#but now that the babies in my head all have save files it's back to ela and his wizard man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jolapeno · 8 months

Text

in my room

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)

warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.

an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.

It begins swarmed in grief.

A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.

He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.

Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.

He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.

And then he comes across you.

Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.

The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.

Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.

You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.

Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.

The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.

Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—

It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.

Then, he’d laid eyes on you.

You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.

In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.

It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.

It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.

It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.

Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.

There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.

Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.

“¿Cómo?”

Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”

“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”

Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.

But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”

He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”

Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”

“But not you?”

Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”

That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.

Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.

Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.

And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.

A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.

A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.

“You should go inside your room.”

But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.

“Do you want me to, Peña?”

It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.

“You want me to walk away from you?”

No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.

So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”

It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.

You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.

“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.

“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.

And it does.

Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.

“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”

Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”

And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.

Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.

“Last chance.”

He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.

Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.

It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.

Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.

“Last chance,” you echo.

Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.

“This how you pictured it at your desk?”

He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.

And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.

It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.

He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.

Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.

“You like that, princesa?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“Take me so well. Y’know that?”

Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.

“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.

“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.

Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.

A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.

Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.

“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”

It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.

He’s hard to avoid.

More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.

All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.

There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.

Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.

But he comes back. Again, and again.

And you can't understand why.

You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—

Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.

A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.

It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.

Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.

It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.

It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.

Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.

On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.

It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.

Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.

You reckon he sees you.

Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.

You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.

While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.

From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.

It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.

Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.

The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.

As it makes you feel less alone.

Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.

It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.

It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.

Now, though, it’s different.

The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.

A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—

That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.

And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.

So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.

And then he finds you instead.

Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.

As though he’s seeking something out.

Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.

He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.

“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”

Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.

Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.

To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.

But it never is.

Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—

Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.

It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.

Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.

You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.

“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”

“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”

His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.

Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.

Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.

But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.

“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”

You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.

Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.

“I don’t like you.”

Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”

His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.

The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.

“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”

Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”

It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.

And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.

Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—

“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”

His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.

If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.

“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”

Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.

In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.

So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.

He knows.

You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.

Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—

“Fuck, I love making you come.”

His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.

You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.

Him and you. You and him.

A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.

You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.

It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.

“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”

A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.

Because you know him as much as he understands you.

It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.

He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.

Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.

Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.

If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.

“Javier…”

I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.

He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.

Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.

The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.

It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.

“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”

He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.

And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.

Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.

Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.

He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.

Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.

Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.

Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.

He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.

A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.

Javi reflects—thinks.

But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.

“Need your cock, Javi.”

He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.

The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.

He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.

It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.

Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.

So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”

No question, no ask.

Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.

Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:

“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”

And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.

It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.

It’s more than that.

And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.

Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.

But he doesn’t.

There’s always next time, though.

an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña x reader smut #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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absolutebl · 1 month

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We've had recent disappointments with the endings to series. For me, Last Twilight, Only Friends, and 23.5 stand out. While I loved the Sign to the end, there was that unexplained Tharn getting his freedom from Chalothorn, which made the very ending not quite perfect. And while I loved Century of Love all the way through, I know some folks were disappointed at the ending.

What are some QLs that you consider to have really strong endings?

OOOO what a great question!

10 BLs With the Strongest Endings

Some BLs had better endings than the rest of the show deserved, and some were saved by the ending, while still others built up to a good ending throughout. So I suspect it kinda depends on ones definition of strong. But here are mine (you'll never guess what's at the top? but...) it's in no particular order

Seven Days - no but ACTUALLY think about it. That ending is truly phenomenal. It ties everything together, gives hope for their relationship without being cheesy AND is crazy romantic, plus it brings the narrative full circle. That ending shot, the direction, the plot, the characters, and the story ALL tied in a neat little bow. It ends by indicating that something is starting for them, something familiar it's just now they are together. Fabulous.

Light On Me - on the beach, the whole friendship group, the kiss that mirrors their couple habit of cheek squiging? Peak YA BL. It reminded me of Make it Right, and that's no bad thing... for me.

Our Dating Sim - domestic boyfriends and then the pan over to all their couple photos. So exactly them.

To My Star - yeah, the sex scene, but remember this was when we finally realized that JiWoo not only liked him all along but actually desired him all along. The tsundere character breaking open for us to see the soft underbelly. Suddenly, all of his behavior made sense in retrospect. They used the final ultra romantic sex scene as a CHARACTER REVEAL. Fucking genius.

Semantic Error - the BOYFRIENDS of it all, the harken back to both the anime and the manga (with that spank bank file), the teasing and then the breaking of the forth wall. It was multiple cheeky punches out to the audience in a tiny stinger of a scene. Not to mention it had a kind of BL "ending fairy" thing that connected to them both being idols. Perfectly executed.

Love For Love's Sake - back in beach territory but wow. I mean this show starts with an ending. And it takes a lot for me to believe in the happiness of a parable about death and self worth. They managed it with this show. But that ending was killer.

My Beautiful Man - the ending made me reassess everything about the show, the story, and the characters. The ending made me love the show. It changed my mind. It BLEW my mind. I might have kinda lost my mind. In real time.

Unknown - there were struggles with this show and not everyone enjoyed the ending but I totally flipping loved it. FINALLY. You can't tell me that "you don't even know what I dream of" line doens't live in your head rent free.

Unintentional Love Story - not the ending scene so much as the whole final episode, it's so good. It brings the story together, we get multiple big realizations, sad baby, learning that baby was abused too, defending baby, baby defending himself. RINGS!

The Eighth Sense - so much peak boyfriend after so much angst. The casual language play and teasing, the stealing of the drink, just everything, and also how very very college it all is.

10 Others I just LOVE

Be Loved In House: I Do - ultra pasteurized cheese fest

Laws of Attraction - THE CAPED WEDDING OUTFITS

About Youth - rainbow kiss cheese fest

Long Time No See - BLOOD COVERED KISSES

Restart After Come Back Home - the pan around lens flare kiss and everything it MEANS

Bad Buddy - It was so CLEVER

DNA Says Love You - the claiming and then the tussle at the cafe? Gorgeous. Adorable. No notes.

Oh! Boarding House - a family gathering while the dads are holding hands behind the couch, adorable

Where Your Eyes Linger - that damn glow up

Tinted With You - perhaps... poly?

Wow... so few Thai BL. I guess this is Korea's strength in the BL sphere? Also more Japan than I expected and outsized rep for Taiwan. (I actually could have stuck a few more from Taiwan on here but they just get SO CHEESY.)

(source)

dated mid August 2024, not responsible for great endings after that date

#asked and answered #favorite strong endings in bl #bl with the best endings #how to stick the landing in BL #seven days #japanese bl #light on me #korean bl #our dating sim #to my star #semantic error #love of loves sake #my beautiful man #unknown #taiwanese bl #unintentional love story #the eighth sense

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radawayghoul · 5 months

Text

His Little Dove | Sneak Peek

A/N: here's a little sneak peek, babies!! this is completely unedited, i literally just typed this up in about five minutes so i will likely make adjustments buuutttt i wanted to give y'all something for now!! if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and i'll start makin' a list!!

Warnings: cursing, people being cunty but i mean...this is Lee Russell y'all...umm 18+ only, MDNI!

For as long as Lee could remember you had been there, with your amazing hair and beautiful, shy, sickly sweet smile. If he hadn’t married when he met you, he’d have scooped you up and made sure nobody else got their sticky little fingers on you. Even still, in his mind, you were his. His saving grace, one of the only people he trusted outside of his wife. He liked to call you his little dove because of how innocent and pure you looked. It was his tradition to tease you when it was just the two of you in the teachers lounge when Amanda finally let you roam free. Watching your face bloom with those shades of red was like doing a bump of coke on a hot, spring vacation evening. It sent a rush of adrenaline through him that made him wanna do it over and over again. And do it, he did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, hey Neal…okay.” You said as Neal stormed past you just outside Lee’s office. You gave Lee a questioning glance through the glass, a bit stunned you were given such a cold shoulder.

Lee merely smirked and shrugged, waving you into the room to which you did so eagerly.

“What was that all about?” You questioned, plopping down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, crossing one leg over the other, adjusting your skirt in the process.

“Gamby’s being a whiny little cunt about who the next principal is gonna be.” Lee rolled his eyes, “I didn’t call you in here to talk about that loser, Iiii want to know what you’re up to.” Lee rested his elbows on his desk, wiggling his eyebrows with his hands folded under his chin, a small smile playing on his lips.

Heat rose to your cheeks, dusting them in that beautiful, deep shade he loved oh-so-much.

“Oh, please, you know I don’t ever have shit going on. Why?” You squinted at him, suspicious about what he might be up to.

“Ohhh because I have to stay late tonight to get some of these files done on the new teachers and want your beautiful little detective self by my side.” Lee winked, leaning back in his chair, still smiling with that mischievous glint in his eye that he was famous for.

You snorted. “You and those fucking files,” You shook your head, returning his playful smile, “Of course I’ll help you, Lee. But you really shouldn’t cut into my class time, it makes me look bad.” You fake an exaggerated pout at him with your arms crossed.

Lee rolled his eyes. “Don’t you worry, darlin’, when I’m principal, you can cut class anytime you damn well please. Now, go on, git.” He shooed you away, shooting you a wink.

You let out the softest of giggles, shaking your head at your silly friend as you left his office. The butterflies stirring in the pit of your stomach were sure to do you in at some point. The feelings you held for Lee were fierce. But, they had to stay a secret. He was a married man for Christ’s sake. But you loved him all the same and couldn’t deny him even if you wanted to. He was so charming, it was impossible to say no.

So, on your way back to your classroom, you held a hand to your chest and took a deep breath to calm your sputtering heart. The heat in your cheeks hadn’t let up a single bit since you’d left him. The effect he had on you was intense. It was enough to make you feel cock drunk without ever even having him inside of you. Not that that was something you should be thinking about your best friend who is married but it was the closest feeling you could compare it to. Like you were high on the man that is Lee Russell…even if he is a bit…wild.

tag list:

#lee russell #lee russell x reader #walton goggins #vice principals x reader #hbo vice principals

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lotus-n-l0ve · 1 year

Text

HIS TRANQUIL EMBRACE

— Geto Suguru x Female Reader

I Found My Forever Home In Your Soothing Arms.

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : When late at night you don't find your husband beside you. You go out to find him only to find him in the office.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : Husband!Suguru, wife!reader, workaholic!Suguru, mention of abuse, late night talk, peaks, cuddling, 1.2k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ — NAVIGATION // JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

DO NOT PRESS [READ MORE] IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Your feet padded on the floor as you made your way through the dark and gloomy hall. Drowsiness, heavy on your eyelids. In the middle of the night, your sleep broke due to the need to use the washroom.

When you were done, you noticed the empty side of the bed where Suguru was supposed to be. The bed sheet on his side was perfect and wrinkle free, meaning he has not come back to bed. You shook your head in disbelief. That workaholic of a husband of yours. But there is always a limit as to when to take a break.

You stopped in front of a wooden door, gold work carved into it. You raised a hand to knock but then changed your mind, instead you twisted the golden door handle and pushed the door open, walking inside.

The room was mostly dark, only a table lamp lighting up the room. Your husband sat behind the table, a file opened in his hand. A pair of spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. He looked like a man straight out of romance novels. Suguru averted his eyes from the white sheets when he heard the door open only to be greeted with the adorable view of his sleepy wife trudging towards him, the long night gown dragging on the floor.

Suguru's eyes narrowed as he put the red file on the table, "Why are you up this late, Sweetheart?"

You didn't bother answering. You just slipped between his hands, dropping yourself on his lap and settling on. Your legs dangled on one side while you wrapped your arms around his torso, snuggling into his warm and strong chest. Suguru couldn't help but snort. You looked like a baby snuggling in his chest.

"How long are you going to work? Did you forget that you have a wife?" You mumbled, your fingers playing with his shirt's button.

"Just a little more." He ran a hand on your arm and placed a kiss on your forehead, "Why don't you go back and I'll join you as soon as I'm done?"

"No, thank you. I'm way too comfortable to move now." Your hands wrapped around his firm torso.

You closed your eyes, ear pressed on his chest as you concentrated on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Suguru let you be and picked up the file again. His father had given him the responsibility of a big project and Suguru definitely did not want to let his father down.

Silence filled in the room, only the occasional noise and page flipping. You tried to go back to the dreamland but instead you were led back to the nightmare. It was the time when Suguru was yet to appear in your life. Those gloomy days when you were barely surviving.

You have never known who your father was. He walked out of your and your mother's life eight months into the pregnancy. Soon after your mother fell into the dangerous trap of drugs. You were mostly raised by a grandma in the neighbourhood. She tried to save you from your mother's clutch as much as she could but soon enough she passed away, leaving you unprotected under your mother.

She would bring home different men everyday to hook up, to forget all her sorrow in sex. She didn't care if you saw doing the act or not. She always blamed you for her misfortune. To her, you were the reason her husband left her. He didn't find her beautiful after her belly grew. You were the bane of her life.

All the household work was left on your shoulder. The little money she made by hooking up was mostly spent on her drugs, whatever she gave you was not even enough for a bread. Often days you went to sleep with an empty stomach along with the beating from your mother. You were, after all, her anger venting machine.

You silently endured the abuse, physical as well as mental. After you turned fifteen, you ran away from home and moved to Kyoto. There you rented a one studio apartment with some money you had saved and got yourself multiple jobs to support yourself.

You completed your studies and started working in the infamous company, 'Iazami', as an intern. Years later, when you were twenty one, your life came to a stable position. In the company you met Suguru for the first time.

You knew him, everyone who used the internet knew him. He was the oldest son of the Geto family. 'Izami', founded by Akira Geto, dominated the hospitality industry. The company is now led by Suguru.

You first met him when he needed someone to fill in for his secretary and your HR recommended you for that position. You were nervous, working directly under the President put a ton of pressure on you. Suguru was professional. He liked things being done perfectly and on time. He knew when to be stern and not.

Soon you got to know the soft man under the disguise of a stern boss. You worked as his temporary secretary for one month and that one month was enough to make you fall for that man. You two developed a special bond, a bond, you knew, was not a simple boss and employee one.

After you transferred back to your previous position, you thought that everything had ended. Your story ended before it could even began. After all, what could happen between a billionaire, someone who literally owns the country and a simple intern. But you were quickly proven wrong.

The next day you found yourself face to face with Suguru. His hand held out for you as he uttered those words 'Will you go on a date with me, Y/N?'

Life after that felt like a tornado. Your lonely days were replaced with fun times with Suguru. Your bland dinner was replaced with cooking with him, going on dates, late night cuddles. Everything felt so ethereal that you worried it was all just a dream but Suguru made sure that you knew it was very much real.

You dated for three years and now you were married for two. The nightmares that haunted your nights before were overshadowed with Suguru's love.

You blinked your eyes, the sleepiness that you were feeling had now vanished with the thoughts of the past. Your head lifted to rest on the crook of his neck.

"Suguru?" You called him, your low voice appearing loud over the dead silence of the night.

Suguru hummed, one hand reaching to run it through your tangled hair. You smiled, almost like a drunk one.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Suguru chuckled, "Are you trying to get me to go to bed?"

"No…………. Is it working?"

"Yep, definitely working." Suguru closed the file, abandoning it on the table as he picked you up in his arms, "Let's go and get your beauty sleep."

He looked down when you didn't reply, only to see you already asleep. You snuggled in his chest again and this time you finally reached the dreamland instead of the nightmares because you knew this time Suguru was here to protect you from any harm. You found your forever home in his soothing arms.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

#geto suguru x reader #geto jjk #getou suguru #geto suguru #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #geto x reader #geto fluff #geto x you #jjk geto #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru imagine #geto imagines #lotus writes

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xxblairexxss · 1 year

Text

Saving your bacon

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x medicstudent!reader

Theme : Light on angst, more heavy of fluff

Word count : 3.4k

I feel like something’s missing but I’m not sure what it is and I don’t wanna keep this in my draft so I’m just gonna drop and dip. Oh, and I wanted to switch up and play around with reader’s personality instead of sticking to one so this time around, reader is more (idk how to explain) but more bright????? And I also don’t want to write her as someone struggling with her studies just because I think I have seen the same plot a few times around so let’s just say she enjoyed doing what she did. I know you asked for more angry Charles but for some reason I found him more of a people pleaser so it’s hard to write him getting angry at the crowd. 😭

Warnings, inaccurate medical term and procedure, as usual.

Requested!

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Charles was catching up to his favourite series, all sluggish and slothful on his day off when he heard your footsteps and humming got closer and closer to which he immediately took a cushion near him and laid down, pretending to sleep.

“Oh?” Your little skip stopped when you reached the living room. You were so, completely sure he was awake because you sworn you heard him laughed at one of the jokes on the television a few minutes ago. Stepping closer, you saw the way his lashes slightly fluttered as he bit the inside of his lip, holding his smile from exposing his little trick. “You are not sleeping!” You called out and chortled, quickly placing your medical files on the tea table before diving into his embrace, making him groaned from the sudden impact. “I caught you!”

“You got the wind knocked out of me, baby.” He moved a little so you could settle down by his side. “What do you need me to do today?”

“How do you know I was gonna ask for your help?” You cackled in his arm at the way he looked completely unfazed with your requests by now.

“Because this isn’t the first time. I just knew how your steps would sound like if you needed my help.”

“Yeah? How does it sound like?” You sat up and his hand snaked its way under your shirt instantly.

“Can’t explain it in words. Lay down or sit up?”

“Lay down! Wait,” You took back your medical files and scanned through your notes. “Oh, wait! No, no! Sit up and turn that way.”

“That way?”

“Yeah! And close your eyes! I’ll be right back.”

Charles had his eyes shut, sitting up straight facing the balcony of his apartment while trying to catch up with the dialogs coming from the tv series he was watching. “No way! I missed the important scene, did– ouch!” He jolted to the front when something cold was pressed on his neck, sending shiver up to her head. “Babe, what was that?!”

“Ice pack! Sit back down!” You pulled him back and placed the ice pack back on what you imagine the pain would be.

“It’s cold! Can’t we just pretend to use an ice pack instead of– cold! Babe, it’s cold! Instead of using actual ice pack?” You held him by his shirt to stop him from moving away while you repetitively went back to scan through your notes.

“Stay still! I’m trying to get these right! Oh, I need to move it in circular motion and never let it sit for more than 20 minutes on the same spot.” You leaned against his back and giggled. “I nearly gave you frostbite!”

“Are we done yet, babe?” He tilted his head to the side to catch your eyes, while still obeying every instructions.

“Wait, let me do one last check on the C1 and C2 first.”

Charles had always been your some sort of medical dummy ever since you started your medical school residency. You would always come to him whenever you needed to revise some of the notes that you had written as you went through different types of medical or surgical problems. Thought it looked more like you were trying to disturb your boyfriend’s peace, it actually helped you a lot. And though it looked like your boyfriend was trying to hide and ran away whenever you needed his help, he was actually excited to be apart of your dummy, claiming to be his some sort of contribution to your career.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Oh, this is sour! Babe, give it a try.” His face was all wrinkled up as he tried to feed you the fruit to which you refused. “Try it.”

“I don’t like sour berries!”

“It’s good though.” He popped another one into his mouth and shivered when the sourness hit, causing you to laugh.

“Your face doesn’t seem like it. I think I picked the wrong batch, baby. We need to let it ripe a little longer.” You sprinkled some salt into the the pot before letting it stir. Charles was too busy chumbling on the berries to realise that you had been staring at him with your arms folded.

“So,” You spoke and he stopped chewing.

“Why? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, but let’s say you come in with your nose bleeding.” You moved closer, half leaning your body against his side with your head tilted up so you could admire his pretty face.

“Ah, so we are doing this?” He pushed the berries away and propped both hand on the kitchen counter. “Okay, let’s pretend my nose is bleeding. What’s next?”

“And I asked you how did your nose bleed. What would you say?”

“Babe, I’m completely lost with whatever topic or disease you are proposing right now.” He hummed, eyes wandered away to think of an answer. “I would say “How I would know, doctor. That’s your job to find out.””

“Charles!” You bursted out laughing and he chuckled along, casually left a soft pinch on your cheek.

“I don’t know, pretty. What should I say?”

“Let’s say you got into a mild accident a few hours ago but you refused to go to the hospital because you thought you were fine but then!” You dramatically gasped and Charles’s eyes widen in amusement. “Then you started feeling blockage in breathing. This is one of the symptoms for?”

His lips curved downwards as he shrugged. “I don’t know. Flu?”

“Wrong!”

“Dang it, that was my best shot. What is it then?”

You giggled and stood on your toes to kiss on his cheek. Charles would always try to answer your questions though he never got any of it right but you just found it adorable how he never gave up because he said he would get it right one day. “Septal hematoma! I need to drain it before it collapses your nasal bridge.”

“Really?! Wow, never knew that. How do you drain it?”

“You are gonna fall asleep before I even start explaining the first procedure. Oh, are we still going to the event tonight?”

“What event?” He raised his brow and his mouth went wide when he realised about it. He was talking about an event a few weeks ago and you decided to tag along. You were rarely seen attended any of his weekend events. Even more after you started your practical and though he never said anything about it, you still felt guilty about it, especially when you saw his pictures at any events that you didn’t attend, all alone while most of his friends would have their partners by their side.

He was a little dubious when you told him you wanted to attend his next event. He didn’t want to make it seems as if he was forcing you to do something that you didn’t want to because he knew both of you have different schedules and accountability as a student and an athlete, or public figure. You had to reassure him that it was something you wanted to do, not because you felt like he was forcing you in some sort of way. A fresh breath of air was the reason that you came up with, professing that you needed to get away from your cases this weekend.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Are you sure you want to go?”

“I’m all dressed up!” You clipped on your left earrings and gave a little twirl. You had chosen a satin dress with crisscross backless as it would be the perfect dress considering the event was more leaning towards an informal night out vibe. “Why?You don’t… want me to go?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, babe.” He held your hand, wrapping both of his and your arms on your waist as he turned you around, making you faced the mirror. “You are literally the most beautiful doctor I have ever seen.” He stared at your reflection admiringly, giving a soft smile when he locked his eyes with yours in the mirror and pecked on your neck.

“Nice try, handsome but I’m not a qualified one yet.”

“But you will be.”

“Not if I fail my residency.” You spun your body to face him, hands on his shoulders as you found yourself getting butterflies from seeing his face up close, even after all these years.

“Did you forget how many times you made me suffer with all those on hand practices? It’s impossible for you to fail.” He stole a kiss on your newly applied gloss and left the room before you could scream at him.

“Stop kissing me when I got my lip gloss on!”

“Can’t help myself. Come on, we gotta go.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎��﹎﹎﹎

“Is this normal?” You blinked as Charles made the final turn towards the entrance of the club. There were tons of people with cameras hung around their neck gathered in front of the building. They would congregate towards every cars regardless of who it was.

“No, not at all. It might have something to do with the other event that is happening at the casino, I think.” Charles saw you clasped your hands together on your lap and knew what you were feeling even when he didn’t see your face. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little surprised.”

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna leave you behind. Don’t let go of my hand okay?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and was going to unlock the door, when he stopped himself. “No, babe, hold on. Wait for me.” You retreated your hand from the shotgun door as he hopped off the car. Charles handed his car key to the valet staff who greeted him as he walked around to get to your side. You saw the flash went off, following your boyfriend all the way to your side. Though the front windscreen window was half tinted, you could still see how bright it was.

“Ready?” Charles leaned in, one hand gripped on the door seal and other arm at the end of his car roof to make sure you felt safe and had the people blocked before your could step out.

“Ready!”

He offered a hand, while keeping his other on still gripping of the weatherstrip so the door wouldn’t be opened too wide. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay?” He brushed his lips on your cheek before moving away so you could step out.

The first few interactions with the fans were fine. He was handed notebooks, caps, and shirts to be signed. Even a few selfies here and there. You were gripping on his jacket, a little uneasy when you heard a few men with cameras started shouting and scream. At first it sounded far, as if it came from the casino so it shouldn’t be a problem to you. Soon enough, the shouting went louder as if it was brought closer to you by a wave and the fans who were asking for Charles’s autographs and pictures began yelling out to stop the shove and push. Charles heard the commotion and intertwined his hand with yours before making his way to the building before it got any worse.

The flashes suddenly went off to your direction and you could barely see where you should placed your heels, your free hand immediately tried to shield your face. Even some of the fans from earlier started to get shoved around, some even used it as an opportunity to take closer pictures of both you and Charles.

“Charles..” You breathed out, feeling yourself getting pushed. You could feel the crowd getting closer as you tried go get out of the way. He didn’t reply but you could feel his grip on your hand getting more firm as he tried to step away from the crowd.

“Don’t push!”

“Give them space!”

You kept on hearing the words being shouted over and over amongst the crowd but you still felt all closed up with them getting closer and closer regardless of the orders. You let out a gasp when you lost your balance as the crowd started pushing one another, causing a few of them to accidentally inclined towards you.

He stopped and turned back, looking all worried. “You okay? Baby, here. Hold my arm.” You regained your composure and held, more like clinging on his arm while your other hand still fully secured in his. It felt like forever for you to pass your way through the throng, even with the help of the person in charged because none of them even bother to listen and kept on pushing one another towards you.

“Stop it!”

You heard another howl from one of the crowd when you stumbled back as few people were pushed in front of you, the impact caused your hand to slip away from Charles when you tried to move away from the pack of people, your arms were pressed on your chest while you swayed back and forth from constantly being pushed from every sides.

“Y/N– excuse me!” Charles tried to get back to you but he got pushed back by the crowd even more.

“I can’t– !” He heard you called out to him before your voice was swamped with voices amongst the number of people.

You tried to wrap your arms around your body, feeling as if you taking up the space was the reason why you felt suffocating and squeezed up but a sudden shove caused you to jerk forward. You tried stop your fall with your hand but the impact sent a jolt of pain on your wrist. The pain made you wince as you tried to retract your hand but it was stepped on over and over by the number of feet around you.

“Charles, here.”

He was pulled out from the crowd and was being assisted, more like dragged towards the entrance of the building before he stepped back. “I need to get back to my girlfriend.”

“Leave it to us.”

“No.” He sprinted back out and tried to scan amongst the crowd. It got a little under control now that they had enforced more people in charge though the pushing and shoving was still going on.

“Please let me pass..” It took you a while to get back on your feet and tried to squeeze your way out when a camera was thumped on your face, causing your head to tilt. You couldn’t see anything else other than constant flash and light. You started choking back tears and dabbed on your philtrum when it felt like something warm trickled down your nose.

You tried to move away, hand kept on wiping your philtrum as the blood was still leaking down your nose when you felt a firm grip on your arm, yanking you away and out from the crowd. Charles had saw you in the midst and just grabbed on whatever he could get. The grip was harder that he had wished for but he needed to get you somewhere safe, regardless whatever force he had to use.

Your face was forcefully crashed against something hard but you were too beat to repudiate that you continued to cry against the embrace. It was when the familiar scent hit you when you finally realised it was your boyfriend.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. I’m so, so, sorry.”

You refused to pull away, your whole body was aching but the stroke on your hair and the strong grip on your back made you feel safe, away from the furore. “I was– “ You sobbed. “I was so scared.”

He could feel you trembling in his hold, your head tried to look back to make sure you were really away from the people. “Y/N– Y/N, look at me. Baby, look at me. You’re okay. I got you. You’re okay.”

He leaned away but you could still feel his body latching against yours. “Fuck, you’re bleeding.” Holding your face in his hands, he started scanning through your pretty face. That was when he actually saw the bruise on your temple, your bloody nose and your flushed cheeks. When he caught you by your arm earlier, he was a little at eased as it felt like you weren’t harm but you were far from it. You kept on sobbing, your hand wiped on your tears that was threaten to fall from your chin. “Let’s go home, alright? I’m taking you home.”

Charles wrapped his arm on your waist as you leaned against him while he tried to get you to his just newly parked car.

“Y/N, a picture!” One of the paparazzi snatched on your sprained arm, causing you to shriek in pain.

“Hands off my girl.” He pushed the guy away, feeling so close to land a punch on that face but he had to hold himself from causing any scene that he knew would feed these people even more. Instead of placing his hand back to your waist, he lifted you up in his arms as you placed one arm across his neck, the sprained arm to your chest. He didn’t know you had any other injury because your hand was out of his sight the whole time.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Is your nose still bleeding?”

“I think so…” You dabbed the tissue that Charles had given to you when he got in the car and still found a fresh, wet blood stained.

“Keep on pinching your nose, alright?”

“Where did you learn how to treat nosebleed?” You tilted your head to the side and stared at your boyfriend in surprise.

“From my doctor girlfriend.” He gave your hair a stroke and pressed on the pedal as the light turned green.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Baby, stay there. I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” He left you and rummaged through the kitchen drawers. “Let’s treat your wrist first.”

You winced and pulled your arm away when he wanted to place it on his lap. “It hurts..” You didn’t think it was that bad but it still hurt. The tears started to fill your eyes again but you looked away so it wouldn’t roll down onto your already wet cheeks.

“Oh, was it too harsh? Sorry, baby.” He scooted closer and tried to place your hand on his lap more gentle this time. “Here. I’m gonna use– yeah, I’m gonna use the one with velcro.”

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah, I have seen you did it to me before.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

flash

Charles groaned a little when he heard you placed all sort of stuffs in front of him. “Babe, can I borrow your hand?” He heard you whispered as you sat cross legged on the floor.

“Right now, baby? Let me sleep 5 more minutes.”

“You can just keep on laying down.” You replied as you pull his hand from under his head. He was laying on his stomach on the couch before you disturbed his peace with the first add kid and your notes with you. “I just need your hand.” He is still in the same position, just his arm dangling from the end of the couch.

“Like this,” He heard you kept on murmuring, as if you were chanting something whilst he was trying to get back to sleep. “and this,” He peered at you first with a frown and soon after a smile formed on his lips. “around the thumb,” You were completely focused on wrapping his hand with the compression bandage, completely unaware and thinking he was still sound asleep. He would always find the little wrinkles in between your brows whenever you were too focused on some things made you look so adorable so instead of dozing back, he was gazing at you with fondness.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“I thought you were asleep when I wrapped your hand!”

“I wasn’t. Your little mumble kept me awake.” He rolled the elastic compression bandage around your wrist one last time before securing it with the velcro. “There you go. Did I do I right?”

“Yeah!” You held your now fully wrapped wrist. “I think you did it better than me.”

Charles had left you again to get an ice pack and you leaned against the back pillows. You were expecting neon lights and loud music before you left the house, not coming back with bleeding nose, bruise, and a sprained wrist.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, just a little overwhelm. Can we cuddle?” He then took a spot next to you, ice pack still in hand as as you leaned your head on his shoulder. His hand is on your back while you propped your legs on his laps.

“How did you get those bruise on your head?”

“One of the man accidentally hit me on the face but I don’t think it was on purpose.” You were playing with his necklace when dabbed the ice pack on your temple, causing you to move away. “It’s cold!”

“Oh, so now it’s cold? Was it warm when you dabbed it on my neck for no reason a few days ago?” He pulled you closer to dab the ice pack back on your bruise. “Baby, stay still!”

“I’m getting brain freeze! Stop it!” You giggled and pushed him away.

“You are overreacting! It’s not even 20 minutes yet.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

Text

Pink Pastels Pt 16

Description: Miguel and Gabi have a much needed talk.

Part 17

Miguel and Gabi walk you back next door. He watches as you give her a tight hug, whispering platitudes in her ear before you let go. You then brush your lips across her forehead and giving him a small smile, then the door to your apartment is closed and Gabi starts to cry once more.

Miguel scoops her up, cradling her to his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her tears wetting his shirt as she sobs. He misses holding her like this, when she was a baby she clung to him constantly, crying if he put her down for even a second. Then she grew older and became so curious about everything, she wanted to be on the ground, have the freedom to run and play and explore the world around her.

He’s proud of her for being so courageous, so adventurous it reminds him of a younger him, before he became Spiderman, before he lost his original universe and searched the multiverse desperately for a new one. But he’s forgotten that courage takes a lot of strength, and obviously Gabi has been running on empty for a while.

“Gabi, Mija, I’m sorry.” He says, settling on their couch and squeezing her tightly.

“Why are you sorry?” She asks, looking up at him with those big round eyes.

He can’t explain how much he loves his daughter; he’s tried a million times to verbalize the depth of his emotions and finds he always comes up short. So he’s come to the conclusion that it’s simple. He loves her beyond words.

“I didn’t notice you heard my call with your mother, and then I continued to fail to see how it hurt you, and I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to feel all that sadness on your own.” He shifts her, so she’s facing him, and brushes back the hair from her face, it’s like his mother’s hair. He’ll have to call her, ask her how she’s doing, if she wants to see him and Gabi sometime soon.

She snuggles into him, her tears slowly drying. “It’s okay, Papá, I’m strong.”

He swallows hard, tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

“Mijo you shouldn’t have done that, you know your father; he gets angry.”

“But Mamá it’s not fair he shouldn’t treat you like that.”

“It’s better me than you or Gabriel, I’m strong Miguel, I can take it.”

He fears he’s going to wretch, and he takes a deep breath counting ten things he can see, he can feel, hear, smell, until his heart rate has slowed, and the nausea is gone.

“You are strong, but you are also little—”

She goes to protest, and he stops her with a playfully stern look that makes her giggle.

“You are my baby girl, my daughter, you are not alone, you will never be alone, you don’t have to be strong all by yourself, especially not when you’re sad.”

Gabi mulls over his words, fidgeting with the little watch he made for her. “But I want to be strong like you.”

“Mija, I am strong because of you. Because I love you so very much, and I want to make sure the world is safe for you.” He tells her, praying that she understands how earnestly he’s speaking.

She nods and wraps her arms around as much of his torso as she can. “I love you, Papá, and I promise I’ll tell you next time I’m sad.”

He returns her hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “I love you more than you can imagine, Mija.”

He makes a mental note to make sure Lyla saves this video file, adding it to the hundreds upon hundreds of clips he has saved of Gabi. He’ll never have enough, never get enough time with her, but here in this moment he feels like everything he’s done, everything he’s been through and suffered was worth it.

“I think Ms. Y/N saw my superpowers.” Gabi says hesitantly, her voice muffled by his chest.

He pulls back, scanning her face. “What?”

“I got mad, and I threw my doll, and now the wall is broken.” She says as she leads him into her room.

Miguel’s mind is turning, churning, roiling. You know he’s Spiderman, as of last night, but he hasn’t been able to go through it with you to explain what happened, or to tell you how Gabi might have developed a lesser version of his abilities and was just now coming into her powers.

He inspects the wall. It’s a small dent, but clearly in the shape of a doll. He can fix it, he’s picked up a number of skills during his time in the multiverse, but he isn’t sure how you’re going to react to the truth.

“What did Ms. Y/N say when this happened?” He asks carefully, running calculations in his head of how much damage control he was going to have to do. You’re a reader, he knows this. Maybe he’ll hack into your laptop and see what kind of books you like. Buy you a first edition of your favorite book, or see if there’s any erotica, you’re fond of that he can read and put to good use to distract you.

Gabi’s brushing her doll Carmen’s hair in rapid jerky strokes, something she did when she was nervous. “Nothing, she just kept playing with me. Well…she seemed a little…tomada por sorpresa.” Trsl: take/taken by surprise.

He smiled at her lapse into Spanish. Gabi spoke both languages fluently, but he noticed a year or so ago that she’d picked up a quirk from him. They both tended to fall back on his first language whenever they were nervous or overwhelmed with emotions.

“Ah, well, Ms. Y/N just found out I was Spiderman last night.” He’s taking a gamble, telling her this. He knows Gabi can keep a secret, she’s been keeping theirs since she was little, but now that you’re involved, he isn’t sure how she’s going to react.

Gabi nods. “Well, that’s okay because you’re going to get married, and married people have to keep each other’s secrets, that’s what Auntie Monica said.”

His half-sister would say something like that…

“She is right, married people do keep each other’s secrets, but Gabi, Ms. Y/N have only known each other for a little while now, not even half a year. Most people like to know each other for at least a year before they get married.”

Gabi sets down her doll and her lips tick to one side in thought. “Yeah, I guess you should wait until the year is done, because if you marry her, then they might move me out of her class. Kids don’t get to be in their mom’s classes, apparently, it’s called a conflict of interest, but I just think it’s because then they’ll be the favorite. But I’m already Ms. Y/N’s favorite, so I don’t think it’ll be any different.”

Miguel laughs, he doesn’t mean to, but that’s his daughter, thinking three steps ahead while still attempting to get what she wants.

“It’s true!” Gabi pouts. “She’s still wearing the necklace we gave her!”

Yes, you are, and he is so thankful for that fact.

“You’re right, Mija, she is.”

She gives him a smug, satisfied ‘I told you so’ smile and begins to clean up her toys. “I bet if you asked her on a date, she’d say yes.”

“I think Ms. Y/N would say yes, but her job is very important to her, so she wouldn’t agree to go out with me until the year was finished.”

“So, you’ll just have to go on secret dates like in the telenovelas, me and Tia Margo watch.” Gabi says, nodding her head knowingly, as if this had been his plan all along, and she was just now catching on.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a half exasperated, half amused smile on his face. “No more telenovelas for you, they’re giving you too many crazy ideas.”

Gabi throws herself into his lap dramatically. “No Papá, but I need them to live, they’re the only thing keeping my secret half-sister maybe actually my cousin alive.”

He laughs again and shakes his head, scooping her up and holding her above his head, making her giggle. “But I do not, for I am the evil tio and I want your half-sister maybe cousin gone, so I can steal her inheritance.”

“¡Monstruo!” Gabi gasps, her face an exaggerated look of horror and surprise. Trsl: You monster!

“Yes, I am an evil monster who says now it is time to go to bed, so you can wake up and have a good day at school tomorrow.”

Gabi wrinkles her nose, but nods, and he sets her back down. She throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I love you, Papá.”

He hugs her back. “I love you too, Mija.”

If you haven't seen my answer to an ask, I will be going on vacay for 10 daysss, but I'll be back and will be picking this fic up once I return, so don't worry! I'm not abandoning it!!!!

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

#miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #meg's writing #miguel's pastels #spiderman 2099 x reader #more good dad Miguel

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traveler-at-heart · 1 year

Text

Shopping

Summary: Natasha hates shopping, but an incident might change her mind.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Who knew saving the world was so much work.

Specifically, paperwork.

Thor, unfamiliar with Earth’s customs and the bureaucracy of any organization, always had trouble filing his reports. You volunteered to spare him of endless hours sitting in front of a computer and to save Steve the frustration of trying to figure what the god meant when he wrote things like “the screams of our victims can be heard from Hell”

Only, you had been at it for almost three hours now. You stretch, feeling your back muscles strained.

Time for a snack break.

Which you were doing, eating cereal and browsing through some emails. There’s a sale at your favorite store. Maybe, if you find the right outfit, you’ll agree to that blind date Tony’s been nagging you about.

The day seems to be getting better, until Sam rushes past you, mumbling.

“Run, hide, anything”

“What?” you say, mouth full of cereal. He’s already gone. Five seconds later, Natasha storms in. “Oh, hey, Nat”

She glares and you gulp down the rest of your food. Against your better judgment, you smile again and ask her if she wants to go shopping. You can’t stop talking, she makes you that nervous.

“I hate shopping”

You already know it and she tells you for good measure, before rolling her eyes and leaving the kitchen.

Right.

“Bucky, she’s alive,” Sam whispers as you walk back to your room.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She was pissed. Had an argument with Tony” Bucky barely opens his door.

“They always do”

“Romanoff looked ready to kill him”

“She always does. And why are you hiding behind the door?” you look at Bucky.

“He ate all of Romanoff’s angry cookies” Sam replies.

“Terrible timing”

“Yeah” Bucky sighs, peaking around to see if Natasha is coming to kick his ass. Frankly, you wouldn’t stop her.

“Well, if you’re done gossiping, I have a shower to take”

“Where you going?”

“Shopping” you immediately shut down Sam’s curious tone. These boys are so nosy.

“Can I come?”

“Absolutely not. You always flirt with the girls and I can never get them to help me out”

“Oh, come on”

“Knock it off or I’m telling Nat you ate those cookies”

“No!” he sprints down to his room, while Bucky shuts the door so fast, you swear the wood cracks.

Ugh, it’s like living with teenagers. Thankfully, you have a plan. As you suspect, Natasha is going around the kitchen cabinets, mumbling something about “killing Barnes”

“Hey” you don’t expect her to respond or turn around, so you just place the package on the counter. “I know those man babies eat everything on sight, so I always have some saved in my room. Your favorites”

Natasha stops her movements, but still won’t turn around.

“Thanks” she finally says as you walk back to your room.

You wish it was enough to make her feel better. You also wish she trusted you enough to vent about what it is she’s so upset about.

But with Natasha, there’s always been a wall. You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, because you find her so attractive, endearing and even cute.

If you get close, then you’re sure it’s going to evolve from slight crush to full time pining.

That can’t happen.

These thoughts take up most of your shower time and as you get ready to leave, you only turn around once to check your hair.

There’s a surprise waiting for you at the garage. Someone sitting on the driver’s seat of your car.

Natasha looks up and smirks.

“I don’t let anyone else drive”

“Mind you, I’m more worried about how you broke into my car without the alarm blaring” you tsk as she takes the keys from your hand.

She shrugs her shoulders and to your surprise, guesses which mall you’re heading to.

“I notice things too”

“You’re talking about those cookies?”

“I guess”

“Well, you’re always welcome to get them from my room. Secret cabinet behind the mirror”

“Nice”

You chuckle and she actually looks like her mood is improving.

And you… you are approaching the pining stage at an alarming rate.

“So, what are you looking for?” she asks when you finally get to your favorite clothing store. Natasha looks completely out of place between the lighting and the bland pop music playing in the background.

When she turns around, she finds you putting some lingerie sets over your clothed body, evaluating the shape and color.

She’s thankful you’re too focused on your own reflection to catch her blushing madly. Now is not the best time to picture you wearing one of those sets.

“Oh, maybe something to go on a date” you reply, choosing the black lingerie.

That answer is enough to put her in a bad mood again.

After a few minutes looking around, you sense that she’s starting to get impatient. Natasha shrugs her shoulders at every dress you show her. You might as well be holding a hot dog suit to get her approval.

“Alright, I’m going to the dressing room. Hold this” you give her your purse, to guarantee she won’t flee the minute you close the door.

“Don’t be long” she mumbles when you’ve barely taken your top off. Without thinking much about it, you peak through the door and smile mischievously.

“Relax. If you’re a good girl I’ll get you something nice”

The redhead blushes furiously as you close the door again. You think it’s pointless to show her the dress, thinking she’ll just shrug and make a non committal hum.

You’re on dress number three and think it’s the best one yet.

“Shit” your smile is quickly replaced by a frown when you realize the zipper on the back is stuck. “Nat” you call frantically for her.

“What?”

“I’m stuck”

“What…?”

“Come here” you jump out of the dressing room and pull her inside, shutting the door behind you. “The zipper. Can you pull it down?”

“Y-yes”

“Ok, go” you move your wavy hair out of the way, expecting it to be over with one swift motion.

But Natasha’s touch is surprisingly soft and delicate. You feel her breath close to your neck. Fuck.

“Fuck” Natasha says and you snap back.

“What is it?”

“It’s really stuck” she sits on the little chair at the corner of the room and pulls you along. As she keeps trying to undo the zipper, your body gives in, sitting almost on her lap, your back to her front.

“Almost… there” she grunts, pulling so hard that you end up actually sitting on her lap, squealing at the force of her movements. “Sorry, sorry, I got you”

“I thought I was gonna die” you sigh, not moving away from arms that are circling your waist.

“Trained spy is scared of a little fabric?”

“Jerk” you stand up, but the dress is halfway down, limiting your movements. It falls completely to the ground, you stumble and turn, landing once again on Natasha’s lap, this time face to face.

Or rather… Breasts to face. She has her entire face on your lingerie clad breasts.

“Jesus, Nat, I’m sooo sorry…” your apology dies down when you feel strong arms pulling you closer. You look down and find emerald eyes, pupils dilated with lust and lips parted, waiting for permission to move forward.

There’s not much else to think about, so you place your hands on either side of her face and kiss her, desperate and fast. Natasha moans against your mouth, moving down to your neck and sucking until she leaves a mark. Her expert fingers are trying to unclasp your bra when...

“Everything ok in there?” a store clerk asks. You break apart, feeling frustrated and very much turned on.

“Yeah, I’m almost done here!” you shout, a little too out of breath.

“I think your friend left. She really hates shopping, huh?”

“Oh, I think I’ve managed to change her mind” you wink at Natasha before putting your clothes back on.

“Stop” Natasha says as you head back to the Compound, one hand on the wheel and the other hovering above your leg.

“I’m not…!”

“You’re staring”

“You’re a really good kisser”

The redhead blushes and you think you’re in love.

No turning back now.

“So… when’s your date?”

“I don’t know, when are you free?”

“But I thought...”

“Tony was insisting on setting me up. That was before I knew my not-so-secret crush wanted to have her way with me in a dressing room”

For the first time ever, Natasha is speechless and you laugh.

“So how about tomorrow?” she finally asks as she parks your car.

“That works for me” you walk side by side and then smile. “See? Aren’t you glad you went shopping with me today? You got to pick the clothes you’ll rip off of me”

Natasha stops walking, and she’s actually considering just taking you up to her room right now.

“Tomorrow” you promise, smiling as you peck her lips.

“Hey”

“Yes, Sam?” you still have a silly smile, walking back to your room.

“I just saw Natasha and she smiled at me. Do you think she’s ok?”

“Yes, Sam” you roll your eyes, but he keeps staring. “What?”

“What’s that thing on your neck?”

Fuck. You slap your hand over the hickey and rush to your room.

“None of your business”

“As long as you keep her happy!”

“Shut up, Wilson”

#Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 months

Text

The Iceman Cometh - Dean x Reader

“The Iceman Cometh” - Dean x Reader

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader

Tags: Sweaty Dean, Turning Up The Heat, Ice Play, Mild Smut, Nipple Play, I Will Again Be Accused of Blue-Balling

Word Count: 1700

You normally love a sticky, slippery, and sweaty Dean. But, this. This is pushing it.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Ice-play" square.

A/N: I just wanted to mix things up and write something short and fun.

Image created in Canva (photo used/found online: Facebook - Una Vida SPN)

You normally love a sticky, slippery, and sweaty Dean. But, this. This is pushing it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean fists his hands leaning on the motel office counter.

“AC’s out in the only room I got left!” The old lady with coke bottle glasses and Wilma Flinstone pearls repeats herself. Her cigarette-laced voice is scratchy and a couple squeaks higher this time.

You groan. Dean side-eyes you but doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the irritation.

“It’s 100 degrees out. We get some kinda discount for pain and suffering?” he asks.

“I’ll knock ten bucks off the bill.”

“Ten bucks?” You huff out an incredulous chuckle.

“We’ll take it.”

Before you can yell at him, Dean’s already slapped a credit card on the counter.

~~~~~

Of course, this had to be the first motel with a vacancy during the two-hour trek through the Nevada desert region.

The hotbox of a room smells of mildew, cigarettes, and vinegar. You plod through the humidity and stale stench. Every bit of odor clings to your perspiring skin so there’s no escaping it. Dean curses as he taps buttons and thumbs dials on the window air conditioner, just to verify it's inoperable. You drop your bag on the bed and beeline to the bathroom.

Dean needs a shower more than you. He was the one who wrestled and skewered a ghoul in a sacred burial ground. But you’re gonna be salty about his decision to stop. You’d wanted to keep going, offering to share driving duties. Who cares if neither one of you had slept in over 24 hours?

Your pants are around your ankles in a second. The loose porcelain bowl seesaws under your weight. Regardless, you sigh in relief, weeing out all the water you’ve been guzzling to stay hydrated.

The rap of Dean’s knuckles on the bathroom door interrupts your steady stream of piss. “I’m gonna grab somethin’ at the diner we passed.” Dean’s second preferred method of appeasing you is feeding you. “Be back as soon as I can. Save me some COLD water, baby.”

A hard tug of the motel door seconds later rattles the paint-by-numbers sagebrush framed on the wall behind the toilet.

Dean left without taking your food order. You grind your teeth.

~~~~~

Forty minutes pass before the familiar engine rumbles into the lot and headlights flash through the sheer curtains.

The diner was a good fifteen minutes away, one-way, if Dean had been going the speed limit. The Impala’s warp speed must have been activated for him to have actually ordered and brought back dinner. Your stomach somersaults with distress and hunger pangs.

Dean opens the door only to hover within the threshold, a human doorstop.

You’re in a tank top and boy shorts. The best thing you could use to fan yourself is a file folder Sam stuffed with case material before you and Dean left Kansas.

Dean stretches and drops the bag of takeout on the nearby kitchenette table. He eyes you with a frown. “I’m sorry it’s shit in here. I’d say we could sleep in Baby, but it’s worse outside. Seriously.”

You’re laid atop the bed stripped of its scratchy and threadbare comforter, which is now a heap on the floor. “You know, all the times you’ve had to put that car back together again piece by piece; maybe one of those times you could have installed some air conditioning.”

He raises a finger to signal you should wait for something impressive. He dips half his body back outside, foot holding the door open. There’s bumping and huffing. Then the green cooler appears, held triumphantly in his hands. “I brought ice! Waitress at the diner sold me pounds of the stuff.” He’s sensibly in only a t-shirt, having left his duffle and jacket in the room when he’d left earlier.

“The iceman cometh.” The eyeroll is excessive, but you can’t seem to not.

“Eat, grumpy. My turn for a shower.”

~~~~~

He crunches ice chips. You suck on one cube, swirling it from one cheek pocket to the other until it melts, and then repeat with another. Forearm to forearm, you both sprawl out on the queen-sized mattress. You snapped at him earlier about the heat the boob tube would create. He stews alongside your percolating tension. You’ve allowed the bathroom light to stay on. A yellow fluorescent haze slices from the open door and spills over Dean.

There’s no escape from the heat.

“Pulse points,” he mutters.

“Right,” you snip. Your hand scoops ice out of your red solo cup. You circle a cube along your inner wrist.

There’s a shake from his side of the bed. You glance over. He’s shirtless, clad only in his boxers, rubbing ice up and down the back of his neck. Which only pisses you off more.

This hunt was supposed to end days ago. You were supposed to be celebrating your anniversary at the bunker today. You had some fun times planned. A surprise dinner of all Dean’s favorites and a movie marathon in the Dean Cave.

“I’m sorry,” you and Dean mumble simultaneously.

“We’ll get back on the road soon, sweetheart. I was spent and seeing double. Even if I can’t sleep, it’ll help just not being in motion.”

“I’ve been a major bitch.” You laugh at Dean’s deer-in-headlights reaction to your admission. “You don’t have to agree or disagree on that count, babe. You know how I get when shit doesn’t go according to plan. And, this fucking heat is not helping.”

“We both pop our tops an equal amount. That’s what makes us perfect for each other.” The backs of two of his fingers skim your elbow.

“Except when we both blow up at the same time.”

“Nah, that’s even better. Then we get to have angry make-up sex.”

You whoop out a laugh. “That’s never happened.”

“It could now?”

You grin. “But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at everything else.”

He shrugs. “Take it out on me, then.” He reconsiders. “Or, let me cool you down?”

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

Dean grins. He tips his head way back with the cup to his lips. He shakes his hand and the ice crackles. Cup back in his lap, you spot one cheek puffed out like a chipmunk. His face crinkles up.

“You’re gonna give yourself brain freeze, idiot.”

“Worth it,” he mumbles.

His lips lean in to press a kiss. You giggle at Dean’s clumsy attempt with a mouthful of ice. A surprised squeal follows when he slips an ice cube between pursed lips to run across yours. He pulls back and smiles, crooked and unhinged. He plops the cubes into his cup sounding like a penny slot machine and sits it on his side table.

He pulls you in close for a kiss, expertly grabbing your cup from your hands. You can’t be bothered to care where he hides it.

His tongue is so cool. A popsicle with a mind of its own that you want to suck on for days. He’s very agreeable to the way your lips wrap around it. He moans. You love the particular sound of that one. It strains out of his throat. Thankful. Relaxed.

He’s fiddling with more ice, having wedged your cup between two pillows. “You’re always so hot,” he quips after you relinquish his tongue.

You skim one leg between his thighs. The skin contact is tacky and sticky. “You’re always so cheesy.”

“Not always,” Dean says with a smirk. “In this instance, I’m just stating a fact.”

You hiccup a gasp at the ice cube he presses to your wrist without warning.

Dean glides it slow, a serpentine slither, to the crook of your elbow. He swirls the spot and lets it melt and drip from your body to the sheets. His green eyes concentrate on the task.

You can’t help but lose yourself watching him. His body shimmers in a sheen of sweat. Every minute shift highlights the beautiful angles of his face. Perspiration beads up under the hairline of his forehead. You can’t resist kissing and sipping at his upper lip. He grins and returns the gesture.

He uses another piece of ice to continue upward to your shoulder. He traces the shoulder strap of your tank. A hop over it and he’s sliding down the outline of your collar. It’s a quick ride into your cleavage where he lets the remnants melt and add to the already damp material.

His tongue laps at the wetness that’s collected there. You sigh and lean back. He hums and kisses the curve of your breast, slides the strap down, and then nuzzles into the notch of your armpit.

After a few seconds, he rises up in order to gaze into your eyes with the most innocent of expressions; even though he’s freed one of your tits from the confines of your clothing.

More ice rattles by your ear like maracas.

You’re in trouble.

You purse your lips at the biting cold against your neck. It’s electrifying and refreshing. He outlines your collarbone back and forth for emphasis. A shift and he’s leaning beside you, up on one elbow to drink in the sight. One leg drapes over yours, locking you into place. You feel the growing bulge in his boxers. There’s no escaping what he has in store.

He juggles two cubes between his fingers and journeys along the crest of your breast. He’s grinning with mischief and lust now. Then his mouth parts when the ice meets your nipple. Your flesh hardens and tightens on contact. You groan. Your core clenches.

He gnaws on his bottom lip as he circles the dark pebbling bud. Air squeaks out of your mouth. You squirm. It’s a beautiful freeze burn of contrast.

Once the ice melts, his fingers, also chilled, take over kneading and pinching. His patience gone, he bends down and latches onto your cool tit. He nurses with that sinful mouth and grazes your nipple with tongue and teeth until your skin tingles back to life.

You are so out of your head with the noises he’s making and the show he’s putting on, that you're ill-prepared for his cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shorts.

You shriek giggle, “Dean!”

He ends his sucking with a loud pop. He whispers against your lips, “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

Update: Got inspired and filled another bingo square with these two. You can read "Just A Little Spice" here.

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

Text

sign the papers | mat & mama

The house was awfully quiet when the kids were with Mat. The odd time when you kept Wyatt it was nice to have some company but she couldn’t talk or really understand anything yet.

You had called up Miles’ wife not long after the separation to ask her opinion on the split and a possible divorce. She was obviously concerned immediately but you explained what had happened and calmed her.

“sometimes marriages just run their course. we made five beautiful kids, we built a home, I just think me and mat want different things now”

The kids were confused, why there was now a daddy’s house and a mommy’s house. why they didn’t have movie night with their parents any longer.

Ivy tried listening to her parents when she was at home, listening while her dad cried on the phone to her grandma and her mom would stress out on the phone to her friends.

You had spoken to a lawyer, drafted up divorce papers, discussed financial settlements, custody of the kids.

When you saw Mat you had tried to mention it to him, softly. You knew how he felt about the whole thing.

You had managed to mention it when he dropped the kids back off, asking if he could come in and see Wyatt. You, of course, said yes.

You watched him come into the house, as if he’s never left it. He sat on the rocking chair in Wyatt’s nursery, rocking her to sleep and mumbling a soft story to her.

You watched them on the baby monitor, a soft smile as you listened to him talking to your baby.

“Hi sweet girl, hi meatball. I missed you, I’ve missed you so much”

You allowed them their time together while putting Ivy, Ryder and Bailey to sleep. When you’d both finished the night routine you met in the hallway, closing the opposing doors from one another.

“She asleep?” He asks about Ivy and you nod “out like a light”

He follows you down the stairs into the playroom where you begin cleaning up. Mat joins in, picking up stray toys the kids had thrown around.

“For being so little they make a massive mess” he jokes, breaking the silence.

You laugh “Yeah, they take after their dad I’m sure”

When the room is cleaned and tiny, you walk Mat to the door.

“Thanks for letting me put her to bed, it means a lot when I don’t have her-“

“I’m filing for divorce” you interrupted him.

You interrupted him telling you how much he appreciated his time with his daughter to tell him you were filing for divorce.

“Oh” is all he said

You nodded, biting your bottom lip “I just wanted to tell you before the papers came through in the mail”

He hums “So we’re not going to talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about Mat”

He laughs, viciously “You kicked me out of our house and we haven’t spoken since I feel like there was definitely a conversation in there somewhere!”

“Mathew, you need to leave”

“Stop doing that!” He exclaims “Doing what?”

“Calling me Mathew and making me leave when there is the slightest inconvenience for you! I want to save our marriage, I want to save our family and you don’t seem to care”

You took a deep breath and replied “I stopped being able to care a long time ago, Mat. Please just go and sign the papers when they come in”

He didn’t want to fight any longer, he couldn’t fight with you anymore. Not when you were being selfish and never listening to his point of view. At the bottom line of it all, he loved you regardless.

So instead, he leaned down and kissed your forehead, while his hand supported the back of your head.

“I will always love you, y/n. from the moment I met you until the day I die, I will always love you with my entire heart and soul and if there’s ever one thing I know I got right in this world, it’s you. No matter what the paper says, you’ll always be my girl”

A tear rolls down your cheek and your hand grasps onto his wrist before you begin to sob “Mat-“

“Shh, it’s ok baby. It’s ok, I’ll sign the papers if that’s what you want, I’m not going to fight you anymore. I just needed you to know that regardless of us fighting, shouting and balling at one another, you are my world”

You shook your head at him, sniffling “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugs “I only have a little while longer as a husband I might as well try being a good one”

You watched him pull out of the driveway and down the street, tears falling off your face while you sobbed quietly.

The following days, Mat had a roadie so you had the kids full time. You had officially accepted your role back as doctor for the devils next season so you were getting back into watching hockey.

The kids had requested Mathew’s game against the Kraken be on the tv so they could watch and while it was late you couldn’t say no.

So you sat with them, Ryder on your lap while your fingers carded through his hair while you watched the islanders play.

After the game, the press had announced a big press conference with the islanders. You didn’t think much of it, they’d won so it was probably just the dramatics.

You were tidying the couch pillows when you heard the tv

“Mat, Lou informed us you had an important announcement to make this evening?” A reporter asks.

Mat nods “Yes, thank you. I wanted to make this announcement here, in Seattle where I was playing when I was drafted by the Islanders organisation in 2015. My time on Long Island has been nothing short of amazing and I will always reflect on the relationships I have developed with the community, my team and the organisation. Today, I announce my retirement from the national hockey league as a player as this season draws to a close. My family are of the utmost importance to me right now and I feel this is in our best interest”

You drop the pillow in your hand and gawk at the tv “what the fuck”

“Mommy said a bad word!” Ryder shouts, reminding you that the kids were with you.

“You’d be saying bad words too if you knew what was going on” you replied, picking up your phone to text Mat.

Instead you found a text already on your phone from him

this is for you, for us. the nhl is your dream, not just mine.

You smile at the message and look back at the tv where mat is being hounded by the media on his bombshell announcement.

When Mat finally got finished with media and all that came with his announcement he managed to pick up his phone and wade through the messages from friends, coaches and family to find your name. Only to find you’d left him on read.

When he arrived home, your nanny had dropped the kids off at his airbnb so he didn’t get the chance to speak to you. The nanny, Rita had given him a pile of papers too. He suspected it was bills, school letters you’d asked her to pass along and they were discarded onto the countertop.

The weekend with the kids passed too quickly and before he knew it you were picking them up for your week. Between the kids, the media and the organisation Mat hadn’t gotten a chance to sit down until the middle of the week, sitting at his breakfast bar looking at the divorce papers sat unsigned on the counter.

Next to it was the papers Rita had dropped off, he picked them up and began flicking through. Bills, tuition payments and then a brown envelope addressed to you.

He frowned and opened it, pulling out a white paper, the exact same as the one on his counter yet this had your name on it. These were your divorce papers.

His eyes scanned the paper for your signature, it was nowhere to be found. Part of him felt hopeful, you wouldn’t have sent him this if it didn’t mean anything.

But it had been days since Rita gave him these and you hadn’t said anything, so did it mean what he thought it meant?

Before Mat made himself crazy thinking of the possibilities with this, he got in his car and made his way to your house. Not before a stop on the way.

It was late and he knew the kids would be asleep, so he knocked lightly on the door just praying you were awake.

He waited nervously until he saw the porch light flicker on and you appear at the door in your pyjamas

“Mat? What are you- it’s eleven o’clock”

“I know, but I had to come here because I got your papers” he rushes, watching as a sleepy smile is painted on your face

“I was wondering when you’d open them”

“I, I opened it and I hope it means what I think it means” he replies.

You nod softly “It means, come home Mat, it means let’s talk about this, it means you don’t have to retire just to fix us”

He shakes his head “I retired because, you were right. This is the Mat show, I want it to be the Barzal’s. I want to be able to see you at work, in everything you do and be so proud of you because you’re amazing. I accepted an offer with management so I’m not completely out of a job”

You nod with a laugh “Good, can’t have you being bored”

He then sighs heavily and adds “The day I first asked you out I said could really see this being something real and I just couldn't let you slip away. I’m not letting you slip away from me, now or ever”

At his confession you reach out to place a hand on his chest “I love you, Mathew”

He groans lowly and you laugh “Mat, baby, my angel. I love You”

“That’s better” he smiles. You notice his hand is behind his back and you raise your eyebrow skeptically.

“What you got there?”

He brings his hand out and when you see it you laugh through teary eyes “It’s ivy! There’s no flower shops open this late”

#mat and mama #life of ivy

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ineffablyruined · 1 year

Text

A Game of Spy vs Spy

(Or is it more Mr. & Mrs. Smith?)

Buckle up, because this one's about to get a little.. out there? Maybe. You decide for yourselves. I had this thought at 3am and I couldn't get it out of my head.

This following is based on two assumptions:

1. Aziraphale has a Plan (capital letter included) - see my explanation of why I believe that's the case in this post.

2. Crowley has been working on his own Plan since he dawned there Tactical Turtleneck - see this brilliant post by @justhereforthemeta .

Putting the rest under a Read More because it's a little lengthy.

To summarize both in case you don't have time to read both posts:

1. I believe Aziraphale's scary smile in the elevator is a smile he learned from spending so much time around Crowley and that it's reflective of him coming up with a plan to avert the Second Coming that he thinks is so clever that Crowley would absolutely approve.

The fact that Crowley is seen wearing his Super Secret Spy Gear multiple times throughout the series means he's actively working on his heist. He's plotting, he's planning. He disappears on Aziraphale when the angel is remembering Job. Disappearing on Aziraphale? That's not like Crowley at all.

2. Crowley is so enamored with the spy life (bullet hole decals anyone?) that he begins plotting a heist as soon as he finds out the Book of Life is a threat to Aziraphale. And the turtleneck is his spywear.

Crowley saves Aziraphale. It's his thing. He's done it over and over, countless times throughout history.

But listen to what Aziraphale says. Rescuing me makes him so happy. Rescuing me.

And the times Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away with him? Well, those times, it wasn't Aziraphale's life that was threatened. It was Crowley's. Hell found out he screwed up the baby switch? They were coming for him, not Aziraphale. Armageddon't? Isn't it demons that burn in a fiery pit for eternity when the world ends, not angels?

My point is.. M' point is..

Crowley isn't asking Aziraphale to run away with him at the end of Episode 6 only to chance The Metatron erasing Aziraphale from the Book of Life when they get there.

Crowley already has the Book of Life.

My bet? He had a little side project up in Heaven with Muriel off-camera. He was wearing the beige turtleneck after all.

And when we leave Heaven?

Turtleneck gone. Mission accomplished.

But let's not stop there!

Because Aziraphale has a Plan of his own now that he's returned from Heaven. And I'm betting at least part of it involves the Book of Life. And when he goes to look for it? GONE! And when he checks the files? Sure enough, there's Crowley sneaking it into his pocket. (And if we get an "Oh Good Lord" repeat at seeing Crowley's Heaven outfit, I'm not going to complain).

Alternatively, Heaven is going to find it missing, and they're going to know it was Crowley who took it and Aziraphale has to get it back to try to save Crowley.

Either way, he's going to have to get it.

And I'm betting Mr. BackOnHisOwnSide Crowley isn't going to be too forthcoming when the Supreme Archangel asks for it back.

And let the Spy vs Spy hijinks commence.

..................

Below is one conversation I've dreamed up in my head about all this, if you're into that kind of thing. Enjoy:

Crowley: If only I had access to a place with a truly ridiculous number of old books where one new addition would go completely unnoticed.

Aziraphale: Well, it's a good thing I know this bookshop better than anyone then, isn't it?

Crowley (bearing his teeth): I've reorganized.

Aziraphale: *gasp*

#good omens meta #meta or crack?#I'm not really sure at this point #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens speculation #go3 speculation

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myfaveficrecs · 2 years

Text

Remember This?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of injuries/medical procedures

AN: I am dipping my toes back into the writing world for @roosterforme’s #love is in the air tgm challenge. My song is, “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boyz II Men. Hopefully this isn’t a flop! Happy Valentine’s Day! XOXO

You enjoyed your job immensely. Helping people had always been something that was extremely important to you, and you were lucky enough to be able to do what you were passionate about. You finished medical school 3 years ago and now you were employed at your local VA Hospital part time, your other half being on base with your husband, Bradley. You had been high school sweethearts and you were still going on like it was your honeymoon.

You were overjoyed when you learned you were going to be able to help soldiers from all branches from all over the country. You helped veteran soldiers with rehabilitation mostly. Post war injuries that needed extra help and attention when they were able to come back home.

Bradley and his squadron were all in the Navy. Fanboy and Halo had done 3 tours in Iraq and Afghanistan while Bradley had done 2 recently. Hangman was almost killed in combat 4 days before he was due to come home from his last deployment. The others had thankfully come home in one piece, only minor scrapes and injuries from their time overseas. Bradley hadn’t been as lucky.

Bradley had been shot once in the chest inches away from his heart, and shrapnel had sliced through his face, neck, and arm. He was lucky to be alive but thankfully the doctors he had were good at what they do. They were able to save his life but not without complications. He had severe nerve damage through his left shoulder and bicep and his collarbone had been shattered and completely reconstructed. When he was sent home, he started showing up to the hospital you worked at for his physical therapy, often riding home with you at the end of the day.

You had just finished with a patient when you were heading to your office, passing by the nurses’ station on your way. You dropped the patient’s chart off at the desk but before you could start heading in the direction you desired, your charge nurse, Rebecca, stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

She just shrugged her shoulders noncommittally with a smirk, walking away from you to continue your filing. Looking at your basket you noticed you had no patients waiting and walked to your office wondering who could be waiting for you.

As soon as you walked into your office your face broke out in a large smile. You knew it was your husband without a doubt. His 6’1” frame standing in front of your large window overlooking the city, broad shoulders, long legs, tight little ass, and hair with perfect curls for pulling.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” You smiled while shutting your door, taking off your lab jacket and throwing it over the back of one of the chairs in your office. He turned around quickly and smiled at you, holding his arms open wide for you to walk into, bringing you into a warm and tight embrace.

“Yeah, I had my last appointment today and thought I’d come up and see you.”

“How’d it go?”

“Good. Almost as good as before.”

“That’s awesome, honey.”

“You don’t have any patients do you?”

“No, I think my next appointment is in another 45 minutes, why?”

With a mischievous look and a flick of the lock on your door, Bradley looks towards your desk and says, “Hey Alexa! Play my baby maker playlist.” You couldn’t help but laugh, burying your face in his chest as “I’ll Make Love to You,” starts to echo in your office.

“Haven’t heard this song since the night before my last deployment...you remember that night?” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Of course, I do! But Roo, we can’t do that here!”

“We can. I locked the door. C’mon baby, I thought we could celebrate a little early.” He could see the slight crack in your resolve and pounced on the seconds of vulnerability, the pride. “Besides, Rebecca is probably listening right outside the door right now anyway.:

Close your eyes, make a wish And blow out the candlelight For tonight is just your night We're gonna celebrate, all through the night Pour the wine, light the fire Girl your wish is my command I submit to your demands

Bradley wrapped one hand into your hair, gently pulling your head back, tracing his nose up your cheek. Pulling back slightly he hovers his lips over your own, a little quirk to his lips when he pulls millimeters away when you try and connect. Once, twice more before he lets out a breathy chuckle at your frustration, finally crashing his plush lips to yours in a passionate kiss. His other hand pushing into your lower back and pulling you flush against him, swaying to the harmony of the song. When he pulled away you were both breathless and dizzy. Desire had pooled in your core, and you could feel an impressive bulge digging into your stomach. “You gonna let me love you like it’s that night all over again? Right here, right now?”

He didn’t give you any time to respond before he crashed his lips back onto yours once again. This time the kiss was all tongue and teeth. He loved to bite on your lower lip when you kissed, and it always managed to send shivers down your spine. As soon as you let out a moan, he knew he had you right where he wanted you and he smiled against your mouth. He quickly picked you up, digging his hands underneath your ass cheeks and plopped you unceremoniously on top of your desk, pushing everything out of his way to give you enough room to lie down. Your movements were frantic, knowing time was limited, ironically the same as the night before he left.

I will do anything, girl you need only ask I'll make love to you Like you want me to And I'll hold you tight Baby, all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Til you tell me to

Bradley was usually a rough lover, but he always managed to make you feel loved and protected, no matter what you were doing, and the sex was no different. His touch held a tenderness; a reaffirming touch that he would always be there to care for you.

You quickly pulled his shirt off of his broad shoulders and pulled it up over his head to reveal his chiseled chest and abs. Reaching up you pulled Bradley down toward you, kissing over his scars from the old wounds, shrapnel, and surgeries. This was something you always did, letting him know you were thankful he was alive and in your arms. The reminder that he was still beautiful in your eyes.

Girl relax, let's go slow I ain't got nowhere to go I'm just gon' concentrate on you Girl, are you ready? It's gon' be a long night Throw your clothes (throw your clothes) on the floor (on the floor) I'm gonna take my clothes off too I've made plans to be with you Girl whatever you ask me, you know I can do

Bradley pulled your hair and moved your head back far enough to stretch your neck long, licking a broad stripe and ending with a quick nip underneath your ear. You let out an obscene moan making him pull back from you and stand up as straight as he could while leaning over your desk for support. “You gotta be quiet, baby.” He practically ripped your scrub pants and panties off of you in one quick pull, your shoes flying off along with them from the force of his tug. He placed your feet wide along the edge of your desk, opening yourself up to him. “Fuck Y/N…you’re already soaking wet.”

“I’m always wet for you, Bradley…now are you just going to stare or are you going to make love to your wife?”

I'll make love to you Like you want me to And I'll hold you tight Baby, all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Til you tell me to

Bradley’s demeanor instantly changed. His eyes quickly shot up to yours, narrowing into slits. He clenched his jaw making it tick, and he snapped his belt open, never once taking his eyes from yours. The intensity bringing a new wave of slick rushing out of you. There was no reply from him, his face telling you everything you needed to know. He was most definitely going to love you, and he was going to make sure you remembered it.

Pulling his jeans and boxers down just below his ass, his erection sprang free. It was long and thick, steadily leaking drops of precum. He wrapped his hand around the base, slowly stroking upwards, giving you a show. With a smirk he wrapped his hand around your thighs, pulling you down until your ass was flush with the edge of your desk.

Baby, tonight is your night And I will do you right Just make a wish on your night Anything that you ask I will give you the love of your life, your life, your life

No warning was given before he thrust into you in one slow and measured thrust, filling you to the brink, and trusting your body to accept him as it has hundreds of times before. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth opened wide to let out a sound you had never heard yourself make before, not that you could bring yourself to care.

“I said,” he pistoned into you quickly, “be quiet. You don’t want those coworkers of yours getting too curious, do you?” You shook your head, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to muffle your noises. Bradley set a punishing pace knowing time was not on his side. His hips quickly meeting yours, the sound of slapping skin loud enough to echo throughout your office over the music. He pushed your scrub top up and over your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra down, and started to roughly caress your breasts with his left hand, his right holding tightly onto your hip to keep you from scooting across your desk from the power of his thrusts. The cold metal of his wedding ring made your nipples harden to tight peaks, the sensation running like a lightning bolt to your clit. “Fuck…Roo…please.”

He didn’t need to ask what you needed, knowing your body better than you did after all of these years. He quickly put his body flush with yours, chest to chest, intertwining your hands together beside of your head, and slammed his lips onto yours once again, tongues battling for dominance and attempting to muffle the noises trying to escape. The new angle caused him to move even deeper inside of you, completely bottoming out. The feeling of being so full and the delicious friction his pelvis was giving you by rubbing against your clit sent you over the edge.

I'll make love to you Like you want me to And I'll hold you tight Baby all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Til you tell me to

You arched your back and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist. The tight fluttering of your walls sending Bradley into his own orgasm, giving a growl you felt deep within his chest as he released himself inside of you. The sound of your intercom on your office phone went off, Rebecca’s voice floating through the room. “Your last appointment of the day just cancelled. See you tomorrow, Dr. Bradshaw!”

Both of you were still breathing heavily, interlocked together to the point you couldn’t tell where you began, and he ended. “Thank God because I don’t think I can walk after that.”

You both broke out into laughter, ready to go home. Bradley knew he had that record on the bookshelf in his office...round 2 is exactly what the doctor ordered.

If you do not wish to be tagged, please let me know and I will remove you! If you do want to be tagged, please let me know.

@roosterscock

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@endofdays56

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#love is in the air tgm #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #tgm #rooster x y/n #rooster imagine #rooster smut #female reader

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year

Note

pspspspsps love, I have another one-

phone sex with Luffy?😶

hnnnnnngggg thank youuuu

PHONE SEX: LUFFY x Y/N

modern au

(cw: facetime, modern au, pet names, long distance relationship, dirty talk, phone sex, mutual masturbation, toys, this is now part of my modern au mma!luffy series lmao, this is from Luffy's pov)

Songs: "Big God" by Florence + the Machine

words: 1.7k

"Baaaabe," Luffy whines, on the other end of your FaceTime.

He's kneeling on a hotel bed, phone propped up by a scuffed, metal water bottle. There are stickers emblazoned all over the shiny red: mostly ads from sponsors, his own straw hat skull-and-crossbones, plus a sticker of a cool katana Zoro had found for him. He's watching you bite your lip through the screen of his phone, far too small and rectangular to capture the fact of yourself. He hates long distance.

But he'll be home in a week, and then you can come visit.

"Hey, Luffy," you smile, glittering through the screen. He wants you here, now. You flick your hair over your shoulder, leaning down on the couch with your arm resting along the back. You prop your chin in one hand.

Luffy eyes you up and down: from your face to just below your collarbones, the lamplight behind you, and the top of the couch is all he can see. "Put the phone down, baby," he pants, already heavy with lust. He misses your sweet cunt so bad. "I wanna see all of ya," he whines. You giggle, and step forward to set your phone on the coffee table in front of you. Now, Luffy can see you sitting back on the couch, in pajama shorts and a tank top. Your legs are really cute, he thinks, as you bring them up to sit cross-legged in between the couch cushions. You sink in, slightly.

Luffy giggles, "Comfy there, princess?"

You blush.

"I like the in-between," you defend yourself, slouching back farther and sinking in like quicksand. Luffy laughs, out loud. He likes how silly are, sometimes. Other times, he wants to see you gagged on his cock. (But oh well, you'd probably make him laugh with his dick halfway down your throat, anyway). You kick your feet.

"But then I can't see ya," he whines, palming the front of his red boxers. "I wanna play, kitten." He hooks his thumb into the waistband, and drags them down an inch. Your eyes go wide, and he grins.

"Okay," you agree, immediately. You're already pulling your shirt halfway over your head, curled like a shrimp into the couch cushions. You shriek, caught, and kick your legs like a grasshopper trying to get out. Luffy cackles, bending forward to screenshot your call.

"You're like a beetle," he grins, saving a new photo to his favorites, "That got turned upside down."

"'M not a beetle!" You shout, having knelt up on the cushions to push them back roughly together. You're bent over, one leg on the floor and the other still on the couch. He watches your ass fill the screen, appreciating the tiny booty shorts you're wearing to bed. They're hot pink with a neon stripe down each side.

"Cute as a beetle," he counters, biting his lip. His hard cock is straining against his boxers, now, and he can't wait to just bend you over and rail you from behind. Damn, this week is gonna be a lifetime waiting for you to come visit him. He'll have to fly you out first class, no questions asked. (Maybe your girlfriend might wanna come, too).

But he files that thought away for later, watching you sit back down with a huff, now in nothing but your sports bra. He flicks an eyebrow.

"So, ya gonna strip for me?"

You laugh, pulling at the elastic strap as it digs into your shoulder. He can see your tits spilling out from the too-small bra. He fights back a moan, but just barely. He watches you skim your hands over every hill and valley in your voluptuous body. He fucking loves your curves.

You lean forward towards the camera, letting your cleavage spill out nice and close for him to see. You giggle, "Wanna see a titty drop?"

He chokes out a laugh, and then, "Please."

You smirk, knowing full well what you do to him, and slowly lift your bra up from the bottom. You pull upward, exposing the underside of your breasts, before releasing them completely so they bounce back down against your chest. He licks his lips.

"Do that again."

And you do.

He watches with glassy eyes as you slowly, meticulously, bring your sports bra back down, black and stretched out over your frame. You bounce a little, in your seat. He gasps.

"C'mon, man," his voice cracks, "That's just not fair."

You laugh, pleased. He tilts his head, "Don'tcha do this professionally? What are your like, signature moves?" He kneels back on the bed, running a hand through his hair.

You hum, throwing your own hair up into a bun. You don't like when it touches your bare skin, apparently. ADHD thing, he figures.

"Well, you just saw one," you smile slightly as you readjust in your seat. You're sitting with one leg under you, the other draped over the side of the couch. You pull at the bottom of your sports bra, and he moans as he watches you slowly strip for him.

You bend over, leaning against the back of the couch, your ass spread nice and wide for him. "Such a good fucking ass," he praises you, and you turn over your shoulder to smile at the screen.

"Wanna leave your handprint on it?" You ask wryly, bending over more and hitching your shorts up higher, so barely anything is left covered. He sees your glistening slick through the thin fabric. He wants to touch.

"Fuck yes," he breathes, reaching inside his shorts, "Take those off."

"Yes, sir," you reply daintily, turning to slide your own shorts over your hips. He watches the pink fabric slip down your legs, revealing the crease of your hips and your sweet inner thigh as you do. Fuck it, he decides, he wants to taste. You sit down with a satisfied, smug grin. "That's my second move," you flick your eyes up and down your phone screen, no doubt taking in the sight of him fisting his cock over you. Luffy tugs his shorts the rest of the way down, and you gasp.

"That's my first," he says, grinning, "Well, the first is calling you, and begging you to strip," he scratches his head. "That's not a very powerful move, is it?" He laughs, sheepishly. Needy, much?

"Not a bad move," you decide, leaning forward to pick up the phone. He gets a closeup shot of your face again. You’re smiling, shy, holding the phone high enough so he can see your gorgeous tits splay out to either side of your ribcage.

“Your turn!” You say as you settle back down into the couch pillows, supported by the large, canvas armrest. Luffy slides his boxers down all the way, kicking them off his legs and leaving them on the floor.

You moan, and he lights up. “Yeah?” He asks, pumping his cock in a loose fist, “Like whatcha see?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, biting your lip. You reach over to your side, thumping around for a bit, before he hears the sound of a vibrator turning on. He giggles at the buzzing, and you blush.

“Show me,” he teases, and you hold up a lavender clit sucker with light pink buttons. He hums appreciatively. “Pretend it’s my mouth, okay?”

“Yes, daddy,” you chirp, and grin slightly as you place the toy between your legs. You gasp a little as the pressure locks into your clit. Luffy tightens his grasp on his dick.

“So pretty for me, baby,” he coos at you through the phone speaker. He wishes he could breathe it into your ear, halfway buried in your cunt.

Just one more week.

“Daddy’s gonna take such good care of ya,” he moans. He feels himself thicken in his hand. “‘M gonna spoil ya rotten, okay? Don’t gotta worry about a thing, with me,” he grunts, bucking his hips.

He’s watching your flushed face contort in pleasure, taking the vibrations oh so sweetly from your clit sucker. “Show me,” he breathes, speeding up, “Show me what that toy’s doin’ to ya.”

You moan, and lower the camera so that he can see you from the pussy up. Like he’s eating you out.

He groans.

“Fuck baby, ya look so good,” he reaches forward to grab his phone, bringing the screen closer to his face as he screenshots several times. “Can’t fucking wait ta have ya in my mouth again,” his cock twitches at the memory.

He leans his head back, pumping his fist, as he listens to your moans and imagines it’s your mouth on his dick.

“Wantcha right here,” he huffs, chest heating with lust. His eyes are half-lidded, and he has to let go of his cock to push the sweaty hair back from his face. You moan at the sight, bringing the phone back up to your face.

“Can I screenshot you?” You ask, hitching your breath as the buzzing speeds up. He grins, thinking he probably should’ve asked first, but oh well. No time like the present.

“Course,” he says, voice thick, “What about me? Can I screenshot ya? I wanna look back atcha later.” You giggle, and nod. He lets out a sigh of relief. Good.

“Show me your hands?” You ask, hungrily. “Your shoulders, too.”

Luffy grins, more than happy to oblige. He leads the camera down his muscular frame, letting his free hand drape over his chest and abs as he pans the phone down. He focuses on his hips for a bit, slowly pumping his cock in time with your moans. Your breath hitches, and he wishes it was his cock fucking those noises out of you, instead.

He clenches his hand in and out of a fist, wiggling his fingers a little bit. You stare, doe-eyed and dumbfucked as you focus on the hands that have made you cum countless times before. He wishes he could fuck you with his hand again—that’ll be the first thing he does when he gets you in his bed.

“Love your hands, Luffy,” you say, eyes blown as you stare at the phone. He wishes he could kiss you, too. As it is, he smooches at the screen, and you laugh.

“Love you,” he says, feeling warm and fuzzy in the bleach-scented bed. He frowns. “Miss you.”

“Miss you too, baby,” you say, and then, “Love you too.”

He beams.

****

#ok ok ok ok ok #luffy x you #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy fanfic #luffy smut #dumpster dive #my writing #one piece smut #request #anemptypuddingcup #modern au #one piece modern au

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ghoultrifle · 11 months

Text

There's a First Time For Everything Chapter 2 - Fighting With You

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Dewdrop buys the toys he's been so curious about, with only a few breakdowns along the way. Set immediately after the previous chapter.

Notes: Fun fact! The toy reviews are almost all verbatim reviews from the lovehoney website :) isn't that fun! thank you to the unnamed friend who reignited my passion for reading sex toy reviews ashdfklhsg

I'm going to give a very slight warning for dubcon. Nothing happens, but Dewdrop gets in his own head about what might happen. Of course, Rain would never.

And a big thanks to @everybodyshusband for proofreading and hyping me up <333

Read below the cut or on AO3

“‘m ready,” Dewdrop whispers into Rain’s neck, pushing the larger ghoul off his lap, “Wanna get the feeling back in my legs,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure, Dewbug? We can wait if you want, I’ll still love you even if you never end up buying anything.”

Dewdrop grabs the water ghoul’s chin, bringing his head down to eye level, “I’ve never been so sure in my life, especially with you here,” it isn’t entirely the truth, but Dewdrop is feeling better than before, “Anyway, what is your opinion on what I sent you?”

Rain pauses before dragging a stack of filing boxes next to Dew’s chair, perching on them to watch the screen. As Dewdrop logs back in (his password is rainisgay69, ironic for someone who on some level of his dysphoria-ridden brain believes rain is secretly straight), their eyes are accosted with the bright screen illuminating the now dark room, a lilac dildo front and centre on the screen. The description reads, “Realistic Silicone Suction Cup Dildo - Perfect For Beginners”. It’s veiny, a respectable length and girth, nothing that would rip the ghoul open, but enough for him to feel the stretch, to feel full. It looks respectable, with the bonus that Dewdrop could definitely throw it into a strap on the rare occasion he does want to top; he could finally stop stealing from Cirrus.

Dewdrop flicks through the photos, capturing the length, girth, and the size comparable to a hand. Rain’s cock begins to stir at the last picture, remembering that one day he may be lucky enough to hold it, to fuck Dewdrop sweetly and gently with it while he rubs and flicks at the fire ghoul’s small dick, wringing out the most lascivious moans as Dew finally experiences divine pleasure. But this isn’t about him, so Rain wills the blood to return to his head so he can give a coherent response to his mate.

“Fuck, baby, it looks perfect,” he coos, planting a chaste kiss on Dewdrop’s cheek. He can’t help the sly comment that leaves his mouth before his brain can catch up, his mind preoccupied with the image of the toy against Dewdrop’s auburn curls, “Gonna look so good against your dripping cunt, heard ginger and purple go well together.”

The darks of Dewdrop’s eyes widen, and Rain’s face drops as he realises what he just said, “Shit- fuck- I’m fucking- I’m sorry Dewy that wasn’t the right time. I promise I’d be fine if you bought this and it just sat on the shelf forever. Or- or if you didn’t even buy it. Actually, I’d be fine if you banned all sex toys. You coul-”

A firm but gentle slap to the face interrupts the water ghoul, “Alright, wrap it up Sappy Steve. Save it for when I’m actually panicking, okay?” he chides, “And I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He briefly glances at the top reviews, struggling to believe what he’s reading:

“I have recently celebrated my 70th birthday and this gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

“This is amazing. I can't believe how satisfying it is for a transgender person. I love to sit on it.”

Dewdrop laughs so hard he has fresh tears spilling down his face. That’s a new hobby unlocked: reading sex toy reviews online.

“See!” Rain exclaims, pointing at the screen and nudging Dewdrop’s shoulder, “You’re not the only trans person who wants to get fucked nasty with a toy,” the water ghoul is beaming at the review, hoping it will ease Dewdrop’s apprehension about it all. They’re having fun but Rain won’t pretend he hasn’t noticed how the other’s hand has been trembling as he navigates the website, how Dewdrop’s taking deep yet rapid breaths, his free hand worrying the ring on his middle finger.

The basket icon lights up as Dewdrop’s informed he only has to spend £15 more to get free delivery, “Might as well get the vibrator too, then?” he shrugs weakly, voice catching in his throat as he navigates to the second link he sent Rain earlier. “POWERFUL Vibrator - For Internal and External Use” it reads. Dewdrop re-examines it, looking at each photo in turn, breath turning shaky as he thinks about using it, putting it inside him, where no object has ventured before. As he thinks about the hard plastic sliding in, surely cold and rigid, perhaps he’ll be so dry that it will hurt, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it for his Rain.

The desk begins to shake slightly as Dewdrop’s knee bounces up and down with a fevered pace. His thumb is in his mouth, biting at the skin around his nails, leaving it red and sore. It’s getting to him. This is real. In just a few days he’ll be laying with Rain as he freaks out about it all. Now he’s told the water ghoul he wants it, he feels pressured, like he can’t say no anymore. Because if he says no, then he’s clearly leading Rain on for something that will never happen, and Rain really will break up with him this time. Why would he be with someone who is clearly never going to get over his fear of penetration? Perhaps Rain is straight and just waiting for Dewdrop to realise he is a woman after all, and when he finds out that Dew is just a man who’s scared of dick, he’ll run to the mountains, screaming a warning to everyone: Don’t Date Dewdrop.

A third set of tears begin to tumble their way down his cheeks, a small waterfall flowing with each blink the ghoul makes. His eyes are glassy, he can no longer see the offending toy on the computer, just a set of blurry white pixels laden with illegible text, Rain must have scrolled it down. Rain brings the fire ghoul into the warmest hug he can muster, peppering kisses to his neck. There is no sexual element to it, just pure love for his mate. His mate who he wishes he could take all the dysphoria from and suffer through it himself if it would mean a better life for Dewdrop. His mate who loves Dewdrop in a way the fire ghoul cannot even begin to fathom.

He truly believes he’s unlovable on a fundamental level, that his identity makes him some freak in between man and woman, that no guy would want to fuck him or be fucked by him, and no woman would take his pathetic excuse for a dick, even if he did want to top. It’s solidified in Dewdrop’s mind that Rain is only with him for his own sexual gratification, and now that Dewdrop wants to explore his own pleasure, he’ll be left to figure it out on his own. The image of him weeping as he forces a dildo into himself, cold and alone in his bedroom, is being seared further into his brain with every second that passes. Until he’s brought back to reality by Rain’s shuffling arm.

Rain decides against a tissue; Copia clearly had no regard for his own skin since the tissues in his office may as well have been constructed from sandpaper. Instead, he brings a bunched-up sleeve to Dewdrop’s eyes, catching the tears as he calms the sniffling ghoul beneath him, rocking them together in a soothing motion much like his mother would do in the pit. Words wouldn’t do Dewdrop’s pain justice; consolation would feel inadequate and pity, well, is just that and Dewdrop deserves better. He’s sure that if he reached inside the fire ghoul’s mind for just a moment, it would be more than he could ever bear. So, Rain opts for silence. The kind of silence you could sit in for eternity. The kind of silence where the world is at peace; there’s no buzzing of electricity, no shuffling in the quarters, just the sound of a gentle breeze creeping its way in through the poorly sealed windows, whistling hello as it sings its song. Rain rocks them for what could have been hours, Dewdrop isn’t sure, the sun had already set by the time he started.

Fresh air stings Dewdrop’s eyes. The flood has stopped, Rain’s sleeves near-soaked as the fire ghoul blinks the last of the hot tears from his weary eyes. His own sleeve is drenched in a thick layer of snot as he wipes his nose, the water ghoul looking on in a weird adoration for his mate. If Rain could watch him do that and still love him, then maybe there was hope. As he squints his eyes to focus on the screen, Dewdrop’s confronted with the reviews for the vibrator:

“My clit is tingling like a mo fo!! Thanks lovehoney. What a piece of cum equipment.”

“It took longer to get the item out of the packaging than it did for my wife to cum.”

Okay, maybe it isn’t quite so serious. As hilariously honest as the reviews are, it does spark something in Dewdrop- the curiosity at what these toys feel like, at how they’re so much better than just a set of hands. There must be a reason the vibrator gets a 4.7/5 on the ‘orgasm rating’. Dewdrop hesitates over the button that would add it to the basket, “I’m scared, Rain,” he admits with a sigh of relief, finally putting words to it.

“Then do it scared, spitfire,” the water ghoul replies, “Want and fear can coexist. If you truly don’t want to then I support you, droplet, but it sounds like you’re just conflicted. I think when the time comes, you’ll be glad the toys are ready for you, just like I will be.”

Dewdrop melts into the larger ghoul’s embrace. Rain has somehow managed to reach into Dew’s brain and lay his feelings bare on the table, raw and sensitive. But he’s right, about everything. Dewdrop does want it, he is scared, and he should buy it anyway. “Fuck it,” he smirks, stifled only slightly by a sniffle, as he adds the item to the basket, heading to the checkout page, a fuck you to his dysphoria. Copia’s bank details autofill and Dewdrop doesn’t complain; he’s not been left with much money since being charged with sourcing the pack’s weed on tour. Before he gives himself a chance to second guess his actions, he completes the order.

The thick tension that had filled the air dissipates in an instant, Dewdrop slumps in his chair as Rain idly braids a loose plait into hair, whispering praises to his love, “So proud of you, droplet. Whatever comes of this I want you to remember how brave you are for getting this far, okay?”

“Brave? In what world?” Dewdrop huffs.

“In this world, my love. In this world where every day is a fight between your mind and your body. In this world, where today, your mind won. And in this world where your mind won’t win every day but where I’ll be here, always, fighting with you.”

#next chapter will be smut i promise #just got too into the angst whoops #trifle writes #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #trans ghouls #there's a first time for everything

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nobodiesheartlessshitblog45 · 3 months

Text

Ghost Of Men: Call Of Duty Fanfic Prequel Part2

Simon 'Ghost' RileyOCWife

Trigger Warning: War, Vilence, PTSD Mention Child Abuse, Anxiety

Here's part 2.

It took a bit, here it is. I wanted to make sure that it was good before posting. I will start part 3 as soon as I can. This had been one favorites stories to work and thanks again for the likes and all the likes.

So once again thank you all taking the time to this and enjoy.

It had been a cold mislabel morning the rain was still coming with mixed of snow, in his. Ghost sat his desk that sat in the far corner of the room. It was a fairly large with black tile flooring plain weight walls, and large windows that sat was next to the desk, two old looking filing cabinets on the other side of the room where the only door way. Ghost sat his desk looking over some paper that Kyle did ask him to sigh before heading to John. He was looking through the pages making sure that paperwork he was about reach for his phone that on right side right to his phone. His eyes looked over to it and stair at it for a moment. He was about to reach it, then paused. "Now hold, Simon. Ya texted about 30 minutes ago. She's fine. So she's fine." He sit back his chair taking a few deep breaths. "She's fine. The baby's fine. There both fine." He picked up the pen and began writing down a few things. He spent 20 minutes doing that then his eyes landed on the phone again. He drops the pen and began reaching for his phone the stops. He began taking a few deep breaths. "Steady on, Ghost. Jus' relax." he thought to himself. "She's fine. The baby's fine. They're both fine. Okay? There's no reason to worry." He once again picked the pen and began working again, and after another 15 minutes. He leans against his chair and looked up the ceiling. "It's fine. They're gonna be fine. It won't be like last time..." As soon as he thought crossed his mind went back to the haunting night on Christmas Eve. He saw the bodies of his mom, his brother Tommy is own wife and son... Then saw Ellie getting shot the sound of gun fire clean as bell that ring is mind then his eyes snapped open. Ghost stood up breathing his heavy, and looking around his desk and grabbing his phone and began calling Ellie. After a phone rings she picked up: "Hey, sweetie. What's going on?"

He felt his heart felt a lot more has soon as he heard her voice. "Nothin', Lovie. D-Doin' some paperwork." Hiding the shakiness of his voice. "Meetin' went on longer than I thought." "I figured." said Ellie. "I been watching HunterxHunter and I can't believe how good it is. I just fine Heaven's Arena arch. Tell Kyle he's good great taste." "Heh. Copy that." said Ghost. Then heard the door of his office being knocked. Ghost looked up at the door and said: "Ellie, I'm sorry but gonna have to call ya back." 'That's fine. Love you. Tell everyone I said hi." "Sure thing. Love y." said Ghost, hanging up his phone then called out:"... It's open." The door open and Kyle Gaz Garrick pop his head. "Is this bad time, Sir?" "Heh. Not at all, Kyle." said Ghost, with an amused tone. "Yar not Johnny. C'mon in." Kyle walked into the door and closed the door behind, and walked over the desk. "Luka ask me give this to you." He held up a vanilla folder. "Jus' put on my desk." said Ghost, as picked up the paper that he was working and put them in green that was laid open and put the papers in it. "By the way, Kyle, your timin’ is in impeccable as always." said Ghost, closing the green fold. "Got the paperwork ya ask me to look is done." "Oh, great." said Kyle, as he took the green folder for him. "Thanks doin’ that for me. You save my sink, L.T." Ghost nods. 'I heard your wife wasn't feeling to well. How is she?" Kyle asked. "She's doin' fine. Just a some bad mornin’ sickness and headaches, Gaz. Another she’s doin’ grand.” said Ghost, reaching for his mug and saw it was empty. "By the way she's been enjoyin' HunterxHunter. She just the Heaven's Arena, the YorkNewCity arc. The best one." "Yep. Not as good as the Chimera Ant arc." said Kyle. "Bloody hell. I know, mate. That arc is a fuckin' masterpiece. I love YorkNewCity more." said Ghost. "And Kurapika in an absolute legend." "... Okay, yeah, you make a good point.” "Heh. Anyway, how about we both get a cuppa, yeah?" "Sure. I could use, sir." Ghost stood up from his chair and he and Kyle walked of the office and began making their down the hallway. "Have you told Ellie about up coming mission?" asked Kyle. "...Not yet. Plan to when I get home." said Ghost. Kyle then looked at him, he knew that his Lieutenant was man of words and didn't like to talk about himself that much, Kyle then clears his throat. "I was wonder, Ghost, do you wanna go to the pub with me and Soap after work?" asked Kyle. "Sorry. Can't." "Oh. You sure? Seems like ages since all went all hung out together." "I know. But I did promises the missus I would be home after work." "... Alight, mate." It was huge room with blur flooring, and had about up too 20 tables that was spread out across the, with chair that were pulled in. With large glass windows that looked in the took up most the walls. The rain had stopped and the was thick fog was began covering haft the training grounds. There were few fellow solders that were sitting scatted around. Some were talking, playing a few bored games or read books.

In the far of the mess hall was sitting alone was Luka who reading a book he had his glasses on.

Just then his phone was ringing, and he looked up and saw he got a text. He reached for it and check to see who texted him.

(Text From Kyle)

*wanna coffee? ☕️🙂*

Luka then began texting and sent it.

(Text Sent)

*that would be nice*

*thanks*

Just then an arm came out no where in from Luka pulling a plain white mug of coffee in front of him.

"Here ya go, mate~." said Kyle, with beaming grin.

"AGH!" Luka jumps and looks up to right and there stood Kyle who laughing at him. As Ghost pulled a chair and sat down.

"... Jeez, Kyle. You scared the hell out me." Luka snapped.

"Sorry. But it was his idea." said Kyle, looking over Ghost.

Luka turned his head to him and glared.

"Wow. You suck."

"Need to be more alert, Lu." Ghost amused, as he took a sip of his tea.

"He's not wrong." said Kyle sitting next to Luka. "How's goin'?"

"It was rather pleasant..." Luka said, closing his book and placing it the table. "... But then you two jerks came here to annoy me."

"Just showin' how much we respect you." said Kyle.

Luka looked at him for a moment, and nods. "Fair enough. Anyway thank you for the coffee, Kyle."

He picked up and took a sip and asked: "How was the meeting?"

Kyle's face fell and lean against his chair. "Too. Fuckin'. Long." Then he grits his teeth. "Hearin’ Green's voice makes my ears bleed."

Ghost lets out low agreeable grunt.

"Yep. He's a jerk." Luka said. "But what about the mission you guys have to on in next few weeks."

Kyle was taking a sip of his coffee and then eyes widen, then looked at Ghost was staring at his mug of tea.

Luka sat there looking from to the other.

"... U-Um... Guys? Is there something wrong?"

Kyle looked him then at Ghost who asked: "Ya should let Price fill ya in."

Luka felt his anxiety.

"... H-How... bad is the next mission?"

"... To say, Luka." Kyle said. "It's... a very dodgy."

"Sergeant Garrick." said Ghost in a low voice.

Kyle felt his body tense up when he spoke, then fell silent.

As the 3 men sat there, Johnny came walking over he was about to say something when saw that they looked tense.

"Creepin' Mary and Joseph. What's got ya lot all gloomy?"

"Hm? Oh, hey Soap." said Kyle, with wave.

"Hello, Soap." said Luka.

"Luka." Johnny said, looking at him fondly and ben over and have him a bear hug.

Luka catch of grade, laughs a little began patting his back upper.

Ghost looked from mug watched them.

His teammates...

His brothers...

He watched for a moment, then said began reaching into his breast packet.

"Well, since you muppets are here. Attention."

The looked at him as he slide something onto the table in front of them. The 3 men looked at the ultrasound.

Ghost there looking at them.

"Since you lot are gonna be uncles I want you ya to know we're expectin’ a lit' baby girl." He said, leaning against his chair arms crossed.

The 3 men looked at him in shocked for a few moments and Johnny began grinning and said: "YES!!! I FUCKIN' BLOODY CALLED IT! I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE A GRIL!!" Then looks Kyle. "YA OWE ME AND REST OF THE LADS DRINK, GARRICK!"

"... Damn it..." Kyle groans, rolling his watching at Johnny giving a smug look. "I was thought the baby was gonna be a boy."

"Hahah. Like I told ya months ago: Intuition."

"You're a git."

"Aye! A Git who's gettin' free drink~!"

Luka sat there watching with a disapproval annoyance and shook his head, turn to face with a smile."That's wonderful to hear, Ghost. I'm very ha---." He felt his stop a chill run his as Ghost at there across the table a dark ominous expression in his eyes as he looking at Johnny and Kyle. "... You. Muppets. Made. A. Bet. On. Gender. Of. My. Kid?" said Ghost in a low voice.

As soon as they both heard him speak Both Johnny and Kyle felt their body tense up as they both sense an overwhelming sense of ominous doom coming over them.

Then month cleaned their throats, both put a mature adult act.

"That's great news." said Kyle. "Very happy for you and Ellie."

"Aye. A blessing for sure, L.T." said Johnny.

Ghost just him both his famous haunted 'Ghost' look. His dark brown eyes, then picked his mug of tea taking a sip.

"My heart almost stop..." Luka thought. "I... I forgot how terrifyin’ he can be..." Kyle thought. "... How can be so bloody scary...!?" Johnny thought.

Just then someone was walking over to them, a woman who looked looked to be in her mid two 20's, slightly tall, with short blondish hair tan skin. She was wearing a light green scrubs black and white sneakers and white doctors coat. Rebecca Jose was making over and said in a slight southern accent "Mornin' y'all." Both Johnny and Kyle jump a little and looked. As soon as Kyle saw he felt his face heat a little and his hearting a little faster. "O-Oh! D-Doc." he said, with a smile. "H-Hi. aftermoon?" "Hi, Gaz. How are you?" the woman said, giving him a sweet smile. "Well. Very well. Heh." said Kyle, shyly. The rest of the men looked over and Luka said: "Hello, Becca." "Good afternoon, lass." said Johnny. Ghost nods and took a sip of tea. "What' going on here? You 4 up to something?" Rebecca said "Not really. Just waffling about."said Kyle. "That's good to see. I think y'all could some down time, been workin' yourself to death." Then Rebecca looked over at Ghost. "Speakin' of death. Hey, big guy," Ghost looked up her. "I order the medicine you ask, it's in my office." Ghost nods and stood up he picked up ultrasound and his mug of tea. "I'll see ya lot in tick. That will be." "Roger, pops." said Kyle. "Take it easy, da." said Johnny. Both Luka and Rebecca both tried not laugh has Ghost gave them a look, and walked pass them. As soon he left Luka stood up himself. "I get back to work myself." He picked his mug and book. "I'll see ya two later, okay?" "Right. Ya coming with us too the pub, yeah?" said Kyle. "I'll stop by." said Luka, walking away, living the two younger men at the table. Kyle looked over Johnny who looked to be deep in thought. "Something on your mind, mate?" Johnny looked at him and thought. "Nah. Nothin' really Thinkin' about babies for L.T. and Ellie's girl. I was thinkin' Bridget or Abby." "Heh. I think that's up to both them.” said Kyle, with small laugh. Then thought to himself. "... All though, I think Sara or Ester." "Ooooh, Ester is a grand name, lad." said Johnny. "I like Josephine. We get call Jojo!" The two kept on talking Ghost had fellowed Rebecca to her office. It was like Ghost's but slight larger a still desk in the far corer two ver large book shelves, a pulled out cot that far life corer of the room, with small bedside table and lap on. Ghost looked the cot and said: "See ya added table." "Heh. Yeah." Rebecca said, picking small white bag that was on her desk and walked over the him. "I think it makes the office way more cozy.." She held up the bag to her him. "Here's the meds for Ellie." "Thanks, Doc." Ghost tokk the bag. "How's her headaches? Any better?" "Yeah. She said so at least. She did have wake up in the middle of the nigh' got sick." said Ghost. "Not sure what the bloody fuck she ate. This mornin' she put peanut butter on her eggs. ... I-Is that normal?" "Oh, yeah." said Rebecca. "Sometimes pregnancy make women eat some crazy shit. It's out there, for sure and gross. But normal." Ghost just looks and just hums. "Ooookay... Well, thanks again. Doc." "Pff. You don't have to thank me." said Rebecca, she then walked reached for her phone and pulled out. "Let's see... I think Ellie's next appointment is---." "March 2nd. 10:20 am." said Ghost. Rebecca looked at him a bit shocked. "... Really?" "Roger." "... Did have written down on your phone." "Negative, Jus' got a good remember." "... Uh... Huh..." Rebecca than thought. "... That's... oddly cool." Ghost was about to walk out when Rebecca said: "I gotta say Ghost you got this whole dad thing nail." He dead and looked down flooring. He... wasn't sure say but said: "... Still tryin' to learnin', Doc." "Hump. Well, you're doin great I think." He didn't say anything again just. "... Thanks again." And he walked out the office, closing the door behind him. He thought about what Rebecca had said to him. Was she being honest with him? Or what she mocking him in somewhere?

He looked down at the small bag in his hand before makig his away down the hallway.

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