#update: this is getting pinned for a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 7 hours ago

Text

Summary: Looks like you're starting a production company with Javier and Steve.

Tags: alternating pov, established relationship, beach vibes, steve and connie are here yippee, smut, dubcon elements kinda very brief, watching javier on tape with someone else, descriptions of a rough blowjob, reader is playing downstairs dj to a javi tape (mood), p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, public sexual acts, no use of y/n, reader has some vague physical descriptions (mid-sized, curvy, hair that can have fingers run through), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thx.

A/N: this took me entirely too long to update and for that i apologize! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter and as always, let ya girl know what you think 🖤 thank you for reading!

Javier shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can, careful not to announce his return.

His weekend shoot with Steve had been cut short a night early. After kicking Robbie to the curb—much like you two had—Steve didn’t waste time lingering in the fallout. He was already on to the next thing: a passion project by a mutual acquaintance. It was still porn, unapologetically raunchy, yet sensual. Less about performance, more about feeling.

So he called Javier up, asking if he’d be down for another solo shoot. Javi wasn’t exactly busy these days, and the offer gave him something to sink his teeth into again, so he agreed.

You were all for it, too. You knew how much enjoyment he got out of it. It was never the sex that made the job hard, it was the bullshit that came with it. The sleaze.

He thought about informing you of his early arrival, that was until the idea of surprising and catching you lounging in his house seemed like the much more tantalizing option.

Which proves to be just that when a faint moan, almost too soft to catch, reaches his ears. It’s enough to make his head tilt and lips pull into a small yet amused grin. He follows the sound down the hall, his boots silent on the floor. As he rounds the corner into the living room, he’s stopped in his tracks by the ripe sight before him.

You’re completely naked, chest flush to the ground, pretty ass lifted high in the air. One hand grips the rug beneath you, the other buried between your thighs, fingers working against your wet pussy. Your hips roll sensually, chasing after your pleasure with each rub, eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

The light from the TV casts a soft, flickering glow over your skin, highlighting the curve of your waist, the arch of your spine, the way your back muscles tense every time your fingers graze that perfect spot.

His eyes flicker to what is playing only to see… himself. Clad in all black, hands tightly cradling a woman’s jaw, vigorously fucking his cock down her throat. The Break-In shoot. Not for the faint of heart. But fuck, he’d loved every second of it. His scene partner had been perfect—gorgeous, filthy, eager. She gave as much as she took, leaning into the roughness without flinching.

You’re completely immersed, unaware of the specter lingering by the doorway. He watches your face; mouth open in concentration, lashes fluttering when the scene shifts. You shudder, movements faltering, and he knows your body well enough to recognize the obvious tells of your orgasm.

Javi wonders how long you’ve been like this, touching yourself while watching him roughly fuck another woman.

On screen, he forces the actress onto her back, ignoring her struggles at getting him off her while he shoves her ripped panties between her lips, using them as a gag. His grip is rough as he pins her wrists above her head and drives his cock into her in one hard, brutal thrust. You let out a whimper, arousal dripping down your folds as you slide two fingers deep into your soaked pussy. Your thumb circles your clit in quick, desperate flicks while you spread your knees wider, giving yourself more access to fuck yourself the way you know he would.

He could say something. Make himself known. But the sight of you—utterly uninhibited, craving him so openly—has him rooted in place. His cock is already hard, straining in his jeans.

Her leg is slung over his broad shoulder, and the camera tilts, repositioning to the obscene sight of his swollen cock plunging deep into her again and again. One hand keeps the grip tight on her pinned wrists while the other trails down to her sensitive nub. He circles it tauntingly sweet before landing a punishing slap that makes her cry out through the gag of her panties, hips jolting. You flinch in perfect sync, aching just from watching him take what he wants.

Javier’s jaw tightens with the temptation to just go to you, grab your hips in his rough, calloused hands and yank you back onto his face—nose buried in your slick folds, tongue spreading you open before you even realize what’s happening. He imagines your startled gasp, the frantic way you’d try to scramble forward in shock, nails clawing the carpet, caught between confusion and pure, dizzying pleasure.

That’s when you’d realize it’s him by the way his tongue moves like no one else’s ever could. Your hips would start to roll back into him instinctively, a choked moan spilling out as recognition bloomed and resistance crumbled, giving in to him just like always.

He’s got himself worked up now, quietly unbuckling his belt, easing the button of his jeans open and tugging the zipper down slow. The second he frees his cock, he bites down on his tongue to hold back a groan. His fist wraps around the girthy length, spreading the bead of precum over his flushed shaft with a languid pump.

A thin string of spit drips from his mouth, landing hot on his skin, and he spreads it greedily, alleviating some of the pressure building in his gut. The pornographic sounds from the television do a good job of masking the soft rustle of denim as he stalks forward, dark brown eyes locked on you and how you’re still lost in your own passion, completely unaware he’s just a breath away.

That is until you can feel the shift of energy when he kneels behind you, but it’s too late then.

Your hand is yanked from between your thighs and your eyes fly open in shock. You barely manage to rise up before a sharp command knocks your senses haywire.

“Stay down,” he presses a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you back down.

Your face meets the carpet again, nipples sensitive against the material of the rug. You try to twist, to catch a glimpse of him, but your protests get stuck in your throat the moment he plunges into you in one delicious stroke.

Your soaked pussy welcomes him with a squelch, but there’s still that stretch, that sting as his cock fucks in deep, breaking you open until his hips are flush to your ass and you feel the heavy press of his balls against your messy clit.

“Oh f-fuck,” you whimper loudly while tears blur your vision. Your cunt grips him tight, fluttering around the intrusion, and he lets out a gravelly keen that blends with the sounds from the porn still playing on screen.

Javier fucks you like the star in the film, hips slamming into your ass as the force of each prod jolts you forward. His palm keeps you steady, the other gripping a handful of your ass before delivering a vicious spank that echoes through the room.

You cry out, knees trembling, body arching each time he impales you on his dick. You attempt to squirm again, to act out the fight like the scene you’d been watching, but it’s useless—your strength is gone, melted by the sheer force of his cock dragging through your slick walls, hitting all the right spots and scrambling your thoughts.

You’re nothing but a plaything in his hands now, held down, used, adored.

“I need a taste.”

The words are barely warming your ear when he’s pulling out, gripping your hips with those greedy hands and hauling your ass up until you’re suspended halfway in the air. His mouth is on your pussy, warm tongue licking a broad strip up your slit, lips sucking greedily around your clit, then pulling back just to spit and dive in again.

She clenches and gushes for more, your fingernails scratching at the rug that’s damp with your drool and tears and sweat. He groans like you’re the only thing that’s ever satisfied him and that only makes you louder—a mess of moans and stuttered, broken cries of his name, helpless under the onslaught of his mouth.

His cock hangs heavy beneath him, still coated in your buttery arousal, twitching with the effort it takes not to bury himself back inside you. He could spend all night between your legs, tongue-fucking you until you pass out.

With one last deep suck to your puffy clit, he rips himself away, lips slick and shining, mustache damp. Then he’s flipping you onto your back, needing to see your face—needing to watch what he’s doing to you.

You’re breathtaking. Completely fucked out and spread out under him; sweat-kissed, breasts rising with every desperate breath, lips parted, eyes glassy with desperation.

The sound from the television fades into static compared to the lust pulsing between you. You reach for him, needy and impatient, and Javier meets you halfway—forearm flexing beside your head as he lowers himself over you. Your mouths collide in a messy kiss, the taste of your own pussy still staining his lips dizzying you even further. He exhales shakily into your mouth when your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

Javi’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it through your soaked pussy lips with slow, teasing caresses. He grinds against your sex, the fat head brushing your clit just right. The friction has you gasping into the kiss, and he answers with a bite to your bottom lip, pulling a gratifying whimper from deep in your throat.

Javier is infatuated with feeling your body writhe under his, your nails dragging harsh lines down his back when he hits just the right spot. And later, when the storm of sex has passed, when he’s sprawled on his stomach half-asleep, he’ll melt beneath the soft sweep of your lips kissing each red mark you left behind. Your nose will trail along his spine as you murmur gentle praises against his skin.

It’s never just fucking with you. There’s a reverence in the way you touch him, a kind of devotion that cuts deeper than any performance he’s ever given or received. You make him feel things that keep him chasing your approval in ways he never thought he would.

The kiss trails from your mouth to your cheek, down to your jaw, your throat—and then he’s inside you again. You’re so tight around him, clenching greedily, it gets him so pussy drunk he’s babbling nonsense into your neck that you barely register.

“Just like that, baby… fuck, you feel so good.” You purr, thighs trembling, and he watches the way your eyes close—completely intoxicated on the feeling of being full of him.

Talking during sex used to feel foreign to you. You’d always been more of a gasps-and-whimpers kind of woman, fingers gripping sheets in silence, cheeks burning from how loud you’d get without meaning to. But with Javier?

He easily screws the words and noises right out of you.

He’s made it clear how much he loves hearing you. Moaning, panting, sobbing out his name—it makes him ravenous. He fucks you even harder every time you get vocal, every filthy sound of yours like music to his ears.

“Yeah? Like it when I fuck you like this?” His lips drag along your neck, biting down into your skin. “Like a filthy little slut that has her pussy out for anyone to walk in and take?”

You cry out at the sting of his teeth against your throat. “Yes—fuck, ohmygod yes!”

That smirk of his stretches as he pulls back slightly, weight pressing down on you pleasantly. His hands slide to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking your dewey skin so sweetly it almost contradicts how dirty he’s fucking you. And then he shifts his hips, slowing the rhythm but remaining purposeful. His cock barely pulls back now, giving you shallow thrusts that grind your clit against the coarse hair at his base, making you tremble from the friction.

It’s akin to that damn mustache when he’s buried face first between your legs. He’s not even using his mouth and somehow you still feel it. This man has skills that are otherworldly.

You lock onto his gaze. The eye contact alone sends your orgasm rushing closer.

“Tan bella, nena,” his voice strains, thumbs pressing gently into your heated cheeks. His brows draw together, the tension in his body building—he’s close too, you can feel it in every grind of his hips, every shaky breath he exhales.

Your legs clamp tighter around his waist, not caring that his jeans are still half on, or that his thin shirt is drenched in sweat, sticking to his back from how relentlessly he’s been working his body over yours.

“Mmm… Javi…” you whimper, bottom lip pushed out in a needy pout.

He knows exactly what you’re asking for. Adjusting himself just slightly, he gives you longer thrusts while keeping his weight settled heavy on top of you.

Then he leans in for another kiss, hot and demanding as he sucks on your tongue, moaning straight down your throat. Saliva mixes between you, dripping from his mouth into yours, and you take it, appreciating the taste.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps against your lips, licking at them. “Come all over this cock just how you like it.”

Your entire body goes tight, helplessly crying from how overwhelming it feels. He holds your face firm in his hands, doesn’t let you look away, forces you to stay with him, to let him watch every second of your orgasm—it’s everything to him.

“Shhh… just like that. Fuck.”

He’s kissing your face all over, brushing your tears of ecstasy away with his lips, shifting his hands into your hair to cradle your head. Thick fingers massage your scalp with surprising gentleness, melting through you and somehow drawing out your climax even longer.

Just when you start to breathe again, he erratically pounds into you, not needing much to finish.

His nose presses to your cheek while his hips stutter, cock pulsing when he spills inside you. He grinds through every wave of it, burying himself deep like he never wants to leave, grunting loudly.

You both go still for a moment, your bodies slick and tangled, breath mingling in the sex-heavy air.

The rest of the room slowly filters back in, but Javier barely registers any of it. He’s still at your neck, mouth trailing kisses along the damp skin, savoring the taste of your post-orgasmic warmth.

“You’re back early,” you murmur, voice drowsy-soft as your fingers slide into his hair, scratching gently.

“We wrapped things up quicker than expected,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder.

You hum, tilting your head just enough to catch the screen as the final moments of the porno finish playing out. The woman’s on her knees, spit-slicked and trembling, her tongue hanging lewdly from her mouth while Javi’s on his feet, jerking himself over her ruined face, hand tangled in her mussed hair. A deep groan reverbates as he finishes, cum painting her pretty face in milky spurts—across her cheeks, her chin, down the valley of her breasts. It’s filthy.

She spits out what lands on her tongue, drooling it down her chest with no grace at all, cupping her breasts and massaging his load into her skin. Her makeup is a mess, raccoon-eyed with one falsie barely clinging on and the other long gone.

You clench around him reflexively, the soft weight of his cock still inside you sending a shiver up your spine. That gets his attention.

He finally lifts his head, blinking down at you like he forgot where he was for a moment. His eyes drift lazily to the screen just before the footage fades to black and the half-assed credits begin scrolling in a shitty font.

“Looks like you kept yourself busy,” he says, cocking a brow and flashing you a charming grin. “Nice selection.”

“Curiosity got the best of me,” you admit, running a hand down his damp back. “I didn’t realize how much of your work I hadn’t seen.”

“Yeah? What’d you think?”

You pause, licking your lips slowly, watching his eyes track the movement. “It’s fucking hot.”

“Clear liquid for IVs,” you call out, lazily tapping the end of your pen against the weathered crossword book resting on your lap. Your sunglasses slide a little down the bridge of your nose, but you don’t bother pushing them back up. The sun is high, its warmth soaked into every inch of exposed skin, and your toes are buried deep in the soft, golden sand.

“Saline,” Connie mumbles, barely lifting her head from her towel. She’s face-down, sprawled out like a lizard on a rock, the tie of her bikini top undone to avoid tan lines. Her voice is syrupy, dulled by the steady drone of waves kissing the shoreline.

You jot the word down, letting out a little hum of satisfaction as the letters lock into place. “Perfect,” you murmur, then read the next clue to her, chewing the corner of your lip. “Code called for cardiac arrest?”

“Are you solving the damn thing or am I?” She grumbles, but her words are all bark and no bite. She hasn’t moved in twenty minutes, utterly sedated by the sun.

“Code Blue,” she finally sighs, like it pains her to expend the energy.

“You’re being a good friend by helping me,” you tease, scribbling in the answer before leaning over to grab your water bottle. The plastic crinkles as you unscrew the cap and take a long, cold drink, sighing contently.

Your gaze then scans across the beach—families under rainbow umbrellas, teenagers chasing gulls, someone strumming a guitar near the dunes. It’s the game of volleyball a little ways down that catches your attention.

Javier is in the middle of it, shirtless, bronzed, and glistening with sweat. He tosses his head back in a laugh at something Steve shouts across the net, muscles taut with movement as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the sand. His dark curls are damp, plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck. The elastic waistband rides low on his hips, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath them doing awful things to your concentration.

He jumps for the ball, body stretching, abs tensing, arms extended over his head and it’s like something that’s been pulled from a fantasy you didn’t even know you had. When he lands in the sand with a grunt and a grin, you find yourself smiling too, thighs pressing together on instinct.

You don’t even notice Connie talking again. “…Whatever, I love talking to myself. It’s fine.”

Her dry voice pulls you out of your trance. You blink, eyes peeling away and landing on her, who’s now tied her bikini top back into place and flopped onto her side, propped up on one elbow.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Hard not to get a little distracted.”

You tilt your head toward the game in silent explanation, and she follows your gaze—only to start eyeing Steve with the same thirsty appreciation you’d just showered all over Javier.

“Fair point,” she breathes, and the two of you share a lazy, sun-drenched laugh, the kind that comes easy on beach days like this.

“Anyway,” she continues, pointedly, clearly trying to circle back to whatever she’d been saying before your ogling took over. You roll your eyes in mock apology, putting on an exaggerated show of undivided attention as you turn to her fully, arms crossed.

“I’m listening now, promise.”

She arches a brow. “I was asking if you’re in on the pitch too.”

“What pitch?”

“The production pitch,” she answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like she expected you to already know.

You sit up a little straighter. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Steve mentioned it the other day. Something about him and Javi starting their own thing with help from some people they know. A legit company. That’s why they were in Palm Springs last weekend.”

Your brows lift, a ripple of surprise fluttering in your chest. You knew Javier had gone off to film something. He hadn’t mentioned anything about starting a company, though.

Before you can ask anything else, Javier and Steve come sauntering back, both drenched and grinning like idiots. They’re mid shit-talk, kicking up sand as they walk.

“You’re a sore fuckin’ loser, Jav.” Steve smacks his arm, laughing.

Javier just scoffs, shoving him back halfheartedly before kneeling down in front of you with a smirk to match. His hands immediately find your legs, sunbaked and a little sandy, sliding up from your ankles to your thighs with the kind of affection that makes your skin tingle.

“Damn, you’re all soft and warm,” he mutters, leaning in to nuzzle the side of your face, perspiration smearing your sunscreen. “Feels good.”

“And you’re all sweaty and gross,” you criticize flatly, pulling away from the wet kiss he plants on your cheek.

“First time I’ve heard you complain about it.”

You jab a finger into his toned chest, the immature response earning him a glare, but the corners of your lips are already twitching with a smile you can’t hold back. He’s so annoying and you hate how endearing it can be.

“What’s this about you and Steve starting a production company?”

You slide your sunglasses up to the top of your head, squinting slightly at him. There’s no accusation in your tone, but your expression says enough—you’re curious and wondering why you’re hearing it from someone else.

Around you, the beach hums with background noise: the low murmur of a portable radio nearby, waves folding gently over themselves, the squeak of Murphy shifting the heavy cooler while Connie tries to direct him without actually moving. They’re wrapped up in their own little moment, which leaves you and Javi in yours.

Javier scratches his temple. “Yeah… that,” he mutters, clearing his throat.

You wait, not pushing, just giving him a look that says: go on.

It’s not like he’s been hiding it from you. He wasn’t even sure it’d go anywhere. At the time, it was just a casual idea tossed around during a late pool game with Steve—but then it started to look like it might actually happen after discussing it with the crew from the film he’d just helped finish over the weekend.

“I was going to tell you once I had more to say,” he admits, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “But someone beat me to the punch.”

He glances toward Connie, but she’s too focused on laughing at Murphy’s failed bottle-opening technique to notice the subtle shade thrown her way.

You nod slowly, keeping your voice neutral when you ask, “So… does that mean you want to act again?”

He picks up on your body language immediately. It’s subtle, but it’s there—that small thread of hesitation. You’d told him this would happen, that he’d miss it and want to return eventually.

You watch him closely, reading between the lines. His expression has that thoughtful pull to it, like he’s still figuring it out as he speaks. But he’s not dodging—just being honest.

“What I was thinking is that maybe it’d be something we could do together.”

Your brows lift. “You and me?”

He nods, the corner of his mouth ticking up in that way it does when he’s trying to feel you out. “Yeah. You and me.”

He sees the wheels turning behind your eyes, trying to picture it. Not the chaos of unprofessional sets or shady contracts—but the creative part. The control. The trust. The way it felt the last time the two of you did it together, just for yourselves.

Ever since filming the holiday tape, the both of you had been a little obsessed with the memory and how hot and playful the experience had been. It brought out all the best parts of your relationship and what you ultimately enjoy about porn: two hot people with chemistry fucking.

“Only if you want to,” he continues. “I think it’d be fun.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” Steve cuts in, dropping beside Javier with a satisfied grunt, casually handing him a beer. Connie settles next to you again, brushing grains of sand off her thighs as the breeze blows through her hair.

You let out a short laugh through your nose at the intrusion. It’s not like you’re uncomfortable talking about stuff like this. “Fine. It’s not a bad idea. You two’ve been doing this long enough—it makes sense.” You shrug like it’s no big deal, though an almost apprehensive look crosses your face. “But me? Fucking on set? With people watching? My anxiety would ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin it at the resort,” Javier points out, hands squeezing at your thighs as if to entice you, and it works, partially. “You killed it.”

You shoot him a playful look. “Yeah, because it was just us. That’s different.”

“Then don’t act,” Steve comments, wiping foam from his lip with the back of his hand. “Stay off camera, help with production, editing, direction—whatever. I trust you.”

You blink slowly and Javi leans down to plant a kiss at your knee. “Or you don’t do anything. That’s fine too—”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’m into it. I just need a minute before I’m out here tits-and-pussy-first in front of a camera. But the rest of it... yeah, I’d be down.”

You’ve done worse gigs for worse pay with worse people. Compared to that, this decision is a no-brainer. Lucky’s would always be there as a failsafe, too.

Connie chimes in with her own opinion, massaging on more tanning oil. “It’s worth seeing where it goes.”

Javier presses another kiss to your bare knee—he hasn’t really stopped, like your skin is a magnet and his mouth can’t help but keep finding it.

“If we fail, at least we know we tried.” You say, being realistic and trying not to giggle from how his mustache tickles you.

“But we won’t fail,” Javi counters, nipping at your warm skin.

“Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?”

“Gut feeling,” Steve answers for him, taking another swig of his drink. Then, after a beat, “We’re kind of like a perverted dream team.”

The group erupts into laughter, no one disagreeing. The decision is made unofficially and you feel a different type of excitement sink into your bones.

Javier stands, his broad frame blocking out the sun and illuminating him perfectly, holding his hand out for you. “Let’s get in the water.”

You nod eagerly, needing to cool off, fingers already working at the knot of your cover-up. The fabric slips off your shoulders and pools at your feet, revealing your swimsuit—its cut showing off all the right curves and swells, the color making your skin look radiant.

Connie whistles low. “That ass alone could pay off your student loans. You’re so selfish.”

You wave her off but don’t miss the way your boyfriend’s lustful eyes give you a once over before leading you toward the sparkling water.

The tide is soft, gentle waves licking at your shins as you wade out together. Once you’re far enough from the shore and the crowd fades into background, Javier turns to you and pulls you close. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist like they’ve done it a hundred times before, floating peacefully with him.

“You havin’ a good time?” He asks, voice low and eyes soft, the sunlight brightening them to a honeyed color.

“Mhm,” you hum, peppering kisses across his cheek, his jaw, the curve of his ear. Your arms loop around his neck, holding him close.

He adjusts slightly, one hand splayed over your back as the other cradles your thigh, and then his mouth is on yours—kissing you slow and deep. The water moves around you, rippling with every shift, every soft press of lips and skin.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks when you pull away. “Not just ‘cause Steve and I are doing it, or because it’s convenient. I want you in if you want in.”

“I do. I wouldn’t agree to this if I didn’t. I’m not here to play pretend.”

That seems to settle something in him. He brushes a wet strand of hair from your face, eyes softening. “I don’t really care about acting anymore,” Javi admits. “Not unless it’s with you. What’s got me into it again is the other stuff—callin’ the shots.”

You grin. “Coming from the man who used to direct me while he was balls-deep in someone else, that tracks.”

He barks out a laugh, not even pretending to be ashamed. “I liked pissing you off. Those looks you’d shoot me? Shit was addictive. Got me more riled up than whoever I was inside.”

You roll your eyes, splashing him with water. There’s no hiding the warmth that fills your cheeks, the effect of him falling for your bitchy tendencies first. “You’re such a dick.”

He just shakes the water from his curls. “Never claimed otherwise.”

You taste the salt on his lips when he leans in for another kiss. His fingers skim beneath the curve of your swimsuit where it covers your pussy, teasing you. It’s bold for where you are, but not too much. Just enough to make your breath hitch and your skin burn a little hotter.

You gasp quietly, heart thudding, leaning into him.

“Relax,” his voice is a gentle purr. “No one’s looking.”

You bite back a sound, thighs tightening around his waist as his fingers find that soft, aching place between your legs. He applies pressure in deliberate circles, teasing the edges of your folds before slipping between them, massage your sensitive flesh, opening your cunt with the V of his pointer and middle fingers, caressing your labia before returning to your clit.

Your breath stalls—you feel everything despite the thickness of the water. “Javi…” you whisper, forehead tipping against his.

He just grins, eyes heavy-lidded and full of trouble. “Look so pretty when I make you feel good.”

You try to stay still, try not to let the small shudders of euphoria get to you, but he knows your body too fucking well. His mouth captures yours, swallowing your soft whines as he works you steadily toward release, his palm grinding against your cunt while his fingers pull you apart, disappearing inside you rhythmically.

When it hits you, it’s just a tensing of your limbs and a long, broken sigh into his mouth, water sloshing around you.

You kiss like summer itself depends on it, as if he’d disappear and wash away with the current if you didn’t hold on to him tight enough.

“People actually use these?” You ask, holding up a garish pink pack of gum that promises to flood your mouth with saliva, marketed, of course, for extra-sloppy blowjobs.

Javier is a few feet away down the aisle, brow furrowed in focus as he inspects a rack of leather restraints. You watch the way his fingers test the buckles, the slight squint he does when he’s thinking too hard.

Ever since deciding to seriously move forward with starting a production company, the days have become an endless list of errands, paperwork, equipment rentals, and now, apparently, shopping for spit-inducing gum.

Turns out launching Silver Hour Productions wasn’t the impossible mountain it had seemed. Just tedious. A hundred little tasks that, together, formed a machine you were slowly figuring out how to run.

Thankfully, all three of you brought something different to the table—experience, connections, vision—and when word got out about your new project, former co-stars and scene partners started reaching out. Apparently, there were more performers than you'd imagined who wanted something that felt… better. Healthier. Hot, but respectful. Sensual and intentional.

Hence the supply run.

“Don’t knock it, baby. Nothing hits like a partner with a leaky faucet for a mouth.”

You let out an amused laugh and shake your head, putting the gum back. It’s not like he’s wrong.

The shelf against the back wall gets your attention and you nonchalantly walk over. It’s like a shrine to nearly every niche of porn in existence, bathed in the suggestive glow of the purple neon light. The covers get progressively ridiculous. High-gloss bodies, dramatic fonts, and tagline after tagline trying way too hard.

Your eyes then land on his familiar silhouette, stomach fluttering at the provocative poses. You must’ve stumbled into what could only be described as The Javier Peña Collection. Rows of his work lined up neatly.

He’s in every scenario imaginable—first responder, blue collar worker, academic. Even paired with both men and women; some in groups, others solo. He’s really gotten around.

You purse your lips, hands on your hips as you scan the shelves. “Giving Barbie a run for her money, Jav,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for the Agent in Heat film that features him in mirrored aviators, standing between two nearly naked women with the caption: This agent always gets his girl.

Flipping it over, you read the poorly written plot summary on the back. It’s laughable, full of ellipses and phrases like high-stakes interrogation turns into wet temptation. At least Javier looks as handsome as ever, tangled up with a gorgeous brunette. One photo has him gripping her thighs as she’s draped over a desk; another shows his mouth between her legs, framed by low lighting and cheap set design trying very hard to look like a federal office.

He is sauntering your way with a lazy smirk. You hold up the DVD. “So... Agent Peña, huh? Care to explain this cinematic masterpiece?”

He loops an arm around your waist and tugs you back against him. His chin settles comfortably on your shoulder, the weight of him warm and familiar as he peers down at the case in your hand.

“What’s there to say? I’m versatile, nena.”

Your finger traces over the square frame that holds one of the shots of the actress with her face scrunched up in pleasure. “She’s really pretty.”

“Helena,” he says, casual. “We dated for a while.”

You don’t mean to react, but your expression slips before you can catch it. It’s not jealousy, not really—just that subtle sting that comes from suddenly seeing your person in a frame with someone he used to know intimately. Deeper than whatever was written into a script.

“Oh.” You slide it back onto the shelf before turning in his arms to face him. “Why’d you breakup?”

He stays quiet for a split second, trying to read you and you can feel him doing it. How annoying.

“It got messy. We were always picking fights, mostly to get under each other’s skin. Sleeping around, trying to one-up the other. It wasn’t healthy.”

“And you two met on set?”

“Yeah. Hooked up after the first scene we shot together. We clicked, for better or worse. Rushed into it.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Have you ever dated anyone who isn’t in the industry?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can decide if it’s too pointed. He pauses, brow furrowing.

“No,” he replies slowly. “I haven’t. Why?”

You shrug, running your fingers up the center of his chest until they rest lightly at the base of his throat. “Just wondering if you know what it’s like to be wanted without all the glitz and glam around.”

His eyes soften, the tension at the corners of his mouth easing, mustache ticking. “I think I’m figuring that out now.”

“Gross. Too endearing.” You make a face and he laughs, sliding his hand to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze through the thin fabric of your shorts, voice low in your ear. “Better?”

“Mmm yeah.” You steal a quick kiss before tugging on his hand and pulling him with you down the aisle. “C’mon, let’s get what we need and head out. Might grab that gum too, actually. I kinda want to try it.”

His cock begins to stir beneath his belt at the prospect of having you kneeled before him with a mouth that won’t stop spilling with drool, his cock drenched and messy shoved down your throat.

“Say less. Let’s go”

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @clubsoft . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @mandaloriankait . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @angiewatson . @cuppajoel .

#javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction

98 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 hours ago

Text

Doing Time 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at Steve's large hand as you fight the urge to fidget. He rests is on your thigh, fingers curled just along the inside. He rubs the seam of your pants as his warmth radiates through the fabric.

He steers with his other hand. His posture is slack with nonchalance. Everything is going exactly as he planned and you're just trying to keep up.

He hums as he tickles your leg. His hand sidles closer to your pelvis and he squeezes. He idles at the red light and smirks at you.

"You got me worked up again. I just wanna pull you across the car..." his eyes flick up and down. "You got thighs that make a man a glutton."

You twitch. While he scares you, his words send a tingle through you. He's skilled at twisting your flaws into beauty. You almost believe every word he says.

"Steve," you touch his hand gently. "The light's green."

"Oh, yeah?" He flicks his fingers coyly towards your cunt.

You blink and point through the windshield. He glances at the traffic light and chuckles. He leans on the gas, keeping his hand in your lap.

"You should wear skirts," his nails graze the thick seam again. "You got the legs for it."

"I... I like pants." You say softly.

"You got a good shape. Not just from the front," he ignores your protest. "That dress you wore... mmmph. I got buy you some more."

"You don't have to do all that," you clutch his hand to keep it in place.

"I want to, sweetheart. Lots of things I wanna do." He squeezes and you squeak at the spark it lights in your guts. "Firstly..."

He peels his hand away and turns into a lot. He draws up to the storefront and you glance up to read the big gold letters mounted over the shining windows. You rub the warm patch he left on your leg as you stare at the jeweler's shop.

"I thought about a crown but I'm thinking that's a bit much," he snickers. "I think a ring will do."

You look at him, stunned. It shouldn't be a surprise. He's been clear. As straight to the point as you wish you could be. Yet it's all so sudden.

He gets out first and comes around to open your door. He pauses and skims your figure with his eyes. He tuts.

"Definitely needa get you a sweet dress."

You stand and he shuts the door. His hand finds your lower back and he ushers you toward the shop. The world around you is hazy with futility. You know you can't stop him but there's that little human urge that won't go away.

He opens the shop door and lets you through first. He struts in behind you.

"Hello, sir," he greets the man behind the counter. "Lovely day."

The chubby man with the long mustache drooping around his lips winces. He looks up from the board of earrings in front of him and gulps. His brown eyes widen.

"Rogers?" He coughs.

"One and the same, Ahmad," Steve affirms as he nudges you forward. "Long time."

"Yes, sir. Very long. I thought you were in bars." The man nervously taps his fingers on the counter top.

"Behind bars." Steve corrects him. "Did my time. Now I'm out. And my lady needs a ring."

"Your... yes." Ahmad peeks at you and bows his head. "Very beautiful. Lovely lady." He clutches his hands together. "And you are such a handsome man, how could you not have a beauty."

"Yeah, yeah, Ahmad, you don't gotta do all that. Not to say she isn't a stunner." Steve nears and crosses his arms. He leans his elbows on the glass display and peers through. His shoulder round and he looks even bigger.

"Well, sweetheart. You want one diamond. You want a diamond covered in diamonds..." he bends his neck and squints at the selection.

"Oh, er, I'm not picky. Something small is fine."

"Be picky," he insists. "I don't want fine, I want perfect." He beckons you forward with a glance. "Come on."

You sniff and come forward. Ahmad smiles at you, "let me know whatever you like, miss."

"Thanks," you look down. The sparkle is too much to focus.

You're drawn to one in particular. A purple oval surrounded with little diamonds. You stare and chew your lip. You should look for something smaller.

"Which one's got you?" Steve shifts, angling toward you as he leans on one elbow.

"Well, that one's not bad," you point to the plain silver band with a small circle diamond.

He tuts. "You know, I see right through you. Be honest."

You rub your neck. "I don't wanna spend too much--"

"Don't fret about my money," he warns. "Which one?"

You drop your hand and point again. "That er, purple one. Sorry I don't know the stone."

"Amethyst, yes," Ahmad reaches underneath and takes out the entire board. "The stone of clarity and control. You must have a good head on you."

"Oh," you murmur and shrug. Not really. If you knew better, you wouldn't be standing here with this man.

Ahmad pulls free the ring and offers it up. You can only stare. The nicest jewelry you have is a hand-me-down silver chain and locket from tour mom.

Steve takes it then grabs your hand. You flinch as he stands at his full height and slips the band around your finger. You watch him push it down to your knuckle. He runs his thumb over it then cradles your hand in his. He lifts it higher to admire the stones.

"That the one?" He asks.

You stare at the ring. It's gorgeous but too much. You don't say so. You can't.

You nod. "It's very pretty Steve. We could... wait until we get everything else sorted."

"It's sorted," he insists.

He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckle. You lower your eyes as he lets you go. You clasp your other hand over the ring as he turns to Ahmad.

"How much?" He reaches for his wallet.

The number makes your chest drop. That's more than your rent. A lot more.

He counts out bills. You've never carried anything more than a couple hundred and that was for a deposit or something. He has a whole bank on him.

It's another clue. He's not just a man with money, the way he wields it, the way others react to him. He has power.

"Th-thank you," you croak and pinch the ring. Steve stops you.

"Don't take it off. Never." He wraps his hand around yours and pushes it down. "That means you're mine." He puts his wallet away and looks back at the jeweller. "I'll be back for more. She'll need a full set."

"Yes, sir," Ahmad puts away the board of rings.

Steve takes you out. The sunlight is warm and bright, a strange sheen on the grey day. You can only watch as he whittles away the pieces of your life and rebuilds to his liking.

His hand slips off of yours and trails up your forearm as you near the car. A low growl rises in his chest as he lets you ahead of him. He spreads his fingers across your ass and kneads. You yelp on surprise.

He reaches around you and opens the back door of the car. You reach back to clamp down on his wrist. You trip on your toes as he slaps your rear.

"Just a quickie," he snarls. "Seeing you in that ring..."

"Steve. Please. We can go--"

"Get in," he commands and pinches your ass again. "On your stomach."

"Huh?" His sudden shift has you off balance. "Steve--"

"Now," he rasps as he grips the door. "Pants off."

You turn to look at him in horror and catch his hand as he tries to grope your chest. "I don't want to... here."

His eyes narrow and his jaw squares. He scoffs and shakes your hand off of his. He frames your face with his thick fingers and leans in.

"I'm not fucking asking. Let's celebrate." He pushes his nose and forehead against yours. "I waited before. No more."

You wince and pet his knuckles. You whimper and he lets you go. You bat your eyes and slowly sit on the back seat.

He's big enough to block your view of the parking lot. You tremble as you unbutton your fly. Disbelief numbs your touch. You lift yourself and peel off your pants, your underwear twisting down inside them.

He looms over you and taps his fingers on the roof. You untangle your feet and drop the clothes onto the car floor. Steve sighs and it blows through in an icy wind.

You shimmy back into the car. You turn over and he growls again. As you spread out on your stomach, he crushes in behind you, a knee between your legs.

He shuts the door as he crams into the back seat. He pushes your left leg over the edge of the seat. You quiver as you're exposed to him.

He bends over you and hooks his arm under your neck. He kisses the back of your head and pets your cheek. He inhales your scent.

"Can't help myself, sweetheart. This is what you do to me."

He slips his hand between your bodies, wriggling over you as he plucks open his fly. He grunts as he shifts his weight, the lack of space as suffocating as he is.

He guides his tip down along your cheeks. The fabric of his slacks tickles your skin. He prods along your entrance. He drags his hand free and hooks it beneath you.

He shoves between your folds and rubs your clit. He puffs into your hair as he teases you. His legs are bent up, cramped against the door as he smothers you. He bows down to nibble at your neck.

You slicken against his touch. He swirls and flicks as you close your eyes and clutch the edge of the seat. Humiliation scalds over you. What if someone sees.

He rubs you from clit to entrance and back again. He teases you until you moan, the soft mewl the final surrender.

He frames your cunt with his long fingers and spreads your lips. He tilts his hips down and guides his tip between his knuckles. You hold your breath as he delves into you.

He rumbles as he dips into you in a single slow thrust. When he's at his limit, he shudders. He rocks his pelvis and you clench around him. His arm tightens around your neck and he kisses your jawline as he groans.

The wet noise of you clinging to him fills the humid space. He pumps into you, the tempo cloying in your ears. You babble as he grunts, each thrust more eager than the last.

His patience shatters as he hammers into you. You arch your back to ease the blunt force of his intrusion and he plays with your clit as your walls quiver around him. You heave down into the seat as his feet bounce of the window. The cacophony makes you dizzy.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so good." He snarls as he pounds you into the seat. "Hm, the way you're made for me."

He rolls his fingers furiously and you bite your lip. A fire-laced tide washes over you and floods your brain. You whine through your orgasm as it drips out around him.

"That's it, doll. You know I'm the best man for you," he pushes himself up, staying inside you as he unloops his arm from your neck.

He pulls your hips up as he readjusts. You hunch down onto the seat, slack as you hang from his grip. He moves you up and down his length, slamming you back against his pelvis. He moves you to his will, growling and grunting, nails digging into your hip. Your insides twine around him.

He buries himself inside you as he holds you in place. He exhales shakily then starts again. He bucks into you as he gropes one side of your ass. The car shakes with his fury.

"Doll, I feel you clinging to me," he puffs. "Mm, you're so sweet... mmm, I'm gonna marry you and do this every day..." he grunts and bends over your again. "I'm gonna fuck you... til death do us... part."

He ruts until he collapses. He flattens you under him as he spasms and gushes inside you. You shiver as he spills out, his hips rocking slow and uneven as he rides out the aftershock.

Your breaths are shallow, mingling damply in the closed space with your sweat. He groans and kisses your shoulder. He takes your hand brings it to his lips, kissing the wring on your finger.

"That's why you wear a skirt, baby." He pushes in as deep as he can. "I want access at all times."

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #doing time #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #avengers

115 notes · View notes

random-thot-generator · 3 days ago

Text

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 14

FOURTEEN: And Madness Called It Forth

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM READER

Summary: Continuing with Simon's POV. Plans are set in motion, but Peach has a few diabolical tricks up her sleeve.

Warnings/Tags: profanity, smoking, violence, alcohol consumption, noncon- Simon gets roofied, attempted SA- Peach tries to take advantage, mention of murder(s), Peach is mentally unhinged

mdni banner: @saradika-graphics

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Misery loves company, and madness calls it forth.”

― Yann Martel, Life of Pi

"Red or black, Si?"

Simon glances down at the lacy froth Peach is holding up and sighs. He couldn't care fuckin' less which one she chooses, but bites back his snarky retort. "Red."

"Ooh, good choice, big guy," she purrs, a sultry smirk appearing. Pinning the lingerie to her front, her smirk spreads into a salacious smile. "You likey?"

It's all Simon can do not to roll his eyes. "Yeah," he grunts.

Christ, he needs a break from this. They've gone through what seems like every clothing and shoe shop in Blackheath, and he's ready to choke Peach out, broad daylight and eye witnesses be damned.

bzz-bzz...

Simon's silenced phone vibrates in his pocket, drawing Peach's attention. His frame goes tight with tension when her unblinking stare zeroes in on him. She reminds him of a snake set to strike.

"Ya need t'get that?"

He plays it off as if he's in no hurry to see who has contacted him, though his fingers twitch at his sides. "Nah. Prob'ly Johnny sendin' me another stupid meme. Blows up m'bloody phone wiff 'em when 'm on leave."

Peach blinks, the predatory light in her eyes dimming. "Yeah. He sends 'em to me, too," she says then giggles, but there's no real humor in her gaze, just an unsettling watchfulness.

Simon feels the urge to take a huge step away from her, but instead pats her shoulder and feigns an indulgent expression. "Ya ready t'go or ya want t'look 'round some more?"

Peach hangs the black lingerie back on the rack. "Nah, I'm ready. How 'bout we get a drink after we get out of here? My treat."

"Yeah, sounds good."

He follows her to the register, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. As she queues up behind a couple of shoppers, he leans down to mutter at her ear, "Goin' out f'a fag. I'll be out front waitin' on ya."

Peach hums in acknowledgment, seemingly distracted by a display of scented body lotions. He makes a casual exit as she pops a cap open to sniff at the contents, but he can feel her eyes burning a hole in between his shoulder blades when he walks away. He fights the urge to glance back as he steps out into the late afternoon sun.

His nerves are shot, his hands trembling with a slight tremor as he pokes a cigarette between his lips and lights up. Leaning against one of the ornate lamp posts that dot the walkway along the front of the shops, he takes out his phone to check his notifications. Expecting an update from Price, his pale eyebrows go up to see that the last text received was sent from you.

[DOLL]: No need to pick me up. Already have a ride. TTYL

An aggravated scowl pinches up his face. He'd planned on asking Ollie to keep you away from the row house until he gave the all clear. Who the bloody hell is giving you a ride home?

Cursing under his breath, he goes to jab the call button, but reconsiders. After the show he put on with Peach that morning, then him telling you over voicemail that she would be spending the night, he knows you won't answer. Hell, he'll be lucky if you don't pack up your shit and move house while he's still stuck there in Blackheath helping Peach pick out fuckin' knickers.

He exits out of his texts with a frustrated growl and rings Ollie, instead.

"What the bloody hell is goin' on, greenie?!" Ollie growls through the phone.

Simon's scowl deepens as he glares straight ahead. "Can't explain it yet, Ol. Don't got time. Is Dee still wiff ya at the Dog?"

Ollie scoffs out an irritated noise and lets loose. "Aye, she's still here, but she's a bloody wreck. Poor lass made herself sick cryin' over yer sorry arse. Thank Christ, Fiona came in early t'check on her. She's with her right now, but I'll warn ya now, lad; Fi's ready t'cut yer bleedin' balls off. I swear t'Christ, if ya've—"

The last thread of Simon's patience finally snaps. "Fuck! Will ya shut yer bloody gob an' jus' listen? This is important, Ol. I need ya t'keep Dee away from the row house. D'ya understand? Do not let her go home. Don't care wot ya got t'do, but keep her away. 'S not safe f'her there. "

There's a heavy silence on the other end of the line. "Son, talk t'me. What the hell is goin'—"

Movement in the plate-glass window of the shop across the way catches Simon's attention, and it's all he can do not to jump in surprise when he spies Peach's reflection. She's managed to sneak right up behind him, a fact that unnerves him and sends a chill racing down his spine.

Christ, how long has she been standing there? How much did she hear?

"I'll call ya back, Ol. I gotta go."

Simon hangs up on a blustering Ollie, turning slowly to face the madwoman behind him. Peach tilts her head, peering back at him. She has an innocent expression on her face, but he can see the cold calculation in her baby blue eyes. It makes his skin crawl.

"Everything okay, Si?" she asks, her voice girly high and saccharin sweet.

Fuckin' hell, this bitch gives him the creeps.

"Yeah," Simon grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. "Ollie's jus' throwin' a strop 'cause I f'got t'pay my tab. I'll deal with him later. Leh's get outta here an' go get tha' drink."

God knows he could bloody use one.

The Golden Crown is dimly lit, the greasy odor of fish and chips layered over the distinctive bite of alcohol. The place is beginning to get a little crowded, now that the work day is over. Patrons line the bar and gather in groups at the tables and booths, congregating to have a pint and unwind while chatting with their mates. Sports highlights play on the telly above the bar, the atmosphere relaxed and congenial.

Peach sits across from Simon at a two-seater table against the wall, sucking on a bottle of light beer. Leaning forward on her elbows, she makes a show of slowly licking the beer from her upper lip, peering up at him through her lashes. Her matte red lips spread in a slow, seductive smile. She's trying to look enticing, but to Simon it looks like a bloody rictus grin.

"Dunno how you Brits can stand drinkin' warm beer," she comments, setting her bottle on the table. Her tone is teasing, trying to goad him into their old debate.

Simon takes a drink of his Dewer's and grunts before knocking back the rest of it in one gulp. He's in no mood to rehash their friendly argument, any sense of camaraderie he once felt towards her long gone. He just wants to be shot of her presence once and for all.

"Gotta hit the head," he mutters, rising to his feet. He doesn't wait for her response before walking off, eager to be away from her, if only for a few minutes.

"I'll get us another round," she calls after him, her fevered gaze fixed on his retreating back.

Tossing up a hand in acknowledgment, Simon heads toward the short hallway where the restrooms are located, glad for the brief reprieve. Shoving through the door, he checks the stalls to make sure he's alone before locking himself inside one of them. He blows out a tired sigh, taking out his phone to call Price, relieved when the captain answers on the first ring.

"Sitrep, Lieutenant."

"We're at the Golden Crown Pub in Blackheath havin' a drink. Her idea."

"How's her mental state?"

"She's calm, f'now at least, but she's watchin' me like a bloody hawk. She's had her moments, though. Likes t'ramble on about us, like we're some sorta lovey-dovey couple. 'S bloody mental."

"Do ya think she suspects yer up t'anythin'?"

"Hard t'say. Thought I might'a been compromised when she caught me on the phone wiff Ollie earlier, but she's still actin' the same. 'M not lettin' my guard down, though. Were ya able t'get any new intel on her?"

Price huffs out a breath. "Yeah. Found out quite a bit, actually. Discovered she's a bloody fugitive, for one. That story she fed you an' Soap about her workin' as a bodyguard is a load uh bollocks. She's been on the run since escapin' from a maximum security psychiatric hospital on Wards Island in New York over a year ago. She was incarcerated there by court order after a judge found her mentally incompetent to stand trial for three murders."

"Jesus..." Simon mutters.

"She killed a fellow Shadow she worked with. They were havin' an affair, but he was married an' decided to end it. Peach didn't take it well. She snapped an' killed him then went after his family. A SWAT team took her down while she was lyin' in wait for his wife and daughter to return home. She managed t'take out two uh 'their team before their sniper could get off a clear shot. She took one in the shoulder an' one in the hip before she finally went down."

"Fuck me," Simon groans, yanking down his mask to run a hand over his face. "How did she end up back in the UK? Why are we just now findin' this out?"

"Unclear but it stinks of a cover-up. Prob'ly military intelligence, since she was still workin' for Graves at the time. The lass has made some nasty friends since her escape. We know for certain she's got ties with the Russian mafia. We have intel that she's also been operating on the dark web as a contract assassin. She's on Interpol's most wanted list now."

Simon's chest caves in at the news. Peach has been working with the fuckin' Russian mob? The thought of it sickens him. "How should I handle this, Cap?"

Price sighs. "I've looped Kate in. She's notified the proper authorities in the US, and I've been dealin' with the top brass here. We're bringin' a team in t'handle her, but we've already got eyes on ya, lad, so don't worry. Just stick with the plan, keep her distracted, an' hopefully this will all be over soon."

The trembling in Simon's hands returns, the thought of you possibly being caught up in the crossfire paralyzing him with fear. "Where an' when is this s'posed t'go down?"

"The optimal location would be between Banfield and Blackheath, keepin' it as far away from civilians as we can manage. There's a nature preserve for waterfowl in the vicinity. Are ya familiar with it?"

Jerry Finch's ugly mug floats through his mind, along with your dirty, terrified face. Simon's shaking hand clenches into an angry fist. "Yeah. I know where it is."

"Good. We'll be settin' up an ambush on the access road that leads to the preserve. There will be two operatives, a male and a female, posing as a young couple who have broken down on the side of the road. When ya see 'em, stop and get outta the vehicle. Get Peach outside the vehicle, too, if ya can, but if not, stay clear of her. We'll move in an' subdue her."

Simon drags a hand through his short, choppy hair and grips the nape of his neck, eyes squeezing shut. "Yessir. Understood."

"Good lad. Our ETA is approximately one hour. I'll text when we're set up, then ya can head our way. See ya soon, Lieutenant."

"See ya, Cap."

Simon puts away his phone after checking the time. With any luck, he'll be done with this insanity in a few more hours. He just hopes Ollie can keep you safely away from all this mess until it's over. Then you're going back home, with him. Permanently.

He returns to the table to find Peach sipping on another beer, a fresh drink waiting for him. Settling onto his seat, he picks it up and tugs his mask up to take a drink. Peach smirks at him, watching as he drains the glass dry.

Something's wrong.

Simon lifts his head when Peach giggles, blinking his glassy eyes when her image blurs then multiplies. The room begins to slowly spin and he shuts his eyes to fight off his rising gorge.

"What's the matter, Ghost Man? Can't hold your liquor?" she teases.

Simon grunts, attempting to stand, but the floor tilts under his feet and he stumbles into the table, turning over Peach's beer.

"Woah!" Peach exclaims, jumping up to help settle him back on his seat, snickering. "That last drink really did a number on ya, huh?"

What did you do to me, Simon wants to snarl at her, but his tongue isn't working properly, sitting fat and useless as a dead slug inside his mouth. His attempts to shake off her grasping hands only results in unbalancing himself again. Luckily, he hits the wall instead of the floor, but he doesn't even wince when his head cracks against the plaster. He's too numb to feel it.

A couple of blokes from the bar come over to see if Peach needs help, then the next thing he knows, he's being hoisted up between them, his arms draped over their shoulders, boots dragging as they follow Peach out to a waiting Uber. He squints his eyes against the low evening sun, the nausea rising again.

He briefly wonders why Peach called an Uber instead of taking her rental back to Banfield. He can't remember why that would matter to him, but for some reason he knows that it should. Slumping against the door, he rests his head on the window and lets the vibrations from the motor lull him to sleep.

Simon is dreaming.

After Peach paid the disgruntled driver a huge tip to help her get him inside and up the stairs to his bed, Simon fell face first into his pillows. They smelled like home, the scent of your favorite fabric softener sending him off with a smile to dreamland.

Luckily, all his dreams are of you. You, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, sunlight glinting in your wind-blown hair. You, out in the garden kneeling among your flowers, wearing those fuckin' cut-off shorts that drive him bloody mad. You, standing at the foot of his bed, a fuzzy shadow in the darkness that sighs his name as you crawl up his body to straddle his hips.

His hands drift up to settle at your waist, but instead of your soft curves, he finds bony, narrow hips. One of them is marred by raised scar tissue. The hands that slide up his chest aren't soft and small, like yours. The fingers are too long and tipped with talons, the callused palms rough against his skin. The breasts pressing into his chest are too small, the hair tickling his face the wrong texture. The scent is all wrong, too. It's not your light, floral musk, but something spicy and slightly citric. It doesn't smell like you at all. Instead it smells like—

"Ungh... Peach? Whaddya want? Why'd ya wake me up?" Simon slurs, pushing at her drunkenly to get her off him.

Peach giggles, wrestling his weak arms back down to his sides. "Mmm, c'mon Si," she moans. "You know exactly what I want, baby."

Still groggy, Simon attempts to push her away again as the muffled sound of pounding feet going down the stairs reaches his ears.

"Who's here?" he asks, confused, trying to sit up, but Peach refuses to budge.

"Don't worry about it," she coos, holding him down as she grinds on his crotch. "It's just Deedee and some other chick leavin'. They came by to get her stuff."

A spike of fear lances through the fog in his addled brain. "She's leavin' me? Why is she leavin'?"

Peach chuckles lowly, riding him back down into the bed when he bucks underneath her. "Don't think she took it too well when I told her we're together now. Guess she's movin' out."

Simon erupts. "No!"

Furious, he slings her off like a rag doll, adrenaline giving him a burst of strength, but it's short-lived. As soon as he rolls out of bed and onto his feet, he staggers back, knocking his lamp off the nightstand.

Wha' the bloody hell is wrong with me? And wot the fuck is Peach doin' in my bed?

His sluggish brain tries to parse out the day's events, but his mind draws a blank after stopping by that pub in Blackheath. He went to the loo, talked to Price, then had another drink...

"Ya drugged me," he snarls at her, giving his head a shake to clear it. He watches her climb back to her feet on the other side of the bed, a feral glint in her eye.

She shrugs at his accusation, not denying it. "I may have put a little somethin' in your Dewer's to help ya relax. You're too uptight, big guy. Ya needed to loosen up, have a little fun," she says, dragging her fingers down the red lingerie barely covering her body.

Grimacing at her wanton display, he tries to process his present situation, but it's like wading through molasses, slow and frustrating. He can see her moving, creeping around the bed, and it suddenly occurs to him that they shouldn't even be here, at his house. He was supposed to take her somewhere else, but he can't quite remember where...

Peach keeps inching closer to him, a predator stalking her prey. He needs a weapon. A gun or...

A knife!

There's a knife in his nightstand. He fumbles with the drawer pull, his hand not cooperating with him. Keeping his eyes locked on her, he manages to slide open the drawer and reach inside. Just as he grips the hilt of the knife, Peach lunges forward and slams it on his wrist.

Simon grunts in pain and yanks his hand free of the drawer. The sudden movement sends him pinwheeling backwards into the wall, barely managing to stay on his feet.

"What were ya goin' for, Ghost? This blade?" she asks, brandishing it. The dim light catches on the polished steel. "What the fuck were you goin' to do? Attack me?" Her voice shakes as she points the knife at him. "You don't do that to someone you LOVE!" she shrieks. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!"

Simon blanches at the word. It sounds wrong coming out of her mouth, blasphemous. She'll never understand the meaning of it, because she's incapable of feeling it. Still, she's deluded enough to convince herself that her obsession with him is the same thing. He knows the difference, though. Because of you. You taught him what real love feels like, and this ain't it.

"'Cause I don't bloody love ya, ya mad cunt!" he roars at her, seething with fury. "Never have, never fuckin' will."

Her eyes go wide, pain flashing in their depths for a brief moment, but then a calm expression settles over her features, her eyes going flat. She tilts her head as she regards him.

"Kevin said he didn't love me, either. When I asked him to leave his wife for me, he laughed. He said it was just a fling, that what we had together didn't really mean anything." She sneers. "Lying, fucking coward." She takes a step closer and smirks. "Did ya know, he pulled a knife on me, too? Just like you tried to do. And do you know what I did?" she asks, then snarls. "I took it away from him and gutted him like a fuckin' pig!"

Then Peach darts forward and stabs him.

prev. <<< | >>> next

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #love thy frenemy au

30 notes · View notes

koushirouizumi · 2 years ago

Text

{Blog P.S.A} For New Followers

Where to Find Me: MY "ABOUT"+F.A.Q {READ FIRST}: Here (About) + Here (F.A.Q)! {People who don't even glance at these before leaving commnts inquiring about my Thoughts on Things get Ignored} [Trust Me I'll Know] AO3: Hikari AMVs Index (All Old & Newest AMVs): here! {Currently/Mainly creating for Digimon, Adventure-related franchise} [also appears at times: 02, tri.~Kizuna~The Beginning, Frontier; less often: Xros Wars {Pt 2 of original XW is my personal favorite}/Young Hunters; Ghost Game; Tamers; Wonderswan games-verse; everything post-02 mainly being original Japanese version based] Other {+Digi}-Sideblogs: izzyizumi (main Digimon blog) hikari-m (official Digimon {news+art} archiving+general Fandom commentary; Asks or follows may come from here, Depending) taichi-x-koushiro (Archiving for Yagami Taichi/Izumi Koushiro as Ship) IF YOU ARE A NEW FOLLOWER OR LURKER, I'd really appreciate if you can send me an Ask (you could also leave a quick introductory comment here, on my pinned post) and introduce yourself (you do not need to expect a response from me), even a short description like name (Pennames are definitely fine!), preferred pronouns (if any) and/or what brought you to my page and what you're staying for (Especially if you were here for resource{s} posts/reblogging, I've been curious if they've been helping anyone!) The reason I am asking this is because lately there's been a huge uptick of spam blogs following with particular "patterns" to their Likes, Follows, etc. and in order to prevent from being softblocked by accident if you are not actively blogging, it'd be great to know in advance if you're a real person. Aside from AO3 the only other 'active' archives of social media that I have are my much older Livejournal and Dreamwidth accounts, and even they're not quite in use these days. However, if you also have active LJs or DWs and actively blog, feel free to let me know too!

{And, for Clarification to anyone "Wondering"}:

[No, I will not discuss related current events further than this or in Tags. Anyone who attempts to push my boundaries on this will get Blocked]

FOR OFF-TUMBLR CONTACT, PLEASE DM: {Note: I will NOT respond to harrassing DMs and will only autodelete/block, so please don't waste your time}:

{Currently a infrequently active Koushiro RP Journal turned into personal archival blog. Please DO NOT spam it with non-Dreamwidth RP relevant comments. All comments are SCREENED first.}

It’d be very, very cool if people could also learn to read my FAQ page linked on the sidebar before sending Asks or interacting directly with either of my blogs or myself, because I’m seriously TIRED of people ignoring it and my rules for interaction.

I am a {diagnosed since childhood} Autistic, G.N.C {Gender Non-conforming} + THEY/THEM Jewish blogger. I reblog about those topics here for that reason. {Also my Ko-fi is here.}

* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT WITH ANY OF MY POSTS IF YOU BLATANTLY HATE/DISMISS, OR EXPECT ME TO HATE/DISMISS THE ADVENTURE [+02] + TRI + KIZUNA + 2020 CHOSEN, KOUSHIRO (*ANY KOUSHIRO, INCLUDES FOR EXAMPLE: TRI!KOUSHIRO, OWG!KOUSHIRO, 2020!KOUSHIRO, KIZUNA!KOUSHIRO), TAICHI (*ANY TAICHI, INCLUDING 2020!TAICHI, TRI!TAICHI, KIZUNA!TAICHI), DAISUKE MOTOMIYA (or “DAVIS”), SORA TAKENOUCHI (*INCLUDING 02!SORA, TRI!SORA, 2020!SORA, KIZUNA!SORA), HIKARI YAGAMI (*INCLUDING 02!HIKARI, TRI!HIKARI, KIZUNA!HIKARI, 2020!HIKARI), MIMI TACHIKAWA (*INCLUDING 02!MIMI, TRI!MIMI, KIZUNA!MIMI, 2020!MIMI), MIYAKO INOUE (*INCLUDING KIZUNA!MIYAKO), ALL/ANY OTHER DIGIMON GIRLS SUCH AS IZUMI ORIMOTO {FRONTIER}, JURI KATOU {TAMERS}, JUN MOTOMIYA {02}, OR MEIKO MOCHIZUKI. THANK YOU (I WILL PERMABLOCK IF YOU FORCE-INTERACT OR BLOCK EVADE)

* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT IF YOU CAN’T STAND MY SHIPS TO THE POINT YOU CAN’T EVEN BE RESPECTFUL WHEN INTERACTING WITH SOMEONE WHO SHIPS YOUR NOTP. (I WILL PERMABLOCK YOU IF I NOTICE)

** THESE RULES ALSO APPLY TO MY OTHER BLOG.

*** DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU SUPPORT HARASSMENT / BULLYING / ABUSE (I WILL INSTANTLY PERMA-BLOCK YOU) OR IF YOU SUPPORT / PLATFORM PEOPLE WHO DO.

NOTICE: I am much less active on a personal level on this blog nowadays (in the sense of making personal posts or fan-works/posting fic; I still reblog informative posts). I am slightly more active on my other socials, but most of them are private and friends-locked to older groups of mutuals. If you are curious or wanting to interact about Digimon (especially Adventures or about my favorite characters and ships for this fandom) specifically, please feel free to message me about them, but please understand I may not add or speak with anyone that I do not fully trust or know well. (It will help if most of your stances on social-justice issues align with and don’t blatantly conflict with my own. I tend to not add/follow people anywhere whose posts I cannot filter [i.e. there are many popular Western media fandoms / mega-fandoms I’m not in which I blacklist, types of fanworks I don’t personally care for that I blacklist, etc]. I do not do follow-backs so please do not follow or interact here expecting one). It will also help if you read my FAQ first and agree to it before asking.

PLEASE FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH MY FANDOMS LIST (notably more the major fandoms but) BEFORE YOU INTERACT WITH ANY POST ON THIS BLOG. If I check/quick-vet your blog and find nothing but hate{watching} posts/“Critical” posts for my fandoms (ESPECIALLY THIS ONE), unless I’ve reblogged from you first, I MAY HARDBLOCK YOU.

#koushirouizumi blog #koushirouizumi no rb #koushirouizumi personal #koushirouizumi text #koushirouizumi pinned post #(Making this now too)#(I've also been seeing various new interactions since 'The Beginning' sequel is releasing soon)#(But lately most interactions also seem from outside the fan base)#(This blog is my MULTI FAN BASE + Archival blog)#(If you are here and I didn't follow you first I'd really appreciate such an Ask when Inbox is open so I know you're a real person!)#(Please know I may not be able to respond however but also I'll appreciate anything I receive!!)#(And if we talked in the past but it's been a while please feel free to re introduce yourself too as re introductions help me out a lot too #(I will likely update this in future to add more info and reference links I am just getting this started now)#(because I'm also seeing a lot of talk of people seeing U.S. dub and other inter-national showings of The Beginning very soon)#(Another blog does this too and they got a lot of respectful response so I'd like to try the same!)#(Please understand pen names and the like are completely fine!!)#(I'd be really glad to not have to block more people accidentally looking like spam blogs to me)#(This is going to replace the old Pinned post when I have a chance to edit it soon)#(OK I also added old Info under the 'read more' from the old Pinned post but for the most part Yes this will be new Pinned)

2 notes · View notes