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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

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Watermelon Sugar

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

summary: Eddie shows you the eight wonder of the world. his mouth.

warnings: reader and eddie are 18+, established relationship, fluff, Eddie being a munch. nicknames/pet names used (baby, honey, sweetheart, etc.) MINORS DNI 18+ smut: fem oral receiving, blowjobs mentioned, talks of past sexual experiences, praise/body worship, swearing. *Skin Color/Ethnicity not mentioned! not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing.

if I miss anything plz lmk!

a/n: hello my loves! thank you all for the kind words and reactions on my last couple of posts! as you all know smut is not my forte but I felt the need to write this. am I projecting??? maybe but we’re gonna pretend that i'm not :)

The low hum of Steve Nicks’ voice plays through Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of your makeout session with your boyfriend. Orange glow from the late afternoon sun comes through the window, an angelic glow casting around the frizz of the mentalhead’s hair.

It started as an innocent day, hanging out together in a comfortable silence in his room. Him doodling in his notebook and you flipping through one of his old comic books. Somewhere along the way a featherlight touch turned into shared giggles, sitting in his lap turned into a chaste kiss, and it ended up with him in between your parted knees, kissing like his life depended on it.

A curtain of curls block out the skylight, tender lips on yours like melted honey, and big hands roaming down the expanse of your body. When Eddie moves away from your mouth, he takes the oxygen from your lungs with him and you whimper at the loss.

"Gonna let me have a taste of you, pretty girl?" Big doe eyes shine down to you, way too eager and excited. Your stomach twists into knots, the training you put yourself through in case of this moment, has all been for nothing. What do you say to the man that hovers over you with so much love in his eyes?

"How about I suck you off instead, hmm?" You try to come off as sensual but instead you sound scared.

It's an offer that you've made so many times over the short course of your relationship with Eddie. This was your first real relationship besides the eight grade love affair you had with Simon Willard. That only lasted a week.

You weren't anywhere near a virgin, that so called sacred part of yourself is now in the possession of a random boy you met on vacation before your senior year. Hookups weren't uncommon to you but what was uncommon to you was the affection you received during the sex.

People you've hooked up with never really cared to get you nice and ready the way Eddie does, prepping you with two or more fingers, working you open so that it doesn't hurt going in. Guys didn't care if you got off or not, they were just looking for a hole to fill and someone who wouldn't get clingy.

You had guy friends, including Eddie before you started dating, and you heard the horror stories they had of going down on a girl. It was never in mean spirit, although the discussion should've stayed in the bedroom, but it still scared you shitless. How one girl didn't properly take care of herself, causing the smell to be rancid. This girl didn't wipe the right way, leaving scraps of toilet paper down there. And the one that really settled itself into your brain, was how good or bad a girl tasted.

Of course you, and all of your guy friends, knew that girls didn't taste like ice cream, or strawberries, or candy. It was made up, another bullshit beauty standard for woman to worry about.

You had paid attention to the way guys would ask you if you wanted it done. The way they would sigh and roll their eyes like it was the biggest task of their lives. You would end up telling them that you're more of a giver than receiver, and that you just weren't interested in that whole thing. When they would release a breath of relief you would fill with shame, almost like you were the one who requested it to be done and had been turned down. The embarrassment of rejection you didn't even ask for.

So when you and Eddie first had sex as boyfriend and girlfriend, you made it your mission to never let that horrid question come from his mouth. You always made sure to offer him head first, and if it looked like he was about to ask, you'd simply tell him you couldn't wait anymore.

Now here you are, under him, ready and willing to take him in your mouth, and he's gotten the question out before you could beat him to the punch.

"Ya know I will never say no to that, sweetheart. But-"

Uh oh. That's the word that comes before a life or death sentence. It's hanging heavy over you, the once comfortable silence is now killing you. Squeezing all of the air out of your body, limbs going numb with the loss of circulation, all the while your ears ring like an explosion has gone off.

"I want to return the favor." It's so sincere when he says it and it makes you want to cry. A boyish smile taking over his mouth, deep dimples appearing on the fat of his cheeks.

You must look like you've seen a ghost because the pretty smile that was written on his face is now taken over by worry.

"I mean, I don't have to. It's just- I feel like," Eddie's a panicked mess, backing his face further away from your own. The small bubble of love that the two of you created has now been popped with your own doubts and fears.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I just thought I could make you feel good s'all." The confident man that you know all too well is now reduced to a fumbling and anxious person. His fingers work at the chunky silver ring on his finger, twisting and twisting and twisting it around.

"You just always, I don't know. It just always seems like you never ask for head and I just wanted to offer it to you, I guess."

The whiskey eyes that never left your gaze won't even look at you anymore. Focusing on that damn ring that goes faster and faster the longer you wait to respond. You want to run and hide. Dig a deep hole and never come out. Your lovely boyfriend who's done nothing but treat you like the queen of the goddamn universe, now thinks he's made you uncomfortable.

Embarrassment rushes through your veins, throat closing with the grip of shame making it harder to breathe. Tears prick your eyes, hot and heavy, ready to fall at the drop of a dime. You feel so guilty for not just telling him the truth, for not saying all the concerns that you had. Even before you started dating Eddie always confided in you, telling you the deepest secrets that kept him up at night and you couldn't even tell him this one thing.

"I'm embarrassed." It comes out in a sniffle, lip wobbling beneath the teeth that hold it down, trying to make it go away.

"I'm just embarrassed I won't be good. That I'll be another conversation for you and the boys to drink to. Will I taste good? Do I smell weird? Does it look pretty? All of these questions circle my brain and I'm so fucking scared that you won't like me anymore." It comes out like word vomit, so fast and uneven in tone that you're not sure if it even made sense.

You don't have time to think it over anyway, Eddie's too quick putting his hands on your cheeks, gently making you look up at him. The same kind eyes that you always see meet yours. Thumbs gentle swipe the fat tears off of your face, his cold hands extinguish the flames of your skin.

"Honey, I promise you I would never, ever do some dumb shit like that. What the guys and I talk about is irrelevant, half the time they don't even know what they're talking about. I felt the same way when you wanted to suck me off the first time, every single question you ask yourself is what I ask myself." Eddie's eyes are searching yours, looking and waiting to see the dread leave your head.

"Like I said before, I would never want you to be uncomfortable but if you're okay with it, I'd really," He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, "really," he continues to place more delicate kisses around your face, "really love to make you feel so fucking good."

When he's done, he looks back down to you with a dopey smile, he's low and hazy drunk off of you. A smile tugs on your own lips, so warm and fuzzy off of him. You know he means it and you feel sad that you even questioned him. Childish laughter rings out between the two of you when he pinches your sides, tickling out the stiffness in your body.

When the laughter dies down, he asks you again by cocking his eyebrow up in question. Nodding your head, you give him a confident yes, something you didn't feel the first time he asked.

Moving down your body, trails of kisses are left on your skin, mapping out his journey to your center. When he reaches the hem of your pants, he looks up to you once more waiting for a reply. Encouraging him to go further, his chilled fingers douses the warmth radiating off of you.

Leaving you only in your polka dot designed panties, Eddie teases you by running his fingers up and down your thighs.

"I gotta say bub, I love the pink dots. Top notch fashion if I don't say so myself." Eddie jokes and it makes you giggle. Swatting lightly at him, he returns the laughter.

"I'm not lying, I swear! If only you know what you do to me." As much of a joker Eddie is, he was never one to joke about your beauty. He found everything you did, said, and wore so fucking breathtaking and flawless, he'd probably get hard from the sight of you in a Tin Man costume.

"If you, at any time, want me to stop just tell me. I won't get mad, just let me know, okay?" Eyebrows scrunched with seriousness, Eddie makes sure to be loud and clear with his instructions.

"I promise, Eds." You say and he takes that as the green light.

Eddie's index finger teases your cloth slit, running up and down so slowly it feels like torture. When you lift your hips looking for more friction he snorts lightly.

"Patience, my love." His fingers continue to dance over your panties, running back to the top of the band and pulling them down in a swift motion.

When the cool air hits your wet seat, you whimper slightly at the feeling. Eddie has seen your pussy multiple times, but when he spreads it with his fingers, you can't help but feel shy, closing your legs around his arm.

"Don't go shy on me, baby. I just wanna see the prettiest picture I've ever seen." His eyes are still trained on the glistening of your sex, glimmering like bright pools of water.

It feels like an hour of no movement from Eddie before he goes to change his position between your legs. Shuffling back on his knees, he picks your thighs up to place on his shoulders as he lays on his stomach.

Still having doubts, you lean up on your elbows, watching your boyfriend to see what his reaction is. To your surprise, he looks like a kid in a candy store, awe and wonder swimming around in the big brown pools of his eyes.

When an obscene sniff rings through the air, you can't help but cringe a little. Waiting for him to look repulsed, you're again astonished when all your met with is a feral look.

Very tentatively, he runs his flat tongue from your hole to the top of your clit. Moaning deeply, he moves his gave up to you. A smirk breaks out on his features, so devilishly and mischievously.

"Oh baby, you have no fucking clue how good you taste." There is no questioning in his cadence. It's smug and cocky and it makes you shiver with need.

Repeating his motions from before, you mewl at the feeling, lifting your hips again. The chuckle that comes from Eddie vibrates off of you, make you move you squirm. Reaching his strong hands around your thighs, he holds you in place with his firm grip.

When the wet muscle breaches your needy hole, you fall back onto the bed moaning out in pleasure. He works your open with it, flicking it in and out efficiently.

Pulling out of you, he moves up to your bundle of nerves. Starting slowly, he circles around once or twice, before working it in figure eights.

You melt into the bed like a popsicle on a hot summers day. There's not a single thought in your head other than the feeling of his mouth. You're a livewire come to life, so sensitive and lost in the haze of pleasure.

You think this is the precipice of ecstasy but then one of his thick fingers enter you and his mouth sucks hard on your pulsing clit.

It feels like fireworks on the fourth of July, bright and explosive, big loud bangs ringing out into the night sky. It's like the feeling of going down the big drop on a rollercoaster, tingling deep in your belly and a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. It's like winning first place, heartwarming and shocking all at the same time.

You feel all these things at the same time, every single one of them caused by the actions of your boyfriends mouth. It's overwhelming and so fucking delicious but you can't say anything than cry out in bliss.

Letting go of your clit with a pop, Eddie's head pokes up at you like an excited puppy. "S'it feel good baby?" You want to answer, you really do but the way he sneaks a second finger into you and crooks them at the perfect angle makes you lose all motor skills.

"Awe, honey" he coos mockingly, "Is it that good?"

"S'good Eds, so good." You're a blubbering, crying mess. So hooked on the feeling of him, hooking on the feeling of how he made you feel.

He doesn't say anything else, too busy pushing his face back between your legs. His motions go faster, fingers hitting that sweet spot inside of you that he only managed to find, his mouth switching between motions, driving you closer to the edge as he does.

The string in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter, barley hanging together by a thread. You're a thrashing, sweaty mess on his bed, gripping the pillow underneath your head that your knuckles will probably be stuck in that position. You don't care, not when he's moving his head back and forth, slurping up your wetness like a handmade milkshake.

It's filthy, down right dirty the way it sounds. The noises that carry out into his room echo so loud the neighbors could probably hear. The squelch of your wetness being pounded into by his hand, the way he's drinking you up like a dehydrated plant, the moans that escape out of your parted lips.

"Eddie, please. FUCK, please." You're blathering at him, not even sure at what you're asking for.

Separating himself from you again, he continues working his fingers deep into you.

"You wanna cum, pretty girl? S'that it? Wanna cum all over my fingers?" You moan louder in response, clenching around him harder as you do.

"Go ahead, be a good good and cum for me. Come on, honey. Cum for me." That's all you need to hear before you're hurtling off the edge of your release.

You release with a silent cry, all the air being punched right out of you. Your body feels weightless, like you were thrown up into the clouds and not being able to come down.

Your whole body shakes, tears streaming down your face, all while your hole pulses and quivers around Eddie's fingers. A gush of wetness coats his fingers, a big puddle under your ass, leaving another stain on his bed seats.

He watches in awe as you hit your peak, how your back arches off of the bed and how you look so fucking perfect like this. The shy girl that never got experience this kind joy, now swims in the ocean of euphoria of the climax. He feels so lucky to witness this, to be the first and last person to ever see you this vulnerable.

Eddie wishes he could paint this moment, make a portrait of the way your kiss bitten lips form the perfect O, make the brushstrokes of your hair and some of it sticks to your sweaty face. You're so beautiful and he doesn't know how blessed to be yours.

When you float back down to earth, to the springy mattress of Eddie's, you take a moment to catch your breath. When he removes his fingers from you, you weakly hiss from movement and he offers a quiet sorry.

Moving back up to his knees, he hovers over you and smiles brightly down at you. Smiling weakly back at you, he uses the hand that's not supporting his weight to place it on your jaw. His thumb brushes back and forth and you melt right into it.

"How was that?" Pink tints his cheeks, grinning ear to ear.

You chuckle weakly, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I think I went to outer space for a second there."

A booming laugh leaves his chest and it makes you smile even harder. Your heart feels so full and so happy. You're so in love with him and it makes you delirious. You want to see him like this for the rest of your life, big smiles and even big laughter, so pretty and delicate only for you.

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself there, space cadet." Leaning down to press his lips to yours, your soak in the feeling of it. When he moves away you pout at him, and he bops you on the nose with his finger.

"I was thinkin' I could return the favor, big boy." You whisper seductively.

"Oh baby, that sounds wonderful but-," He makes eye contact with you, "I need to be in you like yesterday because that, right there was the hottest thing I've ever witness."

"I happen to be a romantic. So I shall wait until my fair maiden is okay to resume our activities." Closing his eyes with pride, he places a hand on his heart.

Hiding your face with your hands, you bust out laughing at his little antics and when you peek between his fingers you see his teeth flashing back at you. Removing your hands from your face, you tuck a loose tendril behind his ear.

"You're a dork, but that sounds good to me."

Thank you all for reading! I loves you all and hope you enjoyed!!!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic

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kennahjune · 3 months

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Jealous?

Thanks so much to the amazing @rogueddie for letting me write this!!!! Hope it lives to standards :)

Eddie had a problem.

A Steve Harrington sized problem.

Said problem was standing behind the counter at Family Video while the woman in front of him blatantly flirted with him.

It wasn’t the woman Eddie was worried about— she had at least five years of age on Steve, so maybe there was cause for concern— but Steve wasn’t paying her the time of day.

Instead, he was glancing over the woman’s shoulder at Eddie, who lurked in the aisles, and kept making faces and blabbling his mouth mockingly whenever she wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie was desperately holding back snickers and snorts. He couldn’t help but let a giggle escape when Steve moved his hand in a “blabbing” motion when she said something about her ex-husband (HUSBAND) again. The woman whipped around and glared at Eddie. Eddie gave her a finger waggle wave he realized belatedly was the same one Steve does.

Steve himself was almost beet red in the face with his effort to hold in his laugh. Eddie was amazed at how long he’d lasted.

The moment the door closed behind her Steve put his face in his arms on the counter and full on cackled. Eddie was quick to join.

They were still laughing when Robin came back from the bathroom.

“Is she gone?” she asked, looking oddly between the two of them.

Steve nodded, not having enough breath to get words out. Robin sighed a dramatic breath of relief.

“Oh thank God. Cause she looked one second away from bringing up some stupid shit like her failed marriage—“

That sent Steve and Eddie into another spiral of laughs.

“There’s no way she actually did.” Robin deadpanned.

Eddie nodded vigorously. “She fucking did!”

“Four times! As if bringing up how she was newly-single would make me want her. Did she look in a mirror before leaving? She’s closer to my dads age.”

Eddie snorted, trying to get his laughter under control enough to say “Even man-whore Richard Harrington wouldn’t go within a 20 foot radius of her.”

Steve didn’t waste a second before racking on: “Doesn’t need to get too close with how far back that hairline stretches.”

Robin and Eddie laughed themselves to tears.

And that was how it went.

A woman would come into the video store, shoot their shot with Steve, and Steve would laugh about it with Robin and Eddie later.

And it was fun. Eddie found it fun. Cause he knew Steve would always shoot the girls down, however nice or rudely he has to be about it.

Until—

Until.

It was a Friday, and as per usual on Fridays, Eddie was at Steve’s. Of course, it wasn’t just him— Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle were there as well.

They’d been hanging out whenever they all could before Nancy and Jonathan went to college and Argyle back to Cali. Hence the Friday night hang outs.

Tonight was no different, except for one thing.

“So explain to me once again why we have to drive all the way out to Indy for this?” Jonathan complained.

Nancy sighed and leant into him. “Cause there aren’t any good bars in Hawkins. And everywhere in Hawkins knows that almost none of us are of legal age.”

Jonathan grumbled but conceded, Wheeler had a point.

“Besides,” added Robin. “It’d be nice to finally get the hell out and see some new people.”

“Amen.” Agreed Eddie and Argyle at the same time. They both chuckled.

“Yeah well, I’d like to go soon before my social battery drains itself dead.” Remarked Jonathan, throwing an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“We’d have left already if SOMEBODY DIDN’T HAVE TO SPEND HALF AN HOUR PRIMPING HIMSELF!” Yelled Robin towards the stairs.

Steve had been MIA since Eddie got there at least 20 minutes ago. According to Robin he was still getting ready.

“PUT A LID ON IT BIRD-FOR-BRAINS, IM COMING!” Was the reply she got from the top of the stairs, where Steve was now coming from.

Nancy and Argyle snorted at the insult, but Eddie’s mind was rather taken up by the cut-off jean shorts Steve wore that showed more of his thighs than Eddie thought necessary for anyone’s functioning brain. He was also wearing what looked like the softest sweater he owned; a dark purple one that seriously brought out the green in his eyes.

Nancy whistled, Robin clapped. Argyle grinned at Steve and said

“Hey man! That’s the sweater I got you!”

Steve grinned right back and nodded. “Uh huh! Dude it’s like— SO fucking comfy you don’t even understand.”

The sweater was a little big on Steve, hanging over his thumbs a bit in the sleeves and landing just below the waistline of his shorts. If Eddie wasn’t so focused on the many moles on his thighs that were on display, the fact that Argyle had gotten Steve a sweater may have rubbed him the wrong way.

As it stood, Steve looked good.

He looked stunning, actually, in his glasses and his hair slightly ruffled in a delicate manner and his eyes wide and bright and—

“Eddie!”

He blinked and Steve was standing in front of him, no one else in the room.

“Huh?”

Steve grinned giddily and laughed at him. “C’mon dude, you’re my ride up, remember?”

Oh yeah. They’d split everyone between his and Argyles vans.

“Isn’t Buckley with us?” Eddie asked as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

“Yeah, but I think she’s sticking with Jon and them on the way up.”

Eddie nodded and averted his gaze once more. There was a reason he’d skipped gym and avoided the mall.

That reason was glaring at him with all of its dotted moles and freckles and faint scars.

Jesus Christ he needed a cigarette.

The ride up was uneventful, peaceful even. Eddie let Steve have control over the radio, something Steve thought was normal but was downright foreign to anyone else. Eddie usually fought tooth and nail for control over the music but the sight of Steve singing and drumming his legs (holy shit his thighs jiggled—) and jamming out with a bright smile to whatever Tears for Fears or ABBA song he put on was worth it.

He followed behind Argyle and reluctantly sang under his breath with Steve to Head Over Heels.

The club they ended up going to was a little deeper into the city than they’d initially thought, and was slightly crowded when they got in.

Eddie was immediately hit with the smell of sweat and booze but not in an entirely bad way. In a way that told him that people here had fun.

It was bright and loud and the air tasted like fries (though Eddie might just be hungry). They took an empty table booth in a corner in the back.

After dropping their jackets off and everyone picking a seat, Steve got up to get everyone drinks.

“You want me to come with?” Eddie asked worriedly. It was Steve’s first time in Indy in a while and his first time out of Hawkins since the fall of Vecna. Sue Eddie for being cautious.

But Steve smiled sweetly at him and shook his head. “I’ll be alright, Eds. Be right back.” He knocked his knuckles on Eddie’s head affectionately and walked off. Eddie may have spent a second ogling before snapping his gaze to the table.

“So?”

Eddie looked at Nancy with a raised eyebrow. She raised one right back.

“Soooo…?”

She sighed. “Oh you’re hopeless.”

Jonathan snickered.

“Wha—“

“Are you gonna make a move tonight?” Argyle elaborated.

Eddie shot up real fast. “Make a move? On who, Steve?”

“Yea, on Steve, doofus!” Robin reprimanded.

“There’s no board to make a move on.” Eddie pushed stubbornly. Because it was true. There was nothing there.

Robin groaned and dropped her head to the table.

“Dude, relax your knee. It’s shaking the whole table.” Jonathan tapped Eddie’s leg under the booth.

“Sorry, sorry. He’s been gone a while, right?” Eddie craned his head to look around the bodies of people dancing.

Robin huffed. “Yeah, kinda. But there are six of us, maybe he’s having trouble carrying all the drinks.”

Nancy suddenly kicked his leg under the table, a lot harder than her boyfriend had earlier. Eddie winced.

“Go help him.” Nancy all but demanded.

Eddie was up and away in a second, happy to have an excuse. He faintly heard Nancy and Robin high five behind him.

He weaved through the dancing crowd, bodies jostling him and pushing him forward until he got to the bar and finally spotted Steve and—

And?

Something bubbled low in Eddie’s gut at the man standing in front of Steve. He was taller than both Steve and Eddie, well-built and had a bit of a beard going. He was leaning on the bar next to Steve, sort of caging him in. The scene made Eddie mad for reasons he didn’t give himself time to think about before he inserting himself.

“Steve!”

Both Steve and the asshole’s heads turned to Eddie. Steve’s eyes lit up in recognition and relief while the man’s narrowed in anger at being interrupted.

“You know him, doll?”

Eddie wanted to make the man spit his own teeth out. Nobody else got to call Steve pet names. Just Eddie. It was an Eddie Thing, not an Everybody Thing. Fuck this guy.

“Yeah—“ Steve started.

“Yeah, he does. And yet I don’t think he knows you.”

Eddie stood shoulder to shoulder with Steve, glaring daggers at the douche.

The man scoffed and huffed, walking away and muttering under his breath. Eddie scowled until he could see the guy and his stupid beard. He finally turned to Steve.

Who was absolutely red in the face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asked worriedly. “He wasn’t bothering you right? He seemed like a dick, looked like one even before I got up close.”

Steve stared at Eddie wide-eyed with his pretty lips parted. He blinked and spluttered a response.

“U—um, yeah! Yeah, no, I’m— I’m good. I’m alright. I’m great! Yep, great! Uh—“

“Are you sure?” Eddie was concerned, never having heard Steve stumble over a simple sentence so much.

Steve nodded vigorously before turning to the bar snappily. Eddie could still see the red painting his ears.

“Yep! Perfect! Could you help with the drinks? I don’t think I can carry them all, thanks!” And he was off back to the table.

Eddie stared after him for a moment before slowly grabbing the other three drinks and following back through the sea of bodies.

Steve was sat by the time Eddie got back to the booth, whispering heatedly with Robin, Eddie only managing to hear Steve hiss to her “that wouldn’t work!” before noticing his presence and shutting up all together.

Eddie raised an eyebrow but let it slide while he gave Nancy and Jon their drinks. He slid into the booth next to Steve who sat between him and Robin and across from Jonathan.

For the next 10 minutes, they all talked. They talked and laughed and joked and drank. But Steve seemed more in his head than usual.

Eddie was just working up the courage to ask him what was wrong when a guy came up to their table, eyeing Steve. Eddie immediately tensed.

“Hi.”

All six heads turned to the dude who just showed up. But that didn’t deter him much.

“I was just wondering if pretty boy here wanted to dance?” He smirked at Steve, who Eddie felt tense up beside him.

“Um—“ Steve’s voice was kind of shaky, barely. But it was enough (mixed with the anger already brewing in his gut at the NERVE of this guy) for Eddie to finally step in.

“He’s alright.”

Six heads suddenly turned on him.

“Excuse me?” The asshole asked.

“You’re excused.” Eddie waved his hand in a shooing motion.

“Well I hadn’t exactly—“

“And I hadn’t exactly /asked/, now have I? Goodbye.” Eddie didn’t even bother offering a smile to hide the aggression in his tone. His message was clear: Get Lost.

The douche walked away grumbling and conversation soon resumed at the table.

“What was that!?” Jonathan asked incredulously.

Nancy and Argyle were both openly staring at Eddie in bewilderment.

Eddie shifted, but was more focused on the fact that Steve seemed to relax again.

“The dude was being an asshole. Just told him to get lost, not a big deal.”

“He was just asking Steve to dance? I don’t see the problem there.” Robin cut in.

It gave Eddie pause for thinking. She was right; there really was no problem there, so why had he been so upset about the dude asking Steve to dance. God just the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“It’s fine, Rob. I was just gonna tell him no anyway.”

Eddie looked at Steve then, who was a whole new shade of red.

“Are you alright? You’re all red again.” Eddie worried. Jonathan snorted into his drink and then winced when Steve kicked him under the table. Steve looked at Eddie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed in the tight space I think. You wanna— uh— you wanna go dance?”

Eddie didn’t waste a second with his answer. “Sure.”

Eddie watched Steve and Robin have a silent conversation with their eyes and expressions before Robin grinned in victory and waved at them eagerly.

“Buh-bye! Have fun!” She sing-songed. Steve shot her a glare.

Eddie led Steve to the dance floor somewhere towards the edge of the crowd where there was less people. They really just stood there talking and sipping on their drinks while everyone around them danced.

“Hey, uh— thanks for telling him to back off. I’ve, I’ve never actually… been flirted with? By a guy, I mean— this is like— a brand new thing. But he and the other dude seemed just really creepy so— uh, thanks.” Steve stumbled through.

Eddie stared at his wide, earnest eyes and wondered how no guy had ever flirted with Steve before tonight. Even if the idea of it ever happening made him want to hurt somebody.

(Even though Eddie knows that guys have flirted with Steve before. Knows that he didn’t just make up those looks Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove gave him.)

So Eddie smiled and shook his head. “You’re all good, sweetheart. Just don’t want you running into the wrong guys.”

That pretty blush was back again, making Steve look even more breathtaking under the florescent lights and making his smile twice as bright.

Then they were rudely interrupted.

“Hey, babyboy.” Came an obnoxious call from behind Eddie. The guy was, again, taller that Steve, but this time he was barely taller than Eddie (a/n lemme live in slightly shorter Steve fantasy ok—). Eddie immediately hated him and his entire existence. Who just called people that? Babyboy? Was he serious or delusional?

Eddie watched Steve’s shoulders tense awkwardly while the guy spoke. His anger only grew and grew.

“Alright that’s enough dude, he’s not interested.”

The guy didn’t say anything to Eddie but kept talking to Steve which only served to irk Eddie further.

“I said he’s not interested ass face.” Eddie grabbed the guy’s shoulder. He finally looked at Eddie, seeming bored.

“He hasn’t said anything? Why not let the babydoll decide, huh?” He smirked at Steve. Eddie wanted to puke and scream at the same time. He felt like he was chewing on nails listening to this guy. Babydoll? First babyboy and now BABYDOLL??? Who the fuck was this dude? And more importantly would the possible assault charges be worth it?

“Um— yeah, I’m sorry. I’m not really interested in looking for anybody tonight.” Steve confirmed.

“Oh c’mon, doll face, don’t be like that.”

Oh the assault charges would so be worth it.

“He just said he wasn’t interested so fuck off.” Eddie shoved his shoulder. The dude finally turned to look at Eddie, leveling him with a glare that Eddie happily returned tenfold. If looks could kill the guy would have been fucking obliterated on sight.

“If he wasn’t interested then why’s he dressed like that, huh?”

Jail was looking mighty fine to Eddie.

“I’m right fucking here, asshat.” Steve spoke up. “And Im dressed like this because I look good and I know it. Not for fucks like you who have to beg for scraps to get by. I said I wasn’t interested and you’re just causing more of a headache if anything.”

Eddie grinned at Steve. It was so hot when he got all bitchy.

The asshole scoffed. “Oh so baby’s got a mouth on him.”

Eddie finally snapped, those assault charges no where in mind when he punched the guy in the face.

“Eddie!” Steve yelled, absolutely flabbergasted at the sudden violence.

The guy left after that with a threat of harassment charges. Steve took Eddie outside to the alleyway on the side of the club to get away from the crowd and to better examine his freshly bruised knuckles.

“You didn’t have to punch him.”

“He fucking had it coming.” Eddie spat through clenched teeth. He was still seething. And Steve was prodding at the bruises but that was neither here nor there.

Steve looked at Eddie, still holding his bruised hand. His eyes were wide as always and his cheeks flushed once more. His eyes seemed to search Eddie for something.

“Was it cause he was an ass?”

Eddie scoffed. “Of course! He was an ass and made you uncomfortable and—“

And I wanted to be the one to call you baby.

“And?” Steve prompted.

“And… and I hated how he talked to you.”

Steve looked down at Eddie hand, the blush rising to ears again. Eddie hooked a finger under Steve’s chin with the hand that wasn’t bruised and being held.

“Hey, you alright? You’re getting all quiet again.”

Steve’s eyes flitted back and forth between Eddie’s own before he sighed.

“Eddie.. I can’t— I don’t understand.”

Eddie pouted, confused. “Don’t understand what? There’s not much to it, honey.”

Steve cheeks pinkened again with the endearment. “Not— not that. I get that he was a dick— a massive dick attitude to make up for what he was surely lacking—“

That startled a laugh out of Eddie.

“—but I guess I don’t understand the other times? You were never like this before when anyone else flirted, so what changed tonight?”

And wasn’t that a thought.

What changed?

Well for starters, he wanted to kiss Steve. He wanted to kiss Steve senseless, shove him up against a wall and stick his tongue down his throat until he was breathless an begging for it.

So that’s changed.

But he also wanted to hug Steve and hold him right and call him things like Sweetheart and Honey and Love and Baby (which he already does anyway for the most part). He wanted to take Steve places and show him things. Wanted to give Steve every pretty rock he found and show him every cool leaf he saw.

What changed was that he wanted Steve in every which way Steve would let him have him.

But of course, Eddie didn’t express these aloud.

“Eddie…” Steve stared wide-eyed with his mouth opened in shock, his face a violent shade of red.

Or maybe he did express them aloud.

He’d drank more than he thought.

And then Steve was kissing him. Steve was pulling him in by the hand he was holding and pressing their lips together in a kiss that Eddie would never forget, not matter how much he’d drank that night.

They let go of each others hands, Eddie immediately grabbing Steve’s waist and Steve tangling his hands in Eddie hair.

By the time they’d pulled away to breathe Eddie bad fulfilled his wish of shoving Steve against a wall and sticking his tongue down his throat.

“So you were jealous?” Steve teased, playing with Eddie hair where his arms were still wrapped around his neck.

Eddie grumbled under his breath and kissed Steve to shut him up. Steve hummed and smiled into the kiss.

“Kissing me into going to make me drop it, Munson. You were totally jealous of those guys in there.”

Eddie huffed and stooped lower to kiss at Steve neck, gaining an immediate reaction with Steve’s stuttered breath and sudden silence. Eddie chuckled.

“Oh? I thought kissing you wasn’t going to make you drop it.”

Steve hit his shoulder weakly. “Shut it, asshole— mm!” Eddie bit down lightly on the side of his neck.

Then the door to the alley was opening and Robin was telling them to get their horny asses home before thy got arrested for public indecency.

So they agreed to pick up at home. And the whole ride there was filled with relentless teasing about Eddie’s apparent jealousy towards any guy who so much as looked at Steve oddly.

It’s rushed I know but it’s like 2am on a school night 😭 and I’m not upset with the results. Could it be better? Yeah. Could it be worse? Absolutely. It’s not my finest work but oh well 🤷

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flamingo-writes · 10 months

Text

A Dinner Invitation — Hobie x Reader

Based off my Gal In The Chair headcannons

Genre: fluff, slice of life. Plotless fluff basically.

Warnings: none. Perhaps cursing? I don’t remember, at this point my brain writes curse words like they’re not actually curse words.

Summary: Miles gets a dinner invitation at Hobie’s universe. Not only Miles walks into Hobie’s home, which is as artistic as he expected, but much greener than he imagined. And there he meets Hobie’s girlfriend, equally artistic, perfectly matching Hobie’s energy. Seeing Hobie so relaxed and affectionate feels weirdly intimate and refreshing to Miles.

Word Count: 1.2K words

A/N: I’ve been daydreaming of all sorts of scenarios revolving the Gal in The Chair. So, be ready for the spam 😩 if you’d like to be tagged, let me know.

“Home, sweet’eart!” Hobie said walking inside the seemingly chaotic place, as Gwen, Pav and Miles followed him.

Miles looked around, surprised by the amount of things lying around. It was chaotic but didn’t look dirty. Almost as if everything had been purposefully place where it was. It was a small apartment with hardly any furniture. But there were art projects, materials and plants everywhere. Plants everywhere. The confusion only seemed to grow with every step, the apartment smelled like a woman lived there, but didn’t smell like Gwen.

And still puzzled by what went on between Hobie and Gwen, specially after he’d said she’d left her jumper, among the things he’d heard, he was sure there was something going on between them. And judging by the apartment, —and the smell of girl’s perfume—, it did seem like Hobie might live with one.

As Miles felt simultaneously more confused and somewhat relieved, he saw Hobie walk up to a girl working on a mannequin, fixing some clothes. He kissed the top of her headache wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That looks cool…” He purred. “Sexy, even…”

The girl giggled and looked over at Hobie as they kissed.

Miles sighed relieved.

“Will you model that for me later today?” Hobie asked with a flirty smirk.

“I can’t. This is a personalised piece Julie asked for…” The girl said looking over her shoulder at Hobie with a gentle smile and loving stare. “How did it go?”

“Messy,” Hobie said letting go of the girl. “awful, but Gwendy and Pav are here and I brought a new friend…” He said.

Pav yelled your name as you put down the needles and pins and greeted Pav in a tight hug. You let out a soft giggle as Pav lifted you up effortlessly, as if it had been ages since he last saw you.

“Who…?” Miles whispered confused.

“Hobie’s girlfriend,” Gwen said.

“A true renaissance artist,” Hobie said before introducing you to Miles, telling him your name. “Buy her stuff. She personalises and fixes your clothes, also does that with secondhand clothes. She also designs them as well as handmade Jewellery. Brings your plants back to health, she also reproduces and sells them, if you ever want to gift your mum some pretty plants or flowers…Helps me setting up my art shows, and set up everything for a gig. She’s also my left hand, best friend, lover, and favourite person on earth,” Hobie said proudly as you blushed lightly as Pav let you go from his tight bear hug.

“I’m not as interesting as Hobes just made me sound…” You said modestly walking up to Miles.

“But she is,” Pav intervened and walked into the kitchen, parading around the place like he lived there.

“I’m…Miles…” He said with an awkward chuckle as he extended his stiff hand towards you.

“Nice meeting you Miles. Coffee? Tea? We also have plain ol’water…Juice…”

“N-no thanks…” Miles chuckled awkwardly. “I’m fine. Thank you…” He said as he looked around. “So you do all of this for a living?”

“Sadly, in this highly capitalist and consumerist society, people do not appreciate the handwork of a true artist…” Hobie said as Miles looked slightly puzzled at him.

“That’s Hobie for, I do this full time even though it’s a lot of stuff, I barely manage to make a living out of this,”

“No way!”

“People don’t buy plants nor get their clothes fixed everyday,” You shrugged.

“Hey!” Pav said defensively as he went into the kitchen.

“Pav always buys plants, though” You chuckled. “Hobie helps me a lot too, the both of us manage to keep this whole place afloat,” You sad looking at Hobie with a dreamy smile.

Hobie from the kitchen looked at you with a cheeky flirty smirk and winked at you.

“Buy your mother a nice set of earrings and a plant, kid…” Hobie told Miles as he walked out of the kitchen with a cup of chai.

“My mother really liked the flowers I bought her last week,” Pav said. “Also the necklace and earrings set you made for her!”

“I’m glad, Pav. You know where to find me…” You said happily as Hobie wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple as he handed you the cup.

“I made some chai, if anyone wants some” Pav said happily.

You took a sip out of Hobie’s mug and hummed.

“God, no matter how many times I do it, it’s never as good as Pav’s…” You sighed softly.

“My man’s got a talent,” Hobie said.

“Gotta go back to that shirt I was working on,” You announced. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“Gwendy and I can handle dinner, you go do your thing, luv” Hobie said as he grabbed your jaw in his long fingers and kissed you sweetly. “Call you when it’s done,” He said softly as you hummed and stole one last peck from him before handing him back his cup and went back to the mannequin.

“Can you bring me my own cup of chai?”

“Anything for you, princess,” Hobie said with a soft voice as he turned around and went into the kitchen.

Miles looked at you as you went back to measuring and putting pins on the mannequin. Quickly absorbed by your work.

"Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Hobie said with a proud smirk. "C’mon, y’all wanna have dinner, y’all better help…"

Despite the chatty mess of laughs and sarcastic comments, Miles was still intrigued with how you never seemed to lose focus from your work. Even when they were being crazy loud. Blending naturally into the commotion, Miles felt comfortable between all of them. Wondering whether if it was because they all were spider people, or simply because the over all energy marched his own. He had friends before, but never a group of friends like this one. He felt absolutely free, being able to behave naturally without the fear of being judged or stared at.

Pav took over the kitchen, making most of the work himself. While the food was ready, Pav and Gwen talked about spices as Miles kept looking around intrigued. At some point, Hobie disappeared from the scene, and as Miles was looking for Hobie, his eyes dragging, looking over every detail in the apartment. Eventually, he spotted Hobie’s tall figure towering over you.

As you set down your tools, and Hobie pulled a chair next to you, he cupped your face in his large hands and pulled you close, kissing you sweetly. Something about Hobie being the badass and cool punk, a guy who was seemingly ready to start a coup d’état anywhere, now looked like the biggest softy he’d ever seen, while still looking cool somehow.

Feeling weirdly love sick and jealous, he didn’t intend to stare as Hobie and you kissed. He thought about how good it must be to have what the two of you had. He glanced over at Gwen, feeling his crush poking at him, twisting his guts as Gwen met his stare and smiled. She then looked over at the both of you.

“Aren’t they gross?” Gwen asked with a playful smirk.

“I think they’re cute,” Pav intervened.

Miles chuckled and gazed back at you, as you were now hugging Hobie. Your hand disappearing in his wicks, as his face was nuzzled against the crook of your neck and his arms around your waist.

“I think they’re cute. Perhaps slightly gross…” Miles joked.

“It makes me kinda jealous. I wish I could get the courage to ask Meera out on a date…” Pav sighed.

“We can hear ya talking over ‘ere, lads…” Hobie chuckled.

“You’re so nosy,” You chuckled kissing Hobie’s head.

“We knew that,” He replied as he pulled away from the hug and stared at you, cupping one of your cheeks in his large hand. “Absolutely gorgeous,” He said as he leaned forward and stole a peck from your lips. “How’s dinner, Pav?”

“Basically done. One or two more minutes,” He said.

“C’mon, Miles. Let’s set the table,” Gwen said gently bumping her elbow on Miles’ ribs.

~~~~~~~

Don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Feedback is also very welcome and always makes my day 🥺

#Hobie Brown #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #spider punk #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #hobie x you

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hopeluna · 2 months

Text

!! Fic Recs

Most of these are long fics or series and some of these are 18+ so be ware? But anyways, enjoy these works from absolute writing angels <33

Jujutsu Kaisen

Symptoms & Causes by @lostfracturess

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

Love Entries by @chuluoyi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: series of episodes of your life with the strongest sorcerer throughout the past and present

men are so quick to blame the gods by @awearywritersworld

Sukuna x reader

Synopsis: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night.

wanna be yours by @nezuscribe

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?

his kiss, the riot by @nezuscribe

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: the king has been struck by never-ending grief when he found out about his wife's infidelity. he has her ordered to be killed, but afterward, he is no longer the same. every night he marries a woman, and every morning he has her killed. the endless cycle continues until the night you're chosen to be his wife. instead of letting him ruin you, you tell him a story. you tell him a story that he just has to know the ending to. and so begins the story of one thousand and one arabian nights.

i'd crawl home to her by @likelilacwine

Geto Suguru x reader

Summary: the god of the underworld brings his most valued prize home at the risk of tearing the realm itself apart.

Boku No Hero Academia

@andypantsx3

Yes, her entire blog. Pls each and every series of her is god send. I cannot reccomend this to you enough!!

pretty white dress by @gaybybirth

Dabi x reader

Synopsis: You're shelving books like normal at work when a new face comes into the store. And in a small town where everyone knows each other, a new face really stands out. Especially when it's one that makes you burn in ways you never have.

FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) by @shibaraki

Aizawa Shouta x reader

Synopsis: you are employed by aizawa shouta to nanny for his vulnerable adoptive daughter eri while he’s at work. as time passes you find yourself equally smitten with them both, longing for a more permanent place in their family.

please save me by @hitoshiyoshi

Platonic!young!shimura tenko x reader

Synopsis: you save shimura tenko

Stranger Things

Not Wholly Evil by @uglypastels

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

As you wish by @corroded-hellfire

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: When Eddie isn’t appreciated like he should be, his babysitter feels the need to step in and comfort him.

Living After Midnight by @munson-blurbs

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head.

Please do tell me if you want to be removed from this for whatever reason!!

#♡! hope's diary #support banner by @/saradika-graphics #lace divider by @benkeibear

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authorhjk1 · 7 months

Note

you can't let it slide so this means... gahyeon smut coming soon?👀

Yes. Yes, it does, indeed. I hope you enjoy this one, although it's a little short.

Interlude: My crazy ex

Lee Gahyeon X Male Reader

You realize something is weird as soon as you open your eyes. Sitting comfortably in your chair, leaning back, you find yourself in your office. Frowning, you try to remember what happened.

The last memory you have is of Ahin. The two of you fell asleep together. Is this a dream?

You rub your eyes as you sit up straight. Your phone vibrates and you see that you have a message. "My crazy ex"

This is weird. You don't even have your ex girlfriend's number. Who is this?

You open the message to see what the person wrote.

"I miss you, daddy? Why did you break up with me?"

You check her profile picture to see who she is.

Something weird suddenly happens. As if your dream is over writing your memory. For some reason, you know her name. Gahyeon. Lee Gahyeon. And you start to remember more of her. That she is your ex girlfriend for example.

You shake your head, leaving her on read.

You are about to start your laptop, when you get another notification. Gahyeon send you a picture.

"I miss your cock, daddy."

You gulp as your eyes widen at her next message.

"Remember how you always fucked my face?"

Actually you do. As if someone is slowly inserting new memory into your brain. Pictures of her messed up face flash through your mind. You can see them, but you don't have any memory on how it felt.

"Last time I couldn't speak for a whole day. Your cock destroyed my throat."

The scene plays out in your brain as you keep reading Gahyeon's messages.

"I know you have a girlfriend. But I just can't help it. Day in. Day out. I keep thinking about that cock of yours."

You feel your cock getting hard at her words.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't live without your cock down my throat."

She sends another picture.

"Do you remember, when you made me cry? My makeup all messy and smeared after you pounded my mouth?"

You give in to the temptation. It's a dream after all.

"Where are you?"

The second you see that she read your text, someone knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Blonde hair greets you as you watch the woman enter your office.

"Hi, daddy!"

She gives you a bright smile.

"I knew you couldn't resist. I bet that whore doesn't suck cock like I do."

She walks over and leans over the table.

"What is this?"

You point at the glass in her hand.

"We both know what this is. You even made me drink it in public last time."

She keeps her eyes on yours as she puts the glass on the table.

Its not like Gahyeon has much convincing to do. This is a dream. And even if it weren't, Ahin would be more than happy to watch.

Getting up, you point to the granite floor. Without a word, Gahyeon gets on her knees in front of you.

"I knew it. You can't resist my mouth. It's the best flashlight for your cock, isn't it?"

You nod as you watch the blonde almost tearing your pants open.

Another piece of information flashes through your mind. Gahyeon is actually a virgin. She promised herself she would stay that way, until she gets married. Although it looks like she still enjoys getting her throat stuffed with cock.

Your pants and underwear are gone in a blink.

"That's some nice cock you have there, daddy. You know?"

She smiles up at you, before taking it in her hand.

"Can your girlfriend even take all of this?"

Gahyeon strokes you to full hardness as she keeps talking.

"I bet she can't even make it fit."

She gives your tip a kiss.

"Just like your cock is made for my throat, my throat is made for your cock. There is no way around it, daddy."

She winks at you, before taking you into her mouth.

From that moment on you realize, Gahyeon's vocabulary doesn't include the word slow. Her tongue is all over your shaft and her lips are sealed tight around your tip.

With her eyes on you, she starts moving along the length of your cock. It's like she is inhaling it. Before you can even savour the feeling of being in her mouth, Gahyeon is already two thirds down your length. Her wet cavern makes your cock warm and slick with her saliva.

Your head tilts back as she keeps going. For the blonde it's not a proper blowjob, until you are completely inside of her. Anything else is considered foreplay.

The heavy lipstick starts to smear on your cock as Gahyeon moves up and down your shaft, preparing to deep throat you. Once she does, there is no going back. Her throat is heaven on earth. No one else ever felt like this. You can already feel yourself wanting to cum.

With all of your cock inside of her, Gahyeon shakes her head, moving your cock from left to right and back. It makes you hold her head with both hands. When she feels your grip on her head, she nods, wanting you to fuck her face.

As soon as you push inside of her mouth, you realize that this will be a long dream. There is no way you are going to wake up voluntarily.

You start slow at first. Thrusting inside her mouth, feeling Gahyeon's wetness around you. Her puffy cheeks make you want to fill her mouth with cum. The sounds she is making become louder as you hold onto her head tighter.

As you keep going, more and more spit starts to build up in Gahyeon's mouth. It begins to coat your cock. Parts of it dribble out of the corners of her mouth and run down her chin. The increased sloppiness makes you want to fuck her face harder. The look in her eyes tells you to do so.

Your tip hits the back of her throat repeatedly as her face becomes a mess. Gahyeon's hands rest on your thighs as she tries not to lose balance. You feel her throat tighten with every thrust, bringing you closer towards the edge. As fast as Gahyeon starts, she ends as fast as well. There is no real point in trying to hold on.

Her gagging continues to fill the room as you use her throat like a flashlight. Her chin is now coated with her own spit. Because she is not kneeling, but squatting in front of you, her body keeps swaying back and forth due to your thrusts.

You don't stop using her pretty mouth. How could you? Her lipstick has left it's proper place completely. It's all over your shaft as you keep plowing Gahyeon's mouth. Your grip on both sides of her head becomes stronger.

"Gahyeon..."

You groan, trying to tell her you are about to cum. Her eyes light up as she carefully reaches behind her, searching for the glass on your desk.

"Fuck."

You hiss as Gahyeon's throat massages you one last time, before you regretfully have to pull out. The blonde holds the glass underneath you as you start to cum. It does feel kind of weird. As if you are donating your sperm. But you know what Gahyeon is going to do with this. So it's more than worth it.

As you feel the rush of your orgasm leaving you, you watch Gahyeon put the glass back on the table. Her eyes are fixated on your cock once more. Her lower face still messy with her saliva.

"Time for round two, daddy."

The young blonde looks like she doesn't care, if you are ready to go again or not. But the way she looks up at you makes you want to cum again. A smile flashes over her face.

"I'm going to drain you so much, daddy. You won't be able to cum all day tomorrow. I will suck all that cum out of you."

Her hand finds your cock once again. She strokes your half hardened shaft as she tries to make you hard again.

It only takes a couple of moments, until you are deep inside Gahyeon's throat once more. You feel like she can't live without your cock down her throat. Your hands have now moved from the sides of her head, to the back. Holding onto her blonde hair in a makeshift ponytail, you hold her in place as you fuck her face.

Gahyeon's eye makeup starts to become messy. She didn't put much on, but small black streaks are starting to form on her skin. They start right underneath her eyes, wander over her cheeks, until they reach her jawline. Tear after tear rolls down her pretty face as you use Gahyeon as you like.

Her face and her mouth are a match made in heaven. These tasty looking, plump lips, her puffy cheeks, her big round eyes, her blonde hair. All of it looks like she was made personally by a deity just for you. Or she might even be one.

That ridiculous thought flashes through your mind. Gahyeon's lips sealed tight around your cock as her tongue is pressed against it. She? A goddess? More like a succubus. Although you wouldn't even mind. It's not like you can stop now.

You feel your second orgasm already approaching as you fuck Gahyeon's throat mercilessly. She still doesn't tell you to stop or to go slow. It looks like she is really enjoying the rough treatment she and her throat are getting.

A small puddle of saliva has already formed on your granite floor. Her chin, your cock, her boots, everything is coated in it.

"Fuck, Gahyeon. You are the devil."

You feel her smile around your cock. She can't look up, since your grip on her hair is too tight. As her body keeps swaying back and forth, her messy ponytail sways from left to right.

When Gahyeon starts to move her tongue along the underside of your shaft, you realize it's only a matter of seconds. There is no way you can hold out longer than that.

You feel one of her elegant hands slowly caressing your balls, trying to give you that last push just a second earlier.

"Gahyeon..."

You only have to moan her name like that, Gahyeon knows what to do. Immediately, the glass is ready once more. You shoot your second load into the glass, where the first one is still waiting.

Closing your eyes, you hear Gahyeon putting the glass back down. Both of her hands are on your cock immediately. As you see stars due to how sensitive you are, you know that you will work late tonight.

"Come on, daddy. Just a little bit more."

Gahyeon takes you into her mouth again.

"Please, Gahyeon...."

After having barely survived your sixth orgasm, the blonde is already pushing you towards the seventh. The glass, which is standing on your desk is half full with your cum already.

"Give me that delicious cum of yours."

She sighs seductively, while stroking you closer and closer. By now, cuming is almost painful. You have to hold onto the desk, unable to stand probably.

Because you can't even fuck her face anymore, Gahyeon is more than happy to do all the work.

She closes her lips around your cock again, taking you into her mouth once more. Her blonde hair is sticking to her stained cheeks and forehead by now, due to her sweat and saliva. You feel like your cock is twice as heavy with all her spit on it. Long strings connect her lips with your tip whenever she leans back a little.

"One last trick, daddy."

You search in your fake memory of her, trying to find out, what it might be.

Gahyeon starts slobbering all over your cock and you can't focus on anything else. Although she is sucking you off as fast as usual, the process is starting slowly. But after a couple of moments, the first bubbles start to appear. Over time more and more form around your cock and her lips as she makes a mess of herself and your dick.

The blonde succubus in front of you makes you see stars again as she coats your cock with bubbles of her spit. More and more form around her mouth, the roll down towards her chin, until they fall to the ground. Most of them pop on your cock or in her mouth though, as Gahyeon does her best to squeeze, literally, the last drop of your cum out of you.

"Gahyeon..."

She smiles up at you as she backs away. Her lips covered in those small bubbles. Her hand strokes you as she reaches for the glass one last time.

"Fuck."

You groan as you cum for the last time today. There is not much left. Barely half of the usual amount mixes itself with the glasses contents.

"Time for the main event, daddy."

Gahyeon whispers seductively. You have to blink once or twice to recover all of your senses.

"The most delicious drink in the world."

Your cum hungry ex girlfriend puts the glass with your cum on her saliva smeared lips. She looks up at you as she tilts the glass.

When your thick cum reaches her lips, Gahyeon opens her mouth. She squinches her eyes shut as the delicious liquid enters her mouth. More and more of your warm cum floods her taste buds.

The blonde's mouth is already full and yet she barely drank even half of it. Her puffy cheeks are more than just full. She looks a like hamster.

With her eyes on you, Gahyeon takes one large gulp after the other. One, two, three gulps she needs to finally empty her mouth. The sticky seamen makes it hard for her to swallow properly.

"It tastes so delicious, daddy. Nothing tastes as good as this."

She tilts the glass once more and you are unable to do anything but watch. The last half of your cum finds its way into Gahyeon's hungry mouth. It is wide open as you see her pink tongue reach out to lick up every last remaining drop on the walls of the glass. Her mouth is full with white cum as she looks at you.

Her throat bulges as she swallows almost four loads at once.

"So yummy."

Gahyeon sighs before smacking her lips. Strings of cum connect her tongue with the roof of her mouth. Like small spiderwebs, they still fill her mouth.

"I hope we can do this every day from now on. Your girlfriend doesn't need to know, daddy. I bet she can't even swallow two loads at once."

-----------

I hope you enjoy it, the next chaper will be revieled soon. You can still vote for it.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #anon #ask #dreamcatcher #gahyeon

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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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erajoie07 · 3 months

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Breakfast in Bed but NSFW : Reacher (2022) x Fem reader

Writer's note: In the duration of this song, I got into the spur of it and had to repeat it a couple of times until I finished it. I'm telling you, while I was writing this I was like 🥵🥵

🖋️He’s insatiable. He can still see the marks he placed last night when he’s got her arching her back against his chest as he emptied his balls inside her and left marks on her neck. Seeing her exposed to his delight first thing in the morning gets his cock rising palming it himself. Reacher brushes his lips across old marks and dips two of his thick fingers inside her pussy feeling it get wet. He teases her when he swipes his thumb across her clit and she squirms in her sleep. Reacher grins as he lets out a low grunt seeing how YN's forehead scrunches.

“Such a filthy sweetheart. Got my cock aroused because of you.” He whispers filthy nothings in her ear, “Fuck, your pussy’s so good” Reacher moans as he slides the head of his cock near her entrance up and down.

YN’s eyes flicker open and sees Reacher going at again.

“You’re awake now, sweetheart.” Reacher leans in to wipe his kiss on hers which she reciprocates. He gets on top of her as he finds his place near the side of her neck. She grabs his cock and swipes her thumb on his slit. He shudders and pins her wrists above her head. “You’re in no position to tease, sweetheart.”

She pouts and he smirks at her antic.

“Reacher,” she calls

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

She raises her hips flaunting her chest at him.

“Have you lost your voice now? Did my cock got your brain in a wreck that you couldn’t speak.” He slides his finger up and down her wetness mimicking what his tongue would. Her breath becomes unsteady.

“Reacher please, I want you to eat me out. Please!” She begs

“That’s more like it. When did asking for a favor became a bad thing.”

YN writhes under his mercy.

Reacher gets out of bed and forcefully pulls her ankles hitting the floor. “Spread your legs, sweetheart,” he commands and she does so. “Wider,” he barks. Spreading out for him seeing that cute little button. He gets on his knees and begins to feast on her wet and glistening pussy. Like a pen she used Reacher swipes his nose up and down her slit to her clit until his mouth finds her clit and sucks it. YN writhes on bed and when he dips his fingers deep inside, it got her toes curling and closing her legs with her head between them. She becomes a freak in bed with a mouth wide open letting out silly moans filthy nothings for the room to her. She grabs a fist of his hair which she immediately lets go when Reacher’s tongue flicks on her clit multiple times. YN is about to lose her mind that’s already in a wreck. While he eats her out, Reacher strokes his cock his eyes set on the scrunching and writhing of his pretty woman on his bed. When she tips her head back he lets go and fastly hovers above her inserting his thick and hungry cock just before she could cum.

“Fuck you,” she weakly curses

Reacher mocks her, pinching her nipples as his cock hits sweet spots inside her.

“Your pussy is so tight, sweetheart. I can never get this.” His hips move in a fast and rough pace on their own as his arms engulf her to his chest whispering nasty little things in her ear.

“You’re gonna be my little whore if you keep this up. I’m gonna breed this pussy, fill you with my cum and I’ll fuck the living daylight out of you. You like that, my little whore?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m your whore! I can take it!”

Reacher grins, “Atta girl!” he continues with his brutal pace of his cock, his balls hitting her ass. His size squishing her and her legs fall apart from having to keep up.

“I’m cumming, Reacher!”

“Fucking cum for me, whore!”

His cock hits it as she creams around his length. Afterwards he slows down often pausing sloppily fucking her before he halts and cums inside her.

Reacher hits his head on the soft mattress after he finished bathing with her. He has oiled her legs from the pain earlier and brought her some beverage to drink.

“You feeling much better, sweetheart?”

YN nods smiling at him.

“I was too rough with you. I’m sorry.” He apologizes grazing his fingers on her cheek.

“It was fine, I like it. I would tell you if you were.”

Reacher smiles, “Does it taste good?”

YN agrees offering him a drink. Reacher swallows hesitantly, “I’d still drink coffee though.”

YN laughs afterwards.

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inkskinned · 10 months

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so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

#writeblr #the book....#coming soon #hey so if ur someone who has ever said “you need to write a book”#i wrote the book #it's ... probably the best thing ive ever written #this is maybe too honest lol #okay to reblog thank you for asking i love u i am in love with u our wedding will be in may

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ilovepedro · 8 months

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Yellow | joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel take a well-deserved vacation to the secluded countryside of Texas. Unbeknownst to you, Joel has a special surprise up his sleeve.

Word count: ~3.7k (oopsies)

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: no outbreak AU (Sarah is alive and well, but she isn’t in this), established relationship, smut like lots of it, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), overstimulation, soft!joel (idc if he’s OOC, i love that big ol’ softie), so much fluff, hella petnames (baby, darlin, babydoll, honey), reader is female, but has no physical description. NO USE OF Y/N

A/N: this is my first time writing any sort of fanfiction with a developed brain lol. i’ve had this idea for a while since Joel’s been rotting my brain for the past year-ish. i'm also a big fan of Pablo Neruda and i was reading some of his poems while listening to my love song playlist so i was feeling sappy lol. this is based on one of my favorite love songs, Yellow by Coldplay. feel free to listen while you read! shoutout to @gracieheartsspedro for your kind words and for giving me the confidence boost to post 🩷 and thank you to all of y’all for being so sweet to me and welcoming me here with open arms <3

star banner by @benkeibear 🌟

Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you

And everything you do

Yeah, they were all yellow

“Dance with me, honey.” The strumming guitar intro to Yellow by Coldplay flutters through the speaker and invades the cool evening breeze as the sun sets. The moon and stars begin to peek through the cotton candy skies. Joel holds his hand out to you as the two of you unwind in the field behind the remote Texas lake house you two are staying at for the week. A long overdue vacation for the both of you, you’ve spent your last full day basking in the refreshing water of the lake, seeking relief from the brutal Texas summer sun.

You gladly take his hand, flashing him a saccharine smile as you intertwine your fingers with his. “Joel Miller, ever the charmer,” you say as he wraps an arm around your waist. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, bashful like a schoolboy. Your stomach flutters as he still manages to give you butterflies after 3 years of being with him. He quietly rasps the lyrics in your ear.

I came along

I wrote a song for you

He lifts his head up to meet your gaze, matching the saccharine look that adorns your face. His heart is so full, so overwhelmed with how much he loves you. You’ve turned him into a sap, but he wouldn’t change a thing. “You’re so damn beautiful, baby. ‘M almost the luckiest man in the world.” You quirk your brow, a curious smirk lacing your features. “Almost?”

And all the things you do

And it was called Yellow

He twirls you with a smile, eliciting a giggle from you. His chest blooms with warmth - a mixture of bliss and nerves. He twirls you one more time, your head thrown back as you let out a hearty laugh. Suddenly, he’s down on one knee holding the most beautiful ring before he loses his confidence to ask you the most important question of your lives. You turn back to him, a gasp escaping your lungs as tears well in your eyes.

So then I took my turn

Oh what a thing to have done

And it was all yellow

“Almost, darlin’, ‘cause you’ll make me the luckiest man in the world after this. You know me better than anyone, darlin’, so ya know ‘m no good at this type of stuff, but I hope you know that I’ll do anything for you, baby. I didn’t expect to find my other half that day we met. Was just tryna get my coffee and go ‘cause I didn’t wanna be late. But, god, you looked so damn cute in that pretty blue sweater. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. So beautiful you distracted me and I spilled my coffee all over ya. ‘M glad I did though, ‘r else I wouldn’t’ve taken ya out to dinner to make it up to you. Ended up bein’ late anyway, but I’d be late everyday if it meant seein’ your pretty lil’ smile. You make me wanna be a better man ‘n I hope ‘m everything you could ever want ‘cause ‘s what you are to me. You're the best partner, best woman, best momma. You’re the best momma to Sarah, honey. Can’t thank ya enough for lovin’ her as your own. You make her, us, me, so goddamn happy, baby. I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t put a ring on your pretty little finger, honey. Shit, ‘m one for not doing this sooner. Thank you for lovin’ me and bein’ so patient with my stubborn ass. I know I ain’t easy to deal with. My knees are killin’ me though, baby, so I got a real important question for you: will you marry me, darlin’?”

Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

And you know, you know I love you so

You know I love you so

You’re smiling so hard your face hurts. Tears cascading down your face, which you don’t realize until you taste the salty water on your lips. “Yes, Joel,” you unintentionally whisper, Joel having knocked the air from your lungs. His smile grows wider. He gently slips the ring on your left ring finger. You lean down to kiss him, but he meets you halfway as he goes to stand. He cups your cheeks in his large, warm hands with your hands encompassing his. Pressing a deep kiss to one another’s lips, a kiss full of warmth, life, love - a promise of forever.

“Joel, baby,” you say as you pull away, hands still resting atop his while he delicately holds you. Your voice is wobbly as you’re still silently crying. You’re rendered speechless for the first time in your life. Your heart has never felt this full. You’ve never felt so alive, so complete. “I love you so much. I can’t even put it into words. You’re everything to me and more. I’d be honored to be your wife.” He smiles, tears gleam in his eyes. Joel Miller, the serious, gruff man, is in tears - because of you; a side only reserved for you.

I swam across

I jumped across for you

Oh, what a thing to do

‘Cause you were all yellow

“I meant every word, baby. Every word in that song ‘s true too. ‘S why it’s our song. The stars shine for you, but I think you’re prettier ‘an all the stars in the sky.” He pulls you in for another kiss, just as saccharine as the previous one. You’re both smiling into it. You hum as you pull away. “Baby, what’re you talking about you’re ‘no good at this type of stuff,’ Joel Miller, you’re a poet,” you laugh as you playfully question him. He throws his head back, a belly laugh escaping him. He smiles even bigger as he spots a twinkle in your eye. “Only for you, darlin’.” He moves his hands to your waist again, holding one of your hands in his as he leads you into a dance again. The big, cheesy smiles never leave your faces. Placing your free hand on his shoulder, the two of you sway to the music.

I drew a line, I drew a line for you

Oh, what a thing to do

And it was all yellow

“Forever,” you whisper as you press your nose against his while he sways you both side to side. “Forever,” he repeats. Another kiss is pressed to your lips, a hungrier one, a combination of love and lust. He releases your hand to cup the back of your head while he pulls you in by waist, bringing you closer. You throw your arms around his sturdy middle - the kiss deepens. He licks into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from you. “Take me to bed, Joel,” you huskily whisper. “Anything for my wife.” You beam at his words. “Not your wife, honey.” “Yet, darlin’. Yet.”

The moon peeks through the window, casting a cool glow on the entire room. The crisp late night breeze ripples the curtains hanging on the window the two of you mindlessly left open as you devoured one another earlier in the evening.

You stir, groggy as you’re awoken by the familiar dull ache in between your legs. Feeling a heavy, but comforting weight on your torso, you turn gently so as to not wake him. Now facing him,Joel’s arm still holds you flushed against his chest.

It’s the middle of the night, the bedside clock flashes 3:30 in small fluorescent blue lights. Both of you spent, as the events of the day having wiped you two out. He slowly, but deliciously wrecked your cunt twice, once with his mouth and once with his cock, before you both drifted off to sleep. He’s still sleeping. He is so beautiful. I’m so lucky.

His plush lips slightly parted as he softly snores. His full lashes lightly kiss his cheeks. Brows pulled into his infamous furrow. You carefully brush the curve of his strong nose, which you rode into the midnight hour, with your left hand. The moonlight catches a glimpse of the ring he gave you just hours ago. A delicate gold band adorning a diamond, 2 smaller stones surrounding it.

Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

And you know, for you, I’d bleed myself dry

For you, I’d bleed myself dry

Tears well in your eyes as you recall his proposal from the evening. Your heart overflows with content as you admire the man in front of you. You get to fall asleep and wake up like this for the rest of your lives. He is my forever. You softly caress his face, careful not to wake him. Alas, your attempt fails.

Joel begins to stir while you continue to caress his patchy beard as you internally dwell on the thought of being his for eternity. Stretching his taut tan muscles, groaning as he does so. “Ya watchin’ me sleep, babydoll? How long ya been awake?” A sleepy smile creeps onto his face.

“I’m just admiring my gorgeous fiancé’s face. And not very long, only about 5 minutes,” you sigh. His sleepy smile morphs into a toothy grin. “Oh really? I’m sure he can’t be nearly as gorgeous as mine. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Your fiancé is a lucky man, honey.” He leans in to press a sleepy kiss to your lips, the two of you smiling into it. It’s soft and sweet, lingering like honey sticking to your lips.

It’s true

Look how they shine for you

He moves his hand from your torso to the back of your head, grasping your hair, deepening the kiss. He pulls you closer, completely flushed against his bare chest. The dull ache in between your legs blooms with desire, transforming into a throbbing need. You moan as his hardening length presses against your exposed cunt. Neither of you bothered to dress before falling asleep.

The kiss grows sloppy as he licks into your mouth, teeth clashing together. You break apart gasping for air. “Joel,” you breathlessly moan as he kisses down your neck and shuffles the two of you so you’re pinned under him. He sucks onto that sensitive spot on your neck near your ear. The spot which he knows drives you crazy.

“Joel,” you moan louder this time. It comes out more desperate than you intended. “Be a good girl and use your words, baby.” He’s so fucking smug, he drives you insane. “Need you, baby. N-need you so bad, Joel,” you gasp as he makes his way down to your breasts.

He hums, sucking a nipple into your mouth as he gropes your other breast, rolling your nipple in between his calloused fingers. “F-fuck, baby. Feels, ah, s-so good,” you say as you arch your back, granting him even more access to your breasts. He moans at your praise, the vibration of it sending shockwaves down your spine to your weeping cunt. Kissing his way down your tummy and finally making his way to where you need him most. Your exposed cunt aches for him to do something - anything.

He hooks both your legs over his shoulders as he kneels off the edge of the bed. He presses soft kisses and nips to your thighs, actively avoiding your throbbing clit. His scruffy beard scratches your thighs, causing more arousal to pool at your sex. Every teasing kiss causes your clit to twitch. He sees it, you know he can, but he continues to act oblivious. You writhe under his touch, growing frustrated as your body yearns for some sort of relief.

“Joel, please, n-no more teas - hmph - teasing” you whine, clearly exasperated. He chuckles at your neediness. “So needy, babydoll. Already fucked your cunt twice last night ‘n you still want more?” “Yes, Joel,” you beg, desperate tears begin to pool in your eyes. “Always want more. Always want you,” you cry out. You quickly see something soften in his eyes, but it disappears just as fast. “Always want you too, darlin’. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of ya. Always do, don’t I?”

Before you could answer, he licks a stripe up your folds, his nose nudging at your clit. Gasping at the relief of finally feeling something, you involuntarily buck your hips up into his face. He places one of his large hands and pushes you back down, the pressure on your stomach causing a new pool of desire to drip from your pussy. You can’t control the moans leaving your lips as he flicks his tongue against your twitching clit. “Joel, f-fuck oh my god, Joel,” you cry out, tugging on his hair.

Your hair tugging elicits a moan from him, the rumble of it causing you to shiver. He eats you out like a starved man, as if he wasn’t doing this just barely 4 hours ago. “Joel, n-need more. P-please, baby.” Obliging your request, he inserts one finger deep inside your pussy, drawing out a high pitched moan from you. He could always reach places you never could, his fingers much larger and thicker than yours.

“Sweetest fuckin’ pussy in the world, baby. My favorite meal,” he says as he inserts another finger into you. Another mewl escapes your lips. He returns his tongue to your clit, relentlessly flicking it. He feels your walls begin to flutter around his fingers as he curls his fingers, hitting your g-spot.

“Right there, Joel! Oh, f-fuck yes, baby.” It sounds obscene as he slurps up your slick while pumping his thick fingers deep into your squelching pussy. You feel light as a feather as your orgasm approaches. “‘s it, baby. Cum for me. Can feel ya squeezing my fingers. Come on, babydoll. Make a mess on my fingers.” He sucks your clit into his mouth causing your orgasm to crash into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you seize up under his hold, endless moans streaming from your lips.

Lapping at your pussy, he drinks up all of your cum, letting no drop go to waste. He pulls away, giving you a brief moment of relief. The pale moonlight shines onto him, as if he were some sort of deity from above. He is - he is your saving grace.

He pulls himself up and slots his hips between yours. He teases your wet folds by rubbing his hard, pulsating cock up and down against them, slathering himself in the fresh new wave of slick that runs down your weeping cunt. Pre-cum dribbles from his angry, red tip, smearing over your folds. Without warning, he shoves his cock deep into your pussy in one thrust, buried to the hilt.

“Oh fuck Joel! S-so fucking big, so, shit, so deep.” “You can take it, baby. Ya always do.” His pace is brutal, his thick cock brutally kissing your cervix with each thrust. He hikes your legs up, placing your ankles on his shoulders, practically bending you in half. You scream at the new position. You’re so loud, you’re thankful there are no neighbors around here. He’s always so deliciously deep, you’ll never get used to it.

He picks up the pace, your thighs begin to burn and your cunt still aches from being stuffed repeatedly. The line between pain and pleasure blurs, but you feel so damn good. Tears begin to fall from your eyes as you clamp down on him. The pornographic sounds of moans, pants, and your squelching cunt fill the room. You’re already so close as you had no time to come down from your first orgasm.

“Fuck, darlin’. Ya hear that? Hear how fuckin’ wet ya are for me? Feel so fuckin’ good. Can’t believe I get to have this tight little pussy for the rest of my life. ‘S mine. All mine. Can’t wait til, ah, til you’re my pretty little wife.” He groans, as you clench around him. His words spurring you on. “‘S yours, Joel. ‘M yours, all yours, baby,” you manage to slur out. He’s close, you can tell as his thrusts get sloppier. “Come on, baby, gimme another. Need to feel you soak my cock.”

He licks the pad of his thumb and swirls it on your clit. You tumble over the cliff and plummet into your second orgasm. His cock, his fingers, his words, him. It’s all too much. You feel him everywhere. Your vision flashes hot white. The burning coil in your belly snaps as you come undone. A guttural moan escapes from deep within your chest. “Oh fuck, Joel! I’m gonna, ah, ‘m cumming,” you squeal from under him with your eyes rolling back again. You’re cumming again, hard, soaking his cock just like he asked. “Atta girl, baby. Good girl,” he rasps as he fucks you through the waves of your second orgasm. You’re squeezing him so tight you nearly push him out.

His pace is still relentless, not giving you time to come down from your second high. Suddenly, you’re being flipped around as Joel rolls you over him. He lays on his back with you now on top. The new angle has him even deeper than before, if that’s even possible. His cock immediately hits your g-spot again. A choked cry falls from your lips while you try to brace yourself on his broad, sturdy chest.

“‘M close, baby. Fuck, ya feel so fuckin’ good. Cum for me one more time, baby.” His breath is ragged now. You’re a babbling mess as he continues to fuck up into you. “I got you, baby. Just gimme one more. Come on, be a good girl and gimme one last one, babydoll.” He’s fucking up into you hard and fast, his thrusts growing sloppier than ever as he nears his orgasm.

“Baby, I-I can’t,” you hiccup. “Yes, ya can, darlin’. You’re so close, can feel ya clenching ‘round me again. Let go, baby. I got you.” He sits up and pulls you closer, you’re completely flushed against his strong chest now. He wipes your stray tears, his tenderness sends you crashing into your third and final orgasm - one more orgasm than last night. He’s so rough, but so gentle with you at the same time.

A drawn out high-pitched moan escapes you once again, eyes squeezed shut while mewling his name as you clench around him. “Fuck, Joel!” Your soul disappears from your body, floating around somewhere along with your brain. Joel, Joel, Joel being the only thought in your head as his name repeatedly streams from your lips - like a prayer.

He grunts and fucks up into you with three more thrusts before he comes undone. A loud, guttural moan escapes from his lips. He’s babbling as he’s shooting his load into you. “Fuck! ‘S it, honey! Take it, baby, take it! Good girl, shit, fuck, Jesus Christ!” You feel his cum coat your walls as he fills you up. There’s so much cum, it’s dripping from your swollen, wrecked cunt. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck as you both pant, grappling with reality as you both come down from your highs.

He places tender kisses on your shoulder. Both of you are sticky with salty sweat, the periwinkle moonlight beaming into the room now. You feel a soft kiss brush against your cheek, causing your eyes to flutter open.

“Hi,” he huskily whispers with a gentle smile. “Hi,” you say with a bashful grin, biting your bottom lip while you return back down to Earth. Staring at each other with the same hazy, fucked out gaze, he crashes his lips to yours, lazily kissing you. You taste yourself on his tongue as he languidly slips it into your mouth.

He sighs as you part to lift yourself off him, both of you hissing at the loss of one another. Worry laces his features as you settle on the bed beside him, laying down on his chest. His rapid heartbeat slowly returning to a steady thrum, grounding you back in the present. “You feel okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” How on Earth you got so lucky, you’ll never know.

Your gaze softens once more, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I feel absolutely amazing, Joel. You could never hurt me, baby.” He gingerly kisses your palm. Steady breathing and comfortable silence fill the air - postcoital bliss settling amongst you two.

He toys with the ring on your finger as his strong arm rests on your torso, engrossing you in his embrace. “You’re gonna be my wife,” he says as he smiles at you, disbelief and contentment lacing his voice. Love filling his eyes to the brim, just like his heart. Tears well in your eyes once more as you fully drink him in. You’re so full of love and happiness, there is nowhere else for your emotions to go except flowing down your cheeks. Something that happens often as you feel things deeply within your heart. It’s one of the things he loves most about you. “Jus’ means you got lots ‘a love to give in that big ol’ heart ‘a yours, baby,” he once told you.

“I am. There’s nothing more I want in this world than to be your wife.” And that’s the real honest truth. Joel Miller loves hard - particularly you. His tenderness is only reserved for you and Sarah - his girls. You never expected to fall just as hard for him. You only ever heard of this type of love in romance novels; only dreamt of it. Somehow, he managed to tumble his way into your heart that day, literally, when he spilled his coffee on you that fateful morning. Before him, you never fathomed the thought of experiencing a love like this.

He has served you the world and more on a silver platter. His love is the warm sunshine that envelopes you on a beautiful spring day. It is the forest fire that roars higher when you fan the flames, engulfing you in his heart. Joel Miller is the color yellow, his love burning brighter than the stars in the sky. As you love him hard, he loves you harder. To be loved by him for eternity is the greatest gift anyone could ever receive. As long as you live, his love will never die, for you carry it in your heart, everywhere you go.

Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you

And all the things that you do

some moot tags: @nostalxgic @undrthelights @darkroastjoel @pedrospartner @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @modernperplexity @mrsquill @breakfastatjoels @tinygarbage @sin-djarin @jenispunk 🩵

this was so fun to write! got a little sappy at the end, i told y’all i was in my feelings when i wrote this 🤣 i truly do love writing, i just get very in my head about everything. may or may not already be working on a meet-cute prequel for these two 🫣 hope y’all enjoyed this and thank y’all for reading! <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #joel miller tlou #soft!joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #fic: yellow #one shot: yellow #yellow coldplay

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thinkingaboutjaedyn · 24 days

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the kitty surprise [t.rodman x reader]

prompt: trinity sneaks you two's cat to practice without you knowing.

author notes: this is probably trash 💔💔 not too much on me, writing is hurting my brain these days. enjoy it!

"why can't i?" trinity whines as she leans against the counter. the little white furry body of you two's cat, coco, in her hands. the woman was really trying to convince you to let her bring coco to practice today which was out of the question.

"where would she even be while we practice? what if she runs out onto the field and gets hurt? what if she scratches someone?"

"okay, okay. i get it, god," trinity says. stopping you from listing off more reasons on to why coco can't come along. "but you know she gets lonely, babe," your girlfriend pouts at you. moving closer to you as she holds up coco, "just look at this cute face."

the sight of coco and trinity's faces next to each other is an adorable sight, but not adorable enough for you to say yes. you giggle before placing a kiss on trinity's forehead than the cat beside her.

"she will be fine. now put her down and go get your bag so we can go," you move away from them. going off somewhere in the house to find your missing cleats. meanwhile trinity was hatching up a plan that she knew you would hate, but coco would love (she hopes).

the american player grabs some of the white cat's snacks before going over to where her bag was on the couch. "you just have to stay in here for like 20 minutes tops, okay, baby?" trinity baby talks to the cat. putting the bag of cat snacks open in her bag with coco following after. she worries all of the soccer items in the bag might make it uncomfortable for her furry baby, so quickly she grabs one of you two's small blankets that could hardly fit you both and stuff it inside. coco seemed to be just alright with this arrangement. snuggling up to the blanket before dozing off.

just as you come back into the living room, cleats in hand, trinity zips up her bag enough that you wouldn't be able to tell a cat was in there on the first glance.

"alright, let's go, babe," you say. moving towards the front door with trinity right behind you until you stop with your hand on the door knob. "forgot to say bye to coco," you try to move to go over to her cat tree in the dining room, but trinity stops you.

she speaks loudly (so that you can't hear how coco meows at the sound of her name being called) as she says, "uh.. actually she's.. shitting! yeah she's shitting and you know how long she takes." you look at her in confusion but just shrug it off since y'all don't have enough time to worry about that right now.

"whatever. let's go," and off you two went to practice.

now getting coco to practice wasn't that hard. the cat slept the time away in the backseat of the car while trinity and you sang along to your playlist. soon enough y'all came to the training facilities for the washington spirit. "you two are late!" andi shouts, leaving from her own car.

"hypocrite!" you shout back. giggling once andi puts up the middle finger at you. meanwhile trinity was trying to cover up the fact she was having a crisis; how was she supposed to sneak coco in? and where would she go? those two questions bounce around the american player's head as she takes your and hers bag out of the car. sticking her tongue out at you when you try to grab yours. "nope. princesses don't carry their own bags," trinity says.

you roll your eyes, hiding the bashful smile on your lips. you check the time on your phone before shaking your head, "whatever. we are already ten minutes late." trinity happily follows along after you. just grateful that you haven't noticed the little white furball that's trying to stick her head out of trinity's bag.

the moment you two get into the locker room you separate. you go off to change while trinity acts like she's trying to change. instead she was looking in her bag, making sure coco was okay. with you two being late the rest of the team was out of the locker room so trinity didn't have to do any explaining just yet.

"i'm going to let you out, okay? just stay right here and nobody's going to know," the american player whispers to coco. the cat just meows as she looks up at her owner. trinity gives her a few pets before letting her out of the bag. pulling out the blanket as well so it can cover the space in her cubby. "stay, okay?" she gives coco a kiss before pulling away. the white cat just lazily lays there. enjoying the warmth of the blanket combined with being in a space that smells like one of her favorite people. trinity closes the door of her cubby the moment ashley walks in.

"coach says hurry up or we are all running suicides," ashley says. those words got trinity to quickly change and head out of the locker room.

everything was going well and exactly to plan until break. trinity was laying her head on your legs as you two catch your breath. coach still made you two do suicides despite trinity coming out as fast as possible.

"i can't wait to go up against-" before you can even finish your sentence, someone was yelling out from the locker room.

"it's a cat in here!" one of the spirit players shouts. everyone else out on the practice field looks around in confusion, but you already knew who the culprit was. "babe-" you look down at trinity whose face is ridden with panic. she sits up before you can even finish your sentence.

"i swear i can explain!" trinity doesn't even have a chance to as coco runs out of the building onto the field. immediately she clings onto you. the annoyance in you was rising as you realize trinity didn't listen to you, but that wasn't even the focus at the moment with coco in your arms. all of your other teammates came over to you and trinity. good thing coach wasn't anywhere near here.

"well.." andi says as she looks at the white cat in your arms. trinity was waiting for the yelling or something about telling coach, but it was none of that. instead your teammates just cooed at how cute coco is. fighting over who gets to hold her first.

that doesn't mean you aren't annoyed still, but you can't deal with that with everyone crowding around trinity and you, so you leave that for later.

coco was absolutely spoiled at practice. the spirit coach even said she can come back some days; basically as an unofficial emotional support animal for the team. everyone was on board with that. the day went better than you thought it would, but that doesn't mean trinity wasn't about to get it.

"i can't believe you brought her along without asking me," you say. trinity lets out a groan hearing your words. she already knew you would get on her later about her lil cat smuggle, but still. the cat in question is happily sleeping in trin's arms. tired from a full day of playing around.

"she gets lonely, babe. i explained that to you," trinity reasons.

"she's a cat!"

"a cat who gets lonely! like she has separation anxiety i swear"

"she does not!" you roll your eyes at trinity's childishness. this woman is twenty one and still pulls shenanigans like this. she just falls silent as she pouts. the car falls silent as you stop talking as well. when you two reach your apartment you sigh and look over at trinity after parking.

"i'm not mad, so.. whatever just tell me next time," you say. trinity perks up before leaning over slightly for a kiss. you give her what she wants, smiling once you pull away. "but you're cleaning her litter box today since you wanted to sneak her along," you give her a cheeky smile as she groans.

"but babe!"

#trinity rodman x reader #trinity rodman #uswnt x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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aislinrayne · 2 months

Text

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim. Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet. Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

“Evening, sorry to wake you. This is James, calling from The Royal Oak. Is there a, uh-” Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…? Really, sweetheart? Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”

Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address? She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her. But, uh, she-” James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’? Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that… That does it. He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

“Uh… Yeah, she- she’s ours. Probably talking about our boss, then. I’ll, uh… I’ll go wake him. I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.” He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.

He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door. Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead. There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

“What?!” A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

“Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street? Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.” George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.

Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm. He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

“Can you call me a Night Cab, please? Offer them double fare to prioritise.” He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on. His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

Anthony is properly worried. Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant. They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece. He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later. When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room. None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that. He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way. Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt. With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it. The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

“Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.” He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one. “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate? Fix it.” Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag. It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes. The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle. It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.

He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons. Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up. And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.

She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before. Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances. He isn’t the only one noticing her. There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust. A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs. She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care. Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall. The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be. Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her. The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm. Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack. When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls. Hard. She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

Huh. He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop. Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip. The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain. Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety. At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.

Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table. Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him. He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up. She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages. He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground. Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support. She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help. Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

“Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?” He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind. Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch. Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings. Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee. He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand. “I take it you must be-”

“‘That selfish wanker’? Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.” He replies, accepting the handshake.

The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction. “James, pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

Lockwood winces. “Not all bad, hopefully.”

“No, not all bad.” James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh. It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity. “This is all she brought with her. You’ve got a safe way home?”

Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile. “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around. I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.” James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

“And that’s my cue. Pleasure to meet you, James. And, uh-” He glances back at her involuntarily. “Thank you. For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look. “It's what any decent person would do. Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time. She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again. He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.

“Let's get you home, love.” He murmurs, offering his arm again. She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit. Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily. The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all. Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb. It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat. She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in. Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her. She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her. He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space. When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.

She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features. It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing. He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer. The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask; “What’s going on with you?”

She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

“That’s bloody horseshit!” He scoffs, far too tired to hold back. “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.

“Like you care.” She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

“...What?” He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern. “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” He cries in exasperation.

She whips around to face him. “You knew I was struggling! You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!” Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence. He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind. He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has. If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

“I’m sorry. I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you. And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on. “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out. I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car. “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back. “...What?”

“The last job? We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t. It-” Her voice shakes, then dies. She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue. “One of them was a Fetch.”

Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say. Is he supposed to say anything at all? If he interrupts now, will she shut him out? If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care? A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.

She hesitantly continues. “It was you.”

He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him. “It wasn’t.”

She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away. When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye. “Right. It did use your face, though.”

“Whatever it said, it isn’t true.” He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says; “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it. And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by. His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips.

“Kiss me.”

His hand falls from her face. For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it. When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter. There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability. If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about? On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession. The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him. Maybe she feels the same as he does. Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself. Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

“Ask me in the morning.” He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth. She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down. He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

“What?” She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment.

Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.”

The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

Once they reach 35 Portland Row, Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab. The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it. She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability. They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her. “Goodnight, Songbird.”

“That’s a stupid nickname.” She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste. When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on. “Goodnight, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”

He disagrees completely, of course. From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it. He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek. By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought. When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

“I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender. That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.” She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth. Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

Why would he want that? Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind. “Please don’t leave.”

“...What?” Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him. As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language. Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes. She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis. His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it. And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips. Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

“I said a lot of things.” She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously. “Which part?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up. She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his. He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips. He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer. She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.

“Kiss me.” She breathes.

He doesn’t need to be told a third time. He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his. The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height. Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story. He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.

As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm. Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path. The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie. Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material. When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.

Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs. As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other. Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

“Please don’t hold back. I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.” He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly. All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat. She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

The front door slams open, startling them apart. There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

“OI, MATE!” George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other. A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about. He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest. They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his. Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple. She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him. He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

“Hey, look at me.” He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I don’t-” She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously. “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips. She softens, melting into his touch.

“Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs. They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing. Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random. She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

“Good morning!” Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.

“...Morning.” George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss. “How’d it go last night?”

“Um - fine! Yeah, just fine. Perfectly fine. Everything is… fine.” She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.

Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet. “Morning, Georgie!”

Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

George inspects her with narrowed eyes. “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

“Why are you in Lockwood’s room?” His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

Both men fix their eyes on her. Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed. The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it. Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.

She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body. When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, worry laced in every syllable.

“I didn’t even think of that! I could have let you die!” He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.

She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.

“I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.” She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle. When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.

“Call me that again?” He implores, pulling her against him.

With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying. “My love.”

They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down. As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder. For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

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shewroteaworld · 1 month

Text

Detatched

Premise: You think you're alone in a storm of feelings. There's one person who won't let you get drenched in this downpour alone.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (relationship can be read as purely platonic or as a budding romance)

Approximate word count: 650

Warnings: Self-deprecation

“I just want to feel things. And not feel bad about feeling them.”

Tears fall and splotch the lines of your notebook paper. You’re relieved your writing was spared. But you're also annoyed. If it washed away the graphite evidence, maybe you could shy away from this. Maybe you could not feel this.

How could you feel such contradictory desires at the same time? How could you hold both in your heart? You couldn’t. You literally couldn’t.

It was only inevitable. You were meant to destroy yourself. You had brain power, sure. But connection to yourself? Your soul? A real knowledge of self?

You sniffle. You bite your knuckles to choke the sobs. If someone caught you here, crying in the BAU bathroom on the toilet…you could never live that down.

You sigh. Everyone was busy with work, packing up to go home, or already in the parking lot.

You were fine. You were safe. This was safe.

Of course, as if you were in a sitcom, as soon as the thought passed your mind, there was a goddamn knock on the door.

“Are you okay in there? I was passing by and couldn’t help but hear…do you need help?”

Spencer.

You shiver. You pull on your sweater as if you can squeeze warmth out of it.

“I’m-I’m fine Spencer.” And just like that, the portal closed. You detached. If you could get him to leave quick enough, maybe you could touch it again– actually have a chance at feeling it. Releasing it.

Oh, why did you have to go to therapy?

“(Y/N)? You’re definitely not fine, open up.”

“Spencer, I’m…” You shut your eyes tight. “I don’t want to worry you, so you should just leave.”

His scoff cuts through the mahogany door. “I’m not leaving you. You’re not okay.”

“Spencer, please.” You wipe snot from your nose on your sleeve. Like a toddler. “Leave, please, I just want to be alone.” You beg.

“I–” A dart of hope cuts through your heart. He sighs. “I don’t believe you.” It’s dashed. “Please, let me in, let me help.”

You can’t piece together enough words to form a rebuttal. When did you get a rubber tongue?

“(Y/N), I care. I’m your friend. Let me in.”

You sniffle, a smile tugging at the corner of your lip. He didn’t have to remind you of who he was.

The smile slips away faster than the millisecond it arrived in. You couldn’t do this alone, and he wouldn’t let you.

There was finally someone in your life who wouldn’t let you.

“You can come in, Spence.”

You stare at his khaki–slacked knees as he slips through the door of the woman’s restroom.

“I think we’re breaking company protocol.” You say to his patent leather shoes.

“For once, I’m putting personal protocol above that.” He says softly. “Letting you cry in the bathroom alone is against my protocol.”

You close your eyes. “I think I’m damaged goods.”

“I think you’re way too harsh on yourself.” He pounces.

You open your eyes. “I don’t know how to feel things.” You croak.

“You know more than you know. That’s how the greatest intellectuals feel when they touch feelings. You’re not alone.”

You scoff. “Am I some great intellectual?”

“Stop that.” He cuts in. “You know you are.” He crosses the Rubicon between you, the tips of his toes stopping centimeters from yours.

“I’ve been there. You have never been alone. And I’m here. To hold this with you.”

You meet his eyes. They’re soft and cold with worry yet there’s a warmth– like the warmth from the taste of home baked cookies. You feel it in your bones.

“To hold this with me?” You ask.

“To hold this with you.” He affirms.

For the first time in a long time, the cork pops from the bottle in the pit of your stomach.

You speak.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds fandom

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maximumsass · 2 months

Text

Green Eyes of Envy Pt. 4

Synopsis: It’s yours and Mel’s first happy hour with the Abbott crew as a couple. You still haven’t told anyone but of course are discretely touching and glancing at each other every chance you get. But of course the night doesn’t go quite as planned and you have to decide whether you’ll defend the redhead’s honor or if you hold back and let her defend yours. Let’s just say it gets physical possibly in the good way and the not so good way. What will go down at the Abbott happy hour, keep reading to find out!

Author’s Note: Hi my lovely fanfic village! So I was inspired to write this because we all know how Melissa is already ready for a fight but what happens when the situation arises where she could fight for the reader or the tables are turned and the reader fights for her. I think it’s an interesting story because so far we’ve seen the really sweet, petite, cutesy, and caring reader and this possibly puts the reader into a don’t fuck with me or my girl role. But will Melissa even allow that??!! It was a lot of fun for me to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Let me know what you think! And please send me any requests that you have! Lots of love and all da hugs! 💜

Warning: I use handicapped as a slur. I want to preface this by saying that I am not trying to offend anyone or upset anyone. Please don’t come for me or cancel me. I promise I mean no one any harm. I myself have several physical disabilities, so I’m seriously not trying to upset the disability community. I’m purely using it for the plot. I hope y’all understand.. Also SMUTT and of course as always FLUFF!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Word Count: 3.75K

You and the Abbott crew had gone out for drinks after school. It had been a few weeks since Mel had ended things with Gary. You and the redhead were trying to take things slow but given the fact that you two couldn’t keep your hands off of each other whenever you were alone together made it very challenging to say the least. Okay fine…you two had participated in some adult extra cirricular activities. But hey as we teachers say it has helped make us well rounded individuals in that aspect of our lives.

You both are on high alert to keep the PDA to the barest of minimums in front of your coworkers. You feel Melissa’s hand intentionally slide down your back, making sure not to miss your butt, and dropping her hand right next to yours and hooking her pinky with yours.

You give her a big smirk and chuckle quietly to yourself. “Hi I’ll have a Sour Monkey and she’ll have a Victory classic, please. And then whatever else she orders, please put in on my tab.” You hand the bartender your card and smile. “Thanks so much, I appreciate you.” You say to the bartender as she hands you your drinks. You hand the redhead her drink and lift up your own. “To having a great night with the most gorgeous woman in the world. Cheers.” You say as you look at her with immense affection.

“Cheers pretty girl.” She says to you with a big cheesy grin on her face as she squeezes your hand as you clink glasses.

“What’s got you smiling so big Melissa? I didn’t even know you were capable of looking like that!” Ava teases as she slides in beside us.

“None ya business!” The redhead quips at Ava, the big smile totally gone, replaced by her infamous today is not the day and I am not the one death glare.

Ava looks at the redhead cleary trying to decide whether to poke the bear more or not. To keep that from happening you jump in with a funny antidote that happened with one of your kiddos this week. And thankfully the conversation stays civil. You are trying to pay attention to what’s being said and throw in your two cents here and there but you can’t take your eyes off of Jessica Rabbit, it’s like you’ve been hypnotized and whenever you’re even in the same vicinity as each other your brain turns to silly putty and you become this little drooling love sick puppy. It makes you cringe just admitting that to yourself.

You hear a deep loud voice in the background and it snaps you back into reality. You look around and you see Gary talking to Gregory. Weird you think to yourself, maybe it’s just a coincidence that he’s at this bar. You look at him a few more seconds before focusing your attention back on Ava and Melissa.

“There you are!” Gary exclaims to Melissa. He has somehow managed to get right next to her. “I just wanted to come and see for myself.”

All three of us have a what the hell is he talking about look on our faces.

“What are you talking about Gary?” Melissa asks in an exasperated tone.

“Well I have people who have been telling me they’ve seen you around with someone. And I just had to come see for myself. And here she is right in front of my very eyes. You picked a handicapped bitch over me. Figures you’d pick a charity case for your next go around.” He practically declares to the whole bar.

You scoff in disbelief that this is actually happening right now. “Ava, hold this for me please.” You say as you take off your earrings and hand them and your ring to her. “Excuse me, what did you just call me?” You say as you cut in between him and Melissa and give him a little shove to get him away from her. You step towards him with your arms crossed. Gary looks stunned at what you’ve just done.

“What’s that matter? Are you just now realizing how offensive what just came out of your mouth was? Oh my gosh I just remembered what you said. I believe you called me a handicapped bitch who’s Melissa’s charity case. A very colorful description if I do say so myself. But here’s the thing just like you just stated she picked the handicapped bitch of a charity case over you, and I bet that just nearly demolished any ego that you had about yourself. Here’s the other thing big guy she’s been screaming my name every night since she left you…how long has that been? Oh yeah three weeks. And I bet it made you feel really proud of yourself when you got her to do that with you that one time. So I’d say when we compare the two, she made the right choice to choose the handicapped bitch of a charity case. You’ve seen us, now get the fuck out of this bar. And I advise you to not use that disgusting, hateful language towards anyone else.” You say inches away from his face.

You turn to walk back to your place at the bar when you hear him go. “What did you even just say to me? I didn’t understand a word.” And then proceeds to talk gibberish as he imitates your speech impairment.

Meanwhile back at the bar Melissa is squaring up Ava.

“Melissa, I’m not denying that I’m scared of you because we both know I am, but I have several inches on you and will use them. If you try to get involved in what’s going on over there. I cannot have two of my people getting involved in a bar brawl, especially a beloved veteran teacher such as yourself.” Ava says quietly to the redhead while getting as close as possible to her in case she needs to grab her if she tries lunging towards you and Gary.

“You heard what he just said to her, he needs to know that no one talks to her like that and lives to see another day!” Melissa exclaims with fury in her eyes and she is about to do whatever it takes to make Gary pay.

Thankfully Barb magically appears by Melissa’s side. “You need to get ahold of yourself and walk away. I don’t know what is going on between you and (Y/N) but the way you two have been making love eyes at each other for weeks now I assume has something to do with why she’s taking on Gary. She’s made her bed and now she has to lie in it, the best thing for you to do is to come with me so that you are able to take care of her when this chaos ends.” Barb says in a low voice so only Melissa can hear. Despite the fury boiling in her right now, Melissa knows that Barb’s right and she goes still and lets the brunette lead her to the other end of the bar.

You pause and scoff to yourself and then you are not in control anymore and you see red, you whip back around and proceed to punch him as hard as you can square in the jaw and he immediately drops to the floor. You scramble to him and straddle his chest as one hand is on his throat and the other is gripping his face forcing him to look at you. “Stay the fuck away from her! Got it big guy?!” You scream at him. You push his face away forcefully as you get off of him and stand up and take a few steps out of his reach. You look around you, it’s like the bar had frozen in time, everyone in the bar was staring at you in a collective look of disbelief, and silence that covered the place like a gray smog.

“Sorry for the commotion y’all. I will just close out my tab and let y’all enjoy the rest of your night.” You announce to the bar, you hold up your hands to gesture you mean no harm.

You walk back to your place at the bar. “I’m so sorry about what happened. Honestly I wasn’t on planning on getting physical with the guy. But whew he took me back to childhood trauma with the playground bullies. And as Mel says my fight or fight response was triggered and I guess that was the end result. I totally understand if you don’t want me to come back, and I will respect that.” You say to the bartender as you tip and sign the receipt.

The bartender reaches for your arm. “Honey if I was in your shoes as soon as he started saying that filth to you, he’d been knocked out. So I respect the level of control you had during the confrontation. If anyone is getting banned from the bar it’s that dirt bag. You are welcome back any time. Now go take care of that hand.” The bartender says to you.

You turn back towards your coworkers, they were clearly talking about what had just went down, not so subtly eyeing you as they talked amongst themselves.

“Danggggg (Y/N)! Look at you being a little secret MMA fighter! That man hit the floor so fast, you could’ve blinked and missed the sucker punch that you dealt out!” Ava exclaims.

“You good (Y/N)?” Gregory asks as he looks at you concerned.

“Not doing so hot currently, but I’ll be okay.” You say giving him a small smile.

“If you need anything you just let us know. We got you.” He says and then pats your shoulder gently.

“Thanks man, I appreciate that.” You squeeze his shoulder with your good hand.

“Oh my god (Y/N)! You had me literally speechless! Which speaks for itself obviously!” Jacob exclaims.

Before you can respond to Jacob, Janine engulfs you in a hug. “I was so worried about you (Y/N)! Are you okay? Is your hand okay? Is it hurting you right now?” Janine asks you rapidly.

You hug Janine gently back to encourage her to let you go. “Thanks for the concern Janine. I am not doing so hot right now. I think my hand’s broken to be honest. And yeah it doesn’t feel great right now.” You answer Janine’s questions, just talking about your hand makes you realize how badly your hand hurts. You need to get the fuck out of here and to the ER you think to yourself.

“One more question for you (Y/N). Does this mean that you and Melissa are a thing?” Jacob asks excited.

“Oh honey that’s a question for Ms. Schemmenti to answer.” You say to him with a smirk. He gets this look of horror on his face.

“You know what, it’s none of my business. Forget I asked.” He says nervously.

“Have a good rest of your night you two.” You say as you move past them.

At the end of the bar you see Barb and Jessica Rabbit herself, Barb has her arm around Melissa’s shoulder. To the average observer you’d think that the brunette is trying to console her friend. But you know better, she’s actually gently restraining the redhead from moving from her seat so that she doesn’t do even more damage to Gary as well as create another scene in the bar which has just gotten back to normal activity.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for Melissa’s reaction then you walk right up to them. “Ladies! What a lovely evening it’s been, don’t you agree?” You tease with a small nervous laugh. Both women look back at you with deadpan expressions.

“Okayyy, too soon to joke about, noted.” You say.

“Young lady what on earth were you thinking?! Oh wait, obviously you weren’t thinking! You little girl are 100 pounds soaking wet and that barbarian is probably 3 times your size and could’ve easily severely injured or killed you! We were worried sick about you! Not to let the cat out of the bag but this woman is head over heels in love with you. And she would’ve been beside herself and never would forgive herself if anything happened to you!” Barb scolds you.

“Barb you heard what he said to me, no one gets to say such hateful things towards me and be spared of my wrath. Besides if I wouldn’t have stepped in, she would’ve and we both know I’m the one with more restraint, she would’ve probably ran out to her car and got her bat and then we’d be looking at murder charges possibly.” You defend yourself.

“That’s so not true!” The redhead exclaims.

“Oh come on babe! Be honest with yourself!” You tease as you nudge her playfully.

“Fine… there might be a possibility that might’ve happened.” She grumbles.

“There ya go! Barb if it makes you feel any better I’m pretty sure I broke my hand when I decked him so I am suffering the consequences of this shit show. Also I’m head over heels in love with your best friend and will protect her no matter the cost. It’s also nice to know how much you care about me.” You say as you smile at her. You step closer to Mel, you inhale her sweet but savory perfume and then you stroke her hair as you lean in and kiss her temple. You lean your head against hers and get full body chills. God I really do fucking love her you think to yourself.

Melissa wants to cuss you out in all of the Italian ways she knows how. But hearing you say that you love her and feeling your touch on her, she just wants to cry with relief that you’re not more injured than you are. God damn it Barb being right for the second time that day, she fucking loves you, just feeling your head on hers brings a wave of calm that she should not feel in this moment.

“Well I’ll leave you two love birds alone. Melissa, you take care of that girl and make sure she’s okay. And you miss little MMA fighter, behave yourself and make sure she doesn’t go after that man! I’ll see you both at school on Monday.” Barb says with a wave as she walks toward the other teachers.

“Are you trying to scare me to death by putting yourself in a situation where you could’ve been killed?!” Melissa scolds you but she can’t hide the tears that are pricking her eyes.

You pull her into hug and hold her tight. “I’m sorry angel. As soon as I heard what he said to me, it was over and no one could’ve stopped me from defending myself and you. I’m okay though and I’m right here and just thankful to be in your arms.” You say to her softly.

After you break away from each other. She gives you a concerned look. “Let me see your hand.” She says softly.

You give her your hand that is now turning black and blue. She gently touches it to see what the damage is, you can’t help but let out a little hiss because oh my god does it hurt. She gently kisses it and lets go.

“I’m gonna head over to the University Hospital and have them take care of me. I don’t want you to waste your night with that. I’ll text you when I get released.” You say in a matter of fact tone.

“No no no, you are not gonna do the whole Miss Independent I’m fine and I don’t need anyone thing! If you think for five seconds that I’m not going to be right beside you through all of this, you have another thing coming! I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this but you’re stuck with me taking care of you and making sure you’re okay when it comes to anything that life throws at you, even when you make boneheaded decisions in which you fight men three times your size! Which by the way I’m making you swear you’ll never do again!” She says in a there’s no debating this tone.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed at me.” You say with a chuckle. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand gorgeous.” You say as you kiss her softly.

You drive to the hospital in silence, only the music from the radio filling the car. But Melissa throughout the whole ride makes sure to have one hand resting on your thigh every chance she gets.

She finds a spot relatively close to the emergency room entrance. She stops the car and then looks at you. She has to know if you really meant what you said to Barb.

“I need to know if you really meant what you said to Barb about me.” She says and you can see the vulnerability on her face.

“When I said that I love you?” You ask to clarify that’s what she means even though you know that it is.

She nods looking at you expectantly.

“Well it’s definitely not how I planned on saying it. I was going to do it after a romantic date or after an amazing night of pleasing each other. But of course I meant it Mel. I really do love you.” You say as you reach over and caress her cheek.

She leans towards you and you share a slow passionate kiss. “I love you so much (Y/N).” She says softly when the kiss ends.

You both just gaze at each other lovingly for a few moments, soaking in this memory that you’ll both cherish forever.

You go into the emergency room and get checked in and are taken to a room. You both snuggle together as you sit and wait for the nurse to come in.

The nurse comes in. “Hi, what brings you into the ER today?” She asks you.

Before you can explain what happened, Melissa jumps in. “Well this googootz thought it was a smart idea to punch a guy three times her size.” She says giving you a teasing look.

“Too bad you already said how much you love this googootz.” You tease back giving her a playful nudge. “But yes ma’am that is what happened and I think I broke my hand.” You answer the nurse.

“Damn if a broken hand is all you walked away with, I’d hate to see the other guy.” The nurse says.

You and Melissa give each other a look and then chuckle to yourselves.

Turns out you did have small fractures throughout your hand. They put a cast on you and refer you to a doctor to come back and see in a few weeks.

Melissa drives you home and insists that you go straight to the bedroom. You reluctantly follow her orders.

She climbs into bed with you. “I’m not going to lie seeing you defend my honor really turned me on.” She whispers in your ear. “And I would seem ungrateful if I didn’t somehow show my gratitude for my knight in shining armor.” She says in her husky seductive voice.

She then proceeds to undress you with head spinning speed and then starts at your breasts as she bites and sucks and teases clearly marking her territory. Just by that alone she’s already making you wet.

She’s not teasing you tonight, she wants you to know how hungry she is to please you. She gets to your folds and with one motion licks the juices off that she’s created. Your whole body shudders and you let out a little moan.

“Let me hear that beautiful moan of yours pretty girl.” She says in her husky seductive voice.

She slowly glides her fingers up and down your folds until she finds your clit. She rubs it slowly and gently at first, watching you unravel with every touch, she then penetrates you with two fingers and then starts eating you out until you are so tight around her fingers that she knows it’s just a matter of seconds until you reach that orgasmic bliss. She turns her attention back to your clit and rubs fast and hard and just like she thought you break open like a dam and she drinks up your cum like it’s the best drink she’s ever had.

She watches you in awe as you ride out your orgasm high. You look so fucking beautiful she thinks to herself. When you slowly come down she leans over you gazing down with adoration and a loving smile.

“Let me clean you up.” She whispers. She gets off the bed and is gone for a few minutes. “Let me know if this is too hot for you and she puts a warm towel on your leg.

“No baby that’s good.” You say still trying to catch your breath. And then proceeds to clean you up with a warm towel! What is this the platinum sex experience you think to yourself.

After she’s done she climbs back into bed and takes you in her arms.

“Now don’t you dare think this means that I condone this behavior!” She teases you with a playfully nudge.

“I know! I don’t. But can I say it was the best showing of gratitude I’ve ever experienced!” You say with a chuckle.

“Good amore mio.” She says softly as she kisses your head.

“Look at you speaking Italian to me! What does it mean?” You ask as you look at her with genuine curiosity.

“My love.” She whispers softly in your ear.

You look at her with tears filling your eyes.

“I love you Melissa Schemmenti.” You say softly and then you gently kiss her.

“I love you more my knight in shining armor.” She says with a smile.

You two lay there and just bask in the warmth of each other and the love that you share. Until you have to break the silence because the joke you just thought of is too good not to say.

“I wonder if we could make money off of me being a charity case.” You say laughing quietly.

Mel rolls her eyes and then pulls you close and kisses you softly, until you’re on the brink of falling asleep on her chest listening to her heart that beats just for you.

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #wlw #lesbian #queer #pansexual #biseuxal #fanfic

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