#my brain just keeps coming back to this one verse over and over

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion and his s/o getting into a sass competition where Astarion ends up confessing to her by accident and now he's all flustered?

Astarion x Reader

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m not exactly as well versed into taking these off as I am in putting them on, darling.” Astarion quipped at you as he fiddled with the lock on your cuffs.

Being somewhat of an anti-hero liaisons these days, the group had been pinched on some trumped up but completely true & legal charges of petty theft and larceny. Your options were fight, flight, or get arrested when confronted by the guards and charges. And since you couldn’t fight a whole city’s worth of Iron Fists, and running also seemed unplausible as you’d have to come back to the city sometime, you decided to take you lumps and went to jail. Luckily, where there’s a will there’s a way. Or in this case: a vampire with a lockpick up his sleeve.

“Why did you wait to do me last anyway? Just to see me suffer?”

“Well,” Astarion cooed, “it does have a certain visual appeal.”

You clicked your teeth and rolled your eyes. “Could you just hurry up? I’m starting to lose the feeling in my hands. All the blood is rushing out of them.”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, if you want my blood again, you should be more sympathetic to my pain.” You told him. Sighing heavily as one arm was free and Astarion moved on to the other one.

“Don’t you threaten me. Besides, if you won’t give me what I want, I’ll just move on to some other lucky companion in our camp.”

“Ha! Like anyone else would have you.”

Astarion frowned. “I’ll have you know that there are plenty of people who would welcome my teeth at their necks. Hundreds. Thousands!”

“Yeah. One blood obsessed drow and…who was the other one you tricked again?” You pulled at the shackles, which jiggled the irons and knocked the lockpick free, but unbroken. The vampire growled at you.

“I tricked you easy enough, didn’t I?”

“Only because I took pity on you.”

“Pity?!”

“Yeah.” You told him. “That poor, sad, puppy dog ‘please feed me’ look was just something I couldn’t say no to.”

Astarion growled again. “That is not how it happened. Besides, if you didn’t like it you wouldn’t keep asking for more.”

“Oh sure. Blame the victim.”

“You are not a victim!” He snapped at you. He seemed a little wounded by that one. Maybe you went a little too far. “Gods.” He cursed under his breath with a frown. “You are lucky I love you so much, otherwise I would just leave you here, chained up, and never bite you again. No matter how much you begged me.”

The lock finally snapped open and your arm fell to the side. You lifted it to rub your wrist but were uncharacteristically silent.

“Would it have been too much to expect a thank you??”

“Did you just say you love me?”

Astarion froze for a moment. A little wide eyed at your question. He seemed to be racking his brain for a moment. Trying to remember the conversation before an ‘Oh. Shit.’ expression came over his face. “What? Oh, that. Figure of speech darling, of course.” He let out a single nervous cough after that and a rushed, “let’s go meet up with the other.” Before he turned on his heels and made a speedy exit.

You rub your wrist one more time as a soft, shy smile came to your lips behind his back. You follow after him and meet up with the others. Waiting just outside the prison for the two of you, as apparently just around the corner was enough of an escape from the mighty Iron Fist.

“Ah! I just love this fresh air.” You exclaim, followed by more comments on how dusty & dank your cell had been, but really just watching Astarion’s shoulders tense.

You spent the rest of the day subversively tormenting Astarion. Making comments on how much you loved the weather, or loved a dress in a window. How much you loved dinner that night. How much you loved getting a good night’s rest that night.

By the time everyone had gone off to their respective tents for the evening, Astarion had apparently had enough and slunk up to yours. “I know what you’re doing. Now stop it!” He hissed.

“But I thought you’d love it.”

“Stop it!” He hissed again. If he could right now, he would blush. You were tempted to let him feed on you for a moment to get the full effect. “I mean it! How would you like it if I threw every verbal misstep in your face? I don’t keep bringing up the time you said Ibis instead of Ignis, now do I??”

It was pretty funny when that bird showed up.

“So, are you upset that you said it and I’m teasing of you, or are you upset that you didn’t mean it and I keep bringing it up?” You honestly didn’t know which answer would be worse at this point. You felt bad you had wounded his pride to the point that he came to talk to you. But you also don’t think you could take it if he told you that he didn’t love you.

Astarion just stood there for a moment, thinking, before he sighed and waved you off. “Just…knock it off ok. I’ve had quite enough today. I’m going to get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turned to walk away and just before he fell out of ear shot you called to him. “Hey Astarion,” he looked back over his shoulder at you, “I love that you could come and talk to me about this.”

He huffed, but you could see the corners of his mouth struggling to keep down. “Oh shut up.”

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate scenarios #bg3 imagine #bg3 scenarios

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the mood i'm in ❞ ─ an adhd chronicles blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!adhd!reader. summary: sometimes rearranging a whole entire closet is a biological need. content warnings: fluff, adhd antics (i'm diagnosed don't try to come for me) word count: 600+. a/n: this was requested by @ficmeoutofthisworld and i felt the need to make a blurb!verse of it, so expect more fluff for these three 🩵 & the idea of jack calling you honey came from honey is for love by @angellsell

“daddy, honey has that weird look again.” aaron can’t help but smile at his little boy, putting the files he was working on down on his desk, telling him to come closer with his hands. jack had gotten into the habit of calling you honey very early on in your relationship, that being one of the pet names aaron used the most when talking to you. it was too endearing to correct him, even after you moved in. you both just let the boy be, knowing that he would call you by name once he got older.

you didn’t mind him not calling you mom or any of its variants, even if the relationship you shared now was much alike mother and child, jack didn’t remember a lot of haley by himself, he was too little, but aaron always did his best to keep her memory alive in him, so if for his young mind it was easier to call you a pet name, you would take it every single time with a smile. and so would aaron. 

“what look, buddy?” he asks even though he’s sure he knows the answer, having been through that a few times over the last two years. 

“she’s staring at my stuff and sitting on the floor.” bingo. every once in a while you would get obsessed with something, it made sense after you were diagnosed with adhd and he learnt how to accommodate you properly, but for a while it was just a big clash of his organized and controlling nature and your chaotic mind. 

“let’s see what she needs, okay?” jack nods, leading the way with his dad closely behind. they find you exactly as his boy explained to him, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor, staring at his wardrobe so attentively it might scare the unknown eye. 

“darling? what’s going on?” he asks without entering the room, not wanting to invade your space before you called him in, instead he decided to lean on the door frame, observing you with his kind eyes.

“i want to rearrange all of jack’s clothes but we need more hangers for that and i don’t want to go to the store just to buy hangers, but i also can’t get up to go to the kitchen and check what else we need.” you answered quickly, finishing your ramble with a huff, dropping your shoulders and looking at your fiancé with a pout that made him get closer to you, offering his hands so you could have some support while getting up, you lazily do it, being embraced by him as soon as your feet touch the ground. 

“go watch something with jack, okay?” his tone is always soft, as if your conversations, even the silliest and mundane ones, were secrets for you two to keep. he knew you too well, so he prevented the whine he knew would come–you wanted to get this done, you needed to rearrange jack’s clothes or the itch in your brain wouldn’t leave–and he did so by holding both of your cheeks with his hands, making you look at him. “i’ll make the shopping list and then you both can go to target while i get some reports done.” you nod happily, his hands moving with your head. 

telling you to watch something with jack could seem like a mindless choice of words, but it wasn’t, aaron knew you were feeling stuck and how bad that made you feel, you needed a dopamine kick before you could do something, and no better way for that than colorful silly shows with your favorite boy.

by the time he’s done with the shopping list, you had already started another important project: napping on the couch with jack. so he leaves it attached with a magnet on the fridge, gives you both soft forehead kisses and goes back to work, not minding the fact he did it quickly for no reason, happy you were resting and that it was done for when you decided to shop.

#lari writes sometimes #i dont proof read shit ever btw #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

[lacybunie]

i cry, i pray, mon dieu!

“lord, give me one more chance!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, blasphemy, mentions of virginity loss, dubcon, slapping, religious reader, oral (male receiving), facefucking, corruption, rough sex, semi-public sex, degrading, manipulation, mind break, fucking in a church, crying during sex, creampie, biting, porn with plot (again), mean leon, ooc leon (again x2)

note: part 2 of adieu, mon dieu! he says the thing in this!!! :P

the tears streaming down your painted cheeks form a hot puddle below your feet, a glimpse into eternal hell. “do not be afraid to confess, my child. the lord shall forgive you.” the priest on the other side reassures but it only has you heaving for air as this confined space grows smaller around you. you cannot bear the pain that is confessing the betrayal you committed to your heavenly father just four days ago. nor can you bear to confess that you enjoyed it.

the moment you stepped into this temple for mass, flames sparked throughout the veins of your heart like a wildfire. the blood and body of your god tastes bitter and foul, threatening to come back up and escape your unclean body. each verse, each preaching, each word is a twisted stab into your soul. if hell is anything like being punished right now, you would rather suffer the most torturous death over and over.

“forgive me, i can’t.” you manage to choke out before stumbling out the confessional booth, almost falling over your feet in front of sister olivia. your mind drowns out what she’s saying, for the better or worse. the burning in your chest leads you outside to be embraced in the arms of your damned lover. the warmth of leon engulfs you, your brain scrambles for the familiarity. you clutch onto him tightly as he’s the only thing keeping you from falling. “you’re alright, sweetheart.” he reassures, his words bathe you in serenity.

his comfort is medicine for the painful wound in your heart. a hazy halo casts around his head from your teary-eyed vision, you hiccup gibberish as his lips gently kiss your head. “you can try again in a few.” leon grins at you, eyes suffocating yours. his scent of coffee and honey is a warm blanket covering your trembling form. gently wiping at the tears flowing down your cheeks, leon looks at you as if you’re as delicate as the rosary he ripped away from you. “i’ll go with you, yeah?” you nod wearily at the proposition as you get into leon’s jeep.

for the past 96 hours, you are attached to leon’s hip like a parasite latched onto its host. the paranoia that is being alone without him constantly has you in a frantic state. too petrified that the lord will send you to hell without him. your father is probably damning your soul to hell for disobeying every rule he’s enforced. leon is safer to be with, to confide in, to speak to. with the ghost of a smirk that prominently rests on his lips, you can tell leon doesn’t mind.

the parking lot is covered in a lilac veil, the sun fading into a crescent moon. your eyes divert to the cross atop the church’s roof, to the few cars dispersing in the lot, and to your priest finally walking out the building. saturday night mass is over, all that’s left is leon and you. eyes flicker to meet his as the church bell loudly chimes. “i’m scared.” “you have me, angel.” leon faintly smiles, caressing the side of your face. your tooth could ache from how sweet leon is.

hastily making your way pass the large doors of the church, the fragrance of the incense burns your nose so much that you might just vomit. the once comforting scent now revolting. you grab a hold of leon’s hand when you approach the dark oak booth, body filling with dread. “you okay?” you can hear leon whisper, his hand soothing the lower half of your back. the faint shadows of blues and reds from the stained windows cover his face. the aesthetics of this cathedral cannot compare to him.

“can you come in with me?” a soft plead escapes your mouth. thinking it’s such a silly request as your priest is not around to hear your sins but it’s for the best that he doesn’t. you look back to the booth, beams of light along with a large cross carved carefully into its wood. the pit of your stomach is burning with anxiety, lightning striking down on you would be more comforting. the temperature of your body rises a little too high when you look towards leon whose lips are pulled into a smirk. you feel weaker, smaller under his gaze. a sheep tethered in sharp teeth. “of course, sweetheart.”

leon enters the booth before you, taking up the seat in the cramped space. his stare is locked on you when his legs spread open, practically inviting you to sit on him. you don’t break the stare while dragging your feet into the confined space, shutting the heavy door behind you. there’s an indescribable look swirling in leon’s eyes, that look muffles out all thoughts you have. it’s almost hypnotic like leon is purposefully trying to trap you. you can’t seem to pull yourself out of it.

leon hums lowly as you shyly shuffle your way towards him, fiddling with the purity ring that still rests on your finger. “is it okay if i sit on your lap?” the heat of your cheeks are so hot and red asking the question that leon only chuckles at you. “you’ve done worse.” your throat burns at the remark, there’s a lingering tinge in your chest from earlier that grows stronger as you are reminded that this is far from the worse thing you’ve done. leon grasps your wrist to pull you onto his lap, his hands find solace on your waist.

“go on, angel. confess to your god.” leon mutters against your exposed skin that peaks from your dress. butterflies faintly flutter around in your lower abdomen, a feeling you know all too well. its difficult to get your words out when leon begins to knead at your waist, for your comfort or his own purpose. you blur out the feeling as you close your eyes and put your hands in prayer. “forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!” you cry out, heart beating hard against your ribs.

“i have betrayed you, my lord. i gave into temptation and gave into lust. it was gluttonous of me. i’m sorry for betraying you, i know what i have done is terrible.” a cold touch on your bare thigh has you choke on your words, your teary eyes open to see leon bunching up your dress to caress your thighs. “leon?” you whimper, tears cascading down your dampen cheeks. “finish it.” leon demands, his voice raspy. you look over at him, there’s a faint glint in his eyes. the butterflies in your stomach multiply in twos and threes.

“i said, finish it.” leon warns as his hands spread you open, something he knows how to do very well. you close your eyes once again as a sudden rush to your body has the blood in your heart pump harder. “please forgive me, i beg so desperately for your forgiveness.” “pathetic.” there’s a soft rub of a finger on your clothed cunt. you swallow the moan that’s trying to force its way out of your parted lips. “please, leon.” you want him to stop but you can’t bring yourself to rip away from him. “tell em’ what you did.” leon scoffs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

lips quiver from the little ecstasy leon grants you. oh how infinitely doomed you must be for committing such lewd acts in this very temple. the sight could cause hysteria if anyone were to open the door right now. “i had premarital sex with my lover. i’m so sorry, my lord. i’m sorry for indulging and enjoying sin.” leon rubs your covered clit harshly, your body is burning. “i’m sorry for losing my virginity to a man that’s not my husband. i’m sorry for-” “getting your brains fucked out.” leon interrupts, there’s a quick smack to the skin of your thigh.

you don’t fully process leon pushing you off his lap just as you don’t realize how quick you are to get on your knees before him. leon roughly grabs at your face, squishing your cheeks as if you’re a child getting scolded. “no god will forgive you for being a dirty slut.” leon grits through his teeth, delivering pathetic slaps to your face. a buzzing in your head soon reaches your cunt with each hit. “apologizing for getting your pussy ripped open when i told you it was okay.” “i’m sorry, leon.” you muffle out a sob, knees burning against the aging wood.

“you’re so fucking pathetic.” leon roughly pushes you away, tears blur your vision as you cannot fathom the anger he’s bearing onto you. you had betrayed him, sobbing out your regret right in front of him. your heart is imprinting itself on your chest from the pounding, you cowardly crawl back towards him. “i’m sorry, leon! please forgive me.” your hands tremble to grab his, crying harder than before. “so damn whiny, i need to shut that fucking mouth.” leon unbuckles his belt in a haste, just like he did a few days prior.

leon’s hard cock hits his lower abdomen, you’re dazed at the sight. he says something muffled before grabbing your face and shoving his cock into your mouth, eliciting a muffled gasp from you. your jaw slacks so naturally that it’s hard to believe this is your first time doing this. the now restricted air burns the branches in your lungs like cigarette smoke. your tears cascade down to his exposed thigh, he fucks your throat as if you’re nothing yet everything.

“look at you, slobbering on that cock.” leon grunts, roughly snapping his hips into your face. you unknowingly moan around him, watching a smile creep onto his lips in response. his fingers are tangled in your hair, a sweet sting from the pulling has whimpers escaping your stuffed throat. “making me feel so good, should’ve done this earlier.” leon chuckles, eyes burning through you. your body fights to stay conscious as your oxygen is running terribly low yet you do not seem to mind it. passing out from giving your lover pleasure, what a heavenly way to go.

there’s a craving leon fills as he fucks your mouth, that craving you first had a few nights ago. always wanting more of him, yearning for that feeling he gives you when you reach pure euphoria. no matter how hard you’ve searched to find it in something else, you can not. no amount of bible studies or mass will ever fill your craving. it seems it only resides in leon, and how selfless will you be if you keep depriving yourself from it.

“nasty fucking girl.” leon sighs while freeing his cock from your warm mouth, slapping the tip against your puffy lips. your body is on fire, knees gushing out blood from the rough wood, but the way leon makes you feel is divine. you temporarily taste your salty tears before he shoves his fat cock back into your salivating mouth, throat burning as it gets stretched out. the sight of you would have you crucified in front of the church, so selfish and greedy that you have betrayed your heavenly father again in his own temple.

“doing such a good job, should fuck that pussy of yours.” you moan at the praise, looking up at him in admiration. leon’s face contorts in pure bliss as you hum around his cock, not noticing the crucifix above him shaking to a tilt. your cunt squeezes around nothing as you obediently take him. the feeling of your throat convulsing around leon has him moan out a symphony. “come here.” he pulls you off to sit you atop of his lap, back against his chest. your lips glisten in the candlelit cubicle of your own saliva, shining in the same way as when you drink the blood of christ.

you watch leon fully rip off your dove white panties to expose your drenched cunt. there’s a fuzziness in your brain, like a broken tv displaying static. “i’ll bring you salvation.” leon mutters while slapping the tip of his cock against your cunt. your fingers grip at the hand that’s around your throat when he teases your sopping hole, temporarily depriving you of your craving. “i’ll give you a holy body.” he whispers softly in your ear as he roughly shoves his fat cock into your cunt. hot tears blur your vision once more as leon answers your prayers.

the moans escaping your chest ricochets off the oak walls and straight back into your mouth. leon is fucking you so harshly that you can’t breathe without moaning. his cock abuses your poor cervix that you think you’ll faint if he keeps going. “there’s my pretty girl.” leon’s fingers messily rub your clit, your heartbeat becomes erratic. your eyes pry open to wearily watch as his cock disappears into your cunt, the sight making you dizzy. “got yourself so wet for me.” “god.” you blabber out with drool coating your mouth, too fucked out already, too gone.

there’s a pitiful slap to your rose tinted cheeks, it only makes the coil in your stomach tighten. “bet you missed this. all those tears and prayers will never save you from being a dirty little girl.” leon taunts while biting your neck, drawing the smallest trickle of blood. his tongue laps at your neck while your lungs are filled with fire as leon’s grip on your throat loosens just for a moment. his cock repeatedly hits that sweet spot, your body is going numb from the euphoria. “i can save you, i’m all you need.”

the coil in your stomach seemingly snaps already, whether at leon’s words or his cock ruthlessly pounding your insides, you don’t know for sure. you’re gasping for air, body stupidly shaking at the strong rush of dopamine coming out of your cunt. “leon.” you whine loudly, clawing at his wrist as he doesn’t stop fucking your brains out. this feeling is so much stronger than the first time that the circuit of your brain seems to rewire itself, you’re completely and utterly broken.

“there you go, pretty. all over my cock just like that.” leon hooks his arms around your thighs, finally letting your throat breathe in the hot air. your brain is melted, the only thought you have is leon and his cock. tears stain your eyes as leon pounds deeper into you, not letting your body rest just yet. ears filled with the wet sounds of skin on skin and your own moans. the candles mounted on the oak walls are extinguished, the image of your heavenly father above the doorframe views you with disgust.

“no god will ever make you feel this good.” leon grunts, voice raspy and heavy. “only you, leon.” you manage to say, breaking eye contact with the painting pitifully judging you as you lose yourself in leon. his cock hitting every single spot in repeated thrusts, stars are in your eyes at the indescribable feeling your body is currently drowning in. “only you, only you, only you.” you chant in a lust filled mantra, gripping at the oak walls as leon pounds your cunt harder.

“only me, huh? you’re so fucked.” leon muffles his chuckle into your shoulder, sliding a hand down to your cunt once again. you pathetically make an attempt to stop him from rubbing harsh circles into your clit, already overstimulated enough. “leon, don’t.” you sob as you feel the coil about to snap again. the plead falls on deaf ears, leon bites into your skin while rubbing messy circles on your clit. your cries are broken into scattered moans when leon roughly hits that sweet spot in your cunt, making the coil snap for the second time.

the wave of bliss has you speechless, throat releasing nothing but breathless moans. your body thrashes as the ecstasy you’re receiving is unreal. “such a good girl.” rings in your ears as you feel the hot essence of leon’s cum filling you to the point of fullness. he desperately rids himself of every drop, groaning into the nape of your neck. your throat burns as you moan faintly, like liquid to a sore throat. leon grabs your face to immediately kiss your bruised lips, grasping your limp body into a tight hold. the taste of blood falls onto your tongue, your blood.

“i’m all you need.” leon repeats onto your lips, staring into your eyes and straight through your soul. that familiar glint in his eyes has your heart beating haphazardly. you believe he is the only thing you ever need, your heavenly father will never give you such pleasure as leon does. your heavenly father will never be leon. you mindlessly nod, giddily smiling at leon before kissing his lips, relishing in your newfound faith.

you found god and he’s leon.

#leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 smut #leon kennedy imagine #omfg how do i tag this!!!!

[bloodandthestars]

・✧ — 𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

tags: NO SPOILERS!, antihero! reader? i guess?, mention of blood, takes place before across the spider-verse, will be edited, one mention of something sexual but nonetheless mdni anything else I’ll let you read to find out <3

author’s note: helllooooo everyone! this is the longest thing i’ve written for my blog yet. he’s been rotting my brain heavily and i needed it to spill out somewhere. do let me know if you enjoy what’s implied and if you’d like more. a lil vague incase there is a future series. I love this but at the same time……anyways- translations and taglist are at the bottom of the post. enjoy!

wc: 4.5k :: masterlist next

BZZT. BZZT.

“Miguel,” You purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s Important.”

It always was. “…And what kind of call is this?”

“Work-related.”

You hum. “Pity.”

“You still have ways into Oscorp?”

“Always do.”

“Good, I got a job for you. Meet at the usual spot at 9.”

A chill runs down your spine from the light wind passing through the night. You awaited your contract atop the Alchemax building, looking down at the neon lit city below. It was bright with cybernetic blues and greens, every now and then you could hear a hover car or two whirl by, only to miss it blend into the rest of the blurs flying by. The sight could never bore you, not in how it could change every day. That was the nuance of Nueva York, after all. Nothing ever rests, not even the wicked.

Nor the man that lands behind you with a thud of his feet and a slight grunt. He walks to your side in silence, taking in the city as you do. The sharp points of his eyes narrow. “You’re sure you’ll be able to get in this time?”

You turn to send him a look. Your hand raises as a drive twirls around your finger. “If you thought I couldn’t, you wouldn’t have hired me.”

He lets out a dry huff you take as amusement. His head turns to look at you. “Alright, you got me there.”

You barely catch the way his hand flies out to grab the device from your hand. His reflexes were always quick, but in this rare moment, you were just a bit quicker. Your hand is mere centimeters away from his in the air, catching you both in surprise. Your shocked expression slowly turns to one of accomplishment. His mask shifts, but knowing him, he was deadpanning under it. You chuckle, placing the drive in a pouch among many holstered onto your thigh. His eyes drag up from it’s placement to your eyes. You place a hand to your hip. “You ready?”

He places a foot to the edge of the roof. “Will you be able to keep up?”

Now it was your turn to huff, placing a prepared foot out as well. “Always.”

He gives you a final look, a lingering one you can’t quite place your finger on. He takes off and you’re quick to follow. The route felt routine to you both at this point, jumping over small spaces between buildings that eventually begin to stretch in distance. Your feet rush in a dash, swiftly jumping over over air conditioners. Miguel takes to running on the side of the buildings before webbing back to the rooftops alongside you. The two of you move when a roof entrance divides you, the heroine using his webs to ease his momentum after jumping over another conditioner back to your side. You slide under piping, coming up to jump in unison to the final rooftop. He lands on his feet, while you need to roll to slow yourself down. Both of you rise at the same time, looking up to the greenly lit skyscraper with geometric lettering spelling ‘OSCORP’ on its side.

“Which floor?”

He responds with a nod to the higher top of the building. “84th.”

You tilt your head to think. “We’ll have to climb the back side of the building. There are enforced windows starting at level 80.”

You feel a hand on your waist, causing your head to whip in his direction. You had to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes. “Thought you said this was work-related?”

“Hush, descarada. You know what I’m doing.”

You roll your eyes, discontent with him ruining your fun. You hook your leg at his waist and he moves his hand to lower back to keep you stable. With one arm he’s able to secure you at his hip. You hook your arms around his neck and you both look up at each other. Curse how close he is and the way his voice gets low to affirm to you. “You good?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

His free hand shoots out a web, not wasting time with flying through the air. No matter how many times you’ve swung with him during an operation, your grip still tightens around him in a sudden jolt once you’re flying through gravity. The rush used to take your bones in a wave of nausea, but now it’s all adrenaline that flows through your body. You hoped that was why your heart quickened just then.

Miguel goes by your instructions, swing to the back of the building. From there, he gets you both to the windows of the 80th floor. You let out a breath of relief at the emptiness of the lab. Pulling your gadget from your other thigh holster. It had a metal hook at its end and with one push of a button, it closes in its claws for something thinner with a green light atop it. Your thumb rolls back the dial on its side, clicking another button. In a green flash, the two of you are inside the lab floor, silent and desolate. Your gadget goes back to your thigh, turning over your shoulder for any signs of trouble.

“Are you ever gonna tell me where you got that thing?”

You turn to look at him, a playful shrug rolling off your shoulders. “You looking to buy one?”

He sets his hands in the air, immediately shaking his head. “Nevermind-”

“I mean if you really are looking to, I can get you set up-”

“No, no, I already know wherever you got it, I don’t need nor do I want to know.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Miguel? Breaking one of his rules— what was it again?” You place a hand under your chin. “Oh yes, ‘don’t ask questions’?”

“And you’re all the more reason why the rule still applies.”

You both reach the emergency stairs however, a handprint was needed to unlock the door. You pull a small glowing blue rectangle that looks similar to glass. A press of your thumb and a hologram emits from it. You give it a swipe, the image shifting through dozens of handprints. You stop at a familiar bulky one. Facing the glass device to the lock, it takes the holographic limb into its code and clicks to unlock.

“How does it know it’s real?”

“You lurk around the underground long enough, and you’ll see that people are in the market for all kinds of things.” You place the glass back into your pocket. “Holographic or fake skin included.”

Miguel raises a brow— not to say it wasn’t possible. He’s sure that with the right elements, tools, it could be possible. But how people got ahold things like that weren’t out of the highly advanced labs he worked in, he didn’t know. The thought only made his stomach turn. Maybe he should stick to his own rules.

You both head up the steps, going from level 80 to level 84. From the window of the door, the two of you peer out to see an empty floor. It was safe to say that it seemed too easy. Only a few guards patrolling up and down in their routines. You look to Miguel, who looks right back at you. You shrug. “There’s always a patrol going on.”

He looks back to the glass. “Seems more than usual.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re starting to notice a few things going missing.”

“….Maybe.”

You tilt your head at him. “What? You can’t take them?”

His head turns to you, the red of his mask narrowing. “I can take them.”

You smile at his annoyed tone, patting his strong shoulder.

The hallway is silent for the six guards on duty tonight, say for the air conditioner buzzing in the background. Guns are held strong in their grip, pacing back and forth in their routine.

THWHIP!

Three lines of webs block the muzzles of three guns. The guards get tense, looking up to see where the webs came from. They didn’t have time to think, much less act— the lines steal their weapons from their hands, clanking to the ground along with a guard. The other three guards turn, only for their muzzles to be stuffed with webs as well. You slide past the first three, going for the second row. In your hands were clear cut batons, whacking at two guards’ knees. Your baton lets out a hard crack from an upper cut from below and dropping a guard in an instant. You use your hand to balance yourself as your calves lock around the other guard’s neck. You flip him down to the ground, landing you in a kneeled position to throw your baton into the nose of the final upcoming guard.

With a hard smack, he goes to the ground. You stand on your feet, walking over to grab the baton. You turn to Miguel, who’s got his three guards tied up. You look down to the baton, a red liquid causing your stomach to fall. Turning back, you see the guard’s nose as the source. Panic settles in your head, until you see his chest rise and fall. You let out a sigh of relief, quickly wiping the blood off of on the latex of your thigh. You look up to see Miguel, who finally turns to you after you it clean. You share a look to each other before you shrug. “Poor bastards.”

You both begin walking to down the hall to the entrance when he responds. “Never saw it coming.”

The steel doors greet you with shiny meshed reflections of your bodies. You use the holographic glass again, and the doors slide open with a cool hiss. The lab was vast, with a control center in the middle with scaled monitors larger than you both. They light the space in a light blue hue spreading to its very corners. You both approach the system after a cautious walk.

“Think it’s my turn to show off.” The spiderman pulls his wrist device into view, displaying a small gold hologram and pressing away at data.

You lean back with the computer behind you, arms crossed. “Oh really?”

“Mhm.”

“Was I showing off before?” You ask with a playful tone.

He huffs at your words, tapping away until his tech. After a moment, his hand goes out. You know he wants the drive, but making things easy for him was never something that entertained you. Your finger raises with the drive’s key ring around it, waving it. “Please?”

“Do you take anything seriously?”

“None of that sounded like please.”

You sense another deadpan across his face. You roll your eyes, throwing into his grasp. “Don’t act like you’re not familiar with the word, now.”

He starts a little, whipping his head back to the computer system. You hear him grumble under his breath, something along the lines of “-mierda, me llevarás a la tumba-”

It causes you to let out another laugh for the night, a sound that he’s gotten used to.

You watch as he plugs the drive into an insert in the computer’s system. Various windows of information pop up on the monitors, lines of words you don’t exactly understand in a quick scan from your eyes before it vanishes. It wasn’t your job to know anyhow. Whatever a client needed, whatever he hires you for, is a trade of information for his eyes only. That never stopped your curiosity however.

You look away, eyes set to the steel doors. A ponding in your chest for the unexpected, only soothed somewhat with his company next to you in the long moment of silence.

The look on your face soon narrows as he’s still at work. “Almost done?”

“Yeah, just waiting for it to give me access.”

“To?”

“A chip.” He states plainly.

You open your mouth to ask more questions, only for you to be stopped by his body tensing. You raise a brow to him and you follow his line of sight back to the steel doors. The two of you remain eerily still, awaiting what was the cause for his tension. It was quiet, but you knew better than to trust that over his enhanced senses. You both glance to each other with caution.

You start. “Is someone-”

He tenses much worse this time, on guard in a flash. “Yes, they’re outside the door with-!”

The doors open and from its crack is thrown a silver canister. As soon as it hits the ground, a clouded air is released. Your nerves feel like they’ve gone ablaze. A hiss cuts into your thoughts, causing you both to turn to the computer. A capsule releases from system, and you grab what you assume is the chip he needs. The smoke only grows larger in size. Before you can say a word, he gets close, a hand over your nose and mouth. He tells you in a low voice of urgency. “Behind the computer, now.”

You both move quickly, his hand still atop your face. Placing your backs to the monitors, you try and take a moment to regain your mind for a plan. It’s difficult when you feel your heart try to rip out of your chest. Your eyes glance up to him as his body remains close to yours, an ear out to the approaching sounds.

“We’re going to have to-”

A clank sound interrupts him as another canister lands right in front of you both. Smoke begins to seep out of it at a rapid pace. Your throat began to burn, eyes watering as you tried to force down a cough. It was no use, you erupt with the sound out of reflex. He looks to you. “Don’t-”

His spider senses take in the next one being thrown and shoves you to the other side of the lab. He kicks the second one far from either of you. When the third one flies in the air, a web grabs hold of it and throws it back over the computer, where grunts and yells could be heard. In the mists of getting control of your vision, you hear him yell to you. “Go! The stairs!”

You scrape up to your feet, and the last thing he sees of you is your fleeing backside.

Miguel was a natural in situations under pressure. He had been in labs with mixtures of chemicals that would have to be settled in seconds, fought against robots and maniacs. He could handle this.

His face remained focused, shooting out webs as soon as an idea flew through his head. The sticky components lands on a lab stool, and with a grunt, he swings it into the back of the computer monitor. It flickers in its blue light, cracking and falling in the way of the assailants. He turns, eyes darting around the environment. His eyes light up to the emergency exit, with no other choice but to push through it.

A climb of walls, a sling from webs up the steps, and the Spider-man busts the rooftop door. Whirls of technology snap his attention to what’s in front of him— light blaring in his face with a large amount of guards surrounding him.

Miguel was a natural in situations under pressure. He’s done plenty of operations, fought when the world was a blur around him hundreds of feet in the sky. A wave of guards what a slight to his determination, but his mind…was elsewhere. He removes most of their weapons out of the equation, taking them in clusters with his webs. He lands a punch here, and slam with his glowing webs there. He had yet to see you or hear you yell out to him. Hand to hand combat increased, blows getting harder in their impact, grunts slipping past his lips out of increasing frustration. It felt like there was no end in sight, not that it mattered anyhow. His mind felt as though it was sinking in the tangled ropes of his paranoia. The longer time went by, the more restless Miguel got and the more determined he was to get through his enemies with vigor.

“I GOT IT!”

You shout from across the rooftop, the chip in your clasped hand. A red and blue mask turns to in your direction, relief washing over him like a flood. Between you both were many henchmen flooding from the roof’s entrance, all set to standing in your way. He nods to you through the chaos, and you nod back. The two of you run on the sidelines until you hear Miguel faintly shout. “Get over here!”

“Working on it!” You shout back. Eyes dart through the growing group of goons to find a clear path. His eyes are set on you the whole time, watching your face as the cogs go to work.

Your eyes squint, heart beating out of your chest, but you have a plan— somewhat. You knee one person out of the way, moving through the space to shove through a few more. Two step right in front of you. Not losing your momentum, you sweep your leg under one of them and use that same leg to balance the other into a high kick. It creates somewhat of a clear path for you, trying to get closer and closer to the man you’ve been working with all night. You catch a glance of him pummeling through a few men, giving you a slight of relief and all the more determination to pull through.

You’re almost there, goons try to grasp at your suit, tools, or mask, and you’re barely able avoid their invasive touches. You waste no time pulling out your hooked tool, clicking a button to throw out a long thick wire. It wraps around the ankle of a man and you pull hard. He falls, knocking into others like pins as he’s dragged across the concrete. Your path has never been more clearer. You click your wire back into your tool, eyes catching Miguel’s.

He takes out one more enemy before jumping off of the roof. Your feet quicken, taking after him and taking your leap.

The skyscraper’s height furthered your velocity downward. Wind blew into your face, strong in its force. Your tool wouldn’t be far enough to reach the buildings surrounding you. Your body reacted, stomach twisting and turning in an effort to scream at you the very danger you were in. But you? You calmly shut your eyes.

In an instant, a strong arm catches you as intended. You open your eyes, hooking your arms around his neck to secure yourself to his body. You squeeze the device you both needed into your palm to confirm your grip. With one hand, he swings from building to building to ensure some distance between you and Oscorp. After a few more buildings, Miguel slows down to a roof with a large neon sign right at its front. The momentum fades, allowing you both to land behind the bright lettering.

You pull away from his side, hands going to your hips as you caught your breath. Your chest rises and falls with rough exhales while he was silent in gathering his own air. After a while, you catch his voice speaking to you. “You still have it?”

You swallow, nodding and throwing the device to him. He catches it with ease. His large fingers examine the data card. Gold lines so microscopic but filled with the intelligence needed for his work to protect others. He slips it away into an empty wrist capsule, eyes flickering back up to you.

You placed your back against the sign only a few steps away from him, chest slowing to normalcy. Your eyelids were low, lashes soft in their curl. He gains his focus back when your irises appear from them.

“How many times do I have to catch you staring for you to realize you’re terrible at being subtle?”

Your teasing words cause his mask to shift, knowing all too well he was displaying his usual frown. “I can be subtle. You, on the other hand, can’t turn on a filter if you had one.”

An amused smile appears on your face, causing another sudden wave of relief over him. You take a glance to the sky before looking back at him. “Yeah, but that hasn’t kept you away now has it?”

Miguel grunts, and you turn your head away with a laugh.

The back of the neon sign behind you illuminates strongly in the night, red light seeping through the crevasses of the letters to give your vision clarity. Your body regained air in your lungs but the bruising was beginning to ache from your complications from getting to the roof. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Miguel’s arm holding his side. Your brows scrunch together. Just what was so important to risk a hailstorm raised on them from Oscorp? You knew from your previous encounters, that he wasn’t just hitting the large corporation, but any place with the highest level of technology in the city.

You begin after a beat of silence. “I mean, I can’t have some idea of what you get from the jobs you-?“

“No, you don’t”

Your eyes turn to a glare. “Watch that tone.”

“You know, you being demanding isn’t exactly an ease to deal with-”

“Would you like to do something about that?” You take a step closer, looking up to his tall stature. Your gaze is set to where his eyes were, feeling his eyes look directly back at you.

“I..” His brows knit together. You know what you meant, he knew what you meant. It takes him a second to speak with a retort, locking his jaw. “…not here.”

You purposely look to his masked lips, then back to his eyes. “…Thought so.”

Miguel takes a hard and long swallow, shutting his eyes.

"So, what's the deal with that chip?" You ask.

Miguel opens his eyes when he clears the clouding in his mind. Not fully, but enough to attain what you asked. He hesitates for a moment before responding. "It's...complicated. Let's just say it's valuable and leave it at that."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there's more to the story. "Valuable how?"

Miguel shakes his head. "I can't say. It's not safe."

You cross your arms. “What we did tonight, or what we do every other night for that matter, isn’t safe either.”

“I know that but-” He lets out a sigh of frustration, his mask fading off his face in squares of blue light. Words never were his strong suit and his paranoia didn’t help his case on which words to choose. Or for you to know what he has planned. You were different, he knew that. And yet, he still eyed you with caution. It was in his nature.

You look him the eye, knowing he was weighing his options in his head. His jaw relaxes, voice settling into a softer tone. “I’m doing what I’m doing to protect people. All the things I’ve had you get? They help with that. You know I’m not- building some criminal empire or making some kind of genetic super weapon-”

“Really? Because those were only two of my theories-”

“I’m not-” To others, they would take his tone as immediate annoyance. But you know it’s laced with a slight of amusement that immediately disappears.

He hopes it’s enough to satisfy you, to keep you out the possibilities of pulling into a growing web of complications. But he knew you just as much as you did him, both akin to an unshakable stubbornness.

“I think you can do better than that.” You step forward into his space again. His larger stature is unmoving, but he could feel warmth radiate from your body at the familiar closeness. His eyes go down to yours, crimson irises slowly loosing their sharp edge the longer your gazes are on each other.

“We said we don’t owe each other anything…no matter what we do with one other. And I get that.” You tilt your head at him. “But if more jobs end like tonight, and I can barely catch an escape-“

He’s quick to respond. “I won’t let that happen-“

“-But if,” You emphasize. “That starts to become an occurrence, I at least want to know exactly what I’m sticking my neck out for.”

He looks to your features, scanning over your unwavering expression. You can’t help but look at the way he presses his lips together. Miguel locks his jaw to think, perhaps he’d do so in order to keep the words from coming out. Eventually, he lets out a sigh. “A super computer.”

Your face scrunches, brow slowly going up. “A…super computer?”

He mutters, still looking down at you. “Yes.”

“To protect people?”

“To protect people.”

His voice was firm, supposedly closing the door as quickly as it opens. You study him, trying to go over your past jobs to try to piece an explanation together. Sadly, you couldn’t. The path you’ve gone down, your lives beginning to intertwine like a binding threads— you knew that finding out what he was up to would be wary road.

Eventually letting out a sigh, you’re disappointed but understanding. "That’ll do I suppose.”

He watches you take a step back from him, back leaning against the sign. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he follows suit. You both look out to the vast city, lights greeting your wandering gaze once again. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before you speak up. "You know, for someone who's always so serious, your fleeting sense of humor is enjoyable.”

Miguel huffs, chuckling soon after. "Is that your way of saying I'm not as boring as you thought?"

You grin, a sight he appreciates after your tenacious standstill. "Oh I’ve never found you boring. In need of a good fuck to let loose? Definitely.”

Miguel rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of enjoyment in his tone. "I'm plenty loose when I need to be."

You laugh. "Sure you are. That's why you're always so tense."

Miguel smirks. "I'm not tense. I'm focused."

You give him a playful shove. "Whatever you say, Spider-man."

translations: descarada (minx), mierda, me llevarás a la tumba (fucking hell, you’ll be the death of me)

taglist: @manchuria @mezzke @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @coleseyebrows

#is it. is it obvious y’all fu- #or that he’s protective #im going off of trailers here guys I’m seeing the movie next week #writing #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #fics #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse

[prettybean]

Older boyfriend!Keegan is rotting my brain

I keep imagining him w his lil passenger princess and she gets full control over the music ofc ofc, so she's connected to the Bluetooth and then Cola by Lana Del Rey starts playing and he's like "Oh really🤨"

I absolutely love it, I imagine Keegan as a kind and thoughtful boyfriend, especially if he's older than you! 🦮 <- me rn

Older bf Keegan

He treats you like a princess, often using the excuse of your youth. You are his sweet spot, and you naturally take advantage of it. Keegan loves to pamper you and take care of your needs: he will tie your shoelaces when they come undone, he will gracefully kneel on the sidewalk to help you with a cute bow. If you feel a sneeze coming on, he immediately hands you a tissue. When you're too weary to walk, he won't hesitate to scoop you up in his arms and let you rest.

You don't have to lift a finger! Simply sit back and be pretty for him.

Keegan goes above and beyond to make sure you're well taken care of. If you're riding in the car together, he always opens the door for you, playfully joking that you still haven't gotten your license yet and how he always has to drive.

He genuinely loves it, particularly the expressions you make as you hop into the car and fasten your seatbelt.

"Are you ready?" he playfully asks, his laughter filling the air. As you both settle into the car, Keegan expertly navigates the radio buttons in search of the perfect song, attempting to find one that suits your taste.

“All these songs are old as fuck!”. You jokingly complain and he defends himself “I listen to them to go to work”. But his concern becomes evident when he notices you pull out your cell phone. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to make you happy, he doesn’t say a word and you quickly connect the Bluetooth, announcing that you'll play a fantastic song for him “Trust me!” you say noticing his scared expression.

Turning on the engine, Keegan tries to divert the situation and places a comforting hand on your thigh, just as he often does. "You're going to love this," you whispers as you select Lana del Rey's 'Cola', unable to contain the excitement and he can't help but chuckle when he hears the first verse of the song along with you,

"Your pussy tastes like WHAT?"

#cod #cod x reader #cod keegan #keegan smut #keegan x you #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p russ #cod reader insert #cod smut #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod x fem!reader

[hedgehog-moss]

Loved your mentioning of learning poetry by heart: this is something I haven’t done since school! What are some of your favs that you’d suggest to ease my brain back into it?

(Française ici donc les options 🇫🇷 autant que anglais sont welcome :) merci!)

Hi :) You can look at the poem tag of my quote blog if you want—some of the ones I've learnt by heart (or excerpts from them) include this one by Sara Teasdale - Nanao Sakaki - Velimir Khlebnikov - Wallace Stevens - Rabindranath Tagore - Archibald Macleish - Howard Nemerov - and these paragraphs by Henri Peña-Ruiz which I consider prose poetry... My favourite French verses (from Corneille, Aragon, Anna de Noailles, Hugo, Valéry...) are all alexandrines and I find it to be the easiest type of verse to remember, as the structure is so rigorous and consistent. I sometimes translate English poems into alexandrines (like this one) to make them easier to learn in this more familiar form—I think even after all this time English prosody still feels foreign to me; the patterns of sound and rhythm in French are more deeply embedded in my brain so it can more easily predict what comes next...

Re: easing your brain into it, I guess that depends on your style of learning? For me the best way to learn a text is to spend time with it in written form, be it by translating it, or by writing it down by hand (slowly) and then (sometimes) keeping it for a while in a place where I often stand idle, like taped to my microwave so I re-read it as I wait 1 minute for something to heat up.

One thing I like about learning poems is that it's a costless, always-accessible way to get a sense of personal accomplishment. Beyond that, I've got three categories of poems I like to learn for different reasons—I'll go into some detail in case it can help you figure out what you're after :)

1. Classic poetry, because it's just fun to have little snippets of ancient tragedies or epic Victor Hugo poems living at the back of your mind and accompanying you through your own everyday tragedies—as an overdramatic person who tends to feel devastated or exasperated over tiny stuff, it helps me to take some distance from my feelings. Like if I spill a bucket of manure on my boots and my first reaction is rage and despair and my second thought is a couple of verses by Euripides where Iphigenia bemoans her relentless fate, it's a way to make fun of (and get over) myself.

My grandmother did this a lot, she knew so many poems by heart and often used them ironically. If I went whining to her when I was little she'd recite to me the last few verses of Alfred de Vigny's La Mort du Loup (it sounds better in the original but):

[...] With all your being you must strive To that highest degree of stoic pride [...] Weeping or praying—all this is in vain. You must instead shoulder your long and heavy task In the way that Destiny has seen fit to ask Then suffer and die without complaint.

(Let me tell you, that's just what a five-year-old wants to hear after scratching her knee at the park) But really I admired this treasury of poetry she carried within her, especially as she only went to school until age 14 and came upon most of it thanks to her own curiosity; as well as the way she used it playfully in everyday life, using dramatic classical verse to de-dramatise minor annoyances.

2. Nature poems are great in the opposite way, to magnify minor positive things :) Like seeing a fox and having a few lines by Mary Oliver come to mind, seeing a frog and thinking of that Basho haiku... I recently discovered Jean-Michel Maulpoix and I also love his nature poems, like 'The recovery of blue after a downpour', the way he describes snow melting in the spring, or golden-blue evenings:

[Snow] takes some time to leave, but delicately. She doesn’t insist, hardly persists, never roots… She gives way. No one else dies so merrily With such good humour Unmatched is her disdain for eternity…

L’azur, certains soirs, a des soins de vieil or. Le paysage est une icône. Il semble qu’au soleil couchant, le ciel qui se craquelle se reprenne un instant à croire à son bleu.

3. And then there are the poems that proudly serve no purpose. <3 I mean beyond distilling language in a beautiful way. No deep meaning—or no meaning at all, e.g. surrealist poetry. I learnt this passage from Les Champs magnétiques back in middle school:

La fenêtre creusée dans notre chair s'ouvre sur notre cœur. On y voit un immense lac où viennent se poser à midi des libellules mordorées et odorantes comme des pivoines. Quel est ce grand arbre où les animaux vont se regarder ? Il y a des siècles que nous lui versons à boire. . . Prisonniers des gouttes d'eau, nous ne sommes que des animaux perpétuels. . . Nous ne savons plus rien des astres morts ; nous regardons les visages. . . Quelquefois, le vent nous entoure de ses grandes mains froides et nous attache aux arbres découpés par le soleil.

—and I've often recited it to myself just to enjoy these gratuitously nice sentences that aren't here to deliver information. Like Kay Ryan said, "Poetry makes nothing happen. That's the relief of it." It's a nice break, a way to remember that communicating isn't all language is for; beyond the social dimension there's also an intimate one that relies on our own aesthetic sensitivity. Most of the time we look through language, to access ideas, meanwhile enjoying poetry means looking at language, for a change, appreciating it for itself.

I just realised I'm paraphrasing John Brehm here—in The Poetry of Impermanence he wrote something that can be read as an ode to learning things by heart:

When you read lines that seem especially lit up—that move or intrigue you in some way, or that are simply pleasing or even dazzling—don’t focus on being able to formulate a statement about what they might mean, as if you might be called upon to explain the poem, to yourself or to someone else. Just linger with those poems or passages that resonate with you. . . Rest your mind on them; let them live inside you.

#ask #poetry

[undercoverpena]

trouble keepin' my eyes off you

john 'soap' mactavish x f!reader wc: 4k | warnings: angst, jealous!soap, pining summary: soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you.  an: prequel to yours to keep and a thousand — and dedicated to @guyfieriii who i adore, and dedicate all my soap too. teehee.

soap masterlist

It’s uncomfortable, the heat. It clings, wraps and drapes over everything, smothering any breeze or fresh air.

The sweat builds on his brow, dripping down the back of his neck, leaving puddles at the base of his spine. Worst of all, beads drop from his hairline, sliding down his cheeks, dropping from his jawline as he runs his hand through his hair.

His hair has grown—the shorter sides having gained some length, beginning to conceal his very deliberate mohawk he had going. Which is another string to the bow of annoyance. It tells the tale of how long they've all been here, sweating, not sleeping, watching and waiting.

But the bow, the real thing which has been grating him is that you’re on the other side of a slightly ajar door, sparring—and it isn’t with him. 

Soap has been trying not to listen. 

But, they’re loud—you are loud. 

Even his attempts of burying it have been futile. He's attempted to recall songs from home. Ones where there’s a scotch or beer in hand, swishing from side to side as his voice cracks as he screams the words—arms around a friend or two. The words which he knows are embedded into his soul—into the very fibre of his being—and yet, you’re making it hard for him to finish a verse, never mind a song. 

He’s tried to focus on the quieter noises. The ones he wouldn't usually pay any fucking attention to—like Gaz tapping the keys of the laptop in the kitchen and the hot breeze trying to brush through the open window. The background noise, never loud enough to cause any impact—but he needs them to. He clings to hope that they will. He practically claws out for them, grabbing them with metaphorical hands—anything to drive the much louder noises away. 

The ones coming from the door he’s forbidden from entering all because of stern words from even sterner eyes behind a balaclava. 

On some level, he understands. 

The whole place is small. Privacy is not something any of you are granted. But, he knows Ghost is trying to provide that for you in this case. Because you, little Squid, rarely ever ask for help—especially from him. 

Gaz, yes. Price, maybe. Even him, occasionally. 

Ghost—never.

But, he’s softened. He has jokes with you, purposefully having chosen to spend time with you on watch. Something rare, and very out of character for a man who initially didn't even show any of them his bloody face.

Soap knows you've done it again. Seeped under his layers, like you did with all of them, weaving your way, making it hard not to instantly take a shine to you.

He doesn't blame Ghost, he understands why. He can see that time was taken making you, carving each element of your personality, creating someone that is both good, clever and funny. You're strong-willed, giving-a-shit attitude is most likely the reason Ghost is helping you—training with you, offering guidance and support.

Handing you fucking praise.

Because he too has caught on to what they’ve all seen. He’s taken notice of how fucking splendid you are, how you’re capable and fucking gorgeous all rolled into one. 

That’s it, Squidlet. Use your—perfect, that’s it, you got it. Atta girl. 

He’s sure he’ll need bleach to burn Ghost’s words from his brain. 

Even if it’s his fault—because he knows he shouldn’t be listening. 

Having created his own personal torture chamber that he’s taken the time to design, construct, and build. Because there wasn’t a table and chairs here before—he moved them here. Choosing this spot so he could be close, just in case. Of what? He's not sure. But he needs to be here, something within him compelling him to be.

Under his jealousy, he doesn’t blame you, and he doesn’t blame Lt either. He knows the two of you can hardly be expected to spar outside, where every pair of eyes could be the enemy. Out there, the air isn't just thick with heat, but tension too.

Apprehension simmers as they come closer and closer to completing the very thing they are here for. 

So, he's sat outside the room. Pretending to be interested in the latest report. Not wanting to move. Twisting and turning his emotions like playing cards, wondering why didn’t you ask him? 

He bristles, chewing the inside of his mouth, breathing heavy, hating it—hating it all. His cheeks burning, coated in sweat as he stares at the words on the page, unsure why none of them are soaking in.

Why wouldn't you choose your lieutenant? That's the thought that gnaws, that sinks its pointy teeth into him. And it makes his bones ache. 

Because he's so close, and yet so far. He almost has you, but not entirely. And it pecks at him, weaves into his insecurities, his need to prove himself—so much so he can’t rid the image of his lieutenant looming his big fucking frame over you. You under him, eyes staring up, lips parted, shredding your clothing for the man who rarely shows his face—

Your groan punches the air. 

A sound he knows is from you being knocked on your arse, but it makes his fingers turn white. The sound so painted with frustration, and tiredness. He can tell—christ, he can even imagine the look on your face that accompanies it. Yet his brain twists it, morphs it, transforms it into something so ugly it almost breaks his heart.

It makes him want to claw at his brain, scratch out the images the tortured parts of himself keeps creating.

Because he knows you’re both sparring, that Lt is likely knocking you down, over and over again—not knowing that you’re stubborn, not knowing he should stop, that you’re running on nothing. 

He’s your lieutenant, yes, but he doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know that you push yourself until you snap and shatter, leaving fragments of yourself in your hands. Pieces he’s tried to help guide back into place when he’s found you, lost and broken in such a way he’s not sure how to glue you back.

But, you didn’t choose him. 

You chose Ghost. 

Asked, practically pleaded with him. 

So, he had to listen—even if he really fucking didn’t want to. He had to take the few sightings of you through the cracked door—the proof that you’re not on the floor, broken, breathing hard with sweat blending with tears. 

Which means he also sees your body sheened with sweat, hair sticking to your face, neck and shoulders, and your tiny, tight shorts. It means he's seeing you looking ethereal, almost too good for this goddamn place.

And it nips at him—fueling his jealousy. It peels at his skin that Ghost is seeing you like this without a filter, without anything getting in the way.

All of it whisking against the vexation of the heat, the fear of failure and the growing tiredness. It makes his knuckles almost crack, his skin almost translucent as his wrists ache from the way he continually clenches his fist. 

He’s down bad. He knows that. 

Soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. Each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you. 

Not that he says those words. He just thinks them. Lets them swirl around his godforsaken mind until they try to drag him under. 

Sometimes, he can’t even think because of it. The depths of his own thoughts like water, drowning him from the inside, made so much worse by the simple fact—he’s not the one pinning you to the floorboards. That he has barely seen you, spoken to you, been around you since they all landed here.

But Ghost has. His lieutenant has. The same Lt who is funny, witty, and even has his own nickname for you. The one who has height even on him, who is broader, and who your eyes land on immediately when briefs are given out. 

Not his. 

Each time he almost wants to exit the room, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheeks. Instead, he sits and silently stews. Bubbling away like a broth his mum used to make—hoping, waiting to get back to base where things feel easier.

And then, your squeal pinches the air, Soap unaware he's even standing until he blinks.

Then he hears the unmistakable gruff, Manchester twang of “Y’alright, Squidie?”

His heart pounds, attempting to crack his ribs and fly out of his chest. More so as each millisecond ticks on, as they add up into seconds and your voice hasn’t cut through the air—

“Not broken. Winded. But—“ 

You cough. Heavy. Chesty. 

Soap’s mind fighting, urging him to push the door open more and visibly check you over himself. But, he hears movements, feet—boots. 

“And. Stop callin’ me, Squidie.”

“Prefer Squidlet?"

"Fuck no."

"Get up.” 

“Alright, alright,” you hiss, and the floorboard creaks again as you do. “Anyone tell you that you're the worst sometimes, Ghostling.”

Each night, he hopes the air will be easier to swallow. But, each night he wishes, it brings a new fresh hell he feels ill-prepared for.

Tonight, it’s sticky—the air clogged with thick, stubborn heat. There’s moisture, but it’s wrong. It smothers, makes his clothes chafe against his muscles. 

All of it is made worse by you being difficult. You're kind, warm-hearted, and beautiful—but fucking difficult too. Especially on low sleep. Especially when you're woven so tightly, you're going to snap.

He’s heard Price order you to get some fuckin’ sleep—your back against the dingy wall, his palm flat against the wall, eyes close to yours. Soap watched as you lifted your chin defiantly, muttering back, I’ll sleep when you do, Captain. 

Anyone else, he suspects they’d have their neck wrung. Sharing a look with Ghost—one he wasn’t able to translate—as you spit that you'll do the next watch, climbing the stone staircase and the ladder at the top before anyone can argue.  

It reminds him of months ago, when you’d driven yourself to near exhaustion then. Your stubborn, difficultness being the backbone for you not to sleep, something always needing to be done—as if you’re the sole person who can stop all of this and put the world to rights. 

You’ve always taken on so much.

The fire in your chest is both a blessing and a curse. He’s heard Price chew you out for the same reason. You try to do it all, not because you don’t rely on them or because you don’t trust them, but because:

“I care about you, all of you.” 

Soap had been lingering, hanging outside the door of Price’s office when he heard his response. 

“What makes you think you’re alone in that, hmm? You’re one of us, Squid. So, be one of us.” 

When you’d emerged—tail between your legs—it didn’t take a genius to see you’d taken it hard. Not the berating, but the statement; the fact you fit in, that you were cared for.

And, even then you’d tried to shift the emotions dancing in your eyes from him. The mask not slipping down quickly enough, and the smile was not being presented fast. 

“Y’alright?”

He always wondered if you’d have lied if he’d found you one minute later. If you’d have done so because you’d have known he hadn’t seen you undone, exposed—walls at your feet. 

“No. Not… not really.”  “C’mon, lass.” 

It wasn’t the first time, but it was one of his favourites.

He’d held you against him, his sheets over both of your bodies, comfortable silence surrounding the two of you, clothes a welcomed barrier to anything else—as you held him like he was your rock in a storm.

Just like the two of them did on that first mission together. 

I trust you. You know that, don’t you? Course, lass. Be bit awkward if y’didn’t? I mean, I don't do this with anyone else. Sleep with them... like this. I hope fuckin' not. You're special, Johnny. That's all I mean.

Sleep took you seconds later. Gently stealing you from him, breaths turning heavier and body relaxing and moulding around him. 

Soap had found, in that space between reality and sleep, that’s when you were the most free. When your tongue is loosened and your heart is without chains. A side of you he sees in fleeting moments when he’s alone with you, but in a greater capacity like this—when you’re about to leave him for your dreams. 

Now, though, it’s different.

You're weighed down by more than stress and pride, but rocks and fucking anchors. Whether because of the growing casualties or because you missed your bed, because it brought up memories you only ever half told him about.

He knows this because he's overheard Gaz ask you if you’re okay—Soap watching from the sidelines as you lie through your teeth. Something you’re getting better at, somewhat able to control your features, almost a poker face. 

He knows you hate lying, to them at least. Each lie you spit opens a sore inside of you. It’s why he’s not asked himself. Not wanting to give you something else to churn and worry over, knowing it knots your insides and makes you spiral. 

It’s not his turn to keep watch, but he follows you up the ladder all the same. He leans, the air coating his skin, making him already dream about the dribble they call a shower. Because even the rooftop wall is boiling, almost cooking him through his vest and clothes. 

“Talk to me, lass. What’s keepin’ y’up?” 

You don’t look at him, continuing your pacing, eyes trained in the distance. But your breath audibly catches, clearly startled, clearly rattled by his question—his presence. 

“I hate losing.” 

“We ain’t gonna lose, Mari.” 

Your chin lifts, tongue swiping across dry, cracked lips. “I know… we’re the best of the fucking best. But…” 

He knows. 

He’s been feeling it too. 

That thing. Unexplainable. The shadow in the corner, the one which has been haunting and hunting them since the wheels touched down. Sometimes, it’s easy, and sometimes it’s methodical—it’s torturous observing until the perfect moment. And when it’s the latter, it has a way of scratching at sensibility. 

They all have a past. A failed mission that stands out from the rest—one that reminds each of them not to relax, to not let their guard down—what a single mistake can cause. 

Your head turns, the moon casting a shadow across your features, and the hold you have on his heart tightens—nails digging in deep as the muscle tries to thump. 

“Johnny, I’m just so t—“

But it’s stolen, your explanation. 

Heavy boots and a masked face cut off whatever you were about to say. Eyes sitting around darkness, staring from him to you, bouncing, before frowning. 

“It's not your watch, Johnny—"

"—I know—"

"You should get some sleep."

He wants to argue. Almost bloody does, too. 

Wants to dig his heels in, and get you to continue, but he’s tired—his shoulders aching, his eyes stinging.

But, it's your words from another mission that come to mind. The ones from when you’d emerged like a phoenix—fire and smoke behind you as you stumbled into his arms— 

Dunna do that, lass. Scare me. Need to stop worrying, Soapie. I always find my way back. I promise.

So he nods. He leaves. His palms descend down the ladder, half-stopping when he realises he left the window opening pausing.

He's not sure what he’s expecting—if anything at all. A confirmation, maybe? That the girl who drives him mad, has feelings for the more obvious choice. The brooding, big lieutenant who spits army jokes like he has an arsenal of them; the one you spend more time under, even if it’s sparring, than any of the others.

He’s about to move, shaking his nonsensical thoughts when he hears Ghost.

“Y’gotta stop fighting us all, Squidlet.”

“I’m not.”

“You fuckin’ are, and you know it.” 

Silence. Horrid, fucking silence. So much so, his mind begins to fill with images of your bodies moving together, arms pulling the other close, ripping, shredding—

“You’ll be a piss poor shot if y’don’t sleep. Plus, you’re wearing Johnny out.” 

His face flushes, bloody burns in the space between the second floor and the roof.

He doesn't miss you mumble that you’re not. All dismissive. Making his hands grip the spindle of the ladder, releasing a puff of air. 

“If I sleep—“

“The world will keep turnin', trust me.” 

“You almost sound like you care.” 

His heart sinks, drops—and fucking plummets. Because you’re right. It does. It sounds exactly like that. The nickname. The way he’s come up when it’s not even his watch. All of it screaming that it’s something—all flashing lights and loud music accompanying it. 

“Go to sleep, Squidie.” 

“It’s my—“

“Go.” 

He has to move. 

He needs to move. 

Even if he wants to pull you close to him. Even if it feels like you’re slipping through his fingers.

Just like he had done when he first realised how he felt, how he’d been feeling. When he’d almost told you. Rain hammering down, drowning you both to the bone. The two of you sent east, the rest west. Splitting a building each, finding his empty, and telling you as much. Your radio silence still haunted him. His blood thumping in his ears, ripping through each room, doing what he does best—cleaning fucking house. Finding you, bruised, bleeding, your knife in hand trembling under a dead body. The sound of boots drawing nearer to the opening they’d made—

“Thanks, Simon.” 

He blinks in the present. The memory faded into nothing, vanishing like smoke—like it was never even there. Whatever held the last parts of him, snapped. His eyes staring up, pricking with the heat and the moment—stinging, aching. 

You called him his name.

It left your tongue wrapped in intimacy, in care.

He’s unsure how he reaches the bottom of the ladder, his palms closed, fists clenched, nothing else in his head except getting to his room. Crossing the landing, passing the room with the others, only focusing on reaching his own room. The small thing—the cupboard with a single bed he’d managed to cop. 

Everything he's squashed down, rises. They all begin to angrily fuse, mixing with the heat and his pent up frustration that he’s still here—so much so he almost slams the door. Almost.  

His fingers instead press the thin wood into its frame. The click blessing the air like the first strum of a guitar, his heart beating like a drum—and then a knock, one belonging to a smaller hand, calloused, but still soft, the bass that sets the mood. All of it blending, creating a song he's not sure if he'll love or hate.

He knows it’s you. Knows it as he opens the door, watching you stare up at him, sliding your vest from your body, all defeated and knackered beyond belief. 

Deep down, no matter what his brain says—what he hears, what he sees—he at least knows it’s him you choose to curl up to. That when you really need comfort, it’s him you look for. It’s him you pull close until your bodies almost merge into one. 

“Hi.”

“Lass...” 

You look troubled, more weighed down than he really noticed. Not even bothering to hide it, to plaster a smile over the cracks. 

“Can I… Soap, I can’t…” you chew the inside of your cheek, avoiding his eyes as you sigh. 

He tugs on your wrist, pulling you to him. Your body falling into him like it’s weightless, like you’re all attitude and feathers. Bringing you close, holding your head to his chest—almost swaying with you. 

It always starts like this. 

One, long hug. Rooted to the spot. Nothing—not a single thing able to penetrate the two of you. Frozen in a moment no one can ever take. And then, he’ll turn, finding shorts and a different t-shirt, hearing you undress before finding something more comfortable. Sometimes it’s your own, sometimes it’s his. 

And fuck, when it’s his. 

Your wicked, but sleepy smile is a picture for sore eyes and one he wishes he could take a photo of when you wait for his invite, as if you ever need one to climb into his bed.

Your bodies slide against the mattress. Usually, the springs protest, but the cot you’re sharing just groans in frustration as both of your sets of limbs find their place. 

It should feel awkward, but it never does. He shouldn’t crave this, should be able to sleep solidly without a person on his chest. But, he finds he sleeps better with you. Finds that dreams are easier, that there’s more sunshine, more hope and fucking rainbows in the world when you’re on top of him, softly breathing. 

“Night, Mari.” 

He waits. 

Your usual sleepy ‘Soapie’ or ‘Johnny’ blessing his ears. But none come, none. And he almost tenses, almost moves you to see your face. 

“You… you don’t mind that we do this, do you?” 

His hand tilts your chin up, staring into those eyes, begging them to give him a reason—either to close the gap or begin the process of getting over you. Something. Anything. 

Because how could he mind this, when he wants something more? 

He’d ask for it too. If he weren’t afraid. The big demolition man scared of losing you, of losing this, by being greedy and wanting more. 

“Neve’, lass. I like being the person y’come t’when you need somethin’.”

He doesn’t miss the smile. The soft one. The one which you rarely show, but is bloody beaming for him now. 

“It’s only you, Soapie,” you say, curling tighter into him, leaving no space. 

And it takes all of his control. 

Thoughts of his great-aunt with her harsh accent and wiry moustache to be able to pull you closer. Your head on his chest, fingers dancing up and down your arm as he feels you relax, muscle by muscle. 

“Only me, y’say?” 

You let out a soft breath, one that dances warmth over his t-shirt—almost over the hair on his chest. “You’re an idiot, Johnny. Course it is, who else?” 

And he smiles. 

Not at his name, not at the insult, but the fact you’re falling asleep—something you’ve not done for two full days. And it’s on him. 

Only him. 

He buries the rest of your words. The ‘who else’ and the instant answer that appeared on the tip of his tongue. He can unpack it another time. 

There’s something about waking on top of him. Clothes are a horrid, but necessary barrier between the two of you. 

You don’t want things to change, for them to spoil, to wilt and fade from grasp. So, you’ll put up with only having this, having him in this way. At least then, you'll always have arms around you that you know won’t hurt you. You’ll accept the hugs, and long for the cuddles; you’ll settle for sleeping alongside him, rather than with him. 

And, you won't tell MacTavish that you think he’s handsome, no matter how much he dares you to drink. That even asleep he is beautiful, even minus the evidence of his smile, and the dimples you wish to trace with your fingers. He’s still everything, without being anything. 

He’s your best friend, your safety, your person. 

He feels like home, a soul that grounds you and keeps you rooted. He makes you better, helps you grow and—

Your fingers draw a circle on his chest. Watching his lashes flutter, his eyes slowly opening, and your throat going dry—like it does each time he looks at you with so much softness. 

I think I’m in love with you, Johnny. 

That’s what you should say. 

Instead, you say, “Morning, Soapie.” 

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[softspiderling]

hooked from hour one | j.h.s.

Summary: He watched as Rooster took you around, introducing you to everyone and Jake’s eye twitched. The two of you looked awfully comfortable around each other, with tons of physical contact. You and Jake hadn’t been dating long, but he thought that you were on the same stage as him when it concerned your relationship. Were you cheating on Rooster with him? But you wouldn’t do that, right?

or, the one where you share a mutual friend, but are unaware of it

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x reader

warnings: contains smut, minors dni

word count: 6,4k

author's note: omg this beast!!!! So glad to be finally able to share this with you! Been thinking and writing this fic for so long and I think I am finally happy with it now! Mind you, this will kickstart a verse, aptly called wingman's best friend (more on that later). Pls pls don't forget to leave a nice comment/reblog if you liked it, it would mean the world to me!!

From the moment Jake had stepped into the bar, he had his eyes on you. The way you were sipping on your drink, your fingers around the straw, the way you threw your back in laughter as your friend said something, the way you raised an eyebrow at every man that tried to hit on you and your friends.

Absolutely captivating.

Initially, Jake hadn’t planned on taking anyone home, just wanting to have a drink by himself, but he quickly changed his mind when he saw you. He wasn’t sure on how to approach you at first, however. Jake was usually a hit with the ladies and the gentlemen, but your confidence and the way you shot about just every man down that even stepped in your vicinity clearly put a dent in his confidence. He wasn’t about to ask you out just to be rejected. He had to play it smart.

“I got another whiskey on the rocks for you,” the bartender suddenly said, sliding the drink across the counter, the ice cube clinking against the glass.

“I haven’t even finished my first,” Jake answered, somewhat confused and the bartender swung a towelette over his shoulder, tilting his head to the right. 

“It’s from the lady over there.”

And sure enough, you leaned back into Jake’s sight, raising your glass at him and he actually flushed, nodding at you in gratitude. It didn’t take long until you excused yourself to your friends, pushed your chair back and made your way over to Jake, a grin on your face. 

“You know, I’ve got to give it you. You managed to get my attention without disrupting my friends and I,” you told him, taking a seat next to him.

“Well, you didn’t look like you wanted to be interrupted,” Jake said easily, swirling the whiskey around in the glass. He kept his tone light, even though he was buzzing underneath his skin. Jake couldn’t really put a finger on what exactly it was about you that made him so nervous. But you did. 

And it was different than talking to the people Jake just wanted to take home. He didn’t just want to take you home. He wanted to take you home and keep you there. Which kind of made him sound insane since he just met you like five minutes ago.

“Good call. It definitely makes you more likable already.” You leaned your elbow on the counter turning to your side to look at him, drinking him in. When you told him your name, he was sure it burned into his brain, never to be forgotten. 

“Jake Seresin.”

“So, Jake. What’s someone like you doing drinking by yourself?”

“I was feeling restless at home, so I thought I’d come out here for a drink. Friends were all busy so I came alone. You’re welcome to join me, though,” Jake suggested and you only smiled, as if you knew something he didn’t. Sliding a piece of paper to him, you pushed your chair back, leaving Jake puzzled. 

“I am busy tonight. But you can give me a call, if you're lucky I am free.”

With that, you joined your girlfriends, who were standing by the door, clearly laughing at him. Jake guffawed at first, staring at your number on the counter and back to you. Winking, you exited the bar and Jake only huffed out a laugh. 

Well, apparently he wasn’t taking anyone home. At least not tonight. You really got him good.

///

After Jake called you, not even 24 hours after you first met, you had your first date at a nice restaurant he picked. One date quickly turned into two, three, seven? Jake wasn’t sure. He stopped counting by the time you had turned up on his doorstep with a pizza on a random Monday evening. And it’s been nice. Really nice even. He couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed another person’s company so much. Right now, you were standing in his kitchen, trying to figure out dinner. 

“Can you help me chop up the veggies? If you have a second cutting board,” you said, halving the cherry tomatoes. Jake complied, pulling another cutting board out of the cupboard, taking the leafy greens - bok choy he presumed - out of the water. With narrowed eyes, he reached for the knife, his eyes never leaving the cherry tomatoes.

“What’s your problem now?” you asked with a sigh, dropping the tomato, the knife still in your hand as you looked up at him, clearly exasperated. 

“... I don’t like tomatoes.”

“My god Jake, don’t be such a baby.” You rolled your eyes at the minor inconvenience, but Jake made a sound that suspiciously sounded like a whine. Your head was turned away but he could tell you were laughing by the way your body was shaking. 

“You didn’t seem to mind them on your pizza.”

“That’s different,” Jake argued, cutting the butt off of the bok choy. “That’s marinara sauce. Not tomatoes.”

“Is it a texture thing or a taste thing?” you wanted to know, pouring the halved cherry tomatoes in the bowl, checking on the shrimps in the stock. 

“It’s a tomato thing,” he sniffed and you muttered under your breath. Jake was sure it was profanities. 

“I’m not going to leave it out of the soup, but I won’t put that many in your bowl, okay? Will you at least try it?”

You had put the wooden spoon down, hands wrapped around his bicep and with the way you were looking at him, Jake was sure he’d do anything you would ask him too. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, begrudgingly, his frown only disappearing slightly when you kissed his cheek, returning your attention to the stove. He watched as you put the finishing touches on dinner, only grimacing slightly as the tomatoes were added. 

As you plated the bowls, Jake ripped open the package of chopsticks you brought, guessing correctly that he did not have them in his drawer, setting the table as well as he could. You brought the two steaming bowls to the table and sat down, looking at him. 

“Go on, try it.”

Jake somewhat clumsily picked up the noodles with the chopsticks, draping them on the spoon before adding a tomato, with a pointed look in your direction, before putting it in his mouth, humming in surprise. 

“The tomato is actually not that bad,” he admitted and you danced  in your chair in victory. 

“Told you so,” you gushed, digging into your own bowl. The two of you spent the next couple of minutes in silence, with the occasional slurp by Jake, not having mastered eating with chopsticks quite just yet. 

“You know when you offered to cook dinner, I was expecting something like chicken alfredo or some steak and gravy, not shrimp tom yum,” Jake said in between bites and you chuckled, placing your chopsticks on the bowl. 

“There’s nothing wrong with pasta or steak. I love that, but if you have it for lunch and dinner every day, you quickly get tired of it, trust me. When my best friend and I used to live together, I was the one cooking for like 90% of the time because Brad is a disaster in the kitchen.”

Jake paused, the name sounding somewhat familiar, but it quickly moved to the back of his head as your story progressed.

“I got tired of pasta, so I just started looking for more recipes, branching out a bit. And it’s definitely come in handy, I never have to wonder what I should cook for dinner,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“That probably takes a lot of stress off your shoulders. I mostly eat on b- work. I eat at work,” Jake corrected himself quickly and you narrowed your eyes at him. “So I don’t really cook that often.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but apparently decided against it when you closed it again, finishing your dinner. After the two of you were done, you left Jake to do the dishes, not even fighting him on it as he offered to do it, instead making yourself comfortable on the couch. 

When Jake was done, he walked to the living room, pausing in the doorway as he wiped his hands off, watching you tapping on your phone. “You know, “ he started, kneeling on the couch, “other people would fight me to do the dishes.”

“I made dinner,” you pointed out, looking at him with raised brows. “Quid pro quo.”

“I was kidding, I would’ve cooked for you if you had let me,” Jake needled, trailing his hands up your leg and you only watched, amused. 

“Anything I can help you with, mister?”

“I was just wondering if you had planned anything for dessert…” Jake hummed, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts, the other hand ghosting over the buttons. “Otherwise I have some ideas.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, your eyes dark, and Jake could tell that you were getting antsy. “What’s on the menu?”

“You.”

Jake scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder, having you squeal, as he carried you into his bedroom, throwing you on the bed, not very gentleman-like. 

You didn’t seem to mind. 

As with everything Jake did, he didn’t waste any time, flicking the buttons of your pants open before he pulled them down swiftly, leaving you in your underwear. You propped yourself up on your elbows, and Jake looked up at you with a smirk before he literally buried his face in your pussy. 

Using his hands to lift your thighs, Jake took his sweet time licking in between your folds and hearing you gasp was music to his ears. Pushing closer against you, he hitched one of your legs over his shoulder, plunging his tongue into you. 

“Oh god, Jake!”

Your hands had found their way into his hair, tugging, not quite so hard that it was painful, but enough that it made him fuck you with his tongue even harder. The way you moaned over him drove him crazy and he grunted into you. His cock was uncomfortably straining against his jeans, but he was determined to make you come first, so he kept swirling his tongue against the bundle of your nerves until you were shaking. 

“I’m close,” you writhed out and Jake detected a hint of surprise in your voice. He was tempted to ask about it, to tease, but at this point it would be kind of mean and he was pretty sure he’d regret it, so he filed it away for later. 

Applying a bit more pressure, while holding the same rhythm, Jake swirled his tongue around you, lifting his eyes just at the right moment when you fell apart, your whole body shaking as you did. 

Satisfied, Jake pulled away from you, biting his lower lip with his teeth, a shit-eating grin on his face after having made you come like that. Your chest was heaving as you recovered from your orgasm, eyes shut. 

“I was that good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered with a huff, dragging him up next to you so you could kiss him, while your hands were steadfastly busy with undoing his belt. Jake’s mouth was still glistening with you, but you didn’t seem to mind, as you eagerly kissed him. When you finally undid his pants, you wasted no time, immediately wrapping your hands around his cock and Jake moaned into your mouth, while you lazily jerked him off, hand slick from his pre-cum. 

“‘m gonna ride you,” you mumbled against his lips, and he merely grunted in agreement, his hand reaching for your shirt, before he pulled it off over your head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Throwing your leg over his waist, you straddled him, his cock just barely touching your ass. Jake reached up to unclasp your bra, sliding it off your arms and you pulled on his shirt impatiently. 

With a laugh, despite his rock-hard cock, Jake took off his shirt and you immediately put your hands all over him, groaning. 

“God, you’re literally sex on legs.”

“You know I really ought to eat your pussy more often if it gets you like this,” Jake grinned and you huffed, fingers brushing over his abs. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jake.”

Leaning your hands on his chest, you bent down to kiss him, while one hand reached down to guide his cock against your entrance and Jake’s eyes fluttered shut in pleasure when he was engulfed by your warm walls. 

“Oh fuck me…” you sighed, throwing your head head, adjusting to his length and Jake’s eyes fluttered open, smiling lazily at you. 

“That’s the plan, if you’d start moving,” Jake said with a slap on your side and you glared at him, before you started to move, your eyes rolling to the back of the head. He’d never get tired of this sight, watching you fuck yourself on his cock with so much pleasure. Grunting when your nails started digging into his abs, he reached up to cup your breast, his mouth salivating. You laid your hand over his and squeezed; when your eyes fluttered open, staring directly at him, he nearly came then and there. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re killing me,” Jake choked out, dragging you off his cock. Before you could start complaining, however, he already had you on your back, lining up against you, and plunging in, making you moan. 

The sounds that filled his bedroom were obscene and he’d feel guilty for his neighbors, if he actually cared. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, as he pounded into you, which apparently wasn’t enough for you, judging by your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper. 

“Harder,” you moaned against his mouth and he’d roll his eyes if he wasn’t enjoying himself so much. Of course he obliged. Your moans turned into cries of pleasure and Jake leaned his head on your shoulder as he thrusted into you, biting at your neck. 

“Are you going to come for me, hm?” He whispered against your skin, the sound of his cock driving in and out of you, constant. “You going to come all over my cock?”

“Yesyesyesyes,” you whined, your back arching when the second orgasm hit you, your entire body shaking. 

Jake followed quickly after, spilling his cum inside of you with your name on his lips. Carefully pulling out, he rolled to the side, as the two of you caught your breath. He pressed a soft kiss to your side, before he reluctantly stood up, knowing he’d needed to clean up, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Kneeling in between your legs, he carefully wiped you off, making you hiss. 

“Sensitive!” 

“Sorry,” Jake said, not feeling sorry at all, wiping himself off as well before tossing the towel in the hamper, curling around you. A comfortable silence fell over you as Jake drew circles into your skin. 

“So…” Jake started, drawling a bit. “You sounded a bit… Surprised when you came the first time.”

Jake could literally see you rolling your eyes, even though you had your back to him. 

“No one has ever made me come with their tongue before,” you then said and Jake inhaled sharply, feeling a sense of pride and also possessiveness at your words. Pulling you a bit closer, he nipped at your neck, smiling. 

“Where’s my award then?”

You rolled in his arms so quickly, Jake had barely time to react, and that was saying something. In a matter of seconds, you were back on top of him, giving him a devilish smile. Jake gulped at the sight of you, his cock half-hard again already. 

“I was trying to give you some time to recover, but if you’re so eager…”

A few seconds later, you had your mouth wrapped around his cock and he was seeing stars like he was flying at night.

///

With a sigh, Jake pulled the helmet from his head, shaking out his hair. The squadron’s been testing out some new planes for the past weeks and today Jake very much experienced the limits of those planes. He couldn’t even wait for the others and headed straight to the changing rooms, putting his helmet in its designated space on his way. Unzipping his flight suit, he let it drop around his waist, stilling when he passed his locker. Without thinking for too long, he opened the locker, reaching for his phone. 

Sweets: hey

Sweets: idk if I can do dinner tonight, work’s been tough

Sweets: don’t be mad

Furrowing his brow, Jake was disappointed you’d cancel dinner so last minute, especially because you’ve been looking forward to the reservation for like a week. So you must be really down, then. Jake bit his lip, thinking for a second before he decided to call you, phone already ringing against his ear. 

“Hello?”

You sounded small, exhausted. Jake’s never heard you like this and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. What happened to make you, someone who was so inexcusably bright and happy all the time, sound so… Down?

“Hey. It’s me. Are you okay?”

You laughed, though it didn’t sound very happy. “Um, no. Not really. I’m sorry I had to cancel so last minute, I was really looking forward to eating there.”

“No, no. It’s completely fine, don’t worry about it,” Jake looked up when the door to the changing rooms opened, and Javy stepped in. Jake shushed him with a finger on his mouth, turning his phone the other way. “I could maybe pick up some food there and come to your place afterwards. How does that sound?”

Javy raised an eyebrow at him and Jake laid his palm over his mouth. 

“That actually sounds good. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

“You’re the best.”

Javy side-eyed him as Jake hung up the phone, stuffing it back into the locker. Jake didn’t say anything as he stripped out of his flight suit, but he could feel Javy’s eyes staring at the back of his head. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

Javy rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know that things were getting serious with the bar girl. That was her, wasn’t it?”

“She has a name,” Jake pointed out and Javy sighed. “She’s not feeling very well and she has been looking forward to that restaurant for like a week. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know it’s not. I was just surprised. I am happy for you, man.”

Javy squeezed Jake’s shoulder and he huffed, hiding his smile before shrugging his hand off of him. God, Javy was so nosy sometimes. Jake knew he only had good intentions but he was pretty sure that Javy was going to pull a stupid stunt like give you the shovel talk when he’d introduce you to him. After Jake showered, he got dressed and drove to the restaurant to pick up several things from the menu. Packed with two take-away bags, Jake made his way over to your place, knocking gently on your door. 

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door before it opened, revealing you. You gave him a small smile and Jake put all the bags in one hand, wrapping his arm around you and pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. He realized that it was very much a boyfriend move, but a kiss on the lips just didn’t seem appropriate, and he didn’t just not want to kiss you. So a forehead kiss it was.  

“Come on, I already set the table,” you said, pulling him inside and grabbing the bags from his hands. While Jake took his shoes off, you put the take away boxes on the table, opening the pizza box before sitting down. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” 

“Just water is fine.”

Jake walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a water bottle for you, stilling when he saw a six pack of his favorite beer standing in the corner. Breathing out a laugh, he grabbed a beer for himself and a water bottle for you, getting back to the table. If you noticed the beer in his hand, you didn’t say anything so neither did he. 

///

Sweets: you up for a movie tonight? the new marvel movie looks great

Jake: what’s marvel?

Sweets: you’re joking right?

Jake: no

Jake stared at the small ellipses that kept popping up and disappearing, meaning that he had just riled you up on another level. Obviously he knew what Marvel was, Fanboy recently took the whole squadron out for the new Spider-Man movie when it came out. You couldn’t be friends with Fanboy and not know Marvel. When five minutes had passed, and the ellipses were still there, Jake decided to let you off the hook.

Jake: I was kidding. Of course I know what Marvel is.

Sweets: i hate you.

Snorting, Jake fingers flew over the screen of his phone as he replied to you, tensing when he heard steps coming towards him. Quickly, he slipped the phone into the pocket of his flight suit, only to relax again, realizing who it was. 

“Who’s got you smiling at your phone like a fool?”

“None of your business,” Jake said lightly, reaching for his phone again, the message to you still unfinished. Jake leaned away when Rooster tried peeking on the screen, but apparently he saw enough.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girl!”

“You never asked.”

“She must be a saint to be putting up with you,” Rooster joked and Jake huffed, a fond smile on his face. 

“You have no idea.”

“Hey, why don’t you bring her around for my birthday?” Rooster asked and Jake smirked, already having thought of it. “I think all of us would like to meet the girl who can tame you down into a puppy.”

Honestly, Jake wasn’t sure if you’d actually wanted to meet his friends. Were you at that point to meet each other’s friends yet? Is that where the relationship was headed? 

“Watch it, Rooster,” Jake bellowed, though without any heat. “And I was actually thinking about bringing her, but I think she’s busy.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. But bring her around for drinks sometime?”

“We’ll see. I don’t want to chase her off by introducing her to you group of ragtags too soon.”

“Introducing who to us?”

Jake groaned when the rest of the squadron joined, Phoenix raising a meticulously groomed brow at him. 

“Ooooh, does Jake have a girlfriend?” Halo teased and Jake rolled his eyes, brushing her hand off his shoulders. 

“You know, now that you mention it, he has been constantly glued to his phone and ditching us instead of coming to the bar,” Payback hummed in thought, throwing his arm over Jake’s neck. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends may be a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Don’t tease him, he’s a man in love.”

Jake couldn’t help the flush on his cheeks and everyone started hooting. He threw a dirty look at Javy, his supposed best friend, who definitely will be demoted to friend, soon if he didn’t stop airing out his dirty laundry. Jake looked at Rooster, for some type of support, but the other man only shrugged with his shoulders, having the time of his life. 

“Just for this, I will bring her around even later than I already planned to,” Jake huffed. “Now come on, I have time for one drink before I go meet her.”

For the entire time Jake was at the Hard Deck, the squadron continued teasing him. Jake was annoyed, but he knew that you would love this. God, the worst thing is, you’d probably fit right in with the people Jake called his friends. When he finally announced his departure, they all yelled at him to send regards to you and that they would meet you soon. With a head-shake, Jake made his way home, changing into his civvies and drove over to your place. 

You were already standing out by the sidewalk, climbing into his car when he pulled to a stop. 

“Hi.”

Leaning over, you kissed him sweetly on the lips, before dropping your hands in your lap. “Thanks for driving.”

“Sure thing.”

You spent the entire drive to the movie theater talking about your day, without mentioning your jobs, and exchanged theories about the new Marvel movie. At the movie theater, you did the old dance and grab of paying for the tickets, with Jake paying and accepting defeat when you slapped your card out for the drinks and popcorn. 

During the movie, Jake spent most of it staring at you, instead of the screen and he realized how right Javy was. He’d got it bad for you. After the post-credit scenes have rolled, you turned to him to say how his theory was so wrong, only to find him already looking at you. 

“What?”

“Do you wanna spend the night?”

Caught by surprise by his, admittedly, very random question, you pursed your lips in thought, before nodding. “Sounds good. But I need to eat, I’m starving.”

“We can’t have that, now, can we,” Jake drawled, grabbing his hand and pulling you up. “Come on, I know a pretty good taco place.”

The taco place was on the way to Jake’s house and it wasn’t anything special, really. It didn’t even have tables, so you and Jake had to eat your tacos by the curb of the parking lot the taco truck was parked in. 

“My friends were hassling me about meeting you today,” Jake told you, wiping his hands with the napkins and you raised a brow at him, swallowing the food in your mouth before answering.

“Were they now? And what did you tell them?”

“I said that they can meet you when I deem them worthy enough.”

Snorting out a laugh, you shook your head, throwing the last of your taco in your mouth. You shoved his forehead gently, which was kind of demeaning, but Jake smirked at you, wrapping his arm around you. 

“They told me to bring you around tomorrow-”

“You know I’m busy, I already told you,” you cut in and he gave you a look. 

“Yes, I know. I was listening to you.”

“Good.”

You got to your feet, dragging Jake with you. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jake took you home, and while it was a bit odd to have you with him while he got ready for bed, it wasn’t something that he couldn’t imagine getting used to. But when you crawled under the blankets of his bed, Jake had to pause a bit, that image burning in his head.

When Jake woke up the next morning, he felt your warmth pressing into his body and he smiled before he could even open his eyes. 

“I can literally feel you staring at me,” you mumbled into his chest, leaning back to blearily look at him, your brows furrowed.

So definitely not a morning person then. Noted.

“You must definitely still be asleep then, because I am definitely not staring at you.”

Huffing, you buried your face in the crook of his neck again, groaning. “What time is it?”

Jake reached for his phone, squinting his eyes at the bright screen in the otherwise dark room. He usually liked to keep his curtains only partially drawn to get woken up with the sun rise, but you had vehemently complained against it when you got in bed the night before.

“Ten-ish.”

With that, you started stretching like a cat, almost taking Jake’s eye out in the process. You sat up, wiping your eyes and you had to be the most adorable fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “Do you want to get breakfast before I have to go home? I need to run some errands before I head over to my best friend’s tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweets.”

The two of you got dressed, and got ready in the bathroom, and Jake merely watched you in the mirror as you blinked, brushing your teeth. 

“How many cups of coffee do you need before you’re actually awake?”

“Ask me again after I’ve had my first cup,” you mumbled, mouth full of toothpaste. 

When you were finally done, Jake draped your button up over your shoulder, before herding you to the car, driving to the closest breakfast diner. Luckily, it wasn’t that full and Jake managed to find a booth, quickly flagging down a waitress to order. It was nice out, the sun out and bright, though there was still quite a morning chill. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder as you sipped on your coffee, sighing softly, having opted to sit next to him, instead of on the other side of the booth. 

“You know, I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Why you never wanted to sleep over. You’re almost like a kitten, all small and complacent.”

Glowering, you side-eyed him. 

“You wanna say that again after I’ve finished this cup?”

Biting back a laugh, he wrapped his arm around you, pressing a firm kiss on your temple. “There she is.”

You finished breakfast while occasionally swiping at each other before you paid the bill, raising a brow at Jake, daring him to fight her for it. He didn’t. 

This time. 

Twenty minutes later, Jake’s truck rolled to a stop in front of your apartment building and you unbuckled from your seat. 

“Hey, before you go,” he stopped you, grabbing your hand gently. “What do you think about coming out for a drink with me and my friends sometime?”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile on your face. Jake actually got nervous the longer you took to answer, but you instead grabbed him by the nape of his neck, pulling him over the console for a kiss, in which Jake nearly lost himself, before you leaned away, biting your lip. 

“I’d like that.”

Climbing out of the car, you gave him one last smile, before you shut the door, heading inside your building. Jake couldn’t help but chuckle at himself, shaking his head and making the drive back home. He spent the rest of the day doing some paperwork he had been pushing off, trying to get the rest of the squadron to not completely escalate regarding Rooster’s birthday present and occasionally texting you. When it rolled around seven pm, Jake got changed and made his way over to an old hangar of Penny’s dad, where Rooster was holding the party. 

“Awe, you didn’t bring your girl?” Halo immediately asked when he got out of his car, having waited with Javy by the parking lot. 

“No. And seeing you prowling around here like this, I’m glad I didn’t,” Jake replied dryly, patting Javy on the back before they walked inside the hangar. 

“You can’t blame Halo. You’ve been holding out on your mysterious girl for so long, the suspense is literally killing us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Javy,” Jake sighed, plucking his aviators off his nose. “You’ll meet her when you meet her. Now come on, Rooster’s over there.”

They broke up Rooster and Maverick, whose eyes were suspiciously misty, to embrace the other aviator.

“Hey man, happy birthday,” Jake said, hugging him tightly, clapping his back. “Let’s hope that this year’s finally the year where you shave off that mustache of yours, yeah?”

Rooster beamed at him, apparently having a few beer intus already, his cheeks red. 

“Yeah yeah, Hang. I know you love me. I’m glad you came.”

Soon, the hangar filled with the rest of the squadron, Payback and Fanboy bringing in Rooster’s birthday gift - an entire cardboard box full of the most brightly colored hawaiian shirts they could find, and yes, Jake was outvoted - and they were currently trying to see how many shirts Rooster was able to put on before he’d suffocate. 

With a fond shake of his head, Jake grabbed a beer from the cooler, snapping the bottle cap off. He was glad to have found this team. Before the mission, he only had Javy, and occasionally Halo, whenever she was stateside. Jake wasn’t sure what it would’ve looked like to you, if he was only able to introduce to you one and half friends, because he just didn’t have more. This was better. 

Pulling another swig from his beer, Jake checked his phone for any new messages from you - nothing - when there was a commotion by the front. Jake couldn’t see exactly what it was through the crowd, but then Rooster emerged with a huge grin, holding a cake in the shape of a… Was that a rooster in a Hawaiian shirt? 

Someone clearly had a good taste in humor. 

Rooster placed the cake on the table before wrapping his arms around a girl, the one who brought the cake presumably, and kissed her soundly on the cheek. She looked vaguely familiar and Jake furrowed his brows, staring at her, until recognition dawned on his face. 

It was you. 

He watched as Rooster took you around, introducing you to everyone and Jake’s eye twitched. The two of you looked awfully comfortable around each other, with tons of physical contact. You and Jake hadn’t been dating long, but he thought that you were on the same stage as him when it concerned your relationship, especially after last night. Were you cheating on Rooster with him? But you wouldn’t do that, right?

And Rooster hadn’t mentioned dating anyone, has he? Or was Jake just not listening again?

By the time Rooster finally brought you around, Jake was crawling out of his skin, not missing the fact how your eyebrows rose up, before you shook your head, smirking. Jake was barely listening when Rooster introduced you.

“... this is Hangman. This one shoved Jeremy Maguire into a bush of roses when he tried to steal my scooter and we’ve been best friends ever since.”

Blinking, Jake stared at you, not having processed the information just yet, while you only peered at him, mouthing Hangman? at him.

“Hi, nice to meet you, Hangman,” you drawled and Jake furrowed his brows in confusion. Childhood best friends? he mouthed instead.

Rooster, however, was completely oblivious to your exchange. “I’d tell you not to hit on her, but I know you wouldn’t be able to handle her, so you better watch out,” he told Jake, before turning to you. “I’ll go grab some plates and a knife for the cake. Are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah, go on, B,” you said, waving him off. Rooster pecked you on the cheek, nodding at Jake before disappearing into the back of the hangar. 

You, on the other hand, turned your full attention to Jake, crossing your arms. “So. Hangman, huh?”

Jake sighed in exasperation, finishing the last of his beer. You watched, and Jake, checking over his shoulder that everyone was otherwise busy, grabbed you by the arm, dragging you outside the hangar. You leaned against the wall, a smirk dancing on your lips.

“Your best friend Brad is Rooster?”

“It’s not like you didn’t know his name is Bradley, Jake,” you shot back, jabbing his chest. “You should have told me that you’re flying for the Navy.”

In hindsight, Jake probably should’ve been able to put two and two together. Now that he thought about it, there were so many instances where you were basically screaming at him that Rooster was your best friend.

Small world indeed.

“You didn’t want to know!”

“God, I should’ve been able to tell with that ego of yours,” you sighed and Jake snorted. 

“Didn’t seem to mind my ego last night.”

You rolled your eyes at him and god you were so beautiful when you were annoyed. Brushing his hand up your arm, Jake fixed the strap of your dress.

“You look nice.”

Scoffing, you fixed him with a look that Jake knew meant that you were unimpressed. Straightening his shirt, you batted your eyelashes at him. 

“What does Hangman even stand for?”

Jake smirked broadly. “You’ve seen me naked. You know what it stands for.”

“Fucking naval aviators will be the death of me,” you muttered before dragging him in closer, pressing your lips on his. Jake groaned quietly, kissing you back while one hand cupped your cheek, the other resting on your waist. 

“Seriously?”

Immediately you and Jake sprang apart, as Rooster only looked at you, blinking unfazed. Jake waited for Rooster to grab him by the ear or something, for desecrating his childhood best friend, but he only shook his head at Jake. 

“It took you five minutes to fall for her charms, huh? I expected better from you.”

“I- what?” Jake was at loss for words, mentally prepared for defending himself, but apparently that wasn’t necessary.

You smirked coyly at Rooster, your hands smoothing over Jake’s shirt. “He’s tongue guy,” you said, as if that explained everything. 

Evidently, it did though, as Rooster’s eyebrows shot up, his face a mixture of shock and surprise. “Holy shit, he is?”

Jake was extremely confused at this point and he very much did not like how he was the only one in the unknown. Was this how it was always going to be at this point? He wasn’t sure if he liked that. Rooster wrapped his arm around Jake’s shoulder, laughter rumbling in his chest.

“The hell is going on here? Am I in the middle of some weird shovel talk or something?” 

“No, she is definitely capable of taking care of herself, Hangman.” 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Jake grumbled and you beamed at him, your eyes twinkling. 

“Wait, he doesn’t know yet?” Rooster asked gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Wait, you didn’t pull that weird job thing on your first date again, did you?”

“It normally doesn’t even backfire like this. How should I have known that you guys know each other?”

“What’s with the job thing, anyway? Isn’t this the best time to tell me now?”

“Oh oh, can I tell him please?” 

“Jesus, fuck off, Bradley,” you huffed, giving him a shove. Jake glanced between Rooster and you, actually getting concerned. 

“What is it you do for a living, sweets?” He then wanted to know. Rooster, having noticed his tone change, cackled, rubbing his hands together like the little shit he was. Sighing, you glanced at Jake, before telling him what you did for a living.

“Are you kidding? Now that’s not really fair, is it?”

author's note: anyone any guesses as to what reader's job is?

🏷️list: @obiwankenobis-lap @piceous21 @kajjaka @peaches-1999 @dempy @bluearchersstuff @ordinaryornate @hope-love-equality2 @averyreadswow @idiomaticpunk @luckyladycreator2@littlebadariell

#jake hangman seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman x reader

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 3

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Summary: You and Miguel can't keep your hands off each other. Will he be able to tell you the truth about himself?

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/notables: NSFW 18+, cursing, p in v, masturbation, oral -m and f receiving, mention of a period, but just a mention. (non period) Blood, violence, numbness: reader is partially paralyzed and not in control of the situation for a bit. sex is consensual but the paralytic is not. nor is the biting/feeding. Miguel is a bad boy. You've been warned. not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

"Talk to me, Miguel," you softly ordered, halting your motions. You needed some feedback.

"Fuck, don't - don't stop," he husked, his hand joining yours to jerk him off. It took him a little bit longer than the first time, but as his warmth coated your hand, running down your wrist, you realized that working with Miguel could end up being a lot of fun.

Every day at your new job was an adventure - a mind-expanding, challenging, thrilling, orgasm-inducing adventure.

Miguel did not sacrifice one moment of work in the lab, nor behave in any way as if he'd been inside you on a daily basis.

But just like the first time, once you were back in his office...

Pretty much every day for the last two weeks, he needed you to "come over here and look at something," - which would inevitably end up with you on his lap. He really did have things to show you, but they varied in range, from deep, scientific hypotheses, to deep, frantic thrusts of his cock inside you.

Miguel loved for you to ride him, sitting on his lap, at his desk. Seeing how he appreciated your legs so much, you made sure to wear a skirt and the sexiest possible panties. He had a shredded collection of them in his desk drawer, and he'd already gifted you several new pairs.

So you were this girl now: working a challenging, fullfulling job in your dream field, while also letting your boss fuck your brains out.

Lucky you.

"Fuck, Miguel, fuck!" You gasped as he gripped your hips, roughly dragging you back and forth on his lap. Gripping the edge of his desk, you pushed your ass back to meet him thrust for thrust, bouncing and moaning the way he loved.

While he lived to work you up slowly and get you all needy and begging beneath him, when you were on top, he knew you liked it fast.

He had, a time or two, added the slightest bit of super speed to his hips rabbiting up into you, drawing the most obscene little noises out of your pretty mouth. He hoped you hadn't noticed the odd things about him yet - how he would never finger you, fearing his talons would slice you. How he would fuck you so fast that he might as well be your personal vibrating fuck toy.

Or how he never kissed you.

God, how he wanted to. But no. You had clearly seen his fangs by now since they weren't retractable like his talons, but he couldn't risk hurting you. And if he cut your tongue - fuck - he couldn't even dwell on how the mixture of your tongue and your blood would taste inside his mouth.

He had to control himself. But, with each day that passed, with each time he spread you across his desk and worshipped your gorgeous body - he wondered if he had the strength to keep his fangs out of your supple skin.

You came suddenly, your cries of pleasure shamefully loud. Feeling Miguel slowing inside you, you managed to lift up off his lap and turn around, kneeling in front of him.

"Baby, what are you--oh shit..." he gasped as you took his slick, coated length into your hot mouth. You had been on your knees for him before, sucking him relentlessly until he came.

Then it evolved. Instead of quick fucks on his lap, with your skirt bunched up around your waist, Miguel started asking you to strip for him. You found that the slower and more deliberately your pulled your clothes from your body, the more desperately he fucked you.

Being stark naked in his office became this unexpected thrill for you. Sometimes you would work that way -not in the lab -never there. But you would arrive in the morning, give Miguel a little striptease and promptly sit down at your desk wearing nothing but high heels.

His newest thing was to give you instructions. He would coyly mix questions about work with sexual requests and commands.

"Tell me what you think of this article..." blurred with, "spread your legs for me."

Miguel liked to give you instructions while you were naked. "Show me your pussy... touch yourself... play with your nipples..." and one day he folded his massive arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and said, "Crawl to me."

Without hesitation, you eased out of your chair, completely naked, and slowly started crawling toward your boss on your hands and knees. You thought he would demand that you suck him off, but instead, he rewarded you.

Spreading your naked body across his desk, he kept his fangs safely behind his lips - and with no sucking whatsoever, he used his tongue to wring two orgasms in a row from your soaking wet cunt.

You could die happy - really, you could. Miguel O'Hara - genius, sex god - had fucked you with his tongue.

You were fully aware that a "relationship" like this was probably a bit supernova, and would likely run its course. Miguel would eventually get bored of all the sexy games and move on to his next source of entertainment. It might even get weird, but you felt like you would be able to keep your professional relationship in tact.

And in the meantime, you were having the time of your life with the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

Sure enough, one day, Miguel was different. As soon as you walked into his office, ready to lift up your skirt and show him the royal blue, cheeky panties he'd given you - he held up his hand and told you to stop.

"Don't - not today." He never explained himself, except to say he wasn't really feeling well. The two of you remained fully clothed and then headed to the lab for a completely normal day of work. At the end of the day, he offered a weak apology.

"Don't come in tomorrow," he ordered, avoiding looking at you. "Actually...take a few days off. I need some time to think."

Okay, that offended you.

"Miguel, if you want to get more work done, I understand that," you explained, wondering if he thought all the fooling around was interrupting the research. "You don't have to send me home."

"I don't recall asking for your input," he all but snapped. "I don't care what you do. Work from home. Just don't come in the rest of the week."

Narrowing your eyes, you decided to keep your mouth shut. You were not going to get emotional in front of him, even if he was being rude. You left without another word.

Miguel had never felt more like a monster, nor more disgusted with himself. He was growing rather attached to you, and you still didn't know what he was. The problem was...he smelled you. Your monthly cycle was imminent. He'd never had a problem like this around other women, but it had been a while since he worked so closely with one.

Repulsed by his own anatomy and thoughts, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall, leaving a gaping hole. How was he supposed to get any work done with a brilliant mind like yours if he couldn't even handle your womanly body doing normal things? He knew the answer. You were the perfect one - he was the monster.

Fuck.

This wasn't going to work. He couldn't send you away for a few days a month. What kind of misogynistic asshole would he be? Apparently, the kind who would do what he just did!

Reaching for his phone, he sent you a message.

'Hey, I'm really sorry about today. I was an asshole. I wasn't feeling very well. You can come in to the office if you want to get your work done. I'll be out of town for a couple days. We can talk then, if it's okay. Sorry again.'

He was both relieved and nervous to read your reply.

'Thanks for letting me know. If I did something wrong, please just tell me. I can handle it. Are you sure you're okay?'

It took him an hour to figure out a response.

'It's not you. You're doing amazing work. And I love the time we spend together. Can I make it up to you when I get back? Have dinner with me.'

You freaked the hell out. Was Miguel asking you out? And where was he going for the next few days? If it was a work trip, why didn't he tell you about it? You supposed he might explain a little more when he returned.

The big night arrived. Miguel actually sent a car for you - to bring you to his home. You were expecting dinner in a nice restaurant, but as the car pulled up to a posh skyscraper not too far from the office, you realized Miguel lived here.

To your delight and surprise, he met you in the lobby, smiling warmly as you entered the building.

"Hi, you look incredible," he sweetly complimented, taking your hands and kissing your cheek. "Come on, I'm on the top floor."

Of course he was.

The two of you took an elevator up a few floors - then got out and switched to a private elevator which was operated by a key. An attendant greeted Miguel and was promptly dismissed so the two of you could ride up to the top floor alone.

"This is all very you," you commented, feeling your stomach flip-flop as the elevator zinged upward.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes playfully.

"I'm still deciding." Shrugging one shoulder, you winked at him.

Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, he inched closer to you. "You still mad at me?" He stared down into your eyes.

Batting your eyelashes, your nose wrinkled with a cute smile. "I'll let you know."

The elevator doors gave way to the penthouse, and Miguel offered his hand to lead you into his home.

If this were another man, you would have felt this momentum - this film-style, rush-off-the-elevator and fall into one another, kissing wildly thing. But Miguel never kissed you. And he didn't now.

You were tempted to yank on his arm and pull his lips down to yours, but something made you stop, feeling hesitant to be rejected this early in the evening.

"I hope you like Mexican food," he chirped, leading you to his gourmet kitchen.

"You know I do," you grinned, "considering how many empanadas and tamales we've eaten."

You paused, taking in the incredible spread before you, "Holy shit, Miguel, did you make all this?"

"No," he laughed, "it's mostly catered, but I did make the empanadas," he opened the fridge and produced a clear, crystal pitcher, "and - the margaritas."

"Oh my god - if these are any good, I just might have to marry you," you teased, as he reached for a glass with salt around the rim.

The two of you ended up eating at the kitchen island, sitting on bar stools, making a mess of the spread of Mexican food and enjoying a few margaritas each.

"How did things go while you were out of town?" You politely asked, and you could have sworn he stared at you for minute as if he had no clue what you meant.

"Oh, yeah...uh...it went fine," he finally answered, taking a long drink as if needing a moment to think. "Sorry again about that. It was...unexpected."

He was totally lying. He didn't go out of town, he was just avoiding you. He felt like an idiot. But that's what tonight was for. He was going to try to tell you the truth. Or maybe break it off with you? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't do that to you again - punish you for being a woman and having bodily functions.

"It happens," you shrugged, reaching for your drink for a little more liquid courage. You had a lovely buzz going and you were honestly ready to jump on top of Miguel. "I missed you though."

Your eyes dipped down as you waited for his reaction.

"Me too," he quietly admitted, reaching for your hand. "That's why I wanted you here tonight."

You thought he would elaborate. Or if he had no intention of talking, it was the perfect opportunity for him to kiss you, especially with the way he was staring adoringly into your eyes.

Maybe you mistook adoringly for hungrily - because he slid his long fingers under your dress, up your inner thigh. Okay, maybe he missed your body more than your actual company. Either way, you weren't going to complain if you could spend the night with this gorgeous man inside you.

"You're wet," he murmured, brushing his knuckles over the lace of your panties, beginning to rub up and down deliciously. "You're always wet and ready for me."

"Yes," you panted, arching into his touch. He teased you for a moment longer, then abruptly pulled his hand away, pulling a whine of protest from deep in your chest.

"This way, baby," he softly instructed, reaching for your hand and leading you up a winding staircase. Your heartbeat quickened as he led you into a luxurious den - spacious and decadent, with a roaring fire.

"Holy shit," you marveled, taking in the half dozen shelves filled with books, the expensive-looking paintings and antiques scattered around the room. "If this is one of your moves - it's a good one."

Miguel chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. "I don't bring anyone here, sweetheart. Just you."

A thrill zipped through your body. Even if he was lying - even he brought other women here - you were more than happy to be the focus of his attention for the night.

"Now, why don't I get comfortable," he chimed, easing down into an oversized leather chair. Leaning back, he spread his legs, thrusting up slightly as if putting himself on display.

Wondering if he wanted you to join him, he gestured to your body. "Take your clothes off."

Biting your lip, you eased into your office routine, thrilled at the thought of a private striptease for Miguel, in his home.

Deciding to stretch it out a bit, you pulled one thick strap of your dress off one shoulder, pausing to lock eyes with him, making him wait just a moment before pulling down the opposite strap. Your dress had no zipper - it was pretty form-fitting. So you started to push it down over your breasts, pausing as the material pooled around your hips.

Shifting his own hips, Miguel stretched one arm out on the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on your lace-covered tits.

Pausing just a moment longer - just to feel like you had a little bit of power - you finally turned around, giving Miguel a generous view of your ass as you pushed the dress over the swell of your hips. It dropped to the floor and you leaned all the way over, showing off your lace thong as you pulled the dress off your feet.

"Stay," he ordered, wetting his lips at the sight in front of him. The thin slip of lace barely covered your pussy and left your round ass bare for him.

Bracing yourself on your fingertips, you obeyed, your body folded in half - ass on display.

"Get on your hands and knees."

You thought he would join you - maybe fuck you like this, but he wasn't done giving orders.

"Turn around and crawl."

Fuck. Something about his new crawling command made your pussy quiver. You quickly complied, slowly crawling toward him in your lace bra and thong, noticing the huge bulge in his black pants.

"Good girl," he purred, his eyes flashing wildly at you on your hands and knees for him.

After ordering you to stop, he asked you to take off your bra. "Want to see those pretty tits," he almost growled. "Play with them for me."

You did as he asked, grabbing two handfuls of your breasts and kneading them, putting on a show for him, before rolling your nipples tantalizingly.

"That's it, baby," he panted, reaching to stroke his hard length over his pants. "Look so pretty for me."

"Don't you want to touch me, Miguel?" You pleaded, working your breasts and rolling your hips downward temptingly.

Damn you were breathtaking. Miguel unfastened his pants and slid his hand inside to pull out his cock, needing some friction.

He ignored your question, instead demanding that you get your panties nice and wet for him. You rubbed your panties up into your center before removing them and making sure they were sopping. Reaching for them, Miguel draped the soaked lace over his cock and began to jack himself off.

A really embarrassing sound left your mouth at the sight. This brilliant man was filthy and you could not get enough of it.

"Show me your pussy," he commanded, his voice strangled as he pumped his cock with your panties around it.

Leaning back on your elbows, still on the floor, you spread your naked legs wide for him.

"Use your fingers," he panted, "and fuck yourself."

"Miguel, I want you," you begged. "I'm so wet, baby. I need you so bad."

Disobeying his command, you closed your legs and got on all fours again, crawling toward him.

He almost came at the sight. But you weren't listening to him.

"I told you what to do," he warned, halting the motion of his hand on his cock.

"I don't want to," you pouted, reaching up from the floor to place your hands on his thighs. "We're not at work - you can't tell me what to do."

Growling, he tossed your panties aside and grabbed the nape of your neck, yanking your head forward. "I'm nice to you at work, muñeca, but this is different."

"Prove it," you challenged, a little on the bratty side. "Because I'm getting bored over here by myself."

His crimson irises flashed angrily. "Bored? And what is it that will keep you from being bored?"

Reaching for his cock, you used both hands to twist it almost painfully, causing him to hiss in pleasure. "I want you to fuck me."

Pushing your hands away from him, he kept his grip on your neck with one hand. Standing up, he used his free hand to push his pants and underwear down to his knees.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you," he darkly whispered, using one hand rub the tip of his cock along your cheek and then over your lips. "Show me your tongue."

Peering up at him expectantly, you complied, the heat between your legs pooling and beginning to drip as he laid his thick, heavy length on your waiting tongue.

"I'm going to give you what you want, baby," he lowly purred. "I'm going to fuck your face until you cry for me."

Snapping his hips forward, he thrust his cock to the back of your throat, making you instantly gag on his tip, which made him groan in pleasure.

"You're gonna take me - all of me - and show me you're my good girl," he ordered, fucking your mouth deeply...steadily.

Ignoring the plush rug burning your knees, you struggled to breathe in through your nose, hollowing your cheeks to make it good for him. Tears burned your eyes as he hit the back of your throat again.

He growled at the mess he was making of you, but there was a small part of him that wondered if he would push you too far. You hadn't been quite this rough with one another in the office. Loosening his grip on your hair, he slightly slowed his thrusting when he felt your soft hands reaching around to grasp the round curve of his ass. Then you pulled him hard down your throat, sucking and swallowing so deliciously that he almost came from that one motion.

If Miguel wanted to be rough with you, then you would be rough right back. He was going to fucking pay for it later though. You wanted some things from him too.

Ramming him back into your face, you worked him fast and deep, moaning against his cock until you felt him wet and hot on your tongue. You drank him down, your pussy fluttering at the animalistic noises you'd managed to pull from him while he finished.

Pulling off his softening cock, you wiped your messy mouth with the back of your hand, taking a moment to catch your breath.

Your eyes flickered up to his fucked out expression and you held his gaze, standing up, ready for the next round.

"My turn," you purred, taking his hand and pulling him toward the plush leather chair he'd first sat in. Easing down, you spread your legs. "Get on your knees."

Still reeling from the life-changing things you'd just done with your mouth, Miguel huffed out a laugh. "Funny."

Narrowing your eyes, you closed your legs and crossed your arms over your tits. If he was going to deny you, then he wouldn't get to gawk.

"You fucking heard me, Miguel," you warned. "It's my turn."

Feeling a little apprehensive about eating you out, he decided to remind you, "I thought you wanted me to fuck you."

"Yeah, I do," you teased, "with your tongue."

You spent the next several minutes in absolute heaven. Miguel wasn't about to deny you. Something about you bossing him right back had him hardening again, quickly.

Being careful with his fangs, he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, toying with every fold and crevice, teasing you, tasting and relishing you. You had expected Miguel to eat pussy like a demon, but this slow sampling thing was making you feral.

What started as begging words descended into the most desperate, filthy sounds that had ever emanated from your throat, ever. Flattening his tongue, Miguel pressed hard on your clit, moving side to side before rapidly fluttering the tip. The change of motion and the faster pace made you come instantly.

Somehow, your first orgasm only made you hungrier for him. It hardly relieved any of your desire for him to completely ruin you all night long.

Sliding your fingers into his dark waves, you turned his head up to face you. "I want more," you desperately whispered, easing off the chair and shoving him down onto the rug. Pushing his shirt up his ripped abdomen, you stopped as your fingers toyed with his nipples.

"Get out of these clothes and fuck me."

"So bossy," he smirked, rolling you over and laying you on the soft carpet. Ripping his shirt over his head, he enjoyed the sight of you licking your lips at his rippling muscles. Shedding the rest of his clothes, he eased back onto the chair, preparing to pull you backward onto his lap like usual.

Safer that way.

He could tell you wanted him to kiss you, but maybe you could go a couple rounds and blow off some steam before he tried to confess to you why he hadn't.

"Come down here," you purred, stretching your hand out to him. "Lie down with me."

"You like giving the orders, don't you?" He smiled at you and decided to join you on the floor.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you inched your body underneath his, allowing your legs to fall open. "I want to see your eyes while you fuck me," you admitted to him, your gaze flickering to his mouth.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he could even think about trying to control the signals he was giving you.

Easing up just a little, you pressed your lips to his, reaching to ease his stiff cock inside you.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your mouth, shifting his hips to sink into you fully. "Always feel so good around me, baby."

"Kiss me," you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

This was such a bad idea. But he kissed you. Just your lips. Slowly fucking into you, he pressed his mouth gently to yours. Then he nibbled your top lip before switching to your bottom. It all went to hell when you slid your tongue inside his mouth.

His first instinct was to roughly push you away, but he managed to sit up, his back hitting the chair and his cock still inside you. You eagerly shifted to this new position, easing down in his lap to ride him, letting out a soft whine as the two of you rocked back and forth.

"Feels so good, Miguel," you gasped, twisting your beautiful body, your tits bouncing as you moved a little faster.

Strong hands slid up the curve of your back as he took a nipple into his mouth, careful to lick rather than suck. You moaned, gripping his hair and fucking yourself down on him harder.

He switched nipples, pulling the most deliciously desperate sounds from your mouth. But once he eased back to look at you, you pounced. You kissed him hard, gripping the sides of his face, slowing your thrusts as your tongue plunged into his mouth.

Then the tip of your tongue ran across his fang and sliced open.

His eyes shot open as the warm, metallic taste of your blood filled his mouth. Gripping your hair, he sucked hard on your tongue, his hips fucking up into you at a rapid, bruising pace.

Everything he was doing had turned suddenly rough, but you were into it, moaning into his mouth as he sucked your tongue. Then you felt his other fang slice into your tongue and Miguel growled like an animal into your mouth.

Letting out a little whimper at the sting, you thought maybe he'd just gotten carried away, when he ripped his mouth away from yours and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Taste so fucking good," he darkly growled, fucking you so hard and so fast you could barely think straight.

You started to say his name when you realized he was licking your throat. Your brain short-circuited when he kissed you there. You felt like a limp rag doll, unable to keep up with his wild bucking.

A sudden pain zipped through your body as you realized Miguel had bit you. Hard. You had noticed his sharp teeth before. They looked like fangs, but you just assumed they were very prominent canines.

You were wrong. They were definitely fangs because now, Miguel was drinking your blood. He was actually sucking blood out of you.

You should have been afraid. You should have been disgusted. But your body simultaneously ascended to a euphoric bliss and began to go strangely numb. You were coming - it was the strangest, wildest, best orgasm of your life. But at the same time, you felt as though you had been drugged.

Miguel was sucking and sucking and growling and fucking - he finished inside you, and by then, you couldn't even feel his warmth. When he pulled away, his eyes were wild and glowing bright red, matching the blood - your blood drenching his chin.

You felt so weak, so limp in his arms - strangely safe but never more vulnerable. You wanted to reach up to touch his face, to somehow connect with him in some way, or to calm his eyes, which were franticly scanning over your body. But you couldn't move your arm.

Realizing you were somewhat paralyzed, you let out a little whine of desperation, and started to feel afraid.

"Shhh, shh, it's okay," Miguel soothed, cradling you close and rocking you in his arms. "It's okay, you're okay."

Your eyes burned with tears but you could barely feel them roll down your cheeks.

Miguel should have felt awful.

But as you laid there, limp in his arms, crying for him, numb and bleeding from your throat - he'd never seen a more perfect sight. What he wouldn't give to fuck you again, just like this.

He knew he was a monster, and that he was never going to see you again after this night. But just for a moment, he allowed the beast to revel in the madness.

Scooping you up in his arms, he carried you down the hall to his bedroom, a thrill spiking through him as you whimpered in fear.

"You were such a good girl for me," he whispered, laying you down and brushing his fingers across your cheek. "I'm going to take care of you now."

He left the room just long enough to get a couple of damp cloths - one to wipe up the mess between your legs and one to clean the bloody wound on your throat. Just the sight of his spend leaking out of you and your blood dripping from the punctures in your neck made him hard - again.

That was the thing about regenerative powers and superhuman stamina. He was always ready to fuck.

The animal in him wanted to climb on top of you and take your limp body, listening to your sweet whimpers and drinking and drinking until he'd had his fill. His gaze roved over you hungrily as he reached to brush one hand over your breast.

But as your beautiful, desperate eyes flickered up to his, he wanted to be more for you. He wanted to be human again. "I'll get you some clothes," he said softly.

When he returned, he was dressed in a pair of black joggers, his mouth clean of blood. Lifting your body up, he slid a soft t-shirt over your head. Then he slid a pair of his boxer shorts over your legs. They were hilariously big, but it would signal to you that nothing more was going to happen between your legs.

Lifting you up a little, he pulled the covers out from under you before tucking you in gently. He eased down beside you and reached for your hand.

"The numbness you feel will wear off soon. I'm going to get your things. If you feel tired, you can sleep. I won't bother you." He sighed, realizing how badly he'd fucked everything up. Nodding to the bedside table, he added, "There's a phone if you want to call for a car. Whatever you want to do is fine."

Giving your hand a final squeeze, he stood and turned to leave the room. Hearing a distressed whimper, he turned back. "It'll wear off, I promise."

He was right. In a few minutes, you could start to feel your fingers and toes and your tongue didn't feel like sandpaper. But with the returned feeling, you distinctly felt the sharp stab wounds in your neck.

Miguel returned with your dress, handbag and shoes and set them on a nearby chair, before placing your phone on the bedside table.

"M-Miguel," you managed to whisper, your fingers twitching as you tried to reach for him.

Seeing your distress, and hearing his name on your lips, brought him back to reality. The guilt he felt was crushing, but he deserved it. He was an animal and he had hurt you.

"I won't bother you again, sweetheart. Just rest, okay?" Then he turned to leave.

You said his name again, making him halt.

"Stay."

@deputy-videogamer

next->

#miguel o'hara #decadent fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #sm: atsv fic #sm: atsv #spiderverse #oscar isaac fic

[stellarspecter]

stwg daily prompt 4/10/24: guitar

1.8k, steddie, modern au, guitar teacher eddie/guitar student steve (+ dustin as steve's brother)

so this is literally just me giving eddie my exact job and letting the plot bunnies do as they may. will be up on ao3 in a day or two once i've had time to look it over and think of a title but here it is! divider graphic by @saradika-graphics

“Let’s try that verse again, okay? 5, 6, 7, 8…” 

The little girl in front of Eddie plays with the utmost concentration, her little brow scrunched up as she tries to switch to a D chord. 

“It’s our little triangle, remember? On the — good, exactly,” Eddie nods and keeps strumming. “And to C, slide down to the first fret… 1, 2, 3, to E minor, yep, 1, 2, 3, 4.” The last notes fade into the slightly stale air of the practice room. “Good job! You did a lot better with your chord transitions this time. We’re about out of time for today, but try and practice that verse and chorus at home, okay? And then we’ll see about that bridge next week,” he tells her.

She nods with a big gummy smile. “Okay!” Eddie helps her put her guitar back in its case and walks her back out to the little waiting area they have behind the lessons desk. It’s honestly a little cramped, but before they hired him, he hadn’t even known that Guitar Center offered lessons at all, so it makes sense. He sends the girl off with her parents and a promise to practice every day before he slides behind the desk to check his schedule for his next student.

Usually he has a half hour gap on Wednesdays that he uses to practice for his band or chat with his coworkers, but today there’s a new name on the schedule: Steve Harrington.

“Huh,” he mutters. His manager hadn’t mentioned any new sign-ups to him. Maybe it was from online? With a shrug, he settles in to wait for the guy to show up. It’s 5:57, so he’s still got a few minutes.

After a minute or two of dicking around on his phone, someone calls out, “Hey, Eddie!”

He looks up to find his 6:30 student standing in front of him, an excitable kid named Dustin Henderson. He’s fun to chat with, and Eddie looks forward to his lessons — especially since it’s an opportunity to get yet another young mind hooked on metal. Sure, he’ll play and teach whatever is required, but he’ll never forget his one true love.

“Henderson,” Eddie responds, standing up and leaning against the pillar bracketing the desk. “You know your lesson is in half an hour, right?”

“I know!” He replies, chipper as ever. “I’m after him!” He jerks a thumb back behind him, and Eddie finally notices the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind Dustin.

Dear god. If this is his new student, he’s absolutely fucked.

“Hi,” the man says, extending a hand when it becomes clear Eddie is incapable of forming words. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie forces himself to act normal and grabs his hand, shooting him a smile that he hopes comes off as confident. “Eddie,” he replies. “Munson. I play guitar.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Steve jokes, eyes dancing, and Eddie is fuuuuucked. Completely and absolutely. How is he going to be able to be alone with him in a tiny practice room for a whole half hour? 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Eddie says, kind of operating on autopilot while his brain reboots. “It’s. Guitar Center.” He mentally facepalms and claps his hands together, spinning and walking them back towards the practice rooms. “So, Steve, what brings you here on this fine day? Are you Dustin’s… dad?”

Usually, his mom is the one to drive him and wait in the lobby, but it’s not out of the question that Steve could be his stepdad or something, with their different surnames. He seems around Eddie’s age, but maybe he’s just into milfs or something? 

He can’t be single. The universe is never that kind to Eddie.

Dustin bursts out laughing. “My dad? Dude, he’d had to have had me at like, twelve!”

Eddie flushes. “Well, I don’t know!”

“He’s my brother.” Steve swoops in and saves him from embarrassment. “The Hendersons took me in when I was sixteen, that’s why we have different last names.”

Eddie nods. “Oh, cool. So I assume Dustin got you to take lessons too?”

Steve laughs a little, just when Eddie thought he could finally cope with his unearthly beauty, the dick. “Yeah, he’s dead set on us starting a family band or something. I told him I could just dust off my piano skills, but he insisted. Little twerp.” He goes to ruffle his brother’s hair, and Dustin expertly ducks — clearly a common occurrence in their household.

“Cool,” Eddie says again. “Well, you ready to get started?” 

Steve nods, and Dustin goes to look around the store and mess with the DJ equipment. 

“So, you said you played piano? How long ago was that?” Eddie asks as he ushers him into the practice room.

“Oh, years and years. My parents made me take lessons when I was a kid, stopped in middle school, so it’d have to be… ten years or something now? Eleven? Jesus, I’m getting old,” Steve answers.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Every time I say I’ve been playing guitar for over a decade a little part of me dies.” They share a laugh as they both get situated on their matching stools and guitars on their laps. “So that’s a little bit about me, that I’ve been playing for over a decade. I didn’t go to school for music or anything, but I’m in a metal band in my free time, and I like to think I have a pretty good understanding of music theory and techniques after all this time, so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” It’s easier than he’d expected to slip into his practiced first lesson spiel, but he’s still hyper-focused on Steve’s reactions, taking in every hint of a smile. “I’m actually self-taught, so I learned basically by just watching YouTube tutorials and spending a lot of time on Ultimate Guitar,” Eddie explains with a wry smile. 

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, impressed. “I could never do that.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?” It’s a familiar back and forth to Eddie. Maybe he can do this. “I like to run my lessons the same way — instead of learning some random two-measure exercises from a book, we learn songs that you want to learn, and through that we can learn some new chords and strumming patterns and techniques. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “That was always the worst part of piano lessons. The music was so boring.” His nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Awesome,” Eddie says, and pulls out his phone, already open to his notes app. “So, what kind of music do you want to learn?”

“Uh.” Steve pauses. “I, uh, I listen to a lot of, um, pop? And, like, indie? Kind of just top forty radio type stuff.” 

Eddie nods as he writes that down. “Cool, cool. Any artists or songs in particular? Or just pop as a whole?”

“I dunno,” Steve admits. “I like most of the popular stuff. Oh, there’s this one artist my friend has been getting me into — Chappell Roan?”

“Nice,” Eddie responds, somehow managing to keep from jumping with joy that he might actually have a chance with this guy if he listens to gay people music. 

“You don’t… mind?” Steve asks hesitantly. Eddie looks up at him, confused. “I just mean, you don’t exactly look like you would love all that girly pop music.” He waves a hand at Eddie’s Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, and patch-covered vest. 

Eddie shrugs. “Well, maybe, but it’s my job. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Swifties I’ve got, I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to. And I mean, it is pretty catchy,” he concedes, if only to see Steve smile again. “And,” he continues, “even better, really easy to play.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs.

Eddie pockets his phone and reaches for his folder, taking out a sheet of empty chord diagrams. “So usually for a first lesson, we just learn a few basic chords, and then get started with our first full song next week, sound good?”

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Great.” Eddie sets the sheet on the stand in front of them and pencils in two little dots on the first diagram. “Here’s our first chord. This is called an E minor. You wanna put your first finger on the second string…”

He goes on to teach Steve an E minor chord, then a C chord, then a G chord, and by the time they’re done learning D, Eddie thinks that Steve’s fingers are going to haunt his dreams. He’s not mad about it. Just sad that he won’t be able to see them in person again for a whole week.

They make their way through the lesson, stumbling from one chord to another, but by the end of the thirty minutes, Steve is already doing pretty well with his chord transitions. Eddie’s honestly impressed. He drops him off in the lobby and exchanges him for Dustin, who is bouncing up and down with excitement.

“How was he,” he bursts out as soon as the door is closed.

Eddie snorts. “He was good. Just learned a few chords.”

Dustin waits expectantly. “And?”

“And what?”

“And how was he! Like, was he excited? Did you have a good time? Are you guys gonna be friends now?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly and takes a seat. Technically, he’s not supposed to be actual friends with students, or even talk with them outside of work, but with Dustin and now Steve, they don’t feel like paying customers so much as friends he’s doing a favor for. “He was good. I’m sure he’ll tell you in the car on the way home.”

Dustin groans. “Come on.”

“You come on. You better have been practicing, show me what you’ve been doing.”

With that, Dustin drags himself to his seat, and the lesson goes great from there, both of them distracted from Steve by the intricacies of Stairway to Heaven.

When he brings Dustin out, he’s almost taken off guard by Steve waiting for them. In just half an hour, he’d already forgotten his stunning resemblance to a Greek god. It’s honestly unfair for his memory to do that to him. 

“Hey,” Steve greets them. “Had a good lesson?”

“Obviously,” Dustin scoffs.

“He did great today,” Eddie tells him, “And so did you. Just remember to practice, alright? Gotta build that muscle memory.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, too used to hearing it, but Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course. See you next week?”

It’s a simple phrase. He says it every day. It’s a contractual obligation that yes, he will see them next week. But when Steve says it, it feels like a promise. Eddie can’t wait to fulfill it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, mesmerized by the way the fluorescent lights bring out the green in Steve’s eyes. “See you next week.”

Steve smiles and turns to leave, picking his way through the aisles of musical miscellany. Eddie can already hear Dustin interrogating him about his lesson. He leans back against the wall with only one thought in his mind: only seven days until he gets to see Steve Harrington again. 

He’ll be counting every single one.

#stwgdailyprompt #*writes #steddie #stranger things fic #will rb with ao3 link once it's up #i have so many little headcanons that i didn't find the space to include #read the ao3 authors notes once its posted to get the full over specific details of what i think eddie would do teaching at guitar center #he's just like me fr 🥰🥰🥰

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hi, so you've been doing some amazing work lately, and I'm so glad to see you having the motivation to write, even a little. Can I ask for more gaslamp au or handyman Jason? Please don't feel obligated if neither of those verses currently scrath your brain the right way. ❤️

"Good girl," Jason purred, keeping his lips next to your ear as he stripped you out of your bloomers. He could ruin you without undressing you completely, but not if your bloomers were in the way- if he got his way, you'd never wear them again.

You whined and he could feel the heat radiating off of you and he smiled against your neck as he nibbled the tender flesh. "I love you so much," he breathed, "Don't be frightened, wildflower. I'll take care of you."

"I'm not frightened I just-" You break off and take a shaky breath.

"What is it, sweet girl?" he murmured, pulling you into his lap, "do you want me to stop?"

"No," you admit, looking away, "I just- what if I'm not any good at-"

Jason laughed and tilted your chin up to look at him, claiming your lips in a kiss that made your head swim like your first champagne. "Tonight isn't about me, Wildflower," he tutted. "It's about you. My future wife. And keeping you busy... and ruining you for anybody else." He winked and kissed your nose. "Not to brag, but. I won't have my wife not enjoying her marital duties. There won't be any laying back and thinking of flowers."

"Oh," you whisper, feeling yourself throb. A now familiar ache between your thighs. "What do I-"

"You," Jason hummed, shifting you over and moving you to straddle his lap instead, kneading your thighs in his hands tenderly, "Are just going to relax and let me have my way with you, Mrs. Todd."

"Oh-that-" Jason's hands shifted so his thumbs could stroke your inner thigh and all you could do was whimper. It made you feel stupid. You felt so exposed. But Jason was kissing your neck and murmuring pet names and praise and his massive hands were rubbing your LEGS. Your THIGHS. No one had EVER touched your thighs and you wanted to know what it felt like to be touched in other places by this beautiful miracle of a man.

"That's it," Jason purred, nuzzling the hollow of your throat and swallowing hard. "That's it, Mrs. Todd. That's what I need. Tell me what feels good."

"Everything feels good," you whine, "don't stop."

"Oh I won't," he promised, "Gonna have to carry you down the aisle" he teased.

"Don't care I just want you, please-" you squirm, "It hurts feels- what's happening?"

"Shhh," he soothed, freeing your breasts to expose them to his attention. "You're just so sensitive. Getting close to a climax. You just need a little more."

"Jay!"

"Shhh," he soothed, "Just relax and let them take you wildflower. Whenever they come. As often as they come. It'll feel good."

And when you whined wordlessly in response, he grinned and bent his head, burying his face in your breasts and tugging your nipples gently in his lips. Teasing them until he felt your back arch and felt your first climax take you. And now that he'd given you a taste, he had to be relentless.

#jason todd #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #jason todd x reader #gaslamp!au

[red-dead-sakharine]

Raphael x Tav/Reader (gn)

Dinner plans - Part 2 (good ending)

hurt/comfort, pining, slight fluff

The vote looks quite clear, so I just ploughed ahead 😉

> Part 1 <

He turned his back on the camp - on you - to leave. A few paces further and no one would even hear him swoosh away.

He didn't realize how his fists clenched. Hope's voice invaded his mind now, "Eat. Shit." his brow furrowed, "Stuff your maggoty tongue in some other woman's ear." His jaw clenched, and he was barely able to keep himself from exploding into his cambion form in a burst of angry flames-- "Raphael!"

He closed his eyes. Now it was your voice in his head again. He should never have come here. The sooner he was back in Avernus, the better, and so he picked up the pace.

"Raphael, wait!"

He stopped. The voice wasn't just in his head - but he didn't dare to turn around. To expose the damnable feelings he couldn't keep from showing on his face right now.

There were steps behind him in the soft grass. He'd know that pace anywhere. There was a distinct rhythm to your walk, he would have been able to pick out from a crowd of a hundred people with ease.

"I thought it was you. Almost didn't recognize ya, in that fancy outfit. Since when are you creeping through the dark?" He heard the smirk in your voice. Were you quoting his own poem back to him? No, certainly not. The choice of words was coincidence, for sure. His mind was set. He wouldn't inflict this torment upon himself again.

He took a breath to steady his voice, "I was on my way to you, little mouse, but business calls me elsewhere. I have a war to fight, after all." Yes. Good. He sounded just as charmingly non-chelant as he had intended. He'd be damned, if he'd give you any hint of how he truly felt.

"Oh." Was that disappointment in your voice? "I had hoped, you'd join us celebrating."

He forced out a scoff, "As if I had the time to waste on such a sorry excuse of a celebration." Good. That shut them up. Now all he had to do was say something grandiose in parting, and he could teleport away.

His eyes dropped down to your face, as you stepped around and in front of him. Damn you.

"I'm sure anything you could set up would be much more impressive, but we had to make do with what we've got. Stay. Please? This is as much your victory, as it is ours."

It took all the self-control he had, to keep his face neutral, while his insides felt like an orthon was step-dancing on his stomach. You wanted him to stay. You wanted his company. 'Please'? You wouldn't have said that, if you weren't serious. Not like this; not with this tone. As much as he wanted to stay mad, to cling to the decision he had made earlier, to leave and start his war, and never think of you again, his resolve was crumbling faster than a dry sandcastle.

And with every passing second he spent looking into those beautiful eyes of yours, that longing, he had tried so hard to suppress, bubbled up in him and threatened to overtake him, and ruin his composure. Damn these unruly feelings!

"And what, pray tell," why was it so hard to keep his voice casual now?, "would I do at this party of yours? Drink awful, cheap wine, and have boring conversations with your companions, who don't want me there any more than I want to be in their company."

Good, yes. That sounded appropriately pejorative.

You looked dejected, and for a moment that invisible orthon was kicking his insides again. But then that spark returned to your eye - that spark he enjoyed so much. That spark of unbreakable determination.

"You could recite some poetry," you offered with an honest smile, "I always enjoyed your little rhymes."

That stupid orthon was grabbing his heart in its fist now, and squeezed it like a lemon. Damn this - whatever this was! Damn you, for making him feel sick!

"Oh, did you now?" he raised a brow at you, doing his damnedest to keep the casual tone, "And what would you have me recite? Do you expect me to compose a verse to your heroic victory over the elder brain?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and he made the idea sound absolutely ludicrous, but he had, indeed, written down some rough verses featuring you. Not that he would ever admit that.

"No," you chuckled, "I can't really picture you singing verses to my glory. But I'd bet a hundred gold pieces that you wrote something about the crown."

His composure was cracking, and he was certain that it showed on his face despite his best efforts. How did this stupid mortal know him so well? Understand him so well? Of course he had written about the crown. He needn't mention that it was in the same poem that heralded him as the glorious new archdevil supreme, with his little mortal hero at his side.

It took him a moment too long to respond, and he could see that mischievous glint in your eye, and that smirk on your lips. You knew, you were right. And you knew that you had him.

"Come" you said, and he felt his arm rise, as you started walking, and looked down to find your hand in his, dragging him after yourself towards the camp, "Have at least one glass of awful wine with me, and if you're really having such a bad time, I'll let you go."

'Let me?' I can go whenever I damn well please! he thought, as he followed you; his hand still in your clutches.

He wanted you to never let go again.

▶️ Continue

#bg3 #raphael #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #whump #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #fluff #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #rds #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3

[kenjakusbrainstem]

Affection (Kenjaku x Reader)

Hello <3 so I decided to try my hand at taking requests, and this one was for @midnightshade's prompt of 'something softer/more domestic' with Kenjaku. I was wracking my brain all weekend trying to come up with a good plot but the backstory of it all wasn't fitting right for me so I just got down to the meat of things! Hopefully this is along the lines of what you wanted, as I'm not the most well versed in domestic. It was fun to play around with the idea though and just admire Kenjaku though. Enjoy~

Kenjaku's large hands felt heavy in your hair. Fingers running through your soft strands, nails scraping gently against the scalp. This was a rare intimate moment between the two of you. You sighed softly, the way his fingers could be so soft with you when he was usually reserved with his affection was comforting.

It wasn't often that he was able to drop in to see you, even less often that he stuck around for more than just a small conversation or a night visit. So you chose to savor the moment, nuzzling your head into his leg as you rested it on his lap.

The fluttering of pages above you pulled your gaze upward. Kenjaku turned the page of the book he was reading, some book a curse friend recommended to him if you recall correctly. That wasn't important to you though, you took in the relaxed look on his face. He seemed at ease, as comfortable as you were. Though he could be hard to read at times.

Geto Suguru wasn't the first face of his that you'd seen, but it was a very attractive one, you couldn't deny. You knew seeing him go through different bodies was special. It was something that he shared with very few individuals over the years, so you felt lucky to be by his side still. Though it did make reading his moods a bit more difficult as he took over a whole new set of facial features.

You held no complaints though, smiling softly to yourself as you took in his sharp jawline and amber eyes. Long tendrils of black hair falling freely around his face and shoulders, it almost softened his more masculine features.

Eyes trailing up from his lips and eyes to the line of stitching across his forehead. Every now and then you caught yourself staring at them, knowing that his true self was right behind that line. While the body was still Kenjaku, you couldn't help but want to be closer to the real him.

"Enjoying the show?" Kenjaku asked playfully, eyes not leaving the book in his hands.

You felt your face flush a little at being caught staring. His fingers in your hair stilled, hand cupping the back of your head. As if he were forcing you to keep your eyes on him even if embarrassment wanted you to look away.

"Just admiring your features, I don't get to see you very often with how busy you've been lately," You said, pouting even if the complaints were hollow. Holding his work against him is something you wouldn't do, though you had to admit, having him with you like this was much nicer than being alone.

Kenjaku chucked lightly, a small smirk forming on his face. He looked down at you, stretched across his lap like a small animal. It was like you were a pet to him, something he kept around for companionship when he got too lonely in his near immortality.

The thought of being kept around like a pet didn't offend you the way it probably should have. You were content in your role, the infinite lust for knowledge inside you was sated by him often. The way he pushed the boundaries of science and jujutsu had you hooked.

You moved to sit up, Kenjaku allowing you to move freely and closing his book to allow you to now sit in his lap. His arm came to rest on your back, holding you steady, while the other rested on your thigh. His touch always warmed you, and this was no different.

"Oh you don't feel neglected, do you darling? How will I ever make it up to you?" Kenjaku's kind words dripping with sarcasm. His voice was low, teasing as he spoke. Eyes staring straight into you as if he could read your innermost thoughts.

It made you squirm.

"I want to kiss you," you said bluntly, hoping he would know what you meant without you having to ask. You knew he preferred when people were forward, but there was still something odd about asking for affection like this.

Another small laugh left his throat as he leaned forward, lips pressing against yours hotly. The soft kisses quickly turning into something more passionate. Kenjaku's tongue heavy in your mouth as the two of you shared the kiss that you requested.

Pulling back suddenly, he continued to smirk at you, as if his own cheeks weren't flushed the way yours were.

"Is that all you want?" Kenjaku asked, strong fingers digging into your flesh.

You couldn't quite find the words to convey how you felt. How he wasn't quite right about what you wanted in the first place.

Taking initiative you moved yourself up and into a position where you were straddling his thighs. You looked down at him as he did you so many times, and smiled. Knowing that for once, he probably didn't expect what you were about to do.

Slowly bringing your hands up, you held the sides of his face still. You brought your lips down, pressing a soft kiss to the line of stitches across his forehead. You could feel the slightest tensing of his body underneath you as your fingers slid further up the sides of his face.

Gently, you pulled at the stitching along his forehead until the string came lose. Moving one hand up and into his hair you slowly lifted until you could see the pink tissue of his brain exposed to you.

Kenjaku himself, exposed to you.

He was still and silent as you again moved yourself closer.

You pressed your lips softly to the hot, wet tissue that was the man you cared so deeply for. Trailing kisses down the brain until you were met with the teeth you had been shocked to find out existed. This was something you had thought about since the first time you had seen it.

The mouth was open when you pressed your lips to it, snaking your tongue inside you were surprised to find him eagerly kissing you back. The slight nip of his teeth against your lips felt good as you coaxed his tongue into your mouth.

The sloppy kiss lasted longer than you'd expected as he hadn't moved to stop you. The sound of his vessel panting reached your ears by the time you realized he was gripping your sides so tightly they'd surely be bruised.

Pulling yourself back you could see the fluids, saliva maybe, dripping from where the stitching used to be and down his face. The look was too erotic, too intimate of a sight for you.

Gently you placed the top of his head back where it had been before. You brought your hands up, planning to stitch him back together as you've seen him do before. Before you were able to though, his hands shot up and held yours still in an iron grip.

"You're not stopping that soon, we're going to finish what you started," Kenjaku's voice was shaky, he sounded as if he were on the brink of climax already.

You knew you were in for a long night.

#kenjaku #kenjaku x reader #jjk x reader #FINALLY AN EXCUSE TO WRITE KISSING THE BRAIN

[sofasoap]

Holding you

Pairing : John Price x F!Reader

Summary: After months apart from each other, nothing better than waking up with the love of your life, and helping him with his.... "little problem".

You can either read it as a standalone, or as part of my Mini MacTavish verse, continuation after Come back to me.

Warning: Explicit. Smut, slight angst.

I apologise for any inaccuracies describing military related stuff.

A/N : This was an extension of a little midnight drabble I wrote a while ago thanks to my midnight muse @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world. I hope you will enjoy this Price ramble.

“masterlist” 

You slowly stirred awake as you feel someone gently caressing your cheek. 

Eyes fluttering open, you saw the beautiful blue eyes of your husband, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Morning love." He greeted you in his morning husky voice." Had a good sleep??

"Hmmm hmm." You close your eyes with a smile, snuggling closer to him, savouring his gentle touch. Oh how you have missed him. 

You haven’t seen each other for months. Seven months, fourteen days. But who's counting?

Apart from being absolute workaholics, fate seems to be determined to interfere with the two of you. From the tumultuous courtship, near death experiences, now trying to keep the marriage intact with so much time apart from each other.

When you are home from your deployment, he is already flying halfway across the world, ready for his next mission. When he arrived back in the UK, you were on your way to meet up with your team with KorTac.

Communication was hard. A little ten second voicemail in your inbox will be the last thing you heard from him for weeks. And a quick “I love you” text send out to him before going into a black op mission.

You will always find a little handwritten post-it note, with his worn shirt on the kitchen table when you come home between missions. John isn’t a man with many words, but you can still feel his emotions conveyed through the short sentences, how much he misses you, how much he loves you and wishing you were with him. 

Sometimes you will wake up from a nightmare, dreaming of Laswell showing up at your front door, with John’s dog tag and his personal belongings. One look at her face you knew what had happened.

You cried yourself to sleep every time, wearing his shirt, curling up, inhaling the faint residue cigar and gunpowder scent and trying to imagine his strong arm around you.

It was only two days ago you received a call from Laswell. Seeing her name showing up on your caller ID sends your mind into an endless spiral. She never calls you unless it was for any urgent business. Or an emergency. Or something has happened to one of the men. Or…. 

You always wake up right before she opens her mouth and delivers the bad news,silent scream that is stuck in your throat, heart pounding, tears streaming down your face,panic sets in until you realise you are in your own cot, in the middle of a shared tent on a mission.

Horangi and König will always know what happened the next day, with your red rimmed and dark baggy eyes.  None of them are the type that will give you verbal comfort, but a bag of Korean snacks which you mentioned once that was your favourite and a little tin of handmade sweets will appear on your cot at the end of the day.

You always smile at their thoughtfulness. 

“Are you going to pick up that call?” Horangi looking over your shoulder, “ Laswell? Must be important.”

Flexing your hand, you shook your head, trying to dispel the negative thought that was muddling your brain before nodding. 

Answering with a wavering voice, grabbing tight to the wedding ring underneath your shirt that is chained together with your dog tag, expecting the worst.

You must have sounded more distraught than expected, “John is fine. I am just letting you know the men are on their way back, they should land by late afternoon.“ She reassured you immediately. 

“Go. Just submit the report by this weekend.” König pushed you out of the office as soon as he overheard the conversation. He knew how anxious you were to get back home. 

You took the first flight you can get your hand on to the UK, drove straight from the airport to the base at Credenhill, despite your own weariness, you want to be there to greet your husband as soon as he lands.

Pulling into the car park of the base, you caught a glimpse of the helicopter coming into landing. 

You don’t know how long the two of you have been standing there for, until the other men came over and gave you a slight pat on the back, interrupting the reunion.

The guard at the gate recognises you and you run towards the landing pad as soon as they process and issue you with a visitor’s pass.

You felt your heart going to burst the moment you saw him walking out from the helo, finally being able to see him physically, safe and sound.

“JOHN!” you yelled out to him, catching his attention. Turning around, surprise was evident on his face as you barreled into his embrace. Grabbing tight onto his vest, you burst out crying. All the months contained worry, fear, doubts and longing emotions released all in one go. You heard John murmuring words of assurances into your ears, feeling of his slight unkempt beard caressing against your face as he peppers you with kisses,tightens his arm around you. 

Smiling sheepishly, leaving John’s embrace to give each of the men a tight hug, glad all of them made it back in one piece. 

“We know how much you miss the Captain. Don’t break the bed from too much fun tonight!!!” Gaz teased as they waved goodbye to you and John. He rolled his eyes while your face was burning up like a furnace, from the embarrassment and thinking what was to come that night. 

A soft kiss on the lip, bringing you back from reverie, John adjusted himself slightly, sliding his hand down towards your breast and thigh." Well, since you are awake.... "giving you another kiss, this time with more passion and sliding his tongue into your mouth, before breaking apart, "I think you should help me with my... little problem down here. " he grinds against you as he emphasises  the word  little problem. 

You let out a chuckle, teasing him,“ Last night wasn’t enough for you??” 

“I will never get enough from my beautiful wife.” His voice dripping with both sincerity and need. 

He slowly trails his kisses down your neck towards your chest, pausing to caress the bites and bruises that are spread all over your neck and shoulder. 

“… sore?” Murmuring with a hint of guilt in his voice, regretting being rough on you the previous night.

You never seen him so needy and rough before, releasing all the frustration, the pent up energy of not being able to see you, to be there with you physically and emotionally for such a long time.  He made you cum twice before reaching the bedroom, and the countless times during the night you begged him again and again to reassure you he is there, in your arm, limbs intertwine with each others, not just some figment of imagination and dreams you wake up again and again from, to an empty cold bed.

Shaking your head as you card your finger through his messy morning hair,drifting down to his beard, smiling with silent reassurance for him to continue on.

Kneading and sucking each of the breasts with the utmost care, making sure he isn’t causing more pain. You let out a contented sigh as he slowly pushes your legs apart, running his tongue languidly across your already damp slit. 

‘John… Love…” grabbing onto the bed sheet, pleading with him to give you more, to quench that fire he is stirring up within. 

“Patience. I want to just enjoy…” lapping up more of your wetness that is sipping out between your slit, “tasting you. Feeling you.” His eyes shifted up to meet with you for a moment, “ Loving you.”

You sucked in a big breath of air at his words, holding back a sob. All you can think of is how lucky you are, to have such a wonderful man, who cherishes you, accepting and putting up with all your faults, ( as the 141 men once mentioned Price was probably the only one that can hold you back on a leash to contain your recklessness.) always aims to please you, putting your needs before his. 

In a dazed post orgasm mind, you see him crawling back up towards you, stroking your face before positioning his already dripping hard cock and pushing into your still sensitive core.   

In contrast to the frantic sex the night before, peeling each other’s clothes off as soon as you pass through the threshold of the door, hands roaming everywhere, desperate for each other’s touch, how you want him to be inside you, filling that void you've been missing for the last few months. 

Now he is just taking his time to relish the short time together. Both of you know it won’t be too long before duty calls again, splitting the two of you apart. 

You don’t want to think that far. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, you nudge his shoulder, for him to lean back so you can push yourself up, adjusting yourself to straddle him. 

You clench down hard as he hits you in a sweet spot in this new position, eliciting a moan from him. You smile lazily, rolling your hips, arms around his neck, one hand lightly caressing the nape of his neck, determined to return the favour, making sure he is enjoying it as much as you do. His hand wanders down towards your butt, grabbing both cheeks, pulling you close to him as he can.

You can feel him getting close as he rolls his head back, breathing starting to get erratic, his hip slamming up towards you, trying to chase the high.

“It’s ok love.. just let it go…I want to feel you inside me.. coat me with your hot cum, show you how much you love me…” You whispered into his ear, enticing him. Tipped over the edge with your words, he let out a loud groan as he filled you up inside. With a few more thrust from him as he rides out his orgasm, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, biting down hard on his shoulder,reaching your own high.  

“Ready to go again?? I don’t think my problem has been solved… with just one round”  He asked with his raspy voice as you felt his cock twitching inside you, getting hard again.  You laughed , and leaned in to give him a deep kiss before letting him lowering you back into the bed. 

You and Price didn't get out of bed until way past noon. 

If you are reading this as part of Mini MacTavish verse... Mini and Price are both absolute workaholics, spending more time away from each other than together until they both retire from front line. in my H/C, they never ended up having any kids. by choice or not by choice? you decide. But they are happily to shower their love on their nieces and nephews ( the little rascals Soap has produced lol ).

I apologise for bit of jumble of the smut part. I have no idea why every single time I start writing for Price x Reader, I am always in a slump depressive stage. but hey, I had bit of fun writing, I might revisit and tidy this up when I am in a better place mentally.

Tag :

@floral-force

@homicidal-slvt

@captainpriceslover

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

#captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty #Mini Mactavish verse #call of duty fanfic

[sp00kymulderr]

take the long way home - part 2

series masterlist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x afab reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sex, one night stand, cursing, reader is a mess, Marcus is Marcus.

Word Count: 1k

Series Summary:  Classic story, right? You meet a handsome man, let him take you home, and plan to never see him again. Of course, these things rarely go to plan.

A/N: To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist.

Marcus feels sick.

The moment he see's you in that meeting room, his new employee, he feels quesy with it. You...the person who had come in to his life one evening and left it without a word the next morning. He had thought about seeing you again, too many times to count...but hell, not like this. 

Definitely not like this.

When he had woken up that morning to find you already gone from his bed, from his home and from his life his first feeling had been quite reasonably one of disappointment. Marcus hated waking up alone, no one to talk to, no one to kiss good morning - in the past he had even chased relationships just to not be alone. After a breakup he would wake unfulfilled and lonely in bed, unable to shake the feeling for weeks. After Teresa it had been worse. 

Maybe he was naive but he had assumed you would at least let him make you breakfast, after what you had let him do the previous night. But you hadn’t left even a note, not your number pinned to his fridge or a ‘thanks for the memories’. Not even a quick cup of coffee and a kiss on the cheek. Had it been too much to expect? Was he just not well versed on the one night stand anymore? Maybe he really was just still making mistakes over and over again…just like before.

Now he thinks back to that night. Before you’d gotten home - before you’d gotten in to his bed. You’d mentioned a new life - a new job and a fresh start - in that hopeful but melancholy tone that had drawn him to you in the first place. God, he had never thought for a moment the job could be here. In his department. Working with him. Maybe he should’ve asked more but then there hadn’t been much talking after the bar.

So Marcus stands in that meeting room shell shocked and feeling sick. Not just that…he feels anxious and unsure and he doesn’t even think there is protocol in the HR documents for this kind of thing.

He stays silent for just a beat too long and someone in the room clears their throat. He’s just standing there barely through the doorway, staring at the new hire.

The prettiest new hire he could've ever imagined.

Damn he was screwed.

****

You give him a smile, hopefully something professional and not something that says ‘oh god oh god I slept with my boss’.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Pike" You say confidently, saving him from his freeze as you stand up to shake his hand. If you can just keep everything professional you’ll be fine, right? It was one night and it didn’t mean a thing, right?

The contact of his hand on yours sends a spark of memory right through to your brain and you have to blink sharply to stop seeing that same hand disappearing beneath the hem of your dress not that long ago.

"You alright, boss?" One of the others, Michael you think, says to him.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Busy morning, just trying to catch my thoughts before we go over this case" Marcus clears his throat and finally moves to sit down at the head of the table.

"So..." he takes one more moment, a breath, before pulling some papers from a binder.

There’s a syndicate of art forgers operating out of Chicago. Marcus talks the team through it as you try so, so hard to listen and not think about the things your mind is apparently determined to make you think on. This is your new job and your new life; you can't screw it up just because you screwed the wrong person.

Not again.

You want to think about work. You’ve uprooted your whole life to be someone new, someone better. But how the hell can you be that when your boss is a man with huge brown eyes and a soulful stare and a kiss that could stop time?

Somewhere in the distance you hear someone saying your name, but you're pretty damn lost in whatever the hell is happening in your mind.

"Huh?" You say, and see eight expectant faces staring back at you.

"Did you want to...can you introduce yourself to the team?" Marcus is speaking, of course it's his voice.

His voice had moaned your name just a few short weeks ago. If it wouldn’t look completely nuts you’d slap yourself just to get that damn thought out of your head.

"Oh. Yeah. Of course” You mumbled, trying to get your thoughts back on track. You sit up straighter and try for that air of confidence.

“I just transferred from New York - Organized Crime division - going for a bit of a change after…” After I got my heart broken by my partner… “After closing off one of the biggest cases. I needed something uh, different”

Not a lie, although not the whole truth. You’d worked with your partner for years and you’d loved them for years and then they’d met someone else. Just like that. After the case you’d been chasing for years was finally put to an end you’d had to get out of there and never see them again. But your new team didn’t need to know that. Your new boss definitely didn’t need to know that.

You look at the team. All of them pleasant, all of them welcoming. But all you feel is this pit of dread in your stomach. You don’t look at Marcus. After a few questions about your work, and an introduction to the others' roles they’re leaving the room before you even realize the meeting has ended.

And just like that it's you and Marcus in the room together. 

You clasp your hands together and stand awkwardly from your chair. You should look at him but god you don't want to look at him. How could you have let this happen, why did you have to go home with him that night? Why did you have to keep making these stupid decisions? 

"So...new job huh?" Marcus finally breaks the silence with a weak voice and you look over at him, steeling yourself. You will not be taken in by those warm brown eyes, you will not.

"Yeah. New job" You start, not sure what exactly to say 

“We should probably talk-“ He begins but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"Look…Blank slate? Lets just- We’ll pretend we’ve never met before. It was only one night, it’s not like we know each other” 

Perhaps in your dream world, you’d like this to be different. He’s handsome and kind and you had really enjoyed your night with him. But this is the real world, and life isn’t a goddamn fairytale where you can make eyes at your boss without consequence.

“This job is really important for me. It's really, really important I don't screw it up" You explain and look at him with pleading eyes. Marcus looks disappointed? Upset? You're not sure. You don't like his expression.

"Blank slate, yeah, that's fair. I wouldn't want to start you off on the wrong foot here…. It was just the one night. Right" Marcus's voice is a little quiet, like he's not sure he believes those words as he looks at you - you feel like his eyes are searching yours for something. You try very hard to not give him anything to find.

“Well…" He finally gets up, saying your name as he opens the door for you.

“Welcome to the team. It’s nice to meet you” 

#Marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal character fiction #Pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostories #take the long way home #series #Gideon writes

[cannibalovers]

yo another will analysis song (cuz i'm crazy over him and my music taste fits his situation the most i think)

Hannibal song of the day: song no.3

a bit about the song (and album) :

"Underneath it all"(released in 1999) is a song by Nine Inch Nails (my fav band ever i swear i can talk about them for hours sorry). It was written by the frontman of the group, Trent Reznor. It's a part of "The Fragile" album, a quite important album for Reznor's career. "The Fragile" (banger) is a concept album, based on a man known as "mr. self destruct" and is a sequel to "The Downward Spiral"(another banger), dealing with personal issues, including depression, angst, and drug abuse - attempting to find order in chaos and find their way out, but ultimately, failing. "Underneath it all" fits the industrial rock and alternative rock genre, including scratchy synthesisers and distorted guitars and harsh beats, combined with soft vocals that build up to be louder and harsher. The instrumental build up on itself, looping and stuttering. The song talks about trying to move on from a hurtful situation but feeling "stained", the pain and trauma and it's effects it had on the man not going away, no matter what extremes he takes.

I could honestly talk about The Fragile for hours just on its own, it's so vulnurable and angry and it's history makes me so fucking sad, considering how much shit Trent was going through(substance abuse, depression, anxiety, death of his grandma who raised him), but this is a hannibal centered post so. I think the song can fit Will pretty well considering his mindset and feelings by the end of season 1 + prison, not much today cuz its so straight forward

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

chorus + verse since it's quite short and repetitive

"All I do, I can still feel you (x5)

Numb all through, I can still feel you

Hear your call, underneath it all

Kill my brain, yet you still remain

Crucified, after all I've died

After all I've tried, you are still inside

All I do, I can still feel you(x4)"

the narrator feels plagued, stained, he can't get rid of whatever he is trying to get rid of. The impact the subject had on him was so big that the memories of it and erasure just feels impossible, he feels hopeless, numb. When taking in the themes of the album into account, it's most likely about drugs - trying to recover, but the symptoms of withdrawal just being too intense, feeling like the addiction is punishing and mocking him for ever choosing drugs or even thinking that he can escape them - or it can even be about God. Trent explored the theme of religion in many songs like Heresy or Terrible Lie, blaming God for everything that is happening to him and for causing suffering, yet still coming back, never forgetting him, switching between heretic and devotional tendencies back and forth. He's just so rooted into his mind that it's impossible to not come back, no matter how much he tries to change his faith, maybe even feeling judged and punished by God for his choices.

Whichever one it is, Mr. Self destruct feels hopeless, as his oppressor has become so powerful that it has become a part of his mind, starting to haunt him and latch onto them, almost like a leech. He has tried everything, kill his brain (end it all) or even crucifying (most likely referring to trying to repent for his sins or give up his unhealthy lifestyle and mindset, crucifying them) and yet the little voice in his head still remains present, taunting him.

That's what Will seems to feel like, like Hannibal plagued him with a disease of his own, making Will lose his own mind, identity and sanity in the process - he is becoming him and he can't get rid of him or stop it. Will admits in the series that he keeps hearing Lecter in his head, his head voice sounding like his and even started to think like him, not to mention the various visions where Will grows antlers just like wendigo, as well as once and for all, Will got reborn as wendigo, finalising his transformation. Hannibal has officially stained him and made him what he wanted Will to be.

The way the song builds up, the layers becoming noiser and gritter as well as the vocals louder and more desperate just ties the overwhelming feeling together.

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

Outro

"All I do, I can still feel you(x2)

(You remain, I am stained)"

the song suddenly drops, stuttering instead, becoming weaker and weaker, which to me represents giving up. The narrator gives up and accepts the fact that the oppressor remains and that he will forever be changed and affected by what has been done to him.

In the show, Will didn't exactly want to accept that, but I guess through his method of manipulating Hannibal back, he has just reinforced Hannibal's effects on him, making Will become Hannibal, he has been stained and can't do anything about it - although he seems to accept his faith and even lets him remain in his life (literally came back for him like damn...tiny bit gay if u ask me).

additional notes :

i couldn't recommend to listen to the fragile more, if you enjoy harsh noises, electronic, rock and industrial sounds and ambience sound, lots of layers and build ups and instrumental and absolute emotional damage then i recommend. this album is so dear to me its insane

my playlist

hope u enjoyed <3

#Spotify #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannigram #murder husbands #nine inch nails #nin #trent reznor #the fragile #song analysis #music analysis #hannibal analysis #hannibal song of the day #hannibal sotd #music #rock music #electronic rock #industrial rock #alternative rock #alternative metal