Diego calling out to you both, “Hola, ambos son decentes?” (Hello, are you both decent?)

“We’re decent, come on in,” you called back, which made Joel furrow his brows together and ask, “You understand him? I thought you only knew a little Spanish.”

You smiled at him, “I’m not fluent but I can understand most. in between all the shit we’ve been through in the last eight years, Diego taught me as much as he could.”

“That’s right,” Diego chimed after entering. Smiling to you, he greeted you both a good morning and joked, “Buenos días, hijo e hija míos. Está hablando mal de mí, Y/N?” (Good morning, my son and daughter. Is he talking bad about me, Y/N?)

It took you a second to understand him, without practicing the language daily, you’re a little rusty. You looked between them both with a smirk and laughed, replying in Spanish to Diego, “Él dijo, eres el mejor padre sustituto que cualquiera podría pedir.” (He said, you're the best surrogate dad anyone could ask for).

That made the man smile, proud and deep with emotion, you know it struck a chord with Diego because that is how you see him. Like your father. Joel was none the wiser during this moment. Patting him on the chest with a sly wink, you teased, “Vamos, guapos,” (Let’s go, handsome).

That, he understood. Smiling back at you, Joel followed you and Diego out of the room while he held a hand to your lower back and whispered into your ear, “I’m coming, beautiful.”

Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, you looked to Diego, preparing yourself for the disappointment. As nice as your morning has been, it was time to get back to reality of the situation at hand and you asked, “Any news, Dee?”

He knew what you were referring to without context and he hated that he responded with a curt shake of his head, “No, querida (sweetheart).”

Your friends still haven’t been found and your head lowered with that pit weighing in your stomach. You braced for the bad news but it still hurt regardless.

Walking out together into an open floor, tables and chairs placed neatly with a food bar at the back, you worked it pretty quickly that this was their canteen.

The place was well lit with natural light and you noticed that everyone stayed away from the view of the windows, not wanting to make it obvious that this floor was occupied to unwanted attention.

Following their lead with that, you and Joel stayed away from the windows and headed over to where three people were seated at a table. Two women and a man. You felt uncomfortable.

Only knowing Joel and Diego out of everyone in here, it was nerve racking to be around so many people who seemed un-bothered that you were even there.

Joel pulled a chair out and offered you to sit down, you were hesitant to be seated beside the man that you don’t even know, but you trust Joel.

When he sat down beside you, Joel placed an arm over the back of your chair and leaned in, looking at you, he jerked his chin outwards with an easy smile, “Y/N, this is Tommy,” then he looked at his brother, “This is, Y/N.”

The smile tugged at your lips, you were still a little nervous but Joel had told you about Tommy and you felt confident enough to extend your hand and greet him, “Hi Tommy, I’ve heard a lot about you from Joel. It’s really nice to finally me-”

The man cut you off by scoffing at you. Tutting to Joel, he stood and walked away from the table, muttering something under his breath. You were appalled. Shocked with disgust at his reaction to meeting you for the very first time. What did I do to piss him off? You asked yourself, quietly.

Somewhere between your momentary state of surprise, you didn’t even realize that Joel had stood to go after his younger brother. You didn’t get up to follow him, instead you looked over to Diego, confused and hurt as to why Tommy Miller didn’t like you.

Holding his hand out to you, reassuring you silently that it wasn’t your fault, one of the two ladies who were seated at the table with you spoke up on Tommy’s behalf, “Don’t mind him, he’s had a rough few days.”

You smiled at her, and she did the same. With bandana wrapped in her red hair, soft facial features and thin lips, her smile grew wider and she darted her hand out, “I’m Tess.” You took her hand and shook it, then looked over to the other woman beside her.

With thick black hair held up in a ponytail, she also had soft facial features, thin eyebrows and pouty lips but her smile looked jaded. She cocked her head and introduced herself simply, “Marlene.”

You gulped. Still feeling very much out of place here, this was a firefly base and you were just a visitor. You motioned with your hands, pointing to Dee first and speaking shyly, “Diego,” then pointed to yourself, “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Marlene had a firefly pendant around her neck and you noticed that Tess didn’t. Maybe she is just visiting too? Tess looked back down to a book that she was reading previously and you looked over to Diego, unable to shake off the tension you were feeling from Marlene's gaze.

Why is she staring at me? Have I done something wrong?

Just as you were about to speak to Diego, to inquire what the plan was, Marlene spoke out first with a question, “I feel like I know you from somewhere, where are you from?” Oh, your eyebrows raised, feeling more at ease for her reason of staring you down.

“Texas originally but I was in Philly when the virus hit,” you replied to her, much more confidently now. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward onto the table, trying to piece together where the familiarity is coming from when looking at you.

Then, her eyes widened, as if she had found it and she asked, “are you a nurse?”

When you nodded to her, wondering how she knew that, you thought that maybe she might have been a patient during your time working in Philly but she leaned down and retrieved something from her bag.

“Is this you in the photo?” Marlene asked and handed it over. You took it and when you looked at the image, you were struck with a blast of emotions, memories and flashbacks to your time working in Mercy Hospital PA.

There you were in that photograph, staring back at yourself. The edges were a little worn down with time but you could see yourself clear as day, as well as your old friends.

Your fellow nurses, Sophia Robinson, Anthony Gomez, Anna Williams and the ward doctor George Beckett. As soon as you looked at Doctor. Beckett, the tall, handsome and funny man you once knew, it clicked.

“A-are y-y…” You looked up to Marlene, stuttering to speak, “Are you Marley? As in George's ‘little Marley’?”

She nodded and you sucked in a sharp breath of air. Overwhelmed with shock. Up until now, you assumed everyone you once knew was dead. You smiled at Marlene. Expressing your joy and she did the same, nodding her head with a huge toothy grin as she chuckled.

What were the chances of this happening? You didn’t know Marlene personally, but you knew of her through her father.

Looking over to Diego, you showed him the picture, “That’s me and this man, this man right here is her father. Marley used to come visit him on weekends-” you looked back to Marlene, and rambled, “Cause you would study at the college during the week and come visit your dad every weekend. He would always say, ‘my little Marley is d-’.”

“Diamond,” You and Marlene said together in unison.

You were still absolutely stunned. The world felt so small, like anything was possible and you spent another long moment looking at the picture. Remembering all the good times you had with your work friends.

As well as working alongside them day in and day out for five years, Friday night outings to the bars and clubs of Philly used to be a regular thing. You, Sophia, Anna and Anthony, occasionally, George would come too but his weekends were mostly dedicated to his daughter.

He is a good man. Was a good man?

Closing your eyes, you had a notion of what the answer would be and you looked back up to Marlene, ready to ask if her dad was still living but you didn’t have to, she shook her head for you and replied, “Two years ago, in his sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” expressing your condolences, you handed the picture back to her but she shook her head again with a warm smile, “Keep it, I have more. You keep that one, Y/N.”

You nodded while thanking her, putting the picture away in your hoodie pocket, then thought that you should probably go and check on Joel.

Turning around to look for him, he was coming through a doorway towards you and Diego, red in the face with anger and you knew from his expression, that it didn’t go so well with his brother.

When he came back to sit beside you all at the table, you asked him quietly if he was okay and he whispered in return, “I’ll explain later, darlin’.”

Marlene and Tess stood, offering to get you all a plate of food because after that, this place was getting shut down and moved elsewhere by the end of the day. Which begs the question that still lays unanswered.

What are you, Joel and Diego going to do now as Jackie, Johnny and Mary are still missing?

“You ready, darlin’?” Joel asked, squeezing you reassuringly in a tight hug before pulling away to wipe the tears away from your eyes.

“No, Joel. How are we going ahead with this? Why aren’t we looking for them?” You protested, not liking the plan that has been set.

Pulling you back into his chest, he looked at Diego, stood behind you with a hand to your shoulder and tears in his eyes. He didn’t like this anymore than you did, but it has to be done, it’s now or never.

Tess is a smuggler. She can get you three inside the city here and now, Marlene can help with your ID papers, but it means you won’t be searching for your friends. This is your only chance to get inside as FEDRA has stopped taking survivors in for a whole year now.

They shoot people onsight outside the walls and if you leave now to go look for your friends, your chance of entering the QZ is gone. What are you supposed to do? There’s so little time and too much pressure.

Now or never.

Joel and Tommy hate each other, and it’s because of you. When they stepped out into the hallway earlier in that tower, Joel shoved him up against the wall, reprimanding his brother for the way he treated you. Tommy’s defense was that you were just ‘some girl’ and he is Joel’s flesh and blood.

Everything was happening too fast. It was night time now and you were already out on the streets of Boston, ready to go underground and into the QZ while the Fireflies packed up their stuff, ready to move base.

Now or never.

Standing inside an old pizzeria, a hole in the ground with a huge plank of wood covering it, it was down to you to decide on where you all go from here and it happened too fast. You need more time to think it over. This is what you’ve been traveling across the country for.

A group of ten set off on this journey to begin with. Ten people and now there are only two. You and Diego. All of your friends are gone. Joel is going wherever you go. Diego is with you. Why does it have to be left to you?

“It’s now or never, girl! Fuck sake, come on!” Tommy yelled at you. Eliciting a pissed off Joel in his face, shoving him away from you while shouting, “Don’t you ever fucking talk to her like that!”

Diego pulled him away, “Relax Hermano, relax, this isn’t the time.”

“I don’t ever wanna see your goddamn face again, yer hear me, Joel!” Tommy had to get the last word in, one final goodbye to his brother. He looked at you, a flash of pain in his eyes and you hated that you had come between them.

“Ok,” you finally spoke out, blinking back your tears while nodding. You looked down to the hole in the floor, Marlene and Tess standing there waiting for you three to join them, wondering what all the commotion was from above and you looked back to Joel, “Ok, let’s go.”

He hugged you, kissing your cheek and not even bothering with a farewell glance to his brother before jumping down. Diego pulled you in for a hug too, looking down to the hole and carefully dropping down with the help of Joel and before you could do the same, Tommy whispered your name.

You turned to see him walking towards you and before you could panic about what he was doing, he was hugging you too. You didn’t know what to make of the gesture, why is he hugging me?

He sniffled, pulling back slightly to whisper into your ear and spoke sincerely, “I don’t hate you, Y/N. Keep my brother safe for me, ok sweetheart?”

When he pulled back to look at you, a single tear rolled down his cheek and he nodded curtly, looking at your pocket and mouthed the words, ‘read it later’. You felt him slipping you something during his hug.

Nodding back to him, you weren’t so sure on what to say to that, so instead you whispered, “Bye, Tommy,” then turned to climb down the hole too.

He closed it back up behind you and that was the last you ever saw of him. That note was burning a hole in your pocket, you wanted to know what it said but the fact that he gave it to you on the low must mean something.

Right?

Hours later, after walking through underground tunnels leading into the QZ, you, Joel and Diego were inside at last. Inside some deserted house, you sat in some room in a chair watching the snow fall down from outside.

This was going to be your temporary place for a few days while Tess and Marlene figured everything out. Right now, they’re out grabbing blankets and food for you all. This house was quiet but the silence was loud, too loud.

With Joel and Dee sitting on a sofa behind you out of direct sight, you took this moment of private silence to grab the note out of your pocket and read Tommy’s last words to you. Your heart sank after the first line.

Hey, sweetheart,

This is not how I would have liked to meet the love of my brother's life for the first time and I am sorry for how I treated you today but I had no choice. I couldn’t put my brother in a position to choose, so I did it for him. Don’t let him slip back into that darkness, girl. I never thought I’d see my brother again after he joined the Hunters, until he met you. I see the way he looks at you. I hear the love in his voice. That’s my brother - my real brother and you did that, Y/N. You brought him back to me. I hope one day we will find each other again but for now sweetheart, keep him bringing him back. Joel knows I’ll always love him, don’t worry about our squabble, we’ve had worse before. Take care of yourself and take care of him, please.

With love, Tommy Miller.

Folding the note away and putting it back into your pocket, you closed your eyes to think on his words. Tommy can’t enter the QZ, FEDRA is looking for him and he knew he wasn’t coming with you and Joel from the very start.

So he was left with one option, making his brother hate him to make the decision easier.

Joel interrupted you by coming over and seating himself on the arm of the chair, until you scooted along and he sat down fully with you on his lap.

Curling up into him, your legs hanging over the side with your head on his chest, Diego lay down on the sofa now that Joel moved and each of you waited for Marlene and Tess with your new life. The Identity papers.

It’s going to be tough, that's for sure but you’ve come too far now to let it all go to waste, too many lives have been lost and you can’t turn back.

It’s just you, Joel and Diego against all odds.

-

On the other side of town, Tommy drove out of the city on a road to nowhere in particular just yet. Being with his brother and his girl, reminded him of home and with Texas sun playing through his cd player of the car, that was his calling.

He’s heading home.

Until he came across a woman, a man and a little girl in need of a ride. Now, Tommy wasn't the only one traveling on this journey across the country.

He had three companions, a lovely lady named Jackie, a questionable but funny guy named Johnny, and a cute, innocent little child named Mary.

Tagging

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[nanaminokanojo]

[7:06 PM] Oikawa X You

LOG #8 OF MY HAIKYUU!! TIMESTAMP DRABBLES

CHARACTERS: Oikawa Toru X You WORD COUNT: 1,200+ GENRE: fluff | comfort TRIGGER WARNING: mild separation anxiety SPOILERS: n/a

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A smile unconsciously drew itself across your lips at the feeling of Oikawa's hair between your fingertips. You've always liked his chocolate locks, even more when you were carding your hands through them. You sat on the couch while he was on the floor, shoulders between your legs. He's busy watching a volleyball match on his phone, no doubt knit-picking details from the players he could possibly go against. He's in the zone, and you know he could not be bothered when he decides to concentrate on this particular endeavor.

You didn't mind the stretches of silence between the two of you, satisfied with just being a latent presence moving around him. You understood the pressure that was on him being an international athlete, and if he wants time for it, you weren't going to stop him. It makes him happy. And if he's happy, you can rest easy.

But that wasn't always the case.

You hummed as you bent down slightly, catching his scent in the air as you inhaled deeply. He smelled like summers of old, faded roses and candy floss, the distinct hints heightening over the others depending on the circumstances. At that moment, he was a direct line to things which reminded you of happiness and easier days under the warmth of the sun just as summer gives up to fall.

Unable to hold back, you placed both your arms on his shoulders, burying your nose at the back of his head. You luxuriated in the smooth strands of his hair tickling your cheeks, the scent of his shampoo filling your senses. You nuzzled his nape, lightly brushing your lips on the side of his neck before wrapping your arms around him and propping your chin on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked, feigning annoyance except that you could hear the smile in his tone.

"Clamoring for your attention?" you offered to which he chuckled. You weren't one to do that, not even where he was concerned, knowing how independent you are that he felt useless where taking care of you was involved. Instead, you took care of him.

"And you think you're succeeding by…sniffing me?"

"The fact that you noticed means I am," you countered. "I love smelling you."

Oikawa reached up, patting you on the head, his eyes still glued to his phone.

You pecked him on the spot just below his ear. "I want my boyfriend back."

"You're holding onto him."

As if on cue, your eyes started to feel hot from behind, that tight feeling pervading your chest as you thought of how limited your time with him is. Most of his days were spent halfway around the world, the chances you could be with him, holding onto him like that, was when you felt dread the most. He will leave again, and you will have to adjust to his absence once more, the phase lasting for a rather long time before you're sure you are back on track again.

"Not for long." You withdrew, holding back the sobs that wanted to break free from your throat. You spoke in a steady tone because you didn't want him to worry. You want him to be happy by doing what he wanted, and you wanted nothing but to support him. But after all is said and done, you're only human, and you craved his presence constantly.

"Y/N, I wouldn't be leaving for another two weeks," he told you gently as you moved out of the couch, your feet hurriedly carrying you to the direction of the bedroom. "Baby, where are you going?"

You did not reply to his query, making a straight path towards the bed where you finally collapsed, curling into a fetal position as your tears silently fell. When you heard him enter the room, you grabbed a pillow and covered your face with it as if it would hide the evidence of your misery. You felt him sit beside you, tugging at it, but you held on tight, refusing to let him see your tears.

Instead of prying it off you, he laid down behind you, molding himself to the shape you've assumed. It was his turn to bury his face into your hair, doing as you did earlier as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and planting butterfly kisses on your nape and shoulders.

"As much as I hate seeing you cry, I'm relieved you feel that way at the prospect of me leaving," he told you then, his pretty voice ringing into your ears over the blood rushing to your head.

At that, you tossed the pillow away and faced him. You sniffed. "What's that supposed to mean? I always feel miserable when you leave."

Oikawa's lower lip jutted out at the sight of your tears. "You never show me. The last time I left, you hugged me, turned away and left."

"I didn't want to upset you. You're the one who's going to be on a long flight. You think I want you to see me crying beforehand?"

He cupped your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs, his touch tender and warm. "I upset you this much, huh?"

You shook your head. "Not you. Never you, Toru." You snuggled closer to him, relishing his warmth. "This is why I don't want you to see me like this. I will support you no matter what even if it means we need to be apart. But I do get crazy sad when you're away."

Your words were followed by silence from his end. He started planting kisses on the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

"I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now," he broke the silence.

Looking up at him, you waited for him to speak further. He met your gaze, his bright eyes swirling with conflict.

"I would like you to come with me if you want to," he began. "I've been wanting to tell you that since the second time I came home, but I don't want you to just leave everything for me. I don't want you to think I don't support your endeavors."

Your eyes widened. "Move to Argentina, you mean?"

He nodded. "I thought it would be nice if we can spend more time together. It's kinda tiring not being able to see and hold you for long periods of time. And I thought it'd be a good way to take our relationship a step further."

You just blinked at him, unaware that he had such thoughts going on inside his head when you've had this agreement before, that if things didn't work out, you would both go your separate ways.

"You have the absolute say on it. I don't want to –"

You cut him short by seizing his lips with yours, hoisting yourself up to run your fingers into his hair and kissing him slow and gentle but with all the feeling of gratitude and love you felt for him. You held onto him, glad that you did for the last four years.

You withdrew, smiling when you saw the dazed look on his face. "I'll gladly leave everything for you, Toru. Hell, I'll learn Spanish for you."

"Yeah? You'll do that?" The eagerness and joy blooming into a smile on his face was unmistakable. That's all you wanted, his happiness. "I promise we'll come home as much as you want. I'll arrange it."

You snickered and hugged him, settling your head on the crook of his neck while your hand reached for his, twining your fingers together. "No need for that. As long as you're with me, I'm home."

-end-

God, that GIF!!! I'm like Fiona in "Shrek" with her little pink diary repeatedly saying, "Mrs. Fiona Charming" except my head goes, "Mrs. Oikawa *insert my name*." お願いだから、寝かせてください 、徹ちゃん。

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY FURUDATE HARUICHI’S “HAIKYUU!”. [20210825]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.