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puck-luck · 5 months

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Ok, my ideia of a request it's a smut (of course) piece where Nico H and girlfriend are in Swiss for the summer and they are on a road trip, and while driving in the middle of a forest they HAVE to pull onto the side of the road to have sex 😉

I hope you can understand, English not my first language!

warnings: brat!reader (she's so me), car sex, oral (f receiving), begging/teasing (manipulation?) pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader summary: not quite following the request, but the one where fem!reader rides nh's face in the back of the car during a scenic drive. wc: 1111

“I like the mustache, Neeks.”

Nico turns to face you, offering up a small smile. “I know, schatz. You told me this morning.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I got to appreciate it this morning,” You grin, sliding Nico’s hand from its spot on your knee to the inside of your thigh. He’s always touching you somehow when he’s driving and today is no different, and today it’s giving you the perfect leverage to tease him.

“You just don’t want me to shave.”

You toss your head back, groaning. “I don’t think it’s fair that you’re lucky enough to be sexy with a mustache and you still decide to shave it.”

“Fair to whom, baby?”

“No fucking shot you know how to use whom instead of who, Nico.”

Nico laughs, squeezing your thigh before patting it and returning it to rest on your knee. “I had to learn English. You’ve been fluent since you were a baby. I’m sure once I’m done teaching you how to speak my language, you’ll know more about the grammar rules than I do.”

“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” You reply, moving Nico’s hand up again. “Your mustache?”

“I’m shaving it tomorrow. You can’t convince me to keep it.”

“I want to ride your face.”

Nico blinks in surprise, mouth slightly ajar. He nods a few times, eyes wide. “Yeah. Yeah, we should do that.”

“Now,” You tell him, hatting your eyelashes innocently. “We should do it now. There’s no time to waste, since you’re so set on shaving tomorrow.”

With that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and crawl into the backseat. In the backseat, able to make eye contact with Nico through the rearview mirror, you shed your shorts and your skimpy panties. You’d been planning this all day, ever since Nico rejected your advances this morning and opted to plan a drive through the mountains surrounding his hometown. You spread your legs and tilt your head, waiting for Nico to look back at you again.

He does, but looks away a split second later, adjusting both of his hands on the steering wheel. You don’t miss the way he swallows, just short of an audible gulp.

“Come on, Ni. You know you want to join me.”

You swipe your fingers through your folds, bringing it up to your lips. You wrap your lips around your finger, licking up the digit in clear view of your boyfriend.

“Y/N,” Nico complains.

You moan around your finger.

“We’re supposed to be on a nice, scenic drive.”

“There’s a different view I’d like to see, baby,” You tease. “I think there’s a view that you’d like to see, too.”

Nico falls silent, seeming caught off guard by your boldness.

“You know the one I’m referring to, right, Neeks?” You ask, voice light and airy as you continue to touch yourself. “I know how much you love to see me above you.”

“Schatzi,” Nico murmurs, indicating that you have to proceed with caution if you want to continue at all.

“I thought you loved it when I take what I need from you, Nico. I need to fuck myself with your mouth, why won’t you join me?” You pout, using all of his weaknesses against him. “Don’t you want to get a taste of me?”

Nico curses under his breath. He steers to the side of the road and shifts the car into park, getting out of the vehicle and rounding the car to push the passenger seat all the way forward before he joins you in the back. You watch his arm muscles flex as the seat moves. You slip a finger into your wet cunt, letting out a soft moan at the feeling.

“Take it out,” Nico commands, slamming the passenger door and taking two steps to open the door to the back. “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

You pump your fingers in and out of yourself one more time for good measure, then shift over to make room for Nico.

“Nope,” He says, voice sharp. He manages to fit himself into the space on the floor between the backseat and the passenger seat. His body faces the passenger seat and he tilts his head back to lean against the seat behind him. “Come on. Gonna fuck you with my tongue.”

Nico opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, flat for you to lower yourself onto. You smile, nice and wide and very toothy, before swinging one leg over Nico and bracketing his head with your knees. You lower yourself down, Nico’s big hands meeting you halfway and pulling you down to meet his waiting tongue.

He’s relentless from the get-go, his tongue flexing against you in short licks that offer plenty of stimulation but no real relief.

You grind down on his tongue in mostly-aborted motions, the angle much more awkward than it is in your bed at home. Your head is mere inches from the roof of the car, causing you to hunch over in a way that can’t be sexy, but Nico seems to enjoy anyway. You’ve got a view of his eyes, the ones that are following every sway and bounce of your tits as you continue to grind down.

“Nico,” You groan. “More.”

Nico lifts you off his tongue just long enough to berate you. “The thing that you begged for so impatiently wasn’t enough? Poor girl. Maybe you shouldn’t get to come at all.”

You cry out in denial, but it turns into something more drawn out and longing when Nico reattaches himself to your clit and sucks hard, shameless slurping noises coming from below you. His mustache feels heavenly against your skin, scratchy and itchy and beautiful as your juices begin to coat it.

When Nico shifts down to fuck his tongue into your hole, the hair above his lip rubs against your folds and his nose nudges your clit. He’s fast and desperate with his movements, pulling you into him so close that you can feel his breaths as he inhales and exhales. The soft sensation of his breath is what pulls you over the edge, in the end. It’s like a string, keeping you attached to him and to the world, whereas everything else fades away.

Nico licks you through the orgasm, then presses a kiss to the side of your thigh. He playfully bites you, then tosses you to the side, your back hitting the backseat with an “oof.”

He gets stuck for a moment in the spot where he’s sitting, shifting this way and that before he manages to free himself. You giggle as he does so and he side-eyes you.

“Menace.”

note: RIP Nico's Mustache. I miss you already. I wish we had had more than one day with you.

#puck-luck's fics #nico hischier #nico hischier smut #nico hischier x reader #nico nischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #andy writes anything🍄

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cherrifire · 6 months

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Hi :D Logic behind the latest batch of cutie marks? if you feel like sharing :)

Hello everypony ^-^ It is cuie mark info dump again ^-^

Before we start, reminder that Grian + Tango do not have cutie marks because they are a hippogriff and a Kirin respectively. Non-pony creatures do not have cutie marks :)

Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get started!

Mumbo's Cutie Mark

I'm the proudest of this one because it'd simple but affective.

Mumbo's cutie mark is a tangled-up red wire which has been cut at the ends to expose the conductors. The wire is also particularly made to create an 'M' shape.

Similar to Impulse's cutie mark, Mumbo's is related to electricity for his investment in redstone. Electricity being the closest thing to it. That said, I gave Mumbo a wire because it is the baseline of all electricity. It connects everything together. From the power source and into whatever little machine or contraption you've built, wires are needed to keep it all powered! So I thought using it as a cutie mark would work really well for Mumbo. Sometimes he can just bring people together just like a wire does for electricity.

(And the little knot in the wire is just a little something to indicate Mumbo may be a bit of a mess)

Additionally, with the wire being in the shape of an 'M' it could stand for Mumbo while also being in the shape of a mustache too :)

Scar's Cutie Mark

Capitalism baby! Scar's cutie mark is of a red top hat next to a bag of bits (the currency in my little pony is called bits and are essentially gold coins).

At heart, Scar is a swindler. He's full of joy and whimsy sure, but he has a real talent for selling little trinkets to anypony who takes a look at his store front. In my head, Scar is essentially the flim and flam of this AU. He's a wandering salespony who shows up from time to time with things to sell from all across Equestria! That's where the little bag can be interpreted as a bag of coins, or a bag full of mystery items he's collected over the years.

Also, the top hat is there to represent Scar's salespony flair.

Joel's Cutie Mark

Joel's cutie mark is of a greek stone pillar and a chisel.

There are a couple of meanings to this one. The first one is pretty obvious, Joel loves to build! He's a fantastic builder with an eye for design. So I chose a greek pillar to represent one of my favourite builds of his, Stratos! But of course, a simple pillar can be used for lots of things and that's where the second meaning comes in. To hold things up! Joel holds himself up to on pretty high pedestal. He's very full of himself and I honestly can't blame him. Joel is great! So of course I had to represent his ego in his cutie mark somehow.

Jimmy's Cutie Mark

Jimmy's cutie mark is of a little canary bird. Another cutie mark with two meanings behind it!

First, is the obvious one. The canary in the coal mine. Misfortune will fall upon the canary to indicate to others that the journey may be too dangerous to continue. A bad luck charm if you will or a bad omen. And that's the surface meaning of his cutie mark that everypony knows it for. Jimmy is the poor clumsy pony in town who always seems to hurt himself before things go wrong.

However, there is a second meaning. Canary birds are also supposed to happiness and harmony. This is the main core of the cutie mark which gets over looked. Despite the bad implications of his cutie mark, it does not stop Jimmy from spreading joy wherever he goes. He's kind and joyous, keeping a positive attitude no matter what.

(I of course have a Ranchers plot point where Tango says this to Jimmy to cheer him up about his cutie mark one day. Tango, who has never had a cutie mark and does not understand their importance, says he doesn't see Jimmy as bad luck, but instead feels joy when Jimmy smiles no matter the situation. But that's a story for another day 🤭)

#cherri.speaks #trafficblr #Third Life x MLP #mumbo jumbo #gtwscar #smallishbeans #solidaritygaming #mclp

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year

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here we go again with my bullshit about coparenting megumi with satoru

most days, megumi and tsumiki are with distant relatives on tsumiki's mom's side. however, during what satoru affectionately calls "fun weekends" or fweekends when neither of you are sent on a mission and tsumiki is hanging out with her friends, you call whoever megumi is staying with to tell him to get his backpack ready for an adventure. and, at 9:00am sharp on friday, you sign megumi out of school early and meet satoru at the zoo.

you hand megumi one of those applesauce pouches to eat with one hand while his other firmly grips your pinky as you approach satoru at the front entrance. he's opted for sunglasses instead of the blindfold today and is unironically wearing a fanny pack slung around his chest. he gives you a peck on the cheek and whispers you look so pretty today in your ear before grabbing megumi and hoisting him on top of his shoulders, marching into the zoo.

and that's where megs stays for the majority of the day, stationed on top of satoru's towering body to get a better look over the crowds. his hands find fistfuls of snowy white hair but satoru doesn't mind at all; with megumi on his shoulders, satoru's hand finds a permanent place in yours and the other hovers next to megumi's waist in case he loses his balance. when he does let go of your hand, it's to hold megumi's legs in place as he jogs around the surrounding area making racecar noises.

you make megumi wear a bucket hat to protect his face from the sun and satoru takes him to the bathroom every time you pass one, which he reluctantly obliges. satoru also gives him a very extensive lesson on the importance of sunscreen while you're in the bathroom and they're looking at the flamingoes.

despite his indifferent disposition, megumi finds the zoo fascinating. his eyes give his emotions away, and your heart feels lighter as you see them twinkle with intrigue and widen with surprise as you navigate the exhibits. quietly, he asks satoru to take him closer to the wolf exhibit because it matches the stuffed animal you got him when you first introduced yourself. you stay there for a while until satoru tries to make them howl, in which case you drag both of them out of there. megumi also points at the polar bears and sarcastically asks satoru if he's related to them because of their fur color. his little hand reaches up to touch the flowers blooming in the trees of the aviary and he freezes up when a multi-colored bird lands on his head. you take a picture, megumi with a bird on his head and satoru glancing up at him, and make it your lockscreen. during lunch, you get another funny photo of megs and satoru having matching ice cream mustaches after you get soft-serve for dessert. satoru beams at the camera while megumi's tongue tries in vain to lick the ice cream off his nose.

before you leave to have dinner, you let megumi pick out a souvenir from the gift shop and he gets another wolf stuffed animal to be friends with the one you gave him. satoru buys you and him one of those magnetic best friends bracelets except the two halves make a bird resembling the one that landed on megumi in the aviary.

megumi hangs on to the wolf stuffie during dinner and snuggles it closer as he yawns in the car. when you tuck him into his room at jujutsu tech for bed, he asks when he can have another adventure with you and satoru.

#jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles

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sagesolsticewrites · 6 months

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Kiss Me Once

The moment you’ve been anxiously awaiting is finally here— your boyfriend Rosie Rosenthal finally arrives home.

(hi @hellfirequinnie @justheretoreadthxxs @ronsenthal @storysimp)

a/n: hugest of huge shoutouts to Winnie (@winniemaywebber) and Gina (@ginabaker1666) for letting me yell about this fic 24/7, not to mention darling Marina’s (@precious-little-scoundrel) spicy Rosie headcanons which played a huge part in the inspiration for this fic (as well as the future parts I have planned 👀) 💕

Warnings: mentions of death (brief mention of death of a parent, war deaths), mentions of sex, Rosie being a tease 👀, definite historical inaccuracies, if there’s anything else y’all would like me to tag, please let me know!

Word count: 3k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

You pace around the foyer of the Rosenthal apartment impatiently.

Your boyfriend, Robert, was coming home after several long years of war, and he was already ten minutes late.

He had insisted on meeting you all at the apartment instead of greeting him as he got off the train— something sweet about wanting to walk into his home and see you all there— but his train had gotten in on time, so where—

“Y/N, he’ll be here honey,” his mother says gently, exchanging a look with his sister from her place in the kitchen where she’s preparing a spread of Rosie’s favorite foods, “You know how the traffic is, especially today.”

“I know, I know,” you nod, your nervous pacing slowing the tiniest bit, “But he said—”

Your worries are interrupted by a knock on the door, and suddenly you’re frozen in place.

“Well? You gonna answer it?” his sister teases, gesturing at the door.

“But—” You glance between his family and the door, conflicted.

“He’s had enough of us fussing over him,” his mother pipes up, moving to stand next to her daughter, “We all know who he’s really here to see,” she adds with a teasing smile.

You glance down with a smile, trying to will the heat in your cheeks away before you move to finally fling the door open.

It truly doesn’t seem real, the sight that greets you as the door opens.

Robert stands there, dapper in his dress uniform, curls neat, hat tucked neatly under his arm.

He blinks in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be the one who opened the door, but the shock on his face is quickly replaced with a wide grin.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” you gasp as you’re pulled into his arms for a tight hug, burying your face in his neck as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Missed you so much,” he murmurs softly in your ear before pulling away to take in your face, eyes scanning over your features as if to make sure everything was the same as he remembered.

You do the same, clocking one very noticeable change.

“What’s this?” You laugh, gesturing to your own top lip.

His fingers move self-consciously to the mustache that definitely wasn’t there when he left for flight school.

“Oh yeah, uh… remember I told you I started tryin’ to grow one back in training? Well… it turned into this,” He laughs, meeting your eyes anxiously, “What do you think?”

You rise up into your tiptoes to peck his lips, “I think you look very handsome, my love.”

His hand cups your cheek as you pull away, bringing you back in for a long, tender kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours after so long, but the rosy spell the two of you are under is quickly broken by his sister pointedly clearing her throat, ignoring her mother’s scolding look at her interruption.

“Wow, Rosie,” she teases as the two of you break apart, “it’s nice to see that you remembered we’re here too.”

“That’s the best welcome you’ve got for your big brother, Jeanie?” He rolls his eyes playfully, unable to hide his smile as he gives you one last squeeze and goes to greet his family.

“Hi, Ma,” he says, voice thick as he embraces his mother for the first time in far too long.

She clings to him in a long, fierce hug, and he returns it just as fiercely until his sister tackles him from the side.

Rosie lets out an oof, quickly adjusting so he has both of them in an embrace.

The four of you sit down for dinner, conversation flowing nonstop. Even with the frequent letters back and forth, Rosie still had plenty to tell you about his life in England, and his family still had plenty to catch him up on.

As his sister is rambling about work, his hand comes to rest on your knee. Still respectable, of course, but the warmth emanating from him makes it difficult to focus on anything else.

As the night continues, you nearly drop your fork into your mashed potatoes when his hand glides ever so slightly up your leg, slipping just underneath the hem of your skirt. He maintains a straight face, wide grin barely flickering as he teases his sister about the crush she inadvertently mentioned, all while his fingers remain indecently close to your core.

His mother is in the middle of filling him in on all the neighborhood gossip when your glass of water comes very close to slipping out of your hand. You catch it in time, mumbling an excuse about being oddly clumsy tonight, when all you can think about are the featherlight patterns Rosie is tracing on the inside of your thigh.

You shoot a glare at him when his mother and sister are distracted, which he meets with a smile, eyes sparkling with mirth, heat simmering just underneath.

Somehow you manage to fumble through the rest of dinner, contributing with simple nods or “mm hm”s as Rosie’s presence next to you overwhelms your mind. As the meal finishes— complete with a mouthwatering cherry pie— Rosie stands and begins gathering plates. You and his mother stand simultaneously to do the same.

“Ma, please sit down,” Rosie insists gently, “I got it.”

As she opens her mouth to protest, he simply shakes his head.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do this, yeah? Let me help out. Please.”

Eyes softening at the mention of his being away for so long, she relents, and the two of you gather the remaining dishes.

Mrs. Rosenthal and her daughter move to the living room, soft jazz drifting through the apartment as they turn on the radio while you and Rosie work like a well-oiled machine washing and drying dishes. Er… mostly.

“Robbie!” You yelp as he splashes water up towards you, holding your rag up as a shield. You laugh, retaliating with a reckless swing of the still-damp dishrag.

What follows is a playful water fight where miraculously neither of you get too wet, but does end with you pinned between Rosie and the kitchen counter, his lips moving greedily against yours.

You let out a soft squeal as he pulls away briefly to scatter kisses all over your face and neck, mustache brushing against your skin.

“Robbie, that tickles!”

You can feel him grinning as his lips land on yours once more.

“I missed hearing you laugh.” he murmurs between kisses as his hands wander freely over your dress, “Missed you so, so much, honey.”

“I missed you, too,” you sigh as you reluctantly pull away for air, thumb stroking along his cheekbone as you take him in: mustache and all.

“When you re-enlisted, I—”

You take a breath, forcing back the sudden tears that threaten to spill over.

“I was so scared,” you admit softly, “So incredibly proud of you, of course, because I know that’s who you are: you don’t come home until the fight’s over. But so many people were getting those damn Western Union telegrams telling them that their sons or brothers or friends wouldn’t be coming home, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being one of them.” Your voice trembles, and you take a shaky breath in, pressing your forehead to his, “I couldn’t stand the thought of being without you.”

“Honey,” he says softly, nudging your noses together ever so gently so you meet his eyes, “I love you.”

Those words hang in the air for a heartbeat, words that you had only been able to read in his letters for the past two years, words that you hadn’t heard aloud in far, far too long.

“I love you,” he repeats softly, firmly, the words like an oath on his lips, “and I hated the thought of making you and Ma and Jeanie worry, but… but what I hated more was the thought of going back home when there was still so much evil out there. And the kids who were coming in to replace us… that’s it, they were just kids. I couldn’t leave in good conscience knowing that some teenager was gonna be taking my place in the sky and wasn’t gonna make it home because of me. I saw it happen too many times, and I couldn’t—”

He shakes his head, swallows, and meets your eyes again with a soft smile.

“But I’m home now. And I’m not leaving you anytime soon, yeah?”

He leans in for a tender kiss, one that has you melting down to your toes as he pulls you into his arms, swaying ever so slightly.

“Dance with me, honey? I know it’s no Minton’s,” he chuckles, “But it’ll do.”

He holds you close, twirling you around the kitchen with your head resting on his shoulder as Kitty Kallen’s voice drifts in from the living room, Rosie singing along softly in your ear.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

He always claimed that his ma and Jeanie got all the musical talent, but you loved to hear him sing in the rare moments you got to. You loved it even more in this moment because it meant that he was here. He was home. He was safe. And he was with you.

You stay wrapped in his arms for the duration of the song, and as it fades into the next one— Glen Miller’s crooning “At Last”— he whispers into your ear once more.

“What would you say,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning over your neck, “if I asked you to meet me in my room tonight?”

You pull back to meet his eyes, to make sure you understand his meaning. You see a slight nervousness there, tinged with longing, and just below that, a simmering heat that sparks an ember deep in your core.

The two of you had been, er… intimate before. Several times, actually (the fire escape outside his window that happened to also lead to your room in the apartment upstairs made for an excellent escape from both fires and nosy parents wondering what those noises were in the middle of the night), and each time had you seeing stars— sometimes literally if he felt like sneaking you up onto the roof with a blanket on one of the rare clear nights in New York— and longing for the next one. The letters you wrote alternated between sweet and rather scorching when you happened to be in a mood, each of you divulging your fantasies over the years you were apart, hoping to fulfill them when he came home in one piece.

“I’d say,” you murmur, “that I’d love to.”

That bright grin spreads across his face again, lighting him up from the inside out.

“Good,” he says softly, “because I wanna have a proper reunion with my girl.”

His hands slide down to rest low on your hips, pulling you that much closer as his lips seal over yours for a kiss that has butterflies swarming in your belly.

You lose yourself in the feeling of his hands on you, of his lips on yours, in the taste of him— even the utterly foreign (though not unpleasant) feeling of his mustache grazing against your skin has you wanting more, wanting to make up for the time you lost when he was an ocean away.

Something— maybe the crackle of the radio switching stations, maybe some small noise outside, maybe the remnants of the proper girl you should be— brings you back to reality all too soon, and suddenly you’re pulling away and looking up at him regretfully as you remind him:

“Your mother’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

He lets out a playful groan, barely heard over the radio as his head slumps onto your shoulder.

“You’re probably right,” he sighs, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he begins fixing up his appearance; attempting to get his hair to lay flat from where your fingers had raked through it, wiping away your bright red lipstick smeared around his mouth, “Let’s go.”

Once you’ve reapplied your lipstick and made an attempt to fix your rumpled clothes and hair, he leads you back into the living room where his mother and sister are lounging in the armchairs next to the radio.

“Sorry, Ma,” he says, cheeky grin firmly back in place as the two of you settle on the loveseat nearby, “Had to squeeze in a dance with my girl.”

You bite back a squeak of surprise as his hand— out of sight of his mother and sister— drifts dangerously low on your hip to give you a playful squeeze, all while maintaining that trademark sparkling Rosenthal grin.

“You two are so sweet,” his mother coos, and you can’t help the shy smile creeping onto your face as you lean into Rosie.

Nor can you help the laugh you let out when you see Rosie sticking his tongue out at Jeanie, presumably in retaliation for the disgusted look on her face.

“Robert,” she scolds, “Be nice to your sister.”

“But Ma—”

“And Jeanette,” she turns to his sister with a rare use of her full name, “Your brother just came home, I won’t have you teasing him for wanting to spend time with Y/N.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it at her mother’s raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, Robert,” she grumbles stiltedly.

When his mother’s eyes flick to him, Rosie mumbles in the same stilted way.

“Sorry, Jeanie.”

“Thank you,” his mother says crisply, “Now— oh, honey, did I tell you…”

Mrs. Rosenthal somehow has even more neighborhood gossip to tell Rosie, and Jeanie has plenty of questions for her brother about life in England. He happily listens and regales them with stories, his animated way of speaking distracting his family from the way his hand rests on your thigh in plain sight. You should nudge him away, slip your hand into his, do something to make it look more innocent… but you don’t want him to stop tracing patterns onto your thigh over your dress, working his way up and down and back again in a way that makes it very difficult to focus on anything else.

He slips his hand away, a jolt of disappointment running through you at the lack of warmth, just in time for his mother to turn her attention to you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m going to make some tea before we all head to bed, would you like some?”

You politely decline, as you have for the past nearly two years.

It was just you, your father, and your brother after your mother passed when you were four, and when they both enlisted after the Pearl Harbor attack, Mrs. Rosenthal was kind enough to let you, as her daughter's close friend and her son’s girlfriend, temporarily move into her guest room. They were currently somewhere on a boat in the Pacific, and though you were able to send letters back and forth, it was a sporadic way of communicating, and each day you prayed that they would come home safe like your Robbie had.

Jeanette busies herself with the book she had been reading, and Robbie takes the small moment you have for yourselves to pull you close and press a sweet kiss to your cheek, mindful of his sister in the room.

“What was that for?” You ask, grinning. It seems you haven’t stopped smiling since he walked in the door a few hours ago.

“Just because,” he shrugs, a returning grin brightening his face, “I’m home, and I’m with my girl, and I can give her kisses anytime I want to.”

You don’t think it’s possible for your smile to grow any wider, but it does.

After pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, Rosie turns to his sister.

“Oh, Jeanie, I got you somethin’ while I was over there. Wanted to send it over, but I figured it’d be better if I gave it to you in person.”

He goes over to his pack and rummages around until he produces a small paperback.

“I found this in a bookshop when I was on one of my weekend passes, thought it seemed like something you’d like. Written by a woman, too, isn’t that something,” he says, handing her the copy of Green Dolphin Country, “Happy belated birthday, little sis. Hopefully this makes up a little for the ones I wasn’t here for.”

Oh goodness, your cheeks are starting to hurt, but you can’t stop smiling seeing Jeanie light up at the book.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Jeanie squeals, jumping up to squeeze her brother tight. He returns the hug fiercely, and your heart melts when you see him blinking back tears.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, bright grin back in place as she pulls away to devour his gift, adding teasingly, “Y’know, I heard it ends with—”

“No spoilers!” Jeanie whines.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Rosie holds his hands up in surrender, “Just tell me how it ends, promise?”

His little sister beams up at him, looking much younger than her actual age of 22.

“Promise.”

Mrs. Rosenthal returns with a tray bearing three mugs of tea, and night winds down with tea and books and soft chatter as one by one you all retire to your separate rooms.

Rosie shoots you a wink, hand drifting dangerously low on your back as he escorts you to your room before heading for his own just across the hall, leaving a lingering kiss on your lips that has you pleading for time to move faster, for his mother and Jeanie to fall asleep quickly so you can meet him without fear of waking them.

You slip into your favorite nightgown— a thin, filmy thing, one Rosie hasn’t seen before— and begin watching the clock as the wait for your agreed meeting time of 12:30 begins.

#rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x reader #robert rosenthal #robert rosenthal x reader #masters of the air x reader #mota fic #masters of the air #mota #mota x reader #my writing

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thedroneranger · 1 year

Text

Tip of the Cap (Bradley's Version)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Synopsis: Bradley rarely covers up his sun-kissed curls, but the one time he does...

Note: Tip of the Cap, started as a Bradley Bradshaw fic 😱 Struggling to finish it, I swapped the main interest to Jake and BOOM! it came together. However, the challenge of seeing through a Bradley version has been heavy on my mind, so I give you Tip of the Cap (Bradley's Version). Let me know your thoughts!

This one is for my Bradshaw Baddies™, in particular, @roosterforme and @cherrycola27—enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 3.0k

That. Fucking. Hat.

You leaned your palms on the edge of the dresser as you thought about Bradley trotting around in denim cutoffs and his backward baseball cap. Rarely did he cover up his sun-kissed curls, but today, at the annual squadron beach party, Bradley had chosen to don a well-worn UVA baseball cap.

And he looked good.

A smile pulled your lips as you thought about Bradley’s cheeky grin while he backpedaled on the hard-packed sand, watching the play he just called unfold. The little curl trying to escape his cap through the adjustment strap hole had you shaking your head in disbelief.

Lost in thought, you hardly reacted as he sidled up behind you. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his mustache tickling you. His hands wandered down the beach cover-up you were still wearing, pulling your body against his.

You made eye contact in the mirror that ran the length of your dresser as he sucked on your neck. The moan that escaped you made him smile as he continued to leave hot kisses down to your collarbone. Then he nipped the spot where your shoulder met your neck and you purred. You reached back to rake your fingers through his curls, and instead, your fingers met the taught fabric of his hat. A pout overtook your lips as your nails scratched against his hat.

Bradley ghosted his mustache along your jawline. Planting a kiss on the hinge, he snagged his cap by the bill and placed it on your head. Too big, it fell over your face. As you adjusted it, he kept peppering your shoulder with kisses. By the time you got his cap adjusted, Bradley was done teasing you and strolling to the ensuite bathroom. The muscles in his back subtly shifted and his shorts moved just enough you could see the defined tan line low on his hips. His lower back dimples taunted you.

With a sigh, you turned back to the mirror and shared a frown with your reflection. Your lower lip rolled between your teeth as you thought. Standing to your full height, you placed his hat on the dresser, and then slipped your beach cover-up over your head.

When you got dressed that morning, you had picked a modest swimsuit, knowing the beach party was a work event. However, it didn’t hurt that the suit was also one of Bradley’s favorites.

All day long, you taunted him whenever an opportunity arose. A number of times, you wiggled in his lap, grazed your chest against his, or bumped into his crotch. Each time, you knew he was doing his best to keep his reactions PG-13 in front of his colleagues.

On the ride home, Bradley couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You did your best to seem unfazed as the calloused pad of his thumb stroked the soft skin of your inner thigh. Every so often, his thumb would sneak into the baggy leg hole of your cutoffs and would innocently graze the crotch of your bathing suit. Payback for your earlier behavior.

Goosebumps hatched on your arms as your thoughts wandered back to Bradley quarterbacking the dogfight football game. Listening to him bark out plays and yell at his teammates to get into position. Even thinking about him pushing his Caravans up his nose had you lusting.

And that damn hat. His answer to your warning about making sure he wore enough sunscreen to remain a golden marshmallow instead of morphing into a boiled lobster.

Bradley started the day with his hat forward, the bill shielding his eyes along with his sunglasses. The minute he and his fellow pilots divvied into teams for football, he cocked it backward. A couple drives into the game, he ran for a touchdown. Successful, he scanned the beach and locked eyes with you. Bradley gave you a beaming smile and tipped his cap. Instantly, heat pooled between your thighs.

That heat was pooling again as you thought about his taut muscles, raspy voice, mustache and that fucking UVA baseball cap.

Then it hit you.

One more look toward the bathroom door, the water was still running, you hustled to the closet. Both pieces of your bathing suit fell to the floor as you crossed the room. Once in the closet, you thumbed through until you found what you wanted—his favorite Hawaiian shirt.

You shrugged on the garment and buttoned it as you walked toward the bed. One of the last times you wore this shirt, you and your best friend took some polaroids that you tucked into Bradley’s duffle before he deployed a few days later. Once he found the photos, his only request was for you to model it next time you were together. Bradley nearly fucked you on the hood of the Bronco when you picked him up wearing the shirt tucked and tied so it look like an off-the-rack top.

Just as you were climbing onto the bed, you spied his ball cap on the dresser. Bradley was still in the bathroom, so you grabbed the hat and ran back to the bed. Nestled among the pillows, you arranged yourself with your head resting in the crook of your elbow. With your free hand, you adjusted the hat one more time and waited.

Finally, Bradley emerged. A towel slung low on his hips, he darted toward the closet. However, he did a double take and changed course when he saw you. “What is this?” He stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his eyes locked on you.

You unbuttoned the shirt and had the thinnest sliver of skin showing. Your fingers trailed the valley between your breasts, down your stomach and stopped at your pubic mound. Bradley’s eyes tracked your fingers as they teased your cleft.

“Teasing you until I get what I want,” you said matter of factly, keeping eye contact with him.

Bradley’s lips quirked, trying to restrain a smirk. He unfolded his arms, placed a knee on the bed and climbed so he was hovering over you. He supported himself with a hand on either side of your head and his knee slotted between your thighs as you looked at each other. “Sweetheart, you pretend like you haven’t been teasing me all day,” he said.

“Did I?” You cocked an eyebrow, and then looked between the two of you as you dragged an index finger down his chest, his abs, and then dipped it into the roll of his towel. “Enlighten me.” You met his gaze while you tugged on the terrycloth, causing it to fall open.

His mustache shifted as his smirk bloomed. Bradley kept your gaze as he gently parted his shirt, letting his fingers ghost your skin until you were fully exposed. His head dropped to your chest, kissing and sucking each nipple until they peaked, and then trailed kisses down your stomach.

“The little black number you wore.” His tongue flicked into your belly button. “Every time you came in contact with me at the party.” Bradley pressed a kiss just below your navel. “Every graze. Every nudge. Every time you ‘settled’ into my lap.” He continued to let his lips brush against your skin.

Pleased with your reactions, Bradley sat back on his knees, pushing his towel on the floor and stroking himself until he was completely hard.

You watched him with hooded eyes. A whine escaped you as you let two fingers sink into your folds. Dipping into your wetness, you spread it around your lower lips as you watched Bradley.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He moved to push his thighs underneath yours and rest himself against your core. Gently grabbing your wrist, he pulled your fingers from your heat. You held your breath as you watched him guide your hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the pads before pushing them into his mouth. Yours fell open a little as his tongue swirled around your digits. His cheeks hollowed as he slowly pulled out your fingers with a soft pop.

Your eyes were locked on him, awaiting his next move. Bradley adjusted his grip to hold your palm face up. You watched as his saliva pooled on it. Using his tongue, he spread his spit around your palm and then positioned it around his cock. Loosely, you gripped him and lazily slid your hand up and down.

He sighed and ran his hands along your thighs as you continued to stroke him. As you got into a rhythm, he thrusted into your touch. “And now, you’re wearing my shirt,” he revived the conversation.

“What?!” You feigned surprise, sitting up and forgetting about him to grab at the fabric around you. “This is yours?!” You held a fistful of fabric in his direction. Bradley couldn’t help but continue to smirk as he leaned toward you.

Focused on him, you only remembered his baseball cap was perched on your head when his eyes floated to the bill—the only thing standing between your lips and his. Suddenly, the ball cap was resting backward on his half-dry curls and his body rolled over yours, pushing you flat into the bed. A hand on either side of your head, his thighs pushed yours wider as his lips and mustache glided along your neck and collarbone.

“My shirt. My hat.” Bradley said between kisses. “My pussy.” His teeth sank into your neck at the same time as he seated himself inside you. An rapturous moan left your lips, and your hands flew up to his shoulders, nails digging in. You snarled at each other—teeth sinking deeper, nails digging further.

Your breath hitched each time Bradley snapped his hips. Eyes wide, you rested your heels on the small of his back as he rutted into you. He pulled his head up to watch your expressions—you were getting louder with each thrust. He smiled.

The head of Bradley’s cock ground against the spot that made you see stars, so your eyes rolled back. “My hat, my shirt, my pussy,” he repeated like a chant. He kept hitting that spot, you could feel the warmth building in your belly. “Tonight, I’m gonna wear ‘em all at the same time.” The rasp in his voice alone nearly pushed you over the edge.

He hit that spot a few more times, sang your praises, and then you were coming. He hissed as your nails left raised pink streaks on his shoulders and down his arms. He continued to watch your face as he worked. Your eyes squeezed shut as you rode out your orgasm, clenching around Bradley as he continued to pump into you. A few soft grunts escaped him as he relished the feeling of you fluttering around him.

Your eyes flitted open to meet his hazel ones. He watched you as your hand moved from his shoulder to his jaw, and your thumb came to rest on his lower lip. Bradley pushed his lips against it a few times, matching the pace of his hips, and then his warm tongue met your thumbpad. He sucked on it before he tilted his chin to let your thumb rest there. You then ran it along his jaw as you stared at each other.

“It’s my turn, sweetheart.” Bradley gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you upright as he sat back on his haunches. You settled into his lap, still on his cock, and your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Bradley’s hands rested on your ass. One hand came back, and an open palm met your skin, sending a crack into the silence. You yelped and your hips canted forward. Bradley smiled as his teeth eclipsed his lower lip. His palm met your backside again, and you, again, yelped and canted forward. He spanked you a couple more times, enjoying your sounds and the forward motion of your hips.

Your ass was red, your skin hot, but you enjoyed the sting. You were so wet, you could feel your arousal running down his cock onto his balls. “You like that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “You’re so wet, you're getting me all wet, sweetheart.” You mewled as you leaned into him and captured his lips with yours.

Arms still secured around Bradley’s neck, you scooted back and forth to get friction against your clit. Bradley smiled into your kisses. “That’s my girl.” He matched your motions, which caused you to moan between kisses while you moved in tandem.

Before long, your micro movements weren’t enough. Bradley was wound tight and wanted long strokes to get off. His hand crept to your neck, and he gently tugged you away. You were hard pressed to break your kiss, and you demanded that Bradley stay buried inside you as you changed positions.

Before you were flat on your back, Bradley helped you take off his shirt, leaving you completely exposed. Meanwhile, he slipped the garment on and hovered over you. His gaze was smoldering, pupils blown, and his hips picking up speed with each thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he cooed. Bradley’s head lolled back for a moment. You studied his chin, neck and chest while he was blissed out. Unable to control yourself, your hand came to his lower stomach. Bradley groaned and tilted his head forward so he could see you. He watched as you ran your knuckles his happy trail. Then, your hand slipped lower until your index and middle fingers were in a V-shape around the base of his cock.

Bradley continued to thrust as you applied light pressure. Involuntarily, he groaned and you smiled. You continued to coax him toward orgasm with your fingers and pussy.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Bradley’s version of saying he was close. One hand planted beside your head, the other now on your neck. His fingers applied pressure to the sides. You wrapped your free hand around his wrist. Bradley watched you to make sure you were ok with the amount of pressure.

Bradley’s current pace had you on the path toward another orgasm. Your fingers shifted from Bradley’s cock to your clit to help make that a reality. Bradley praised you for taking care of yourself and shifted so his thighs pushed your legs wider. The head of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust.

The moans it induced from you was enough for him to shoot you full of cum. Bradley managed to keep pace as he came so you remained on track toward your second orgasm. As you pulsed around him, he slowed to enjoy the feeling.

Your mixed cum was oozing out as he continued to thrust and you continued to milk him. Some of it smeared onto your fingers as you continued to massage your clit. You brought them to your lips to lick clean. Bradley made the most desperate sound that pleasantly surprised both of you as he watched your fingers near your mouth.

Much to his pleasure, you brought your fingers to his mouth instead. He happily accepted them. First, licking from the base to pads and then letting you slip them past his lips. He swirled his tongue around them, bobbing his head to match his languid pace. Once satisfied, he hollowed his cheeks as you pulled them out. “Mhmm.” His tongue swiped his bottom lip, hoping to catch any remnants. You laughed and leaned up to press your lips to his.

Bradley’s lips ventured to your cheek and down your neck until he was kissing your chest. You whined as he slipped out of you. You watched as he kissed down your stomach and stopped at your pubic mound. His big hands gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor, looping one of your legs over his shoulder and pushing the other as wide as the hinge of your hip allowed.

He kept eye contact with you as he kissed each of your pussy lips. And then, with a broad tongue he slowly lapped up your mess. You watched him, letting your fingers tour over rivets and seams of his hat.

Your thighs and your outer lips clean, you watched as he rested his hands on either side of your heat and gently spread your pussy. The cool air hitting you had you holding gasping. Bradley watched your face as he softly blew on your clit. You arched your back a little bit off the bed conflicted by the sensation.

Bradley started with a single stripe from your hole up to the hood of your clit. Then he dipped his tongue between your clit and your lip, repeating the maneuver on the other side. He was tender with his clean up, caressing you enough to feel good but not overstimulate.

When he stopped spreading you, he placed a final kiss on the cleft of your pussy. Then Bradley slipped out from under your legs and helped you sit up on the bed.

He stood between your knees. It was his turn to shower you in soft touches as you peppered kisses on his stomach and licked away your cum. You couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at you. His wild curl still trying to escape the adjustment strap on his hat and the open edges of his shirt fluttering slightly had you smiling. Finished with cleanup, you closed your eyes and let your chin rest against him.

“You interested in another round, sweetheart?” He asked softly. He stroked your hair and waited for your answer.

“What are you going to wear?” You teased.

A smile graced his face as he stepped away from you, heading toward the closet. “Oh, I have an idea.”

Palms supporting you, leaned back on the bed and watched as he disappeared into your walk-in. About a minute later he emerged, wearing one of his flight suits. He left the front unzipped so you had a view of his tanned chest and abs. The apex of his zipper drew your attention to where he wanted it most.

Your gaze floated back to his face. Of course, he topped off the look with his damn UVA baseball cap—wild curl included.

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deardjarin · 2 years

Text

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

agent whiskey x f!reader

sometimes you get a little… jealous

words: 1.5k

warnings: smut, office sex, mentions of voyeurism

⋆⭑✦⭑⋆

You know your partner.

You know how he flirts with most people he meets, but you also know how he would never be unfaithful to you. But, you can’t help but get a bit jealous when you hear him tease other girls.

You checked in two women for a meeting with the Agent: an older lady and a young college student who both work for a private investigation company. You can hear the younger girl giggling through the glass door- giggling. You’re sure Whiskey is pulling his usual tricks to strike a deal with the ladies.

You find yourself gripping your pen harder than usual.

The meeting ends at precisely 4:35.

The women kindly bid their goodbye, but the younger’s face is bright red.

Frustrated, you input the time into your system.

You smooth out your pencil skirt and fix your hair when you stand up. The room is awfully quiet; you need a certain Statesman agent to break the silence.

The automatic door opens with a quiet swish, revealing Whiskey sitting behind his desk. He’s staring intently at his computer, most likely sending off emails to his fellow agents.

“Jack Daniels.”

Whiskey beams, leaning back in his office chair.

“Well hell-o little miss,” He drawls, slightly tilting his head to the side. He beckons you with one hand, and pats his thigh twice. “C’mere, sugar.”

You keep your gaze firm, even though you want to stumble over to him like a newborn deer and collapse in his arms. Your heels click softly on the polished hardwood as you approach him, and instead of slipping into his lap, you stand behind him. Resting your hands on his shoulders, you give him a little squeeze.

“Did you have a productive meeting?” You ask, kissing his cheek. A bit of stubble pokes your lips, but you don’t mind.

“I sure did,” He replies, smoothing the fabric of his pants.

You twist a lock of his dark hair between your fingers, and trail more kisses down the sharp line of his jaw. He exhales a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the arms of the chair.

“Were those girls nice, Agent?” You continue. Whiskey shifts in his seat, noticeably aroused.

“They sure were- sweetheart, may I ask why you’re interrogatin’ me right now?”

You hum, running your fingers over the knot of his tie.

“I’m sure if you’d given them the chance, they’d be all over you,” You comment. “I mean, who wouldn’t? That’s what happened with us.”

The corner of Whiskey’s mouth turns upwards.

“Is that what this is all about?” He asks.

You maneuver yourself around and slip onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs with yours. His calloused hands immediately fly to your waist, steadying you.

“Maybe,” You breathe, cupping his face in both of your hands.

“You and I both know that I’d never touch another woman as long as you’re with me,” He says. His fingers find their way under the hem of your pencil skirt, and his touch burns.

“That so?” You ask, trying not to melt at his words. He hums, turning his head to the side and kissing your palm.

“You gonna let me show you how much you mean to me?”

You nod, breathless, and kiss him.

His kisses are always sloppy, a little messy, but they’re so full of passion that you don’t mind. Accidentally, you knock his cowboy hat off of his head.

“Are-“ You whine when his lips meet your neck, mustache rubbing against your sensitive skin. “Are you going to lock the door?’

“Maybe I’ll keep it open,” Whiskey drawls between kisses. “I’m sure those girls would love to see you, squirmin’ like a bug on my lap. Or maybe that shy little intern- what was his name? Frankie? I see the way he looks at you when he brings up papers.”

You moan, grinding your clothed cunt against his thighs.

“Jack…”

You’ve given up on your original plan. Whenever his hands- oh, his hands, cup your ass, you lose any semblance of rational thought.

Whiskey pulls away, making sure you’re balanced, and fiddles with the top button of your blouse. You usually keep a few undone because Whiskey likes it, but it’s clear he wants to see a little more than what you’re showing.

“Just gorgeous,” He groans when he fiddles with the last button, leaving your stomach and bra exposed.

“C-Can you lock the door?” You ask bashfully, shivering when Whiskey’s fingers brush over the curves of your hips.

“‘Course,” He says. Wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans forward and logs on to his high tech computer. There’s a faint beeping sound from the keypad outside of the frosted glass door.

“Make me so fuckin’ hard, baby,” Whiskey groans, gripping your wrist and guiding your hand to his crotch. As expected, your hand brushes against the hard outline of his cock, trapped in the fabric of his jeans. “Feel that? S’all for you.”

A strangled moan falls from your lips, and you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Let me-“ You stop mid-thought and hastily undo the clasp of his belt. The metal clang interrupts the sound of your heavy breathing: the only sound in the office. Your hands shake as you fiddle with his zipper, and with a deep breath you pull out his cock from his boxers.

Whiskey moans deeply at your touch. He’s warm and hard and you want him inside you so bad.

“Stand up, baby, take off your skirt,” He orders. You can see him clench his jaw, most likely restraining himself from standing up and throwing you against the desk.

Your legs are shaky as you unzip the back of your skirt, pulling the black fabric downwards. Watching you with dark eyes, your partner slowly pumps his cock.

“Sit back down, princess,” He murmurs, patting his thigh with his free hand.

Damn straight, You think. I’m his princess.

“Jack, I- I want to feel you.”

You notice the way his dick has left a wet spot on his dress shirt- shit, now he’s going to have to go home and change, all because of you-

“Mm!” You exclaim when Whiskey’s rough fingers find themselves inside your panties, pressing against your swollen clit. You have to grip onto his broad shoulders while he massages your wet cunt.

You’re a little upset when he pulls his hand away.

“Soaked.”

You feel like the air gets knocked out of your chest when he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you.

“So sweet,” He growls. “Sweet like a goddamn Georgia peach. Wish I could taste you all day.”

His words feel like they make your body temperature rise to a thousand.

“Whiskey,” You half scold, half moan.

“Fuckin’- wanna bend over the desk? Let me fuck you from behind?”

You shake your head, gripping onto the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“Let me ride you, Jack.”

Whiskey throws his head back and swears. You let out a breathy laugh; you, and only you, can have him wrapped around your finger.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want,” He blurts, cock twitching against his stomach. “You gonna ride this cowboy, sugar?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, and your thighs shake as you lift your core enough so he can slip inside you. Whiskey holds your panties to the side while he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. The two of you moan as you drop downwards, your ass pressing against his thighs.

“Shit,” He grunts through his teeth.

You take a moment to catch your breath before moving.

Jack keeps his hands on your waist, but leans forward to chase your lips. You cup his face in your hands, mindlessly kissing him while you move your hips. He fills you up so well, stretching and stuffing you in a way no one else can. You’re no stranger to this, in fact you’re quite skilled, but your legs still burn from the effort. It’s nothing compared to the way Whiskey’s cock slides in and out of you, though.

“Just like that,” He mumbles in between kisses.

You clench around him every time your clit brushes against his jeans. You’re sure Whiskey can feel it too; he squeezes his eyes shut each time it happens.

“S’good, sweetheart,” He praises. “Ready to cum?”

You shout in pleasure, nodding vigorously. His fingers find their way back to your clit, rubbing quick circles against you.

Your whole body shakes from your release.

It’s embarrassingly quick, but Jack keeps mumbling “that’s a good girl” in your ear. He continues to thrust into you, his movements becoming sloppy and erratic.

You slump against his chest while he finishes deep inside you, hips stuttering against your skin.

“Ain’t never had a better girl than you,” He says softly, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. You smile; he always gets soft after he’s with you.

Before you can respond, the computer lights up.

Incoming Video Call: Agent Champagne

#hello gorgeous!#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels x reader #dearest writing

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palioom · 1 year

Text

day three - hate sex

pairing: jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader word count: 534 warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n; hate sex duh, insults, degradation, hair pulling, doggystyle, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

She hated him, his cocky smile and that stupid fucking dark mustache that stretched over his lips when he grinned. That fucking cowboy hat, his boots. Fuck, she even hated his fucking accent.

She specifically hated his accent. That fucking southern drawl that almost seemed over the top sometimes.

Whiskey always found a way to fuck up a mission and somehow Champ kept insisting on putting them together.

Because they made such an amazing team.

Sure.

Their trips were fuelled by snide comments and hate, only managing to act up somehow when undercover, stalking after a suspect..

Still, the way he fucked her made up for his attitude, his hips snapping into her harshly, the palm of his hand cracking against her already red ass cheek in quick succession.

That thick, heavy cock of his, hitting her cervix over and over, his thick fingers curling into her hips so hard she would certainly wake up with bruises, moaning and grunting into the pillow in front of her.

“Take it, c’mon.” He groaned behind her, smacking her ass again, her pussy clenching around him from the contact. “Fucking bitch, couldn’t even let me handle it.”

Whiskey accentuated each of his words with a particularly harsh thrust, making her cry out into the pillow.

“Because you were fucking it up royally, you asshole!” She replied, lifting her head to look over her shoulder at him. Seeing his stupid face, sweat on his forehead, teeth bared as he kept pounding into her. “You’re not good for shit, Whiskey!”

One of his hands left her hip, curling his fingers into her hair instead, pulling her up, enjoying the way she yelped, reaching behind her, finding his waist.

“Good at nothin’ except fucking you, huh, sugar?” He rasped against her ear, that thick accent only making her hate him more. The sting from his tight grip on her hair only got her closer, his hips reaching a punishing pace. “And you ain’t got no use besides takin’ my cock, sweetheart.”

Reaching her orgasm with a guttural moan, her whole body shook as she gripped his cock tight, her fingers digging into his skin behind her. It consumed all of her, mingling with the hate she felt for him.

He followed close behind, grunting into her ear as he came inside of her, feeling him twitch when he stilled deep inside of her pussy.

For a moment, all of the hate and rivalry was forgotten. In the brief first seconds of the afterglow they simply were two people who had quenched the need for release.

Then, he pushed her back down onto the bed, cock slipping out of her, and climbed off the bed to walk over into the bathroom.

She looked after him, used to his brevity after he had fucked her full of his cum. Looked at those stupid muscles on his back, his round ass.

Fucking hell, she really hated Whiskey and every moment they had to spend together.

But she enjoyed the brief moments they had where they just let off steam.

“Fucking asshole.” She muttered, turning onto her back with a groan.

The next time where he fucked up a mission couldn’t come fast enough.

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hollandorks · 9 months

Text

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fourteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: I'm back to posting semi-regularly, yay! Not sure when the next chapter will be finished because of the holidays but hopefully it'll be within the next week or so! This one is a little on the shorter side, but the next several will be longer I think! (Since I haven't actually written them--but I have plans and they're lengthy.)

Series Masterlist

word count: 2k

“Oh man,” Martinez groaned as his eyes flicked from Alfred, to her, to the picture, and back again. He gulped audibly. Next to him, Blake the security guard was white as a sheet. “Gordon’s gonna kill me.”

“Gordon’s gonna kill me,” Martinez said for the twentieth time as y/n poured him a cup of coffee to replace the one that was currently still on the foyer floor. “I was supposed to be the one paying attention. I was the one he trusted.” Which, he informed her after maybe the fourth “Gordon’s gonna kill me,” that meant he was Gordon’s most trusted on her security team. He was one who was secretly supposed to make sure no one else was compromised.

“Martinez,” y/n said for the nineteenth time. “No he isn’t. You were doing your job. You already said you didn’t leave, or fall asleep, or take a call. In fact, you did your job so well you ignored my offer of coffee.” She held out the new mug.

Martinez was still nervously mangling the hat of his uniform. He was completely ignoring her reassurances. He went still after a second, then turned eyes that were twice as frightened to her. “Man, Mr. Wayne’s gonna be so mad too, isn’t he? This is his house.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “I’ll handle Bruce. And besides–Alfred’s more in charge than he is, and he already agreed it wasn’t your fault.” Alfred had met Gordon downstairs a few minutes earlier. The elevator and entire lobby had been turned into a crime scene. Martinez and y/n were waiting to give their statements.

Easing Martinez’s fears was much easier than facing her own. It was easy to focus on him and nothing else. Because in the short half hour since she’d first found the picture, each bit of new information was worse than the last. No one on the security detail had been harmed, bribed, or had even moved. The security cameras had been turned off for only ten minutes. Which all meant that someone had enough access to Wayne Tower and its security to get past everything extra that had been set up.

They wanted her to know that they could get to her.

And they were drawing it out. Instead of grabbing her, they were making her wait. Making her scared.

Y/n focused again on the nervous cop in front of her, who was still bemoaning the fact that everyone was going to be mad at him.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to be mad at you,” she snapped. There was a headache blooming between her eyes.

Martinez quieted, looking like a kicked puppy with a mustache. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, y/n. If I can make it up to you at all–”

“Just drink your coffee, okay? No one blames you.” Y/n took a sip of her coffee. Her hands were still shaking, and some of the liquid spilled over as she set the cup back down. Damn, she was wasting a lot of coffee in one night.

She startled when a warm hand landed atop hers. She looked up and met Martinez’s soft gaze. He didn’t say anything else, but his presence was enough to steady her.

“I’m so glad they didn’t shoot you,” she said after a moment.

They shared a grin. “Hell, me too.”

An awareness prickled along y/n’s spine.

She looked up, and there was Bruce.

His hair was stuck to his forehead and his shirt was on inside out. Her stomach swooped. There really only seemed to be one possibility from those two clues, plus the fact that he hadn’t been home.

Jealousy and shame spread like hot oil through her stomach.

Bruce looked…angry. His eyes were twin blue flames where they stayed locked on Martinez’s hand atop hers.

Martinez scrambled to his feet as if the king of fucking England had just walked in. More coffee spilled as he bumped the table. Y/n half expected him to bow for Bruce. She rolled her eyes.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I swear I was paying attention, I–”

Bruce’s eyes went cold. “And you are?”

“Officer Martinez, we actually met back–”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. It was her turn to jump to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said to Bruce.

Martinez flinched. Bruce calmly glanced her way then went back to glaring at Martinez.

“When the security of my home has been compromised due to incompetence–” Bruce said, still calm despite the obvious fury in his eyes.

Y/n cut him off. “Oh shut up. Stop talking to him like that. It wasn’t his fault!”

Bruce’s eyes flashed. “Well, it was certainly someone’s.”

“Maybe it was yours, then.” The words rose within her on a tide of anger. God, her life had been threatened again, and he had the nerve to come home from fucking his girlfriend and act like a dick to her friend? “I mean, you’ve been letting the rest of the tower go to shit for years, makes sense that maybe security is a little lax. Especially if you don’t even give enough of a shit to ever be here.”

They were almost toe to toe now, both breathing heavily. From the corner of her eye, she saw Martinez freeze in place, mouth open in shock.

“I give too much of a shit, y/n. If your little boyfriend hadn’t been distracted–”

Oh, y/n thought. Bruce thought Martinez was her boyfriend. And okay, maybe it looked like that, but Martinez actually had a great girlfriend who was in a group chat with them where they all sent memes to each other. She and Martinez wanted to set up a double date with her cousin and y/n.

The realization made the anger ebb, but then she was pissed off all over again.

“What gives you the right to act like this?” she spat at Bruce. He was so much taller than her that her neck was starting to ache from glaring up at him. “After what you did, after what you said, you’re acting like you have any right to one, be involved in my personal life at all or two, be jealous!”

Bruce flinched. Just like the first time it had happened two days ago, it didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

“Um,” Martinez said in the echoing silence. “We’re actually just friends and I–I’m going to go give my statement now?”

Y/n barely noticed him leaving.

She was so sick of being so afraid, so heartbroken, so…everything.

“You’re going to apologize to him whether he’s just my friend or not,” she said, poking Bruce in the chest. He winced and tried to mask it by looking away. “I already told you, Bruce. I lost you three years ago. Stop acting like that didn’t fucking happen, because it did.”

Bruce’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Now he wasn’t looking her in the eye at all. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, yes you did.” But the words were bereft of the anger that had been present only moments before. She took a deep breath and a step backwards. “I’m just–sick of pretending things are the same, okay? I know you want to go all protective-best-friend thinking Martinez is my boyfriend or that he put me in danger but–I can’t just–Things aren’t–” Suddenly words were failing her. “It’s just not the same, okay?”

She watched as Bruce softened, too. “Y/n, I’m sorry, I–”

“Why did Martinez just run out of here like a bomb went off?” Gordon’s voice cut across whatever Bruce had been about to say.

“Mommy and Daddy were fighting,” y/n said drily, her defense mechanism of humor kicking in. Bruce made a choking noise. “Find anything useful? Like maybe Frank Gallo?”

She could almost hear Gordon’s teeth grinding from across the room. “No.”

“Bruce,” Alfred said from behind Gordon. “We have some things to discuss.”

Bruce gave her one last glance before following Alfred out.

Alone with Gordon now, y/n sank into her chair with a long sigh. She stared at the little coffee spills as if they had personally offended her. “If I spill any more coffee tonight I might kill someone.”

“Now that would be a sight. Looked like you were about to do Mr. Wayne in already.” Gordon chuckled and took the seat across from her. He flipped open a small notebook.

“I’m still not opposed to smothering him in his sleep,” she muttered. “Arrest me if you have to.”

“How about I get your statement instead?”

It didn’t take long. She was basically a pro at giving statements to the police at this point. When she was done, she said, “I’m so…tired of giving statements to the police.”

Gordon regarded her with sharp eyes that didn’t miss anything. “We’re doing everything we can, y/n,” he said softly.

“I know, I know. It’s just–getting shot at was scary and all, but this is my home.” Her voice cracked. She ducked her head and fiddled with her coffee mug so Gordon wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “They’re telling me they can get to me here, too. Where I’m supposed to be safe.”

“I understand completely. We’ll get him. We’ll get them. I have a feeling he might show up on our doorstep sooner rather than later, with something bat-shaped pinned to him and a couple of black eyes and broken bones.” Gordon smirked. Y/n frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Batman at all. Had he been downstairs? Maybe Bruce hadn’t wanted him to come upstairs. Her frown deepened. “Now, you’re going to have to help me convince Officer Martinez not to sleep in the elevator tonight. Or right outside your door. He’s pretty upset.”

“I’m surprised he still wants to hang around, considering how much of a dick Bruce was,” y/n said under her breath. “But I’ll do my best.”

Martinez took a lot of convincing, but eventually relented and went home to his girlfriend. He made y/n put a chair under her bedroom door handle first, though.

Bruce hadn’t reappeared by the time y/n went to bed.

She laid down, the words of their argument–or whatever the hell that had been–replaying on a loop. Being around him made her feelings go haywire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry at him. The heartbreak of three years ago had taken over her life and she had to admit that the anger felt…almost good. Cathartic. But it also made her feel out of control. She didn’t feel like herself. Being mad at Bruce went against years of instincts. She was used to defending him, or him defending her, to being on the same team together.

She was still wide awake as dawn broke over the sky hours later.

Another thought kept turning over and over in her mind. Frank Gallo–or someone he had hired–had gotten into her home. Her very, very secure home.

She had been afraid before, but it was nothing like this. Her safe haven had been…sullied. They knew who she was, where she lived, and had basically said right to her face that not even Bruce Wayne’s money and power could keep her safe.

Added all together, y/n’s mind simply would not shut off in order for her to sleep.

It occurred to her again that she hadn’t seen Batman at all–had Gordon updated him on what happened? Because he had been in that photo, too. He had kept her alive, which she was certain had pissed off the Gallos. Was he a target? Maybe the picture of them together was a threat to both of them, but only given to her since they knew where she lived.

When she rolled over, her eyes caught on all of her research piled on the opposite side of the bed. Her eyes snagged on those three words: white knight syndrome.

She bet she had her answer about any possible feelings he might have. Even if he had shown up, he hadn’t tried to contact her, to see her, nothing. He was probably sick of having to keep her alive. He was probably leaving it up to Gordon and the police department now.

Despite everyone who was trying hard to keep her alive, y/n felt utterly alone.

Next Chapter

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 5 months

Note

What would your headcanons be for the 141 in nursing homes? As in old ass man.

Maybe some extra characters as well? 👀

I'm splitting this up into 3 categories: Physical appearance, personality/behaviour, and overall shenanigans.

John Price

Went bald but still has a killer mustache and a ridiculous amount of body hair and yet all the hair he has left has gone grey. Is SOOO wrinkly. His eyes are hooded/droopy beyond fucking belief.

He's 100% a "Back in my day..." old man. Has def gone half-deaf. Is both a flight risk AND a fall risk but refuses to use his walker/zimmer frame. Is the first one up in the morning, before the staff even changed shifts (consequence of early rising all his life in the military)

Insists on being called 'Captain' by the staff, gives everyone the stink eye if he gets called 'John' or 'Mr.Price'. Sometimes still wakes up dreaming of Makarov and/or Shepherd and spends all day grumpy. Staff hates him.

Simon Riley

Does not go wrinkly. Instead, his skin gets taut and he loses weight and muscle, and becomes skinny/frail. Is VERY hunched over.

Has def lost most of his hearing as well. Is impossible to talk to. A conversation between him and Price spirals from a topic to the next because they misinterpret each other's words. Blasts his fave TV shows (The Price is Right) at top volume all hours of the day.

Has dementia or some other brain degenerative disease, which means he's often lost/confused... So it's not uncommon to see him walking around carrying a cane or umbrella like it's a rifle because he thinks he's still a soldier. Has scared the shit out of night staff by sneaking up behind them with a mask on (where did he get the bloody mask?) and nearly stabbing them with a syringe-like it was one of his knives.

Johnny MacTavish

Does not make it to a nursing home, he's already dead.

Kyle Garrick

Has gone grey but not that wrinkly. Still looks surprisingly good for his age. Is very charming. Wears colourful shirts (Hawaiian and not), and has a nice style... but still wears that stupid bloody hat of his. Has VERY bad hip pain from falling out of helicopters so much.

Is SOOO sweet and polite, and charms all the old ladies AND the nursing staff, every kid that comes visit other grandparents LOVES him. Is the least annoying senior at the nursing home. Also has terrible hearing. Spends his time shouting at Price and Simon to have a conversation.

Still gets taken to veteran/war remembrance days by his family and watches the parades and such... only to look at helicopters with disdain in his eyes and curses them out with a fist.

Alejandro Vargas

Has not gone grey but is a healthy salt-and-pepper. Still keeps his little stubble OR an anchor goatee. Wears glasses now, but they're those types that transition into sunglasses.

His hearing is ALSO shot. Has very shaky hands so he keeps dropping things, especially his pills. Talks crap about everyone with Rodolfo (they gossip in Spanish so no one can hear him.) Is never grumpy. Loves playing cornhole and pétanque.

Is 100% a cougar hunter. Has a silver-tongue and is still so attractive that he just seduces ALL the old ladies. Some of them were still married to their husbands (who were ALSO in the nursing home) and he STILL flirted with them.

Rodolfo Parra

Rudy has gone chubby, wears glasses, and still stays clean-shaven. Wears cardigans and corduroy trousers. Is on a wheelchair.

Is very polite. Spends his time reading in the garden, and likes tending to flowers. Loves a good gossip with Alejandro. Loves playing cards because it's the one game Alejandro cannot play, is very smug about it.

Falls asleep suddenly after meals. Hates Philip Graves with a fucking passion. Hates him so much he still wakes up dreaming about the betrayal in 2022 and gets MAD about it. Wheels himself to Alejandro's room every time and complains. "Pendejo de mierda, Graves."

#asks #moots #cod headcanons #crack headcanons #I promise it's crack #do not take this seriously #I will fill this out with the rest of them tomorrow

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