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#louderrthanthunderr
leiakenobi · 2 years
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11. santi
11. things you said when you were drunk
as soon as i saw this one on the list, I knew someone was going to ask for it. which has def happened at least once before with you specifically lydz so maybe i'm just reading your mind. 😂 i... maybe? went in a different direction than you were expecting, and i kinda sorta love it.
this clocks in at 689 words, reader has boobs but no specified pronouns
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——
When Santiago's name lights up your phone at 1 in the morning, it is not a surprise. You could swear he calls you like this at least once each time he's away, and it's only a week and a half away from his next leave.
So frankly, he's overdue.
You've been in the process of getting ready for bed, your teeth brushed and a washcloth now in hand in preparation for washing your face. So you set your phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker as you accept his call.
"Hi Santi."
"Babe. Hi. Hello."
At once, you smile at your reflection in the mirror. Sometimes these calls take a different sort of tone -- a heady, playful sort of tone -- but right now, he is the epitome of sweetness. "Hi."
"Hi," he repeats. Then, after a pause: "Wait, we said that already."
"It's just nice to say," you reply softly. "Who are you out with tonight?"
Santi sniffs indignantly. "How do you know I'm out tonight?"
You hold back a laugh as you wipe your washcloth across your forehead and over your cheeks. "Are you not out tonight?"
Another pause.
"Some of the local officers," he replies at last. "They can really hold their liquor."
"I'm sure you're keeping up just fine."
"Always." He sounds endearingly proud of himself, but his voice softens a bit as he continues, "Miss you, though."
For such a simple sentiment, it's remarkable how much it makes your heart burst. "I miss you too, baby."
"I've been thinking about your feet a lot."
"My feet?" you repeat, letting out a laugh. That's a new one. Your hands, your legs, your ass, your mouth, your tits... He's mentioned them all in moments like this. It's not often that he'll bring up something new.
"Mhm." Santi lets out a heavy sigh. "Missing those nights when we sit and watch a movie and you spread out on the sofa and swear that you won't put your feet in my lap this time, but you always end up asking for a foot massage."
"Do I do that?"
Yes. You do.
Nightly routine finished, you pick up your phone and cross the threshold into your bedroom. Maybe it's because you're talking to Santi—your eyes fall on his shirts of their own volition as you begin to comb through everything looking for something to sleep in, and you can't help yourself. You pull one out and toss it onto the bed.
"All the fucking time." Again, he sounds proud. Proud of you this time, you think, for being just a little obnoxious about it. "But y'know why I put up with it?"
You don't even think about it as you tug your pants off. "Because it usually leads to sex?"
"I mean, sure." Santi falters for a moment, his thoughts derailed, and you briefly think that you're gonna have to reorient him toward his point. "But also 'cause I love you a lot."
"Santi..." you murmur, momentarily frozen in the middle of taking off your shirt. You try to picture him, probably tucked against the wall outside a rundown dive bar. (He only ever likes dive bars.) Stolen away from his friends purely so that he can tell you that he loves you for being a pain in the ass on your movie nights.
"But to be clear, the sex part is very very good."
Aha. There's your Santiago. You smirk and get your shirt the rest of the way off. "Absolutely it is."
"Good." In the background, you hear a sudden onslaught of shouts, none of which you're quite able to make out. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he calls. To you, he says, "I should--"
"S'okay, babe." You glance toward his pillow, and as much as you are happy to have heard from him, you feel like you might have to curl up with it tonight. "Make sure they get you back to me in one piece, okay?"
"One piece," he agrees. "Love you, babe."
"Love you." The line goes dead quickly, so it's only to yourself that you can murmur, "So much."
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userpoe · 3 years
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hello! may I humbly request 16 from the wordless ways to say I love you prompt list -- with Poe ofc please ❤️
16. Having a tickle fight until you’re breathless
(just shy of 700 words. warnings: all fluff! i have another tickle fight fic here, if that trope interests anyone)
“Don’t you think you should take a break?” Poe asked, his head popping down in front of you so suddenly that you jumped, nearly dropping your spanner. His hair was everywhere on account of his particular gravitational situation: he’d been sitting on the wing of the X-Wing while you worked on the hull, and he’d leaned his head back so he was looking at you upside down.
Oh, you definitely should take a break considering you’d been working for several hours already off the clock and the strain in your shoulders, but for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear away from working on the ship. Still, you let your hands fall to your sides and admitted, “Maybe?”
His grin was lopsided and infectious, “Definitely more than a maybe, sweetheart. I’ve been bugging you for at least two hours and Jess said you’d been working for a while before she turned in.”
Okay, he had you there. You pivoted away from him and the ship to head back to the mechanic’s trolley to sit your spanner down. You were in the process of unbuckling your utility belt to also store when you heard the soft thud of Poe’s boots hitting the floor, but he didn’t immediately follow you. 
You swung your belt off and stored it in one of the storage bins, turned around, and found the hanger suddenly empty. Frowning, you called out, “Poe?”
You didn’t get a reply and your lips curved further downward. This had all the makings of a trap, yet you found yourself walking through it anyway. You moved closer back to the ship and called his name again. “That bugging thing we talked about? Seriously starting to become true, Dameron. Where’d you go?”
Still no response. You stuck your hands on your hips as you rounded the back of the ship, figuring you’d find him on the other side, but that area was empty too. “Alright,” you murmured, eyeing every crook and cranny of the room. He wasn’t exactly the most stealthy man in the Resistance, despite being in charge of an elite intelligence-gathering squadron. His idea of being stealthy included ducking into a corner...lit entirely by a light sconce, whilst wearing black. “Where the kriff are you -” your sentence broke off into a squeal as a pair of familiar arms wrapped around your torso and lifted you off your feet, spinning you around, a familiar rumble of laughter breaking behind you.
Once your feet were back on the ground, Poe began to retract his hands from the front of your torso, but they didn’t venture far: instead, he ghosted his fingers across your waist like spider legs. You squealed again and tried to dance around his reach, but he kept catching you and tickling you even more, drawing more giggles out of you.
Eventually, you spun around in his arms, still laughing as he finally stilled his hands. His face was flushed from chasing you and his own laughter, his eyes sparkling like starlight. “It’d been too long since I heard that laugh,” Poe said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Mhm. A silly pun would’ve done the trick, too, you know. Instead of going to such extreme lengths,” you joked, poking him lightly in the chest. 
Poe clicked his tongue, “No it wouldn’t have because you just would’ve done the thing.”
“What thing?” 
Poe pointed at your face, “You purse your lips to try and hide your smile and roll your eyes whenever I make a pun.”
You laugh, “That’s because you have the sense of humor of a dad.”
“Ouch,” Poe said without any real feeling, still beaming. “You love it though.”
You hummed, leaning away from him, making a show of thinking about it for a beat before firmly shaking your head, “Nah I don’t.”
“You dooooo,” he said in a sing-song voice as you shoved him playfully away to head out of the hanger. He was close at your heels the whole way like you knew he would be. “It’s part of my charm!”
Maybe it was (it definitely was), but you weren’t about to tell him that.
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luciens-wife · 2 years
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how does it feel to have a best friend that is conveniently usually still awake enough at 6am to make you cool shit??? like just sayin' 😌😌😌
Ahhhhhh omg wow hmmm it feels like crawling into bed with freshly dried sheets after a nice long hot shower while it rains and you're reading and hearing the rain hit your window.
Basically it feels like the best thing ever and you are so grateful for it and also don't really know what you did to deserve it but you're going to enjoy it anyway.
Something like that. Love you! <3 <3 <3 <3
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5 characters -- frankie, din, javi, poe, abel 😜
Get drunk with Poe. I wish I could do more with Poe... but that just how the cookie Crumbles lol, but I think he'd be really fun to get drunk with and exchange stories. (It was between Poe and Javi, and Javi brooding while I'm being a lightweight just doesn't sound like as much fun lol)
Make out with Javi. Fun night out, no strings and only breaks my heart a little. I'll take it lol.
Date Frankie. Everyone knows how much I love Frankie (even though I've never seen the movie even once to completion lol) but my man had 0 character development in the movie and I only love Fic!Frankie lol so that bumps him from marriage material to just the man that got away lol
Marry Din. Hes my comfort character. He's perfect. Do I even have to explain???
Punch Abel. Sorry Abel out of all these fiiiiine choices... you're getting punched.
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alexcabotgifs · 3 years
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/1/ yes yesss I agreeee with everything you said :D she fits into the team so well. it's like, a whole different vibe. I like that she does soften up and becomes more involved in some cases and really wants to fight for the victims & when they hug her aww. I like her personality, and her voice and the way she says law things hehe and that she's a no bullshit, tough lawyer and knows her stuff, as she should. that video though wow it honestly makes my heart hurt so much ahahaha poor thing. (cont)
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yes!!! like the squad are initially antagonist towards her and understandably so, she was basically brought in to babysit them after all. i get why they wouldn’t have exactly been welcoming. and she’s young and intensely focused and almost solely political in her motivations. i mean, in her first meeting with cragen, she practically spells it out. she has no intentions of truly getting attached to victims or cases, but as you know, as the seasons roll on, this changes completely. she really does care about the people they fight for and she fights for them too, and when her hands are tied, she hates it, maybe as much as they do. and when she does something insane like try to take on a drug cartel, they just completely have her back, because they are a family. and yes, i love her no nonsense attitude, and her skills and ability to get the tough convictions just can't be surpassed by ANYONE. and ugh yeah that husky voice and perfect enunciation, i don’t even understand why that is hot but it is. and “the way she says law things” LOOK THIS IS VALID. i am simple lesbian, i hear alex cabot saying smart shit in latin, i thirst. 
i won’t spoil anything for youuuuu but just so you know, the characters definitely do touch a lot more as the seasons go on. they even occasionally, dare i say, hug. hope you continue to enjoy! 💕
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moon-kn1ght · 3 years
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73. favorite weird flavor combo? | 90. luckiest mistake? | 98. favorite historical era?
73. my time has come to preach my favorite horrific combo, whiskey and pickle juice. it’s known as a ‘pickleback shot’ and it supposedly originated in Brooklyn? but it’s a shot of whiskey chased with a shot of pickle juice and it’s Awesome. I love it.
90. i don’t think i have a lucky mistake? i’m not very lucky and i don’t make many mistakes that then turn out good in the end. i think the closest thing would be how i found out about my college, and then ended up going there. 
98. i don’t know if this counts, but i think my favorite era is the roaring twenties. i love the glamour, and the crime, and the alcohol consumption. i think i would do well in the ‘20s. 
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cyantomatos · 2 years
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Cliché
Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!Reader Word Count: ~3000 Warnings: Reader is a sex worker, physical violence(implied and experienced), there’s no actual sexy time but it gets real close, sex-worker adjacent misogyny and derogatory language Notes: Another exchange fic! This is for @louderrthanthunderr​​ and I really hope it lives up to what you were hoping for.  Originally I was assuming most of the dialogue would be in italics, because I would assume someone born in Colombia would speak mostly Spanish and Javi would also be speaking Spanish with her, and I didn’t want to have to translate that much Spanish because it would have gotten clunky in a fic format. But then I realized it ended up all just being in “Spanish”, so...yea. Just remember they’re speaking in Spanish 😅
Also, I tried my best to portray the reader being a sex worker, but I don’t guarantee there aren’t things I got wrong or I got stereotypical about.
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Sometimes, despite the best efforts of a parent, a child’s life doesn’t end up the way they wanted.
You try not to think about that fact too often. It’s hard to imagine your mother would be thrilled with the reality of her daughter sleeping with sicarios to make a living, but your mother isn’t here. 
You do a job, and it keeps you alive.
For a while, that’s all it was. Get up, get dressed, do your makeup, go out and find someone to entertain for the night. Usually it was a low-level sicario, barely high enough on the food chain to afford your fee. Sometimes it was a normal citizen, lonely and looking for someone to pretend she wasn’t being paid to sleep with him. Rarely it was someone important, someone you knew better than to ever mention you’d even been in the same room with.
Sometimes, it was a government agent.
Nearly every prostitute in the city could lay claim to a night with a DEA agent. Most were just a way to pass the time, a warm body to distract the agents from the horrors they dealt with on a daily basis. A good portion of the time it was looking for information, since most of the prostitutes in the city could also lay claim to a night spent in the bed of a drug dealer. 
You’d been approached by agents before, hoping to trade money for information. You never had the heart to tell them most of what you knew wasn’t useful. Not when they kept getting younger and more desperate looking. 
So you fed them information, small things you overheard from the men who paid you and the women you shared a profession with. Enough that they felt they’d gotten something more than temporary bliss out of you. It would never be enough to topple a drug lord, but that wasn’t your problem.
You had a routine down, a good routine. Until the DEA agent caught your eye.
The same as nearly every girl in the city could lay claim to a night with a DEA agent, a significant portion could say that night was spent with one specific agent. Javier Peña had…let’s call it a reputation.
He approached you one night, and you knew enough to know who he was. You knew it was a gamble, if he wanted you for your job or for information, or possibly both. You weren’t exclusive to the cartel - you weren’t important enough for that - but that didn’t mean you didn’t have information for him.
Javier was nice. He wasn’t gentle, you weren’t naïve enough to expect that from a man that did the job he did, but he was nice. There was a difference, one you’d learned to see. Gentle was soft caresses and sweet kisses. Nice could still be rough, and often was, but it wasn’t mean. Nice was making sure you enjoyed yourself, even if he was taking from you. Nice was holding you tightly, rough hands and lips and teeth, but never painful. 
He seeks you out again, trading government money for secrets and time spent with you. It becomes the highlight of your week, although you never know when he will darken your doorstep. Javier was always quick, like he was afraid to spend too much time around you, but no matter how quick he was he always made sure you got something out of it too. You got the money, but he made sure you enjoyed it too.
Rarely does he linger. Usually he’s up as soon as you’ve both finished, counting out the fee he knows by heart now. There are nights, however, where you can tell his feet turned towards your tiny apartment more for the comfort of losing himself in another person, and less for the information you may or may not have.
Especially as that information becomes increasingly more scarce.
You find yourself curled into his side, eyes closed, safe in the knowledge that no matter what kind of man he might be, he would never hurt you. He rarely talks to you in these moments, preferring instead to soak in the feeling of having another person near.
Sometimes he talks.
“Do you enjoy your job?” The question slices through the silence, surprising you with its suddenness. You tilt your head back, resting it on his bicep to see him staring at the ceiling through the thin haze of cigarette smoke.
After a moment of confusion you shrug. “Do you?”
You get the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever gotten out of him in response, punched out of his chest like it pains him. “I guess it would make more sense to ask if you hate it.”
You know the answer to that for him, but it’s less straightforward for you. When you don’t respond after a moment he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you finally give him another shrug.
“I don’t hate it. It’s a job. A better job than some others I could be doing.” You shift your head back to resting on his chest, even the sidelong eye contact making you uncomfortable with the topic. “I used to hate it, in the beginning. It felt unfair, made me feel dirty.” You shrug again, suddenly aware of how many times you’ve done that now. “It isn’t so bad, now.”
You don’t mention that part of what made it “not so bad, now” was him.
You know how that will go.
You also know he doesn’t only come to you for information, but it starts to sit heavy on your chest when you have little to give him. You know he comes more and more for the company, specifically company that doesn’t judge or try to justify the things he’s done.
But still. It weighs.
So much that you decide to do something about it.
Maybe it’s reckless. No, it’s definitely reckless, and you know it. You know you’re making decisions with your heart, that a certain DEA agent wormed his way in there and is making you want to do things you know you shouldn’t do.
You also know when he finds out he’ll be furious.
It seems so easy in your head.
Most of the reason you don’t sleep with the higher-ups is by choice. You know it’s more dangerous, especially if you do your job too well and they decide to keep you. You’ve seen too many other women come back with bruises and broken bones, victims of the nastier tastes the powerful men of the world enjoy.
But you know how to get to them.
Bat your lashes, show some skin, flirt with the right underling, and you have yourself an invitation to a cartel party. From there, it’s just a matter of looking for the sleaziest, creepiest guy in the room, and bam - one drug lord coming right up.
It’s almost laughably easy to get an invitation to his bed. You spend the night on his lap, ignoring the hand that blatantly sweeps higher and higher up the inside of your bare thigh while he holds court. When he tugs you to your feet, pressing hot kisses to your neck he probably thinks are seductive, you produce a high-pitched giggle and feign at being complimented he chose you.
You realize you’ve gone soft somewhere along the way. You’ve gotten too used to Javi’s touches, and suddenly you wonder when he got gentle. The cruel hands on your hips holding you in place aren’t his. The hard kisses are too rough to be him, the harsh Spanish isn’t his gruff voice.
You hate him for doing this to you, briefly. For making your job suddenly harder to do, because it isn’t him.
Not-Javi is, at least, quick. It’s over in under ten minutes, and he’s asleep in thirty seconds. He’s too smug, too sure of himself, to think someone like you could be a threat to him even while he sleeps.
You wait, counting his breaths and ensuring he really is asleep. You’ve heard stories of women, sent by the DEA to gather information, moving too early and being caught by the men they were spying on.
After half an hour, when you’re sure he’s asleep, you creep out of bed. You dress quietly, grateful you chose an outfit that is easy to put on in the dark. Gripping your heels in one hand you creep from his room, holding your breath while the door clicks shut.
It isn’t hard to find his office, although the emptiness of the halls makes you uneasy.
You ignore the thread of unease curling in your gut, too focused on the idea of getting information for your agent.
When did he become your agent?
You shake your head, pushing the thought away for later. It was too late for doubts now.
There’s papers everywhere, and you curse your luck for getting one of the disorganized lords. You waste precious minutes sifting through the piles and mounds of paper, drawers opening and closing softly. The only benefit was he was unlikely to notice anything was disturbed, if it was out of place to begin with. 
There’s also an absurd number of knick-knacks and tchotchkes everywhere that you have to avoid knocking over. A large snow globe from New York sits precariously on a stack of papers. A shelf on one wall holds a set of trophies, although in the darkness you can’t make out what they’re from. Small things, most of which hold no meaning to you, litter the desk.
Most of the papers are useless - shipment logs with names scratched out, money tracked in such large numbers that for a moment you wonder if you’re in the wrong profession, a list of known government agents and pictures if they’re available. You don’t even check to see if he's there - that’s inevitable.
Even more of it is just junk. Porn magazines, take-out receipts, pieces of scrap paper, to-do lists - drug lords make to-do lists apparently. You stop briefly to look at that, curious about what it could be and half expecting to see “torture spy”.
You’re close to frustration, a sense of failure beginning to burn at the back of your eyes when you see it.
A torn scrap of paper, clearly meant to be thrown and instead shoved into the corner of a drawer. There’s an address and a name.
Pablo.
That could be anyone. It’s a popular name.
It probably wasn’t him.
You shove it in your bra anyway.
You do intend to look for more, knowing the likelihood of that actually being Escobar were slim - until you hear a noise.
Footsteps.
Before you can react a hand closes in your hair, wrenching you backwards and throwing you to the ground. You catch your tongue between your teeth, preventing you from crying out, but now you taste blood.
“Stupid fucking whore. You thought you could come in here and just spread your legs and find some information? For who? Did some American promise he loved you?” The only thing you can see in the darkness - and with how your vision is still spinning - is a large shape stalking towards you.
“Or did he promise you a trip to America? You’d just be a whore there too, you know.” One of the benefits in your line of work was the ability to compartmentalize. Shut the words out, shut the pain out, and get through it.
You shut the harsh words and throbbing pain out and roll, feeling the air rush past as a boot comes down with a heavy thud right where your head had been moments before. Rolling to your feet you scan the room desperately just as he lunges for you again. This time when you dodge he takes you down with him, a hand gripping your leg. Your head knocks against the edge of the desk as you go down, close enough to your eye to be grateful you still have it but aware it will probably bruise.
He’s clawing at you, close enough now for you to see the vicious snarl on his face. It’s not the man from before - he’s probably still sound asleep in bed. Most likely it’s a low-level grunt, someone with higher aspirations hoping to get some clout out of taking down someone stupid enough to steal from the cartel.
“You’re going to regret this, you fucking bitch.” You squirm in his grasp, desperately trying to break free as he pulls himself on top of you. “I’m going to enjoy killing you. You’re going to wish you-” 
There’s a thud, and then silence. His body suddenly slumps, dead weight on you.
What just happened?
You feel a cold liquid seeping into the fabric at your shoulder and suddenly it hits you - or rather, it hit him.
The snow globe.
The grunt must have bumped the desk and brought it down on himself. It’s so comical that for a moment all you can do is lay there, a hand over your mouth as your shoulders shake with silent laughter. You think maybe you’ve snapped with how long that goes on, until you’re finally able to think clearly again.
Getting out is harder than getting in was.
Roll the dead weight off of you - check if he actually is dead and breathe a sigh of relief when you find a pulse. Pull the door shut behind you and tiptoe down the hall. Hold your breath what feels like through the whole building, eventually slipping your shoes back on just in time to waltz out the front door like the other girls trickling out with their jobs done for the night.
You try to act casual, your head down to hide where you can already feel your eye swelling. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe you’d gotten it doing the job you were brought in for, but better safe than sorry.
How you end up on Javi’s doorstep is a blur. You think it involved a bus ride, but your adrenaline was so high the entire time you can’t be sure. To be honest, you don’t even remember knocking until he opens the door.
There’s a scowl on his face before he sees you, morphing into shock once he does. Hands grip your shoulders, and you try not to flinch at the memory of the hands that had been on you tonight. Hands that almost kept you from ever leaving that place alive.
“What are you doing here?” His eyes are scanning over you for injuries before the words ever leave his mouth, and you know the moment he sees where your eye is likely already bruising from the way his expression darkens. “Sweetheart what happened?”
The barely concealed rage in his voice is what snaps you out of your fog, more than the endearment does. It still takes you a moment to respond, your mouth feeling like it’s full of cotton.
“I…I didn’t know where else to go. They caught me.”
He pulls you inside gently, shutting the door firmly behind you. There’s the sound of several locks clicking shut, and he guides you to sit on a soft couch. “Who caught you?”
You explain it then, all of it. How you’d felt guilty for not being able to give him more information. Getting into the party, getting caught in the office. Almost killing a man. At the end you pull the piece of paper out of your dress, handing it to him with a shaking hand.
“I don’t know if it will be helpful, it might not even be him, but it was all I got.” Javi is silent as he takes the paper, and you know he’s furious. He won’t even meet your eye, his hand shaking where he holds the scrap of paper.
“I’m sorry, I know it was stupid-” He holds up a hand, cutting you off.
“If they had-” He cuts himself off this time, hand clenched in his lap.
After a moment he slides to the floor, shifting to his knees in front of you. He reaches for your face and you flinch, hating yourself the moment the guilt crosses his face. When you don’t outright pull away he cups your cheek, an emotion you can’t quite place written on his face.
“I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you, sweetheart. You didn’t…I wasn’t coming to you for information anymore. I was coming for you. I didn’t care if you didn’t have information.” 
You feel your eyes go wide at the information. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been for you. The thought stops you dead, freezing any response you might have had.
Javi interprets the silence as rejection, a sad sort of smile coming across his face. “I know it’s cliché, the cop falling for his informant, but-” You’re the one to cut him off this time, pressing your lips to his desperately and nearly falling off the couch in the process.
You’re smiling when the kiss breaks, meeting his shocked expression. “It’s so monumentally cliché, Javi. It’s just about as cliché as the informant that does something stupid for the playboy government agent she cares a little too much about.”
You rarely see Javi smile, and when he does it usually carries a certain amount of pain behind it. This time, the smile is wide and real and happy. He pulls you against him, one hand on the back of your head holding you close. “I guess we’re both just walking clichés, then.”
There’s still so many things to talk about. What to do with the information you found, if any of it is even useful. You’ll probably spend hours going over what happened and what you saw. You’ll be in danger, if the grunt you knocked out remembers what you look like. You’re not even sure if it’s love you’re feeling for the man holding you, if it will grow into something real or fade away over time. 
For now, you don’t think about any of that. In this moment, you focus on the feeling of Javi’s arms holding you close, focus on breathing in the smell of his shampoo and the leather from his jacket.
For now, you feel safe.
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ladyxskywalker · 2 years
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Pedro Pascal Fic Recs 💫
princessxkenobi's 1k September Celebration 🌼🍂📖
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thank you to the amazing fic writers for sharing some wonderful stories with all of us ! & to the kind readers for their constant support. 💛
please be sure to check all warnings & tags before reading
nsfw & adult content will be marked with a double asterisk **
fics marked as (series) are stories with two or more parts
pairings will be listed as (gn, f, afab, m, oc, ofc, onc, ace, masc, masc gn)
everything is organized alphabetically by fandom & character to the best of my ability
(If you would like to be removed, please send me a message to let me know 🙏)
enjoy ! xo ☕
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✨ Dave York
Affliction (series) (fatal attraction au) by @clydesducktape (f!reader, ofc) **
When Legends Rise (series) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **
✨ Ezra
A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop (series) by @oonajaeadira (f!reader) **
Crassula Ovata (series) by @ezramando (gn!reader)
Cup Those Hands (series) by @justrunamok (ofc, bi!gn!reader) **
Rushing Decadence (voice actor!ezra) by @highsviolets (gn!reader)**
Shadows & Starlight (series) (fae king ezra) by @ezrasbirdie (ofc)
Specks of Color by @pumpkin-stars (gn!reader)
Jagged Scraps of Him by @ezrasbirdie
Mysticus (series) (soulmate au) by @juletheghoul (f!reader) **
The Family Vane (series) (borrowers au) by @miraclesabound  (ezra, cee, din, grogu)
The Lucky One (series) (about time au) by @/dayoffinkyoto on ao3
The Sun Sets With You (series) by @sharkbait77 (f!reader)
Winter Moon (series) by @rae-gar-targaryen (f!reader) **
✨ Frankie Morales
Clean by @highsviolets (afab!reader) **
Down Payment (series) (we were warriors) collab with @hotspacepilots by @jedi-mando (ofc) **
Finding Family by @absurdthirst  (f!reader) **
Fix'er Upper (series) by @givemethatgold (f!reader) **
Fly Me To The Moon by @pilothusband (f!reader)  
In Your Arms by @writefightandflightclub (masc!gn!reader)
I'd Give You My World by @clydesducktape (a/b/o dynamics) **
Oblivius (series) (my best friend's wedding au) by @juletheghoul (f!reader, ofc) **
Project Eleven (series) (post apocalyptic au) by @steeeeeeeviebb (f!reader) **
Weeknights (series) by @frannyzooey (f!reader) **
✨ Jack 'Agent Whiskey' Daniels
Crimson Rose (series) by @brandyllyn (soulmate au) (f!reader)
Experimental Love (sex pollen au) by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **
She Moves Through The Fair by @writeforfandoms (f!reader)
The Traveler (series) (western au) by @silksaddle (f!reader) **
✨ Javier Peña
Amas Veritas (series) (practical magic au) by @steeeeeeeviebb (f!reader)
Forbidden Fruit by @mellowswriting (f!reader)**
Forgotten (series) by @aerynwrites (f!reader)
Suspension of Disbelief by @justrunamok (black!omc)
Waterfall Inquiry (series) by @highsviolets (f!reader) **
Whatever It Takes by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **
✨ Marcus Moreno
Poorly Wired Circuit (series) by @radiowallet (ofc)**
✨ Marcus Pike
Share Your Address by @marvelousmermaid (gn!reader) (collab with @louderrthanthunderr & @healingstardust) 
Stardust by @mellowswriting  
The Raunchy Raid by @absurdthirst (f!reader) ** 
Unfortunate Mistakes, Fortunate Outcomes by @absurdthirst  (f!reader) **
✨ Oberyn Martell
In Name Only (series) by @forever-rogue (f!reader)**
The Arrangement (series) by @absurdthirst (f!reader)
Hotel Dorne (modern au) by @absurdthirst (f!reader)**
Life Has It's Mysteries by @maharani-radha-writes (gn!reader)
Little Sparrow (series) by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) ** (ellaria, oberyn)
Lost in Your Depths (series) by @aerynwrites (f!reader)
Solis by @juletheghoul (f!reader) **
Sugar & Strawberries (series) (professor oberyn) collab by @ezrasbirdie & @starlightmornings (ofc) **
Washed Out (series) (deep sea oberyn) by @juletheghoul (f!reader)
✨ Pero Tovar
The Blizzard by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **
Born to Be Wild (series) (modern au) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **
Lavender & Mint (series) by @lilkermit14 (f!reader)** (submitted by @clydesducktape)
Pan Dulce (series) by @clydesducktape
Emparejar (series) by @clydesducktape (a/b/o dynamics) (f!reader)
✨ The Thief (Casillero del Diablo)
The Locksmith (series) by @oonajaeadira (f!reader) **
Deal with the Devil (series) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **
The Greatest Thief in the World by @kesskirata (f!reader) **
✨ Zach Wellison
A Room With A View (series) by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **
On the Wind (series) by @sharkbait77 (ofc)
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marvelousmermaid · 3 years
Text
Come Back To Me
Pairing: William "Ironhead" Miller x F!reader
Rating: Mature
WC: ~2.2k
Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of Tom, brief mentions of violence/death, gun mention, unprotected p in v (blink you miss)- PLEASE let me know if I missed something
A/N: This my longest fic so far and my first upload of anything remotely spicy..it's nothing so keep expectations low pls..I still don't know what I'm doing. Taglist & Masterlist is also updated with Will now btw! -- Read on Ao3 thanks @louderrthanthunderr for the beta💕
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“Will… what did the text say?”
The two of you were discussing future dinner plans with Catfish and Benny when he glanced at his phone and stopped mid sentence. His eyes widened and there was a hitch in his breath and every worst possible scenario scattered across your mind.
“It’s just Pope. He wants a favor.”
Just Pope.
You waited for more, an explanation, a scoff… anything. He didn’t give you more though. Will just continued to stare at his phone. The last time he spoke to Santiago was almost 4 years ago. Something about motivating people or governments, you had no real idea, just that it wasn’t always 100% legal and always dangerous. The last time Will worked with Santi, he came back lost and different. It pained you to see your lover look like he had lost part of his soul and you never explicitly asked him to stop, but you hoped.
When Will eventually told you about a job that he applied for - a real one with security and benefits, you felt content. All he had to do was talk soldiers into not taking private sector jobs.
“What could Santiago want? He knock a girl up and need godparents?” You chuckled hoping that would soften the mood. You knew it wasn’t anything like that. Whatever he sent to Will… it scared you to think about. Whenever Santi needed Will, people died. That was just an unfortunate fact. A fact that he didn’t know that you knew, but you weren’t dull.
“Uh- it’s nothing. I’ll just call him later.”
“You sure?”
He sighed and looked at you, “Yeah, I mean I haven’t heard from him in three years, what’s an hour more.”
“As long as he’s okay,” you paused and thoughtfully skipped the tension, “Well then, where were we? Dinner! Do you think Benny will want to eat out after his fight next week or should I plan on making something for you boys?”
The crows feet near Will’s eyes squeezed tight when he smiled at you. “You know those boys can never resist your cooking darling.”
-x-
You were in the middle of prepping dinner when your phone rang.
“Hello,” you answered, putting the phone on speaker.
“Hey... darling. I was calling to let you know that I think we might have to cancel tonight's dinner.”
You were immediately confused and worried. “What do you mean? Why? Is everything okay?”
You were spouting questions at him hoping something would land so you could get to the bottom of his out of character cancelation.
“Pope’s here.”
“Santiago? Santi’s in town?”
“Yeah he uh-he wanted to follow up on that favor and also to see the guys I guess.”
“You guess? Will, what does he want? He disappears for years and now he just pops up and wants to have a guys night? Why can’t he just come here too?” The frustration in your voice kept building and you hoped you didn’t sound like a bitch but Santi meant trouble. You adored and cared for him, yes, but Will was the one you loved and the last thing you wanted was for someone you loved to go walk head first into something dangerous and stupid. Which is exactly what Santi was notorious for.
“We’ll talk later okay?”
“I guess.” You spat out, using his own words.
“Are you mad at me now babe?”
You huffed and put your hands on the counter. “A little. Yes. As a matter of fact. I get to be home alone this evening when I planned on company, so yeah that kind of sucks.”
“Babe I’m-”
“No it’s fine William. Have fun. Tell Ben I said ‘good luck’ and I’ll see you when you get home. I love you.”
Will sighed on the other end but said he loved you back and hung up. It was agreed upon between you two that even when you were mad, always end a conversation or call with those words… just in case. You weren't sure why, but you had a feeling that this time was different. It’s always held such a strong meaning but even in the midst of you being frustrated with him, it held a little more power than usual and that terrified you.
-x-
When Will got home it was well past midnight and you had made yourself comfortable in your room with take out. He was quiet coming in, hoping that you may have been asleep but he should've known better because when he walked into the room, there you were in his shirt and a pair of shorts flipping channels while biting on a plastic fork.
“Stop that. Your dentist is going to be mad at you.”
“How was the fight?” you stopped biting the utensil and looked at Will from your spot on the bed.
“He won.”
“Oh good.”
“Babe...”
“Not now Will. It’s late.”
“But you’re still awake.”
“Okay but it doesn’t mean that I want to argue with you right now.”
The two of you stared into each other's eyes for a moment, each of you searching for the right words. You didn’t like arguing, who does, but you went first anyway.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come home tonight.”
Will immediately rushed to your side, understanding. “I’d never leave with him without telling you first. Or anyone for that matter, I swear.”
“So are you?”
Will looked at you with his soft eyes. They reminded you of when you’d go to the beach and the sky would reflect the most beautiful shade of blue.
“Am I what?”
“Will…”
You felt the tears coming and then your water line was an overflowing dam. He didn’t say anything else but his tight hold on you told you everything you wished weren’t true. He was going to follow Santiago into whatever trouble he currently found himself in and you weren’t going to be able to change his mind. Sniffling, you asked.
“Is everyone going?”
“They are.”
Fuck.
You knew that if Benny went, Will went and if Will went, Frankie went. You could never understand the bond they had but when it came to Santiago… the four of them could either be the most loyal bunch ever or the stupidest.
“Promise you’ll come back to me.”
“I promise. I’ll be back after the weekend.”
-x-
Will broke his promise.
He was never one to say a promise if he knew he couldn't keep it so when he promised you that night, over three weeks ago that he would come back, he felt sure that whatever he had to do would be simple.
Clearly that wasn’t the case and now you had no idea if he was dead or alive. The worst part was that you didn’t even have Benny or Frankie to lean on. You called Frankie’s girl to ask if she heard from them and she was such a wreck she never actually answered. She just sobbed.
How could he just leave me like this?
He’s got a family now.
How could he be so selfish?
How could they be so selfish? There weren’t any words you could give her, since you were just as broken and upset. All you could tell her was that you’d be there for her and lied by saying they must have a good reason for not contacting yet. Frankie hadn’t given her a date, he just said they’d be back as soon as they could… Why did Will have to tell you the truth? Why couldn’t he just lie?
By week four, your hope in any of them returning started to dwindle. How would you tell Mrs. Miller that her boys were gone? Did Tom’s family know? Why did all the burden fall to you? You and Will weren’t even married. The only real established thing you had together was a gym membership - that stupid membership he didn’t even want to get but got anyway because you didn’t feel comfortable going to the gym he and Benny went to. The house was his, his car still in the driveway. It was all his and now your burden to bare.
You heard a thump at the front door and went into safe mode. Will kept a spare hand gun in his office so you obviously grabbed it and headed toward the door. You sensed someone there and when you worked up the courage to look into the peephole you nearly screamed, startling him when you yanked the door open. There he was, in one piece as if he hadn’t been missing for nearly five weeks and about to be presumed dead.
“W-w-Will?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Hearing his voice didn’t feel real, you had to be dreaming. Will died. Will would rather die than break a promise to you and if he came back after a broken promise.... He stepped toward you and instead of the hug he probably expected, he got you stepping back and aiming his pistol back at him.
“This isn’t real. You’re not really here.” Your voice was shaking and betraying the front you were putting on.
“Put it down babe, I’m really here. Look at me”
His eyes.
His eyes were like the glossy version of an ocean's reflection. He reached for the gun and slowly angled it down until you went limp enough for him to take it and secure it in his jeans.
“I thought you were dead.” The sobs escaped and your voice was barely a whisper but he heard you loud and clear.
Will carefully stepped toward you again, took you in his arms and pulled you to him. Both of your cries echoed in the entryway. He knew you were angry with him. He couldn’t imagine what kind of scenarios you were playing in your head or what you had been planning, you were his planner and his lifeline. There was no way you just waited around. The second the plan went to shit, he knew his promise was broken.
“Oh my god,” you shoved him back, “Are the boys okay? Where’s everyone? Fankie is in so much trouble and I’ve been too scared to call Molly-” your speech sped up with every question.
“Babe, Babe. Frankie and Benny are home, they’re safe. Pope said he’ll be in touch and-and Tom..”
“No.”
“Tom… he uh. Tom didn’t make it.”
You didn’t know him well and honestly didn’t want to but now you just felt for Molly and the girls. They have a family that needs providing and now they only have each other. You felt selfish but you were thanking the heavens that your main guys were safe, that they were alive. Will eventually made his way in and helped the two of you to your shared room. He undressed and that’s when you saw a new scar.
“Did you get shot?”
Will didn’t answer and he just looked up at you. “I’m fine”
“Will, you got shot!”
“I’ve been shot at before. I’m fine.”
“Stop! STOP IT!” You weren't sure why you were suddenly angry but you couldn't help it. “You keep saying it's fine but it’s not Will. I thought you died! That gunshot wound tells me you could have! I thought you all left me. I was all alone. Will, I was all alone!”
You were practically hyperventilating and Will never looked so helpless. You dropped to the floor, holding your legs to your chest crying again and yelling when you could breathe. He let you. He let you scream at him until you couldn’t anymore and when you stopped is when he knew you’d accept his touch again.
“I love you.” Will’s whisper almost broke you  but he said it again and kissed your right knee. “I love you.” Then again when he kissed your cheek, your forehead and then finally, your lips. He kept repeating the same words over and over again as if he was making up for the lost time he didn’t get to say it to you. He didn’t stop saying it. Will was practically chanting it.
When he undressed you and placed you onto the bed he barely stuttered or took breaths in between. His I love you’s were apologies. You felt his sincerest apologies when he kissed your thighs, when he licked your sweet spot, when he finally sunk into you. Will made love to you in the form of an apology.
Your cries intertwined with your moans but your bodies were one again. He was apologizing but also promising to never leave you again. He may have come back a little more broken than when he left but he came back nonetheless. Your mind started to clear when you felt him twitch and knew he was close.
“Cum for me Will.” you begged.
Will kept a steady pace and pulled his face from your neck and placed his head on yours when he finally came - his hips came to a hard stop against your thighs while his lips hovered over yours. Neither one of you wanted to let the other go. Your sweaty bodies and mixed fluids made a mess and neither one of you cared. It felt right. When you kissed him, he didn’t kiss you back..
“Will baby, come back to me.”
His eyes met yours and there he was. The love of your life. William Miller had finally come back to you and he wasn’t going anywhere.
---
Masterlist & Taglist
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leiakenobi · 3 years
Note
6. Tucking your head into their neck during a hug with Poe
based on the fact that some people -- hi @starryeyedstories -- read my last Poe fic and felt a bit of fear that Poe might not come back from his mission with Black Squadron, this prompt sparked a short lil sequel. so feel free to go read “brightest star” first, but it’s not crucial.
——
The original hope was that the mission would take two weeks, but when all is said and done, Poe is gone for a little over a month.
You talk every day, as you always do when he’s away--save for a three-day stretch, which he warns you about ahead of time. Vaguely, in the hopes that maybe you won’t worry much. 
(You worry anyway. You barely sleep, those days, until he calls in again and murmurs words of reassurance and love that more than remind you why you put yourself through this.)
But of course talking is not the same as having him there, beside you, at dinner and in bed and strolling down the halls and watching holovids and fussing on his x-wing together while BB-8 yells at him about everything that he’s doing wrong and--
No. It’s not the same.
Which means when he proudly reports, We’ll be back tomorrow, you are elated. And perhaps you find nonsense excuses to loiter in the docking bay, Rose having to kindly ask you to move off of more than one box so that the mechanics can get to some parts until finally you just offer to give them some help. Purely to keep you busy.
She laughs and shakes her head and says, “That flyboy doesn’t know what he’s in for,” but she also says sure.
Even then, it’s... what feels like an eternity later that the alert comes through that fighters are incoming. At once, it’s a scramble to make room for Black Squadron’s arrival and prep to dock the fighters properly so that they can be assessed for any possible danger. But you play no role in this part of the process, so you’re single-minded in rushing toward the front of the hangar, where you know Poe will be setting down his ship.
(All the better to take off at a moment’s notice.)
Consequently, he’s the last one inside, an alarm squawking as the hangar doors ease closed behind him. For a hint of a moment, everything about the scene nearly overwhelms you--the alarm, the fighters still powering down, the flurry of people, their chatter and shouts...
It’s all easier the moment you can make out Poe in his cockpit, grinning down at you while he pops the hatch.
And once he’s on the ground and pulling you into his arms, everything around you fades--at least long enough for him to squeeze you so damn tight. You bury your face in his neck, savoring the way he’s enveloping you, how solid he feels. How much more solid you feel against him. You even savor the musky smell of him post-mission, although your mind is already humming with teasing comments about how much he must be looking forward to taking a real shower again.
Poe manages to get the jump on you, though, when he pulls back and... well, for a moment it looks like he’s going to kiss you, until his lips pull into a wide grin and he laughs instead.
“The Resistance is turning you into more of a gearhead by the day.”
You don’t know what he’s talking about, at first, until he wipes at your cheek and a splotch of grease transfers from your skin to his.
So you smirk, and you tell him, “Maybe that means we both need to get a little cleaned up.”
He hums thoughtfully and glances into the hangar, where the rest of Black Squadron is loitering--Karé and Snap chatting amongst themselves, the others talking with their fighters’ primary mechanics. Looking back your way, his grip tightens on your waist. “I suppose we do have an hour until debrief.”
“Perfect.”
But before you can guide Poe off toward your quarters, he has pulled you into a kiss, and it’s when he pulls away that he whispers the word back; eyes closed and face just inches from yours. “Perfect.”
You know with absolute certainty that he’s not just talking about the idea of a quickie in your shower.
And so you smile.
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userpoe · 3 years
Note
sooo what are your hcs on superstition and myth with pilots in sw??? 👀😊
*claps hands together* I was so hoping someone would ask me this. Pilots being superstitious has been on my mind ever since I read the Poe Dameron Flight Log, where Poe mentions he prefers to fly Black One because he thinks it brings him luck, and it really just snowballed from there! In no particular order, here are a few of my headcanons!
All pilots have a pre-flight ritual they do before taking off for a mission: for some squadrons, that means gathering in a circle, taking a sip from a flask, and saying something along the lines of what the Dregs say in Six of Crows ("No mourners, no funerals") for good luck and wishing for no causalities. For others, it just means taking a moment to themselves and saying a quick prayer to the Force.
In regards to this, I headcanon that Poe does the latter and is known to tap the hull of his X-Wing for good luck before a mission (kind of like knocking on wood)
We all know Poe doesn't like Kowakian Monkey-Lizards, and I like to think that's a sentiment shared among a lot of pilots. Since they're mostly kept as pets (or smuggled) by criminals like pirates or real scumbags like Jabba, I imagine they're probably seen as a symbol for bad luck.
In Legends, there's this thing called "hyper-rapture" which is what happens when you stare too long into hyperspace; I hc that in canon, it's mostly just a myth and legend passed down among spacers and pilots, a fun little ghost story to get the chills going - but it is actually something that can happen, it's just rare because I believe it originates from Force Bullshit Shenanigans(TM). I imagine in a less intense case, it probably feels like a strong case of deja-vu and overall disorientation (like when you're drunk, just without the fun bits).
Snap mentions in the comics that Poe went "space-crazy" one time, and I think that was probably a less intense case of hyper-rapture. Like I said, I believe it's a rare anomaly that usually only occurs when Force Bullshit is afoot, so I headcanon that Black Squadron was likely doing a pass over Iego when Poe got hit with a case of it.
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Note
👨‍👧‍👧🌝
👨‍👧‍👧 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic? 
@joy-light is the only person I know IRL that knows I write fics. Bless her and her English degree for beta reading the garbage I give her.
🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?
I have a fic idea for Oberyn on the Infamous spreadsheet that I'd love to write (but as of rn it's priority is only a medium lol)
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givemethatgold · 3 years
Text
Fix’er Upper -Pt 14
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Paring: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Warnings: just a bunch of fluffy family fluff, some dude being a nosy creep, overbearing mothers Length: 1.1 k Notes: This one is slow, babes. Just needed to build a bit of this new world, introduce Annie a bit and show you how things are progressing. It’ll pick up again soon I promise, bear with me! (Or don’t, I mean I can’t force you to like where this is going, lolz) Also, just typed this up tonight while raging at the laziness of men, so there are going to be mistakes, I can’t be fucked to find them. Trying to post this with NO links, as I’ve heard that may be the reason for the tagging issues? LET ME KNOW IF YOU GET THE NOTIFICATION THIS TIME!
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Turns out, two people with zero child-caring experience are not going to have an easy time suddenly becoming parents. There wasn't any one particular thing that you could pinpoint the difficulty one, either, it was just a complete one-eighty on how you had previously lived your lives.
Frankie immediately stopped working such late hours, effectively putting a bookmark in the cider's expansion. He didn't even have to think twice about it, it was a no-brainer to him. Didn't make the loss of potential income an easy pill to swallow, though. Date nights were officially off the schedule, so were sleepovers and all the fun things that accompanied them. There had been a few heated moments between the two of you, but Frankie felt weird about having sex anywhere near his daughter and you refused to let him fuck you in the barn. Again. Especially after the last two times resulted in unfortunate splinter placement. 
Annie took less time to adjust than the two of you did, she really was an amazing little girl. She loved her little nook in the loft, although the décor was not to her taste and she wouldn't stop dropping hints about it until you took her to pick out new everything. Frankie had tried to put his foot down by explaining she wasn't going to get everything she wanted in life, but all it took were widening eyes and a protruding bottom lip before he was handing you the truck keys before you could blink.
Annie's attachment to you had surprised everybody, including her. The conversations you and Frankie had had before her arrival usually skirted around the conversation of what your role would be. You knew she was mourning her mother and were wary of trying to replace her, so you had fully expected to take a step back from Frankie's life while he and Annie built their new one together. You had her at apple farm, however, and now the two of you were best buds.
Well, until the six-going-on-sixteen attitude reared its ugly head and suddenly sweet, angelic Annie was replaced by a stubborn, moody, unwilling child who decided that screaming was the best response to negotiations.
For the first couple of months, Frankie had allowed it, not knowing what was normal acting-out behaviour for a kid who had experienced parental loss. He also had a hard time being strict, as he still felt like it wasn't his place; some weird kind of imposter syndrome. However, after Jacquie and Mark had been witness to one such episode, they had gently pulled Frankie aside and encouraged him to find a therapist for Annie and that structure and rules would be beneficial for her.
New routines were set, some of which you were involved in and others were special between Frankie and his daughter. Saturday was movie night, she was asleep by 7:30 so it was more of a movie evening, with popcorn, Twizzlers, and coke floats. You were invited to these, as Annie insisted on educating both adults on which Disney princess was best.
Frankie drove Annie to school every day, he knew he could easily send her on the bus but he needed that extra assurance that she had gotten to school safely. There had been an odd incident, which no other adults seem to have witnessed, where a man had apparently approached Annie and started asking her questions about her parents. 
This had, understandably, upset the girl, and the two of you, but the busy body's identity was never revealed. Frankie had been irate. Initially, he interrogated Annie, asking her for every little detail. Then the bus driver, parking lot attendant, teachers, and other kids were subject to his questioning. He went so far as to request all security video footage from around town, but nothing showed up. Neither of you suspected Annie of lying but it was like the man was a ghost. 
Eventually, it was chalked up to a parent wanting to get the scoop on your and Frankie's lives, as you'd been very private considering your first action as a couple was to practically dry hump on a carnival ride. After that incident causing Frankie's panic attack, and now creeping out a kid, you were a lot less inclined to appreciate the meddling from bored townsfolk even if it did bring the two of you together.
Frankie was always thinking up new ideas to build trust and create new memories for Annie, his guilt at missing out on her toddler years was exasperated by having her now. They created a memory book for her, so she could write down, colour, or paste anything that reminded her of her mom or her life in California. You were secretly building a memory book for the two of them, to show Annie when she was older how hard her dad had worked to become the man she needed him to be.
Twice a week Annie got to pick the recipe and they made dinner together. This usually resulted in a massive mess and only semi-edible food, but the smiles on their faces were worth it.
On Wednesdays, you picked her up and had a girl's afternoon getting something from the bakery and perusing books at the library, making up stories about the people walking by the café windows, or driving over to Jacquie's so Annie could play with her kids.
It was after one such outing when you were dropping Annie off at the farm, that Frankie came out to greet you with a guilty look on his face.
"I'm sorry," he began, rubbing the back of his neck and readjusting his baseball cap. "I didn't look at the caller display before picking up, and then once I was on the phone I got nervous."
"Frankie," you said lowly, dread filling your stomach. "What did you do?"
"I couldn't help it, I panic talked and I don't even know how much I blurted out! She's like Oprah or Barbara Walters! She just knows how to get people talking!"
"I know, Frankie," you ground out, trying not to lose your shit in front of a very interested little girl who has no filter during Sharing Time at school. "That's why we don't answer her calls!"
"But, babe, she's your mom. We can't keep ignoring her-"
"Apparently not!" You didn't realize how frustrated you were before it was too late. Your voice had gone shrill and loud and, judging by the look at Annie's face, angry. Taking a deep, calming breath in you tried smiling at the two of them without it making you look demented, "I need to call her and do some damage control, make sure she doesn't do something rash like-"
"Ahhh..." Frankie was back to looking guilty and you could have sworn your heart stopped. "She knows about Annie. Called herself Grandma. Said that Mother's Day would be extra special this year..?"
"FUuuuuuudge.." you barely managed to withhold the swear, looking at Frankie with a slightly panicked yet amused look on your face.
"It's okay," a little voice piped up, "I know that word. Mom said ‘Fuck’ all the time while we were stuck in traffic."
Part Fifteen - coming soon!
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TAGS: Let’s see if these bitches work...
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moon-kn1ght · 2 years
Text
a prayer.
pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader
 word count: 1.2k warnings: LOTSO Religious symbolism/images; there are prayers said; (if this might upset you, pls do not read); catholic guilt; dom/sub vibes; reader is tied up; sensory play; wax play; basic af p in v; no y/n; 
a/n: this is inspired by the work Psalm by VigilanteAvocado on Ao3 in 2015. i read that and immediately YES MORE so i did this. shout out to that catholic guilt, really powered this piece home. thank you to my wife @wyn-n-tonic for helping me avoid the word "slide" and big thank you to @louderrthanthunderr for bringing me into the daredevil fandom at its resurgence -- this piece is dedicated to you <3 (happy christmas) read more on my masterlist
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You knew he wasn’t the most devout Catholic. At least in the traditional sense.
Like you, he sat in the back rows at Mass. He’d always enter close to the start of the introductory rites, obviously not wanting to make small talk (or not get roped into the New York Young Adult Catholics ministry team). (You too).
He did Wednesdays, not Sundays. He had his habits.
You noticed him before he noticed you (at least you think). It was only after Easter that you saw him looking in your general direction. You had assumed he was looking at you (later you would be proven wrong).
That night, as you were walking out, he approached you. You had thought he left after communion was served.
“Hey.” – he’s simple, catching your attention. It still spooks you, though, thinking you’d made it out of the gauntlet of people asking you to attend the social (re: singles meet & greet) after mass.
“Oh–fu–hey, I’m sorry. Hi.”
“Wow, didn’t you just come from Mass? Already building that list for confession?”
You cover your face with your hands, “Mhm, yep. It’s a bad habit, one that decades of ‘Hail Mary’s’ has not been able to break.”
“I’m Matt,” he offers and you give him your name in return. “So, we both survived the Easter crowds.”
It began with a critique of that night’s homily, then became drinks, then inviting him into your bed that night. A romance from church? No one’s grandma could be prouder (just make sure to leave out the juicier details).
That night he left while you were asleep, so you didn’t get his number. But then next Wednesday, he was sitting in your pew at Mass. And yes, he did end up in your bed again.
Matt’s favorite way to have you? Tied up and blindfolded.
“To level the playing field,” he’d joke. Not that you ever complained.
One time, Matt made you say the Act of Contrition when a tangle of profanity (including a lot of G-d fuck) tumbled out of your lips when you came on his face.
“It’s only right,” he smiled. That planted a seed for him. To him, faith could be explored (and exploited) in more engaging ways.
“Do you feel secure?”
“Green.”
“Good girl–” His adoration sends a tingle across your skin. Anticipation ices your body in goosebumps. “We’re going to play a game tonight, does that sound good?” You think you can feel his hand smoothing out the sheet at the foot of the bed, but his voice sounds closer to you than that.
“Yes Matt.”
“I want you to start praying.” His words bounce off the walls of the room and ring in your ears. “While you pray, I will touch you. When you stop, I stop.”
Oh.
“Can you do that for me?”
Fucking hell Murdock. Now would this truly be considered exploration? Or was this exploitation? Either way, you are all in.
“Yes Matt.”
Matt licks his lips. He can already smell your arousal at this proposition. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You swallow deeply. One thought tracks across the front of your mind: you are so going to hell for this. With an inhale you begin, “Let us remember;”
Matt joins you on the refrain as he sinks his knees into the mattress at your side, “that we are in the Holy Presence of God.” He chuckles and readjusts the positions of your thighs.
“Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit.”
He leans down and kisses your hip. “As it was in the beginning…” He lets his lips drag across the center of your stomach, stopping just short of your [pubic bone] as you finish the Glory Be. A small sound escapes your mouth as you feel his hot breath so close to where you want it.
His body shifts next to yours and you can hear the unmistakable scratch-click-hshhh of a lighter. You twist your wrists in the restraints and dig your fingernails into your palms for some grounding.
“I’m not hearing anything.”
You can smell something – he’s lit a candle, you smell the wick burning. But the candle doesn’t have a specific scent, all you get is the slight smokiness of the fabric string burning.
“Hail Mary, full of grace–” you continue and he immediately replaces his hand against your hip.
“The Lord is with the–” Matt leans into your chest and trails light kisses down your collarbone. His lips blaze a fiery trail across your skin.
Your own words, holy words, ring loudly in your ears but are in reality, barely above a whisper. Matt adds to the quiet cacophony with “I love hearing you say these things for me.” He grazes his teeth against your nipple. “I’m going to add an intense feeling, if you don't want me to just stop speaking.”
Your whispered prayer becomes a plead for more with “Blessed is the fruit of thy womb;”
“Good girl,” he coos with his mouth wrapped around your breast.
It’s not the first time you two have played with wax, one can definitely call it a ‘habit’ of Matt. Still, when the first drip of wax hits your skin, unexpectedly, sharply, you gasp your words. “Holy Mary” becomes a shrill choke for air, of which your lungs are suddenly deprived of.
Matt loves these noises, the visceral way your body responds to foreign sensations when you’re so out of control.
More drips of wax have you writhing in your restraints, practically chanting the final line of “now and at our hour of death, Amen.”
“Matt, please–” you cry.
“I’m here,” his hand gasps yours, “Tell me what you need.” His voice sounds so desperate, almost as wrecked as yours.
“–I need you. I need to feel you.”
Matt unties your hands and you immediately cling to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and nestling the other into his hair.
But you don’t stop the prayers, begging quietly for more of him. You whimper the Our Father into his neck as he pushes inside of you. His thrusts bring your bodies closer together, closer to being one. Near your climax, you hear familiar words on his lips.
He whispers against your skin, “Purify me and I shall be clean; Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.”
Your words cut against each other like rival tides pulling on a shore –
“-- Create in me a clean heart –”
“-- lead us not into temptation,”
The knot in your center tightens and breaks, cutting the stream of your words into a tumble of “yes, G-d yes.”
His thrusts become quicker as you come down from your high, his words muttered. “Deliver me, O God of my salvation–” and he buries himself deep inside you as he too finds his climax.
It’s not until the two of you are curled up in bed later that night do you joke, “Now, how are we supposed to explain that one in confession this week?”
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wheresarizona · 3 years
Text
sweet dreams (are made of this)
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summary: You quit your awful retail job on the spot, and riding that adrenaline high, you decide to finally make your move on Dave York, the guy you babysat for on occasion. You’ve seen how he looks at you, and you know he wants you, too.
rating: E (18+!! This is smut!! It’s Dave York, kinda rough sex, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, vaginal fingering, mild choking, praise, ass and thigh smacks, a glimpse of soft!Dave, Dave touching his lips)
pairing: Dave York x fem!reader
word count: 1884
A/N: This is my first reader fic and my first Dave fic, so please be gentle. Shoutout to @louderrthanthunderr​ for the beta!
Masterlist
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You hated your part-time job. It was in retail at a big name store with horrible management. You were honestly right on the edge of just quitting on the spot and then it happened. The straw that broke the camel’s back, an entitled Karen attempting to make your life a living hell. What she didn’t realize was that you didn’t necessarily need this job. You’d had enough savings you could get away with not working for a couple months and you had a babysitting gig that paid pretty decently for you only doing that on occasional weeknights and weekends. So, you felt an absolute rush telling the woman to go fuck herself and then you were throwing your name tag down on the counter, and turning on your heel and  leaving, only stopping to grab your sweatshirt and bag from the break room. It was this rush that made you brave enough to drive to Dave’s. 
Dave had hired you to help watch his girls sometimes. You were out of college and trying to find a job to use your degree in. Until then, you were working part time jobs and helping out Dave. You’d been crushing on Dave hard ever since you started working for him. He was attractive, very attractive, and good with his kids. He was a divorced guy and you weren’t sure what he was doing when you were babysitting and just assumed he was out and being a single guy. You’d seen how he looked at you and you wished that he’d just make the move already. He was on your mind constantly and you’d gotten off so many times just thinking about his big hands on your body and his lips; you had to admit, you had it bad. So here you were, adrenaline making you brave as you pulled up into his driveway determined to get what you wanted and that was him. 
It was early afternoon, the girls were in school and Dave’s SUV was in the driveway. He was probably working from home. You weren’t scheduled to babysit until the next day. You sat in your car, stripped off your work shirt, leaving you in just a tank top, your khaki pants, and shoes. 
You took a deep breath, psyching yourself up as you made your way up to his door. You could do this. You knocked on the door, your heart thudding in your chest. You heard footsteps on the other side of the door and then it was opening and there he was. He was wearing a light blue long-sleeve button-down shirt and black dress pants. He looked at you for a moment, his brows furrowing. 
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He asked, a smile on his face. 
You’re still riding that adrenaline high as you eye him up and down, clearly checking him out. “I need you to do something for me,” you replied, biting your lip. 
His hand went up to his face, his fingers on his lips, as he watched you. You could tell he was trying to figure out what you wanted. Your eyes lock onto his fingers, pressed against his lips and all you can think about is how you wanted your lips on there. You wanted to nibble his bottom lip. “What do you need?” He finally asked. 
This is the moment where you hoped you hadn’t been reading him wrong. You straightened your spine, looking him in the eye. “You,” you started. A look of surprise crossed his face for only a moment, before he schooled his features. “I need you to fuck me. I want you to absolutely ruin me.” 
He ran his finger across his lip as he watched you. You’re holding your breath, hoping that you didn’t totally fuck this up. You’d just told this guy who you worked for that you wanted him to fuck you. You can feel yourself beginning to panic, but then Dave is moving out of the way of the door and putting out a hand in a gesture to invite you in. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. 
As soon as you’re inside the entryway, you go to turn, not sure what to say next. Dave has closed the door and next thing you know, you’re being pushed up against the wall, Dave’s lips finding yours as one of his big hands lightly wrapped around your throat and the other went to your hip pulling you into him. You can feel him half hard against you and you’re moaning into the kiss, your arms moving up around his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair. The kiss is all tongues and teeth and want. You can feel yourself already wet between your legs. 
Dave nipped at your lip. “This what you want?” He asked against your lips, the fingers around your neck squeezing a little. 
You nod. 
“Say it,” he said in a commanding tone, voice raspy, his eyes dark, and you whimper, your pussy clenching around nothing. 
“I want you to fuck me,” you said, just above a whisper, getting lost in the feeling of his body so close to yours. 
Dave leaned forward, kissing you softly, before leaning back to look you in the eye. “Good girl. Come with me.” He stepped back from you, grabbing your hand leading you through the house to his bedroom. “Strip,” he said, once you’d arrived. You didn’t have to be asked twice. You quickly started shedding your clothes, watching Dave as he unbuttoned his shirt, and took it off, followed by his undershirt. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his bronzed skin and his broad shoulders. You wanted to lick up his neck and feel his pulse against your tongue. You were down to just your panties and bra and he was eyeing you up like you were a meal and he was a starving man. His hand went to his pants, the clear outline of his erection there, and you gulped realizing that he was big, bigger than you’d ever had before. Dave’s lips turned up in a smirk at the look on your face. “Get on the bed,” he said, as he discarded his pants leaving him in just his boxer briefs. 
You did as he asked, getting into the center of the big bed, your legs falling open and then he was crawling up your body, kissing across your stomach, and chest, nipping at your skin until he got to your breasts, taking off your bra. He pulled a nipple into his mouth. It felt fantastic as he lightly grazed the nub with his teeth. You feel yourself getting worked up. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. You’re gasping at the feeling, your hands tugging on the sheets. He came off your nipple with a pop and then sucked a mark into the top of your breast. His lips finally make their way back onto yours and you moan into the kiss, one of his hands trailing down your body and into your panties. You know you’re drenched, so turned on by what was happening. 
Dave groaned as he slipped two fingers through your slick folds, feeling how wet you were. “All this for me?” He asked. He had a smirk on his face that told you he knew it was because of him. 
You nod, biting your lip. “Yes, Dave. All for you.” 
You gasp when he circles your clit roughly, your hips jerking. “So responsive,” David purred as he leaned back in to kiss you. His fingers move from your clit to your entrance, teasing the opening before he’s dipping inside. You moan at the stretch, and then his thumb is rubbing your clit, and you feel the pleasure building. He crooks the fingers inside of you finding that devastating spot and it isn’t long before you're falling over the edge, your pussy clenching around his fingers, his name falling from your lips, as you come on his fingers. “Good girl,” Dave said, his voice low. He moved his hand from your panties and made sure that you’re watching as he licked your come from his digits, groaning at the taste of you. 
“Oh my god,” you whisper. Your brain is fuzzy from the orgasm, but you can feel more arousal pooling in your abdomen. 
“You taste so good, better than I imagined. Let’s see how you feel around my cock.” He slapped your thigh, making you yelp. “Hands and knees.” 
You do as he asked, getting into position, your legs a bit shaky from your orgasm. Dave pulled your panties down your thighs, then rubbed his hands over your ass before giving you a slap to your right ass cheek. You moan, the pain feeling good. David soothes the spot with his hand. You felt his cock nudge against your ass and then he was lining up with your entrance. You both groaned as he entered you. The stretch was delicious but before you know it, he’s pulling out, and slamming back into you. He sets up a punishing pace, his hips slamming into your ass. You’re moaning, feeling like you’re being absolutely split open, pleasure racketing through your body, when he adjusts his angle to hit that devastating spot inside you with every stroke. Dave’s big hand finds its way around your neck, pulling you up against his chest as he continues to rail into you. 
“Is this how you wanted to be fucked?” He grunted, against your ear. You’re so lost in how good he feels it takes you a second to respond. Dave tightened his hold around your throat a little bit to get your attention. 
“Yes! Yes!” You pant. You can feel yourself getting close.  
“Touch yourself. I want you to come on my cock.”
You start rubbing your clit. Everything becomes too much and you scream as you come hard, your vision whiting out, your pussy constricting on his cock like a vice. 
“That’s a good girl,” Dave purred against your ear, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Tell me where to come.”
Your mind is still reeling from the amazing orgasm before you finally respond. “Inside! Come in me.” 
“You want me to fill you up?” He grunted between thrusts. 
“Yes! Please.” 
He’s grunting as he continues hammering in you until finally he’s finding his release, holding you against him as he pulsed inside of you. 
You’re both breathing heavily. You whimper when he slipped out of you, feeling his come drip down your thighs. He helped you lie down on the bed, him pulling you into his arms as he spooned you from behind. 
“You okay?” He murmured against your ear, his hand rubbing against your arm. 
You were better than okay. You felt absolutely blissed out and satisfied. 
“Feel fantastic,” you said, your words a bit slurred. 
Dave chuckled. “This was a surprise,” he said as placed a kiss on your hair. 
“Felt brave.”
“I’m glad it happened.” 
You moved in his arms to face him, looking up at his face. “So, you’d be willing to do this again?” You asked, biting your lip. 
Dave’s eyes darkened, his hand coming up to cup your face. “Sweetheart, I’m not done with you yet.” 
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