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zepskies · 7 months

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Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about his “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

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#Talk to Me #reader request #soldier boy #Imagine Ben losing you sequel #You confront Ben about his fears #hurt/comfort #Soldier Boy imagine #BMD verse #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #Break Me Down verse #zepskies answers

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melodygatesauthor · 10 months

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Two - The Barista

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

I didn’t even test the DNA analysis module on the watch before I left my universe. Idiotic? Definitely, but I was so excited by the thought of seeing you again that I didn’t care. So I tested it when I got to the new universe, using the watch to scan one of your hairs and then using that data to track you down…I can't believe I found you again.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 5.4k

It was a morning like every other.

You opened your eyes to the sound of your alarm blaring next to you. You hit the snooze button, probably too harshly, before promptly burying your face in your palms. Sometimes you thought that if you just laid there long enough, all your responsibilities would disappear. A moment later, the alarm went off again, reminding you that it was time to get up, for real this time. After fantasizing about ripping it from the wall and breaking it into a thousand pieces, you turned it off and rolled out of bed.

You stepped out into the living room, smelling the coffee brewing in the pot already. Your step-sister, and roommate, Emily, was flipping through the channels on the tv in the living room.

“Mornin’,” you mumbled, grabbing the hot cup she’d left for you on the breakfast bar.

“Morning!” She turned around to face you while you sipped from your mug. “The ‘rents wanted to go out for dinner tonight, you in?”

You groaned, trudging over to the armchair in the living room and sitting down, taking another sip of your coffee. You stared at the television idly, not really taking any of it in. You thought about your impending workday. You sighed heavily, the idea of ending your long day by having dinner with your parents exhausting.

“I don’t really want to, I’m gonna be tired after work but…I guess I can pull myself together for a couple hours.”

“Thanks, I don’t really wanna go alone.” She sniffed out a laugh, “you should bring that guy you’ve been seeing, might be a good time for them to meet him.”

You gave her the look. The look that said, ‘no way in hell am I introducing him to our parents’.

“I’m not ready to subject him to that just yet.”

“Fair,” she said with a shrug, turning the volume up on the tv and thus ending the conversation.

You finished your coffee before getting yourself ready for the day. You looked in the mirror on your bedroom door, adjusting your nametag pinned through your apron next to the Moonbean Coffee logo. The company aprons felt so frumpy on your frame and you hated the shade of brown the owner had picked out, but you supposed it was better than not having a job to begin with.

“See ya later!” You said on your way out.

You arrived just before seven for your shift. Your co-workers, Stacy and Mira, were there already, baking sweets and brewing coffee for the morning rush. You flipped the “open” sign around and went behind the counter in preparation for the under-caffeinated stampede. Stacy always made some comment to you about ‘opening the floodgates’ whenever you came in, since that was always the moment customers started pouring in.

You were sweaty by the end of the rush. It felt to you like that was often the time that he seemed to make his appearance. You’d talked to him about it before, telling him to come in first thing with the other customers if he wanted you to look your best. ‘You always look your best, hermosa’, he’d say, suave as ever.

Miguel walked in. The smell of coffee hit him like a ton of bricks, but then so did your face.

It had been a year and a half since he’d seen you. A fucking year and a half. His breath caught in his chest and his lips parted slightly. He felt like he was seeing you for the first time. In some weird way, he was seeing you for the first time. This version of you anyway.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come get your coffee?” You giggled and started making his usual cup.

There was that sound again.

He thought he’d never hear your laugh for the rest of his days. In his universe, he’d replayed videos of when you were alive over and over to take the edge off, but nothing compared to the real thing when it hit his ears. He watched you make his coffee. You’d made it wrong, but he’d expected that when traveling to another dimension things wouldn’t always be quite right. He didn’t care, as long as he found the universe where you lived; that’s all that mattered to him.

“Are you gonna say something or just stare at me?” You laughed at him nervously.

“I’m sorry I’m just…having a rough morning,” he held up his cup, “haven’t had my coffee yet,” he said jokingly.

You’d thought about Emily’s suggestion to have him join you and your parents for dinner, and figured she was right. You liked this guy. This impossibly tall, broad, and handsome physicist who seemed to be smitten with you no matter how gross you looked after a long shift at the coffee shop.

“I’ve been thinking, and no obligation if you don’t want to, I understand, but…my parents invited my step-sister and me out for dinner tonight and…” You trailed off, feeling nervous, “do you…would you wanna–”

“Yes, I’d love to,” he blurted out.

He felt like such an idiot. It wasn’t like him to get flustered like this, but something about you made him feel like the space between his ears was filled with nothing but hot air. He saw you press your lips together bashfully, and noticed the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you looked at him. You’d always told him that he was special to you; that he was different from other guys you’d dated, he’d just never paid attention to the small details like this back then.

“Great, it’s at the new steak place up the road from here. Six pm, please don’t be late,” you said in a pleading tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

There were customers coming in and he decided it was time for him to go. He had a dinner date to get ready for afterall. The fluttering in his stomach from seeing you wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, and he’d missed it. It was hard to break away, but he kissed the back of your hand and started to leave anyway.

“Hey!” You shouted.

He turned back around, “Hm?”

“No kiss?” You put your hands on your hips.

You…you wanted a…

He gulped. “S-sorry, thinking about work,” he lied.

He walked up to you and leaned over the counter and you took his face in your hands.

You touched him. It had been so long since you’d touched him.

You pressed your lips to his softly, and for a moment, he tensed. Once he relaxed, he leaned in, parting his lips and melting them against yours. He never thought he’d kiss you again. Miguel sighed with joyous relief when the kiss broke, choking back the tears that threatened to fall.

“See you later,” you said, patting his wide chest before watching him walk away.

As Miguel stepped outside and started down the sidewalk, he passed someone on his left. It didn’t hit him right away until he realized that the man was as unnaturally tall as himself. Miguel stopped dead in his tracks, looking back at the man as he headed toward the coffee shop he’d just walked out of. It was…oh no…

You looked up from the coffee cup you were putting someone’s name on to see Miguel come back inside. You smirked and let out a chuckle.

“Forget something?” You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure why he’d returned. He had a huge smile as he walked up to you and leaned against the counter.

“Hola, hermosa,” he said, “I’ll take my usual, if you don’t mind.”

“What…?” you felt uneasy.

Lots of people had memory problems right? You and Miguel had only been dating for a couple months, so you didn’t know all there was to know about him. Maybe he suffered from short term memory loss or something. Not to mention, you knew he was a scientist. It was possible he’d suffered some brain injury in the lab or something…right? You couldn’t be sure, but your intuition was telling you that something was off; stupidly, you ignored it.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, looking at you with concern.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, yes I’m fine.”

You faked a smile and made his coffee…again. When you handed it to him he smiled and sipped it. That’s when you realized he wasn’t wearing the same outfit he was wearing when he’d walked out of there just a moment earlier. Something wasn’t right. Were you losing your mind? Maybe he wasn’t the one with memory issues.

Miguel was a genius on paper. He could make a device that allowed him to travel the multiverse with only one minor flaw, but that didn’t mean he was immune to idiocy. He’d just watched that universe’s version of himself walk by and go right into the coffee shop where you worked. How could he be so stupid? If there was a version of you in every universe, then it was reasonable to assume that there would be a version of himself in every universe as well.

He had to do something about the doppelganger. Miguel couldn’t let him get in the way. He couldn’t let someone else, even if it was just an alternate version of himself, take you from him.

Later that evening, you were dressed and ready for dinner. You’d managed to shrug off the weird encounter you’d had with Miguel earlier, and decided that you would wait to bring it up after dinner with your parents, if at all. You really liked him, and didn’t want to mess it up over something as silly as his, or your own, forgetfulness.

You shook your head free of the thoughts that plagued you. It was just Miguel. Normal, loving, caring Miguel that you’d known and enjoyed spending time with over the last couple of months. With a sigh, you left, heading to the restaurant where your parents were already sitting with your step-sister. You decided to wait outside for him to arrive, having texted Emily earlier to let her know that you’d changed your mind about inviting Miguel after all.

God you looked beautiful.

Miguel felt a swell in his chest as he walked toward you on the sidewalk. You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were wearing a simple black dress that hugged your body nicely. You looked like you again. This was how you’d dressed in his universe when he would take you out somewhere nice. So fucking pretty.

When you finally noticed Miguel’s lingering gaze, you felt flustered. You tried to compose yourself as he approached, calming your fluttering stomach. You didn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot, not only in front of him, but in front of your parents too.

You cleared your throat when he got closer, “Ready?”

He nodded, looking down at you, “Oh you bet.”

“Oh! You’ve got something on your…” you furrowed your brow, eyes catching on a small red smear just below his ridiculously sharp cheek bone. “I’ll get it.”

You licked your thumb and wiped the mark off his face. He smirked until he saw your thumb covered in crimson. His mind flashed back to the events that had taken place over the last couple of hours…

Miguel was waiting silently behind a wall in the kitchen, having snuck into his alternate’s apartment, watching Miguel trying to decide what tie he was going to wear to dinner with your parents in a few hours. He felt bad for a second, knowing that if this man loved you even a fraction of the amount that he did, this would be disheartening when he realized he was going to die before he got to truly love you.

For someone normally so meticulous, Miguel hadn’t really thought this through. He’d rushed to follow the man home after his meeting with you at the coffee shop, and kept an eye on him throughout the day to get a feeling for his lifestyle so he could attempt to mimic it once he eliminated this universe’s version of himself.

The time had come for Miguel to kill his other self, and nothing could stop him now that he’d come this far. There was one perk to killing his alternate: even if someone discovered the body, or some poorly disposed of evidence, all the DNA would lead back to one person…himself. So it didn’t matter if he slit his own throat, snapped his own neck, or shot himself in the head. No one would ever know.

Miguel had never killed anyone before, but the more he thought about this other man - despite that ‘other man’ being himself - touching you, the angrier he got. He couldn’t bear the idea that you, his precious girl, might be giving someone else attention, and those thoughts alone were enough to fuel the fire that brought him to the brink of murder.

Miguel must’ve been so confused. For him it probably seemed like a normal evening at first. He probably had no idea he was about to die. He was going to shower, probably stress a little bit about how to impress your parents, and then start getting ready for the dinner date. It was all normal, until the shower curtain opened and he was greeted by his doppelganger who delivered several stab wounds to the man’s chest.

Miguel wondered what his other self was thinking in those last moments as the life faded from his eyes.

Cleanup took a while, but not so long that he couldn’t make it in time for dinner. Now he was in a predicament. You were standing there with blood on your thumb and a curious look on your face.

“Must’ve nicked myself shaving,” he chucked, rubbing his hand over his jaw, “Thank you, mi vida.”

He leaned in and kissed you, and despite him calling you ‘mi vida’, something he’d never called you before, you kissed him back. Regardless of the red flags flying in your face, you took his hand, smiled and walked into the restaurant with him to meet your parents.

Charming as always, Miguel impressed them with ease. It was like he knew them. He acted as though he were meeting up with old friends rather than meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. It was so hard to find someone they actually liked so you threw every red flag of the day out the window and decided to move on. It was that simple.

When you asked Miguel to go back to his place that evening, instead of going to your own apartment, he was thrilled. He didn’t even wait for you to get your shoes off before he had you lifted off the ground, legs around his thick torso and pinned against the wall. He hadn’t felt the wet heat of your cunt in well over a year and he was desperate.

You’d never heard him like this, so primal and hungry. His heaving breathing was almost like a low growl. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, large hands grabbing onto your hips while his mouth left heavy kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he was acting strangely, it felt so good that it didn’t matter.

He brought you to the bedroom and fell onto the mattress with you, hovering over your body while his hands continued their exploration. He was reveling in the delicious feeling of your soft skin; the skin he hadn’t touched in too long. He was loving the taste of you, it was almost the same…close enough anyway. He wanted to taste more of you.

He pulled down the strap of your dress and bra in one motion, exposing your breast. Miguel bit his lip and looked up at you, eyes full of a dark lust. You gasped when he brought his lips over the peak, rolling his tongue around the hardened, sensitive skin there. You brought both of your hands to his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, though you knew it probably felt like nothing to the overly muscular man. He flicked his tongue over you one more time before looking up again.

Miguel wanted to taste something else he hadn’t tasted in far too long, so he kept working his way down, lifting your skirt and hooking a finger under your delicate lace panties.

“You wore these just for me, didn’t you, hermosa?”

He used both hands to rip the thin fabric covering your already glistening, slick folds. He used one thick finger, sliding it through your slit and up, brushing over your clit gently. You gasped, throwing your head back. Miguel smirked, letting a dark chuckle escape. The other Miguel hadn’t been so giving with you, had he?

He hadn’t, and you noticed right away that Miguel was acting more focused on your body than before. But when you felt his mouth come down over your mound, warm and soft, you didn’t care. Whatever it was that made him act differently, you were living for it now. Red flags be damned.

“So sweet, mi vida,” he cooed, going back in for more like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You were delicious, but wasn’t quite the same. There was something a little more sweet about this version of you, but it was alright. He could live with it. You still sounded the same, and you still looked the same, more or less. You grabbed onto the back of his head which made him smile against your folds. The feeling of you touching him made Miguel all the more eager to please you.

Miguel brought one of his thick fingers to your entrance, sliding it in with ease and feeling your cunt flutter around him in response. You whined, arching your hips to take him deeper. One perk to finding this new version of you, was showing himself up in the bedroom. He loved that you were coming undone under him like never before. The original you had been so used to his catering in the bedroom, but this one seemed impressed, and he liked that.

“Mm, hermosa, think you can take another one?” He asked, sliding in another finger to meet the first.

As he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, he noticed how much your body twitched and writhed. So sensitive, this one. He flicked his tongue rapidly over your swollen, needy clit. You were crying out words of affirmation repetitively, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you did. Your legs were shaking against his cheeks.

“Tres?”

He added another finger, and you were a gasping mess at his mercy. Your hole ached with the sweet stretch as he pumped his digits in and out faster. You’ve never known Miguel to do anything like this, but you weren’t complaining. This was the best sex of your life and he was still just playing with you. He curled his fingers, and you cried out, throwing your head back.

“F-fuck! Miguel…!”

He kept going, feeling the way your legs tensed and hearing the way your breathing got even heavier. His eyes trailed over your mound, up your beautiful torso to meet with your heartstopping eyes. You grabbed his hair so tight that he winced, but he didn’t stop lapping over your folds, knowing that you were about to come for him for the first time in a long time.

You’d never had an orgasm so intense it made you go cross-eyed before before, but there you were, shaking so hard you rattled the headboard. Your cunt was gushing and clenching around his fingers while he curled and dragged them over your walls through your climax. You fell back, breathing heavily, but Miguel wasn’t done with you yet.

“Come here honey,” he said in a husky tone, grabbing your hips and pulling you toward him.

Your body was still shaking from your release, and now he was running his length along your folds, collecting your arousal to make it slick. You looked up and saw him biting his lip through your tear blurred vision. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance. He so fucking big.

“Oh baby f-fuck—“

Miguel’s voice was like gravel as he pushed into you slowly, feeling your walls shift to accommodate his size. It had been so long - too long - since he’d felt the vice grip your soft pussy had around his throbbing cock, milking it for every drop you could. You cried out again, the sound hitting his ears like a symphony. He grabbed around your throat, fingers almost touching around the back, pulling you up to sit on him.

“Mm, mi vida,” he mumbled into your sternum.

He spread your ass cheeks, with both large hands, fucking you over his cock with ease. He could hardly get the whole thing inside. Your poor legs were still shaking, struggling to stay up, but he was happy to do the work. Miguel was satisfied enough to just have you in his arms again, in any way he could.

“T-too much Miguel I–”

“Shh honey, sh, I’ve got you,” he cooed, lifting and lowering you with the movement of his hips.

You grabbed onto his shoulders tightly. Miguel had never been so commanding and attentive to you before. He was sliding in so fucking deep that you felt your brain short circuit with every pass. He felt bigger than before, but you knew that was impossible. Your nails dug into the muscle of shoulders, he groaned, voice rough with arousal. He looked up at you.

“Kiss me hermosa.”

You complied, grabbing the back of his head and tangling your fingers in his hair while melting your mouth into his. You started to feel the strength come back to the muscles in your legs so you took over, riding his cock while continuing to kiss him deeply. This wasn’t the first time you and Miguel had been intimate, but you wondered why he’d held back this passion for lovemaking for so long. This was not the same sex you’d had with him just a few nights ago.

Now that his hands were free, he could feel over your entire body, letting the pads of his fingers take in every detail of your skin. It felt so soft, like it always had, smooth and warm. You started moving your hips faster, taking his cock deeper. He could feel your walls fluttering around him again.

“Gonna give me another one already, baby? Hm?” He started nipping at your neck, making you whimper and whine louder.

“Yes, oh yes Miguel!”

He wrapped his arms around you, leaning forward so that you were underneath him. He held you down with his weight, fucking you harder than you could possibly have done if you were still on top. His teeth still continued marking your neck, forcing sharp cries from your perfect lips.

“Yes, that’s my girl, oh god…honey-I-f-fuck…ah!”

Miguel’s hips came to a stuttering halt, cock pumping his hot spend into your tightly clenched cunt. Your walls were crashing over him, squeezing his cum out around the sides of his length and letting it spill onto the bedding. He didn’t want to let go of you just yet, so he held you there while you both lay in your blissed out high for a while.

It wasn’t the same…it would never be the same…but it was close enough.

That was how Miguel had managed to slide - almost seamlessly - into your life. He noticed that this version of you was more different than he’d originally thought, right down to the way you liked to do your makeup. Still, he felt that as long as he could keep you alive, and keep you safe, he could overlook some of those things. You were similar enough that he felt happy again.

He still missed you sometimes though; the real you that he’d lost, and he still mourned for that version of you. But when he looked at you now, a few months into dating this you, in your little brown barista apron with a big grin on your face, kissing him on the cheeks like he was the most precious thing in the world to you, he felt warm. It was like putting a bandaid on the wound. It would never fully heal, but this made it better.

Everything was as perfect as it could be, until one morning felt unfortunately familiar. He woke up fast, realizing he’d been sleeping with his mouth wide open on your chest.

“Good morning, handsome,” you said, laughing and wiping a bit of spit from his stubbled cheek, “You were out. Having a good dream?”

He hadn’t forgotten a single detail about that day.

He looked up at you, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. In the last couple of months he’d learned a few things about this universe. Time still worked the same as it did in his universe, but the year was 2016. It was possible that time wasn’t even a relevant factor concerning your death, but he thought that perhaps if it was relevant, he might have a chance to save you before this day would be upon him.

He had also considered that perhaps his universe had an anomaly that the others didn’t, and that was why you’d died and perhaps you’d live in this one. Maybe it wasn’t canon for you to die every time, and he’d just been extremely unlucky to be born in the one dimension that he would lose you.

But if this universe did work exactly the same, he thought he would get to prepare for this. He thought he’d get more than a couple months with you before he lost you again. He gave you a soft smile and brought the back of your hand to his lips.

“What do you say you skip work today and we stay in bed, hm?” He asked, calm on the surface but screaming on the inside for you to agree.

“Well I have to go in, my rent isn’t going to pay itself.” You slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom, leaving Miguel lying there, staring at you with desperation as you walked away into the bathroom.

“I have a good job, mi vida, I can pay your rent, you don’t need to go to work,” he insisted, getting out of bed and standing in front of the bathroom doorway.

“Not a chance,” you said, undressing and closing the door in his face.

Maybe this morning would be different. If he recalled correctly, and he did recall correctly, this wasn’t how that morning had started originally. The fact that you weren’t married was already so different, it was just that…something felt so uncanny, so similar but so…not at the same time. He opened the door.

“Have to pee,” he grumbled, walking over to the toilet.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” you said, turning knobs on the shower, “I know we said we would do dinner tonight but a couple girls from work wanted to go out for drinks tonight so I think I’ll join them, that okay?” You stepped into the warm water and closed the curtain.

Miguel pulled his pants back up and froze.

“W-Who’s going?” He couldn’t stop his shaking hands from clenching into fists.

“Stacy and Mira.” You peeked your head out of the shower curtain, “I’m really sorry, I forgot all about–”

“No,” he said coldly.

Your heart caught in your chest at his words. All this time, Miguel had surprised you by proving to be the best guy you’d ever been with and suddenly, his firm tone sent a chill down your spine. He’d never spoken so bluntly to you before, and he’d certainly never looked at you with such a dark glare as he was in that moment.

“Baby, we can go out another night, it’s not often that Stacy can find a sitter and–”

“I said no,” he repeated harshly, “I won’t say it again.”

You turned off the shower and got out, grabbing your towel and covering yourself. He was so much taller than you, but you weren’t going to let someone talk to you like that, especially someone who was supposed to be your partner. You held up a scolding finger.

“Miguel, why the hell are you acting like this? You’re not my fucking dad, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t get to–”

He pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t know what else to do. You were angry, and you had every right to be. For all you knew, your normally loving and considerate boyfriend had taken a controlling and dark turn, and you were upset. He thought if he could just shut you up then you might forget about it and agree. Instead, you slapped him, forcing him to step back in shock, holding his cheek where the sting remained.

“Out,” you said firmly, “you’ve been acting like a weirdo ever since the day you met my parents. I looked past it because you still seemed like a nice guy, and those are hard to find, but you freak me out.”

Miguel’s heart fell into a million pieces all around him. He held his breath, trying to keep himself from losing his temper. His chest was heaving.

“Mi vida, I–”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your life. I’m just some girl you’ve been dating for a few months and sometimes things don’t work out. This…” you gestured between the two of you, “isn’t working out.”

Miguel would never hurt you. He would never hurt you, but in that moment he fantasized about breaking your fucking neck. It was delicate enough, he could hold it tight and make it snap with only one hand. He might even enjoy watching you writhe when he grabbed you. How dare you think you could just leave him like that.

But he didn’t have to do a thing, because he knew that you would die that day, and he wasn’t going to stop you. Not this time. Fuck this version of you.

“Fine,” he said with a malicious smirk.

After he left, you cried, but only for a short while as you finished getting ready for work. He wasn’t the first weirdo you’d dated, and you were certain he wouldn’t be the last. You were glad that Emily had stayed at her own boyfriend’s house the night before so she wouldn’t hear you and Miguel arguing that morning. The last thing you wanted to do was go to your older sibling with your tail between your legs in defeat over another loser.

Miguel watched you leave your apartment and start walking to work. He thought he might have to wait until 10:53pm to see you die, but it would seem his theory that time was completely irrelevant when it came to your canonical death was correct.

The car seemed to come out of nowhere, flying down the street without a care for who might be in its path. Some idiot was behind the wheel, texting and driving, not paying attention while you crossed. The interesting thing was, that the other two girls died too, like they had in the original universe. After hitting you, the car swerved into the storefront of the coffee shop, killing the two employees who were standing near the front door; looks like those stupid friends of yours were meant to die in every universe too.

Miguel shook his head in frustration. Of course a part of him felt sad seeing you choking on your own blood in the middle of the street while people surrounded you, as if there was anything they could do. He didn’t feel sad for you though, he felt sorrow only for himself, having wasted so much time trying to find out if you were the one he could replace you with. It would seem you were a faulty substitute, flawed in so many ways that he’d chosen to overlook, and it was time to find a new one, a better one.

And he wouldn’t stop looking until he found a sufficient replacement, the perfect one.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

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frankthesnek · 3 months

Note

♡ sharing a kiss before going in for work (but make it accidental first kiss due to sleep deprivation)

Normally, I only do each prompt once, but since this is so different from the other ask for this one I'll do it again! Thank you 😘

Coming in Hot

Rated G

Prompt: a kiss before going to work

900 words

Steve stood next to the toaster, tapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for his bagel to be done. It was early, and the tower was calm. He'd seen Clint and Natasha preparing for their sparring session an hour or so earlier, but otherwise, it was a ghost town. The toaster finally finished, the crisp pop and ding of it shutting off startling him in the quiet of the kitchen. He plopped his breakfast onto a plate and checked his watch.

It wouldn't be a ghost town much longer, he would bet. Pulling the cream cheese from the fridge, he settled at the breakfast bar and finished preparing his food as he waited.

“Watch it Cap, Stark's coming in hot,” Clint drawled with an amused tone as he entered the kitchen a moment later.

“You don't say?” Steve asked, unsurprised and dry sounding.

The archer just nodded, looking far too happy as he poured the last of the coffee into a mug.

“Fuck I'm late!” Right on cue Tony entered the space, tie hanging undone around his neck as he fumbled with his cufflinks. “Why does she keep scheduling meetings so early? She knows I'm not a morning person.”

“This wouldn't happen to be the meeting Pepper already rescheduled twice because you keep missing it?” Steve asked, the casualness in his tone giving away that he already knew the answer.

“Maybe,” Tony grumbled as he picked up the empty coffee pot and frowned. “Barton, I'm gonna kill you,” he promised, glaring at the other man's steaming cup of coffee.

In response, Clint deliberately took a slow drink, holding Tony's eye while he did.

“Definitely gonna get you. I swear your next batch of arrows is gonna blow up right in your smug little face,” Tony cursed and made a grab for the nearly full mug.

“Extra coffee for you on the bar,” Steve said, pointing to a thermus he'd filled earlier. “Better hurry, if you don't leave now, you'll be late.”

“Thank you,” Tony nearly moaned and picked up the travel cup.

“Uh-huh,” Steve drawled and held up half of his bagel before Tony could try stealing it from his plate.

“Thanks,” Tony repeated with a sigh, taking it gladly. “Why do you know my schedule better than me?”

“Tony, the hotdog vendor in Central Park knows your schedule better than you do,” Clint piped up with a snort of laughter.

Steve chuckled, and he watched Tony hold the bagel in his mouth as he quickly did his tie. Nimble fingers tugging it into a knot that had no right to be as neat as it was for how fast it had been made.

“I refuse to acknowledge the truth of that,” Tony spoke around a mouth full and held the thermus up towards Steve. “Is it—”

“Cool enough to drink? Yes.” Steve supplied, taking a bite from his remaining half of the bagel.

“You're an angel,” Tony said blissfully. Then he leaned over the bar and pressed a fast but firm kiss to Steve's mouth before rushing out, already calling the elevator via Jarvis before he left the room.

Steve's bagel fell from his lax fingers, plopping back to the plate cream cheese side down.

“Did he just?” Clint asked, looking over at Steve with wide eyes.

“Uh…yeah,” Steve muttered, dumbstruck, his lips tingling from the surprise contact.

“And you guys aren't?”

“Nope.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment in confused silence. Steve felt his cheeks grow hot. Tony, his friend and long-term crush, had just kissed him. Lips warm, soft, and real against his mouth. Clint was giving him a knowing smirk but was thankfully holding his tongue. A moment later, the quiet was broken by the buzzing of Steve’s phone on the counter.

“It's Tony,” he said, looking down at the smiling picture of Tony in his purple sunglasses that was set as the man’s icon. The heat of flush skirted down his neck and settled in his chest.

“Speaker, put him on speaker,” Clint demanded, coming to stand next to his friend.

Swallowing Steve swiped the call open and tapped the speaker function. “Hello?”

“I can't believe I'm even going to ask this but I'm rushed, suffering from a caffeine deficiency, and am severely sleep deprived so the last fifteen minutes are a blur—did I just kiss you?”

“Um, yes?”

Tony said nothing, only the quiet shuffle of him still rushing to his car coming through the phone.

“Hey playboy, this is the part where you ask him out,” Clint supplied, flinching away before Steve could swat him.

“Do you have me on speaker?” Tony questioned, his tight voice sounding more flustered than angry.

“Maybe?” Steve hedged.

“Oh for Christ—” and the line clicked off.

“Wow, if that's how smooth he normally is, I can't imagine how he used to snag all the ladies. Must be the money,” Clint chuckled, picking up his coffee and heading off.

Sighing and shaking his head, Steve poked his sad upside down bagel. Just as he was starting to think it truly had been an accident and meant nothing, his phone buzzed with a text from Tony. Steve smiled as he read it.

‘Free for a lunch date after my meeting?’

Steve started to type out that, yes, he was free when a new message popped up, turning his smile into a joyful grin.

‘And that does not count as our first kiss!!’

#asks #answers #thank you!#writing prompt #prompt fic #stony #stevetony #clint barton #first kiss #fluff #domestic fluff #mother hen #drabble #ficlet #fanfiction #fan fic #writblr

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senorabond · 5 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 6 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 6 Summary: Javier meets you at the office the next day to help you with the big briefing, then shows you a different side of Houston.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), slowburn, workplace romance, fantasizing, masturbation (m), ohh the yearning

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 5.6k

Author’s Note: I am having so much fun with this story and can’t wait to share more of it with you. I have a LOT more in store for you all. Muchos besos para mi beta @kilamonster!!! Thank you for reading multiple versions of this and being my Spanish tutor! 💋💜

Series Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Texas The Next Day

You hate to admit it, but the most difficult part of your day so far was figuring out what the hell to wear. You’d be working at the office with somebody who was your superior on the case, but on a Sunday and outside the social confines of a regular workday. Your usual work attire would be too formal, but you don’t want to swing too far in the other direction and show up looking sloppy.

Playing it safe, you choose a pair of leggings for comfort but pair it with a smart tunic-length top with a hem that floats around your hips. A pair of simple studs adorn your lobes, and your hair is swept back from your face and off your neck in a utilitarian style. With just a minimal touch of makeup, you feel like your armor is complete. You might wear the same outfit out to dinner with a friend – if you had any here.

You arrive at the office a whole two hours before you and Peña had agreed to meet. You’d already been up and working on the briefing since six that morning anyway and were just getting antsier the longer you worked at home. At least you could prepare the briefing room before Javier shows up and would feel ready to jump right in.

You greet the weekend security guards and make your way up to the conference room. The normally bustling halls and work spaces are eerily quiet and only half of the overhead lights are on. Once in the shared meeting space, you begin to unpack your box of files and hook your laptop up to the audiovisual setup.

It feels like only a short time has passed when you hear a knock at the door and Javi is standing there holding a paper box, presumably with more files. You check your watch and see that it’s still a half hour before your meeting time.

“You’re early.” You stand up and Javi walks in, setting the cardboard box on the table.

“So are you,” he counters. “How long have you been here?”

“Umm…” you glance a bit guiltily at the clock on the wall. Javi cocks his head and sets his jaw sternly, but his eyes are playful.

“That’s what I thought.” From the box, he pulls out a cardboard drinks holder with two large coffees, an assortment of creamer and sweetener packets, and another paper bag. “Bagels. Wasn’t sure what you like, so there’s a mix.”

Your stomach growls in loud appreciation and you blush a bit. In your eagerness to get to the office you skipped breakfast. You decide on a cinnamon raisin bagel and begin slathering it with a hearty amount of cream cheese.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to.” The first bite is carb heaven.

“And you didn’t have to agree to this briefing.” Javi grabs a sesame bagel for himself and takes a small sip of coffee.

“Well,” you pause to swallow. “You asked me to.”

“And you could have said no.” Javi shrugs off his leather jacket – the same one he wore to the bar the other night – and drapes it over the back of a chair across the table from you. The faint scent of tobacco and citrus and spice floats your way.

Without his usual suit on, the broadness of his shoulders is even more accentuated by his choice of casual wear. He’s wearing a short-sleeved blue button-down shirt tucked into a pair of slim-fitting dark-wash jeans, black leather belt cinched with a plain buckle. You caught a peek of the leather boots he’s got on and wonder how you didn’t hear him walking down the hall.

“Something wrong?” Javi has an eyebrow lifted.

You realize you’ve been staring and try to recover somehow. “Nothing,” you gesture at your own clothes. “I just feel a bit overdressed.”

Javi smirks and lets his eyes rake over you, taking your statement as an invitation to look. “I think you look great.”

Thankful again for the bagel, you rip off a large piece and shove it into your mouth to avoid having to say anything in response. You gesture to the cardboard box and mumble around the bread in your mouth. “What else did you bring?”

Brushing crumbs off his hands, Javi reaches in and pulls out four large accordion folders. “I still haven’t quite made it to the digital age yet,” he prefaces with a frown. You push the coffee and bagels aside and he sets the files down.

Over the next several hours, the two of you fully entrench yourselves in the conference room, elbows deep in records and evidence Javier and his team have already gathered on the narcos in question: surveillance reports, bank statements, criminal records, photocopies of multiple passports with the same face. There’s so much information to absorb, but Javier is patient as you learn the background of the case and the layers of politics involved. He’s been in the game so long, he’s got entire family trees memorized.

Javier helps you identify the holes in your strategy you were struggling with last night, and together you come up with workarounds and back-up plans. Soon, the two of you settle more easily into a rhythm, comfortably sharing thoughts and ideas, unafraid to shoot something down if it won’t work. Javier respects your experience with Customs and your time with the FBI, and you can tell he actually listens when you have something to say, even if he’s in the wrong.

You’re close to finishing the presentation you’ll use to walk the rest of the team through everything when a knock at the door startles you both and breaks your concentration.

“Good evening,” the security guard says. “Still here, I see.”

Javi chats with the guard a bit in Spanish and you use it as an opportunity to take a quick bathroom break. Outside, the sun hangs low in the sky. You can’t believe how long you and Javi have been working, it feels like only a couple of hours have passed since you had that bagel. Your stomach clenches as you spy the vending machine in the break room and wish you had brought your wallet with you.

After you finish in the bathroom, you walk back to the conference room to find Javier standing alone, the security guard back off on his rounds. Javi turns to face you when you walk in, pausing to rest his weight into one of his hips, the other knee cocked. The man can really fill out a pair of jeans.

"We should probably wrap this up soon," he remarks, fidgeting with the pen in his hands. "We've been at it for hours now."

You know he heard the innuendo as well, because his eyes dart to the side and he clears his throat. If you didn't know better, you might even think the great Javier Peña was blushing a bit. You can't pass up the opportunity to tease him.

"And that was just on a bagel and coffee. Imagine what we could manage if you bought me dinner." Javi huffs out a small laugh and seems to relax a bit, potential awkwardness avoided.

As you're walking back to your laptop, Javi asks, "How do tacos sound?"

You turn around and see the mischief glint in his eyes, his lips twitching under his mustache. "Agent Peña, is that a proposition?"

"Depends on your answer."

Now you're the one blushing. You had noticed the way his eyes were drawn to your legs every time you stood up and walked to the front of the room, could feel the heat of his stare on your ass. He tried to be subtle, but after the first couple of times you had to admit you liked that he was looking. It had been awhile since you felt desired, and having an attractive man check out your ass and flirt with you certainly wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was harmless, and it's obvious you can both keep it professional when you have work to get done.

"Tacos always sound good to me."

"I guess we better hurry up and finish, then. Let's run through it one more time and get the hell out of here."

You stand at the front of the conference room to the side of the projector screen. Javi taps the keyboard and the first slide of your presentation appears. Well-rehearsed now, you walk through your strategy step-by-step.

First, a team will bring in the shady art dealers and confront them with the evidence that they’re helping launder dirty money. Javier already has the go-ahead to offer them a deal in exchange for their cooperation with the investigation, and you have a back-up plan prepared if they decide to be stupid.

Next, two undercover agents will pose as competing art dealers at a private gallery event, and establish contact with the narcos. The agents will make them an even better offer than the actual dealers, something that’s less risky for the narcos, while still keeping a lower cut of the profits – basically too good to pass up.

Javier will decide which of his agents are suited for this move, as it’s the most critical. They’ll need to be able to sell themselves as the real deal and maintain the relationship with the narcos as the case develops.

The following stages of the plan will involve the FBI's assistance, and you already have several ideas in mind for what that entails.

"You've got it," Javi remarks after you finish your spiel. "You're ready." Again, you light up at his praise. There's a small smile on his face that makes the butterflies in your stomach take flight.

"If you say so,” you sigh. “I don't exactly feel ready."

"Nobody feels ready – if they say they do, they’re lying." It's funny, you think, that although Javier says so little, you still feel comforted by the few words he offers.

The two of you begin to clean up your workspace and pack up. Javier drops off the box of files in his office while you wait in the elevator bay. You decide to check your phone to catch up on any missed messages and see a text from Marcus: You're going to be great tomorrow.

The same pressure in your chest returns from the phone call with him last night. You really miss this part of your relationship with Marcus, the friendship and support. In that moment, you almost want to call him up and tell him all about your day with Javier, how great it felt to be working on a case again after being exiled in Rumor Mill Siberia for so long. But you remember the pang you felt when he mentioned his girlfriend and wonder if you’ll ever be able to go back to the way things started with Marcus.

Javi walks up then, leather jacket and aviators on. "Tacos?"

"Tacos,” you agree, and press the elevator call button. Javi stands close enough to you in the ride down to the lobby that you can feel the supple leather of his jacket graze your arm.

Throughout the day, your typical observation of personal space began to dissipate. Your bodies were drawn into each other’s orbits over and over, like a rocket slingshotting around the moon.

Eventually, you found yourself looking for ways to approach and test that invisible electric current, breach its barrier. It was little things: faces hovering near each other as you made a change to the presentation on your laptop; fingertips and hands brushing when you pass each other something; torsos aligning while you’re bent over the conference room table, barely an inch between you.

You wave to the security guards as you exit the building and Javier points to where his Jeep is parked, just a few spots over from your own tiny Corolla. "We can take my car; I’ll bring you back here when we're done."

"Works for me."

You drop your stuff off at your car first, then hop in the passenger side. The Jeep SUV smells faintly of cigarette smoke and air freshener, but not in an unpleasant or cloying way. There’s a comfortable silence for the first few minutes, then you suddenly remember the question you were going to ask Javier.

"Out of curiosity, who was it you originally spoke to?"

"When?" Javi pops a piece of gum in his mouth.

"When you called the FBI."

"Oh, right.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he thinks back. “Uh, some white guy, can't remember his name..."

You snort. The vast majority of the federal agents you’ve encountered are white men. "That narrows it down."

"Let me think." He makes a 'pump the brakes' gesture with his hand. "He was an asshole – even for a fed, which is saying a lot. On the young side, stuck up; I wanted to slap him through the phone.”

“Kind of nasally voice, probably has a rich daddy complex and wasn’t hugged enough as a kid?”

Javier laughs, “Probably.”

"Wilkins?"

"Yeah, I think that was it. You know him?"

"We're acquainted," you grumble. You fire off a quick text to Marcus and put your phone back in your pocket. For the rest of the drive you can feel Javier's eyes on you periodically, but he doesn't say anything else until you arrive at your destination.

You're in a residential neighborhood, the homes older and sunbaked, next to a soccer field that may be more dirt than grass. There’s a food truck parked half a block away, bursting with activity. Rows of bright lights are strung across an outdoor seating area with picnic tables painted beautifully bright colors, and lively ranchera music plays over a speaker. The line is long, but moving quickly, and a crowd mills about the picnic tables while a group of young men play a casual game of soccer nearby, their fast footwork illuminated by the nearby streetlamp. Kids shriek and play, running in a frenzy around the tables; a group of old men sit together, laughing boisterously; and the workers in and around the truck are yelling out orders in rapid-fire Spanish, chatting with customers, and dancing along to the music as they prepare food. The energy and vibrancy of it all makes the air practically sparkle with life.

“They don’t have taco places like this in D.C.”

"I know." Javi gives you a genuine smile and begins walking towards the end of the line. You follow closely behind him, the music making your steps light. "What would you like?"

"Huh?" Eyes wide, you’ve been too distracted, trying to soak in as much as you can. "Oh, uh... I don't know, what's good?"

"Everything, but we'll start off simple. Unless you feel up for an adventure?" He's still wearing his aviators against the last of the setting sun, but you can still make out the teasing look in his eyes. One of his eyebrows is quirked, waiting for your response.

You square your shoulders and say, "I'm very adventurous."

This turns Javier's smile into a smirk. He gives you an appreciative look and you both step forward as the line moves up. About ten minutes later, you're nearing the front of the line. Javier asks if you like cilantro and onions – yes, definitely. Spice tolerance – average, maybe? He takes this all into consideration.

Javier orders for both of you in Spanish, and it seems like he's a regular with how the workers greet him and chat conversationally. The woman taking his order smiles and nods her head in your direction; she looks to be about in her fifties or sixties, silver streaks in her dark hair pulled back into a chic twist. Javi dismisses her comment with a wave of his hand and smiles, then says something that makes the woman laugh and slap his arm playfully. This light, happy side of Javier is a joy to watch. You imagine it’s probably a side of him people at work never get to see.

"What did she say about me?" You ask once Javier is back with you. You're standing off to the side with the other customers anxiously waiting for their orders.

"She asked if you were my girlfriend." Again, you think he might be blushing a little. He fidgets with the receipt in his hands, looking anywhere but at you.

"And? What'd you say?"

"I told her she was the only girl for me, and that I'd never bag a girl who could cook as good as mi mamá." With the sun nearly fully set, Javier finally takes his aviators off and hooks them into the top button of his shirt.

"Well, I definitely can't cook as good as your mom, that's for damn sure." He laughs and you stand together in companionable silence until your order is called. You're practically salivating over the aromas wafting from the plastic bag. Javier finds a couple of empty spots at a picnic table near the soccer field and begins pulling out paper napkins, plastic utensils, and little containers of different colored salsas.

"You're in for a treat, Carmen had lengua on the menu tonight." He sets a foil-wrapped package in front of you.

"Lengua?" You eagerly unwrap your gift, your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head at the smells – onions, cilantro, fresh masa tortillas, and meat seasoned and cooked tender, all nestled together in a shiny pouch.

"Yeah, that one in the middle. Try a bite first before you add any salsa."

You do as Javier instructs, leaning over the table to catch the juices and some onions as they fall. "Oh...my god," you mumble, your mouth full.

"You like it?" Javier digs into his own tacos, going through the motions of preparing them in a way you can tell he's done a hundred times before.

"What is it?"

"Beef tongue." He bites into his own lengua taco, then watches, waiting for your reaction. The smug bastard doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

You sputter a bit when you swallow, but don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you go green. The texture of the meat is different than you’re used to, but the flavor can't be denied – the taco is delicious.

You decide to beat Javi at his own game and take a huge bite of the tongue, letting out a deep moan around your food. He watches you, stone-faced with lips pursed. "So good," you manage to get out. Your moans of pleasure and appreciation for the food begin to gather notice from the group of older men nearby, who start laughing and pointing. One of them calls out something that must be cheeky, as his buddies begin laughing and nodding in agreement.

Once you finish your last bite and lick the juices from your fingers, you sit back, sated, making sure to ham it up for good measure.

"Javi, wow," you say, brushing your hair away from your forehead and letting out a heavy sigh. "That was so good." He's chewing his food, trying and failing to look unamused at your antics, his knee jiggling under the table. "I never knew I'd like tongue that much."

Javier chokes a bit on his food, then begins coughing a little into his fist. "Jesus," he splutters. You laugh and reach across the table to pat the back of his shoulder jovially.

"That's for trying to get a rise out of me... pendejo." You nudge his leg under the table with your foot for emphasis. He shakes his head and nudges you back.

The group of men nearby laugh uproariously at hearing you swear in Spanish, and one of them returns shortly from the truck with two cold glass bottles of Coca-Cola as a gift.

"For making us laugh, hermosita," the man says kindly.

"Muchos gracias," you demure, taking a celebratory swig. The flavor of the soda was slightly different, Coke had never tasted so good.

"It's Mexican, made with cane sugar." Javier has composed himself, eyes still a little shiny from the tears that came up while he was coughing.

"It's amazing." Javier nods in agreement, and takes a sip of his own bottle, after raising it in thanks to the gentlemen at the next table over.

"Which one is this?" You point to the taco on the right. "Brains?"

"Carnitas," Javi says, then clarifies, "Pulled pork."

"I know what carnitas are, I've been to a Chipotle," you throw back.

"Don't ever say that to me again."

You share a laugh and continue to dig into your delicious dinner. Javier tells you what each of the salsas are and you sample a bit of each before adding the green one to the carnitas. The remaining taco is al pastor, and doesn't even need salsa, it's so good.

With all the tacos depleted, you and Javi pick up your trash and walk along the edge of the soccer field together with your bottles of Coke.

"Thank you for the delicious dinner, by the way."

"No problem, I'm glad you liked it. This is one of my favorite places, reminds me of the small mom-and-pop places back home."

"Where's home?"

"Laredo – small town on the border. It's not that far, but with work always so busy I don't get out there as often as I'd like to."

You nod in understanding and take a sip of your soda.

"What about you?"

"I was a military brat, so there really isn't one place that's home." Javi watches you silently, waits for you to elaborate. "I guess D.C. was the last place that felt like home to me, though."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah, I do. I didn't think I would miss it this much actually. It's been kind of a rough transition, to be honest. Haven't really felt like I've settled in here yet."

A soccer ball crosses your path and Javi kicks it back over to the group of guys. "I know what you mean." You wonder if he’s thinking about his time in Colombia, or just being far away from his hometown.

"But this has been great. I haven't enjoyed food like this since moving here."

"Well, I'm always happy to bring you back. Or show you some other great spots," he shrugs casually, but there's a slight tension in his frame, like a wire pulled taut. Your stomach does a little flip at the idea of more evenings like this with Javi, and you decide to change the subject.

"I also wanted to thank you for helping me out with the briefing today. I really appreciate it." You’re looking at the ground, but can feel his eyes glancing over at you.

"You don't have to thank me – we'll all benefit just as much from this kicking off well tomorrow." The ground is slightly uneven and your shoulders bump occasionally as you walk, but neither of you move farther apart.

Javier didn't have to meet you in the office, bring you breakfast, or buy you dinner. He didn't have to work with you – on a Sunday, no less – for nearly an entire day. But he did, because he wants you to succeed just as much as he wants the entire team to succeed. He just might not be able to put it in so many words.

You walk around the other edge of the field, Coke bottles now empty, and watch the soccer players pack up their gear. Twilight is emerging, and some of the brighter stars are already appearing in the sky. With the sun down, the breeze is refreshingly cool and carries the scent of jacaranda.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, interrupting your reverie. It's a text from Marcus: Thanks for letting me know, I'll handle it. You grin as you put your phone away and catch Javier trying to appear as though he hadn't been watching you.

"That was about the guy you originally spoke to at the FBI. It's being taken care of." Wilkins had always been such a prick, and you’d long suspected he was the source of the nasty rumors back in D.C. Hopefully he'll finally get the ass-chewing he's been begging for all this time.

The crowd at the food truck has dwindled to a few small groups of customers finishing their dinners while employees begin getting everything ready to close shop.

"I guess I’d better get you back to your car. We've got an early start tomorrow." Javier takes your empty Coke bottle and places it in the recycling bin with his own. You wave goodbye to Carmen in the food truck and walk back to his Jeep.

The entire car ride back takes maybe ten minutes, and you can’t help feeling a little disappointed that it doesn’t take longer. Back at the office parking lot, Javier drives right up next to your sedan. You open the passenger door to get out and Javier reaches out a hand, placing it on your arm to stop you. He clears his throat.

"I- um," he stalls, shifting in his seat. You shut the door to show him he has your full attention, and he starts again. "I'm glad you're here. And I’m grateful for the hard work you’ve already put on the case."

You're not quite sure what to say. Javier's words create a warm, pleasant glow in your stomach, the butterflies becoming more familiar now the more you’re around him.

"I think I might have come across wrong, at first.” His eyes meet yours, holding your attention. “I didn't just want to use your connections with the FBI. I wanted you."

The warm glow in your belly begins burning, igniting the butterflies’ wings.

"Thank you for saying that."

"I mean it." Javier's eyes are warm, wide and earnest. They’re holding you there, and all you can do is nod, show him you accept his offering. Javi looks away, and the spell is broken. He removes his hand from your arm, but you can still feel it there like a brand burnt into your skin.

Taking a breath, you try to lighten the mood as you open the car door again.

"I'm going to be dreaming about those tacos, I hope you know. For a long time." You get out and throw your bag over your shoulder, giving him a teasing glare.

"I hope that's not the only thing you dream of, cariño." Javier winks, matching your tone. You shake your head at him with a smile.

"Goodnight, Javi." He waits until you start your car and drive off before following you out of the parking lot.

Javier’s words ring in your ears the entire way home. You don't know what to think of this enigmatic man, who always has a way of surprising you, but you’re also hoping for more interesting dreams.

~*~*~*~

Back home, Javier decides to take a shower and wash the day from him. All in all, he thinks, it’s going to be a very successful briefing. He knows you’ll do a fantastic job, even if you don’t believe it yourself. At the food truck, Carmen was telling him you seemed nice, and then, “You need a nice girl, Javi.” You are nice.

Javier puts his head directly under the hot spray and lets the water cascade down his body. Your face enters his mind, like it does so often these days. He can picture you at the picnic table, smiling and laughing, teasing him by practically reenacting the deli scene from When Harry Met Sally. Javier shakes his head, smiling to himself, and grabs the soap. That viejito with his friends had called out, "I hope you make her sound like that at home, mijo!"

Indulging, just for a moment, Javier wonders what sounds you would make if he did have you at home. His cock twitches to life at the mere idea.

If he had you laid out on his bed, writhing, responding to his touch, his mouth, his words…what would those noises be like? He wants to hear all your sounds, wants to be the one to elicit your breathy pants and gasps, your moans, whines, and whimpers. He wants to hear you beg him for release – needs to hear his name on your lips like an invocation.

Javier's cock is responsive, quickly becoming hard at the thought of hearing you let go and lose yourself. "Jesus..." he groans, the soap in his hands makes his motions slick and easy.

First, he washes himself slowly, languidly, taking his time with the fantasy. His hands become yours, spreading the rich lather over his chest and shoulders, then trailing down the plane of his stomach to the thatch of hair at the root of his dick.

Javier begins stroking himself, slowly at first, experimentally. "Shit…oh, shit." He's already so hard, his dick jumping as he grasps himself more firmly. He wonders if your fingers would be able to close all the way around his girth. Would you be tentative and hesitant at first, or would you take him confidently in your grip, grasping with a twist of your wrist at the head.

Precum pearls at the tip of his cock and he swipes the pad of his thumb. Would you do the same, or would you get down on your knees and look up at him through your lashes, tongue out to taste him? The thought of you there in front of him, mouth and hand encasing his cock, sends a spasm of pleasure through him and he braces a hand against the cold tiles of the shower wall.

"Fuck–," he chokes out. He grits his teeth and squeezes the base of his cock, breathing through his nose for a second until he’s backed off from the edge.

If he’s going to let himself go there, to cross that line mentally, Javi wants to draw this fantasy out and make the most of it. He wants to imagine what your body would feel like under his hands, how soft your skin would be, the jiggle of your soft flesh as he thrusts into you. Javier imagines your beautiful legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, spurring him on harder and faster.

His strokes start to falter as he thinks of your tight, velvety walls squeezing him, fluttering as he pushes you closer to the edge. He's so close, he could cum right now if he let himself, but in his mind's eye you're not there yet. Not quite ready.

What would get you where you need to be? Maybe you like your nipples sucked and nibbled on, your neck and ears kissed, a thumb circling your swollen clit.

Javier's pants and grunts are the only noises over the rush of the water, besides the slick, rhythmic sound of him jerking off. So close. So fucking close – but not yet.

Maybe you like to be on top, grinding down against that delicious pressure, sweaty chests pressed together. You might like to lean back, hands on his thighs as he supports you with a strong grip around your waist, just so you could feel that angle just the way you like.

Would your legs and belly start to shake, like his are now? Would a deep, searing kiss help you inch closer to finishing, his tongue thrusting into your mouth the way his cock would piston in and out of your cunt?

His pants are turning into gasps, his chest tight, your name on the tip of his tongue…if he could just let himself give it over.

Or…maybe all you need is to be talked through it, given permission to let go. Maybe you need to be told instead, to follow orders, to let him take what he needs from you –

"Unh, oh–f-fuck – FUCK," Javier's fingers grasp for purchase at the slippery tile, legs threatening to give out as his cum shoots out in ropes. One hits the wall, the next the edge of the tub, the rest spills out over his fist.

Javi huffs out a moan with each spasm, toes curling, vision going black at the edges. He wishes he could give himself over to the sensations, disappear into the rush and tingles, the blood pumping in his veins, heart beating through his chest. But something holds him back from fully giving into the fantasy.

He feels a twinge of guilt as he cleans himself up and finishes the shower. Even though it is just a fantasy, he wonders if allowing himself this indulgence will make it more difficult to face you tomorrow morning at the briefing.

Still, as he lays in bed, the sheets cool and refreshing against his naked body still hot from the shower, he wonders what you like after sex. Once your heart beat slows and you catch your breath, opening your eyes to look at your lover, are you a cuddler? Do you like to be taken care of, cleaned up gently, soothed and reassured, held closely? You strike him as the type to enjoy the sensuality of physical touch and affection; it could add to your post-orgasm comedown, drawing out the blissful mental space you enter.

Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, Javier lets out a heavy sigh and fights the temptation to light up a cigarette. Instead, he chooses to distract himself with his phone; he can answer a few work emails before going to sleep. Javi’s surprised to see a text from you instead.

Thanks again for your help. I'm really glad I'm here too.

In spite of himself, he can't help but smile. The urge for a cigarette eases and he thinks about what to write back. Grinning, he sends his reply and settles in to go to sleep.

We’ll get tamales next time.

Series Masterlist || Next Chapter

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

#senorabond writes #rumor has it fic #javi x reader x pike #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier peña #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #javier pena x you

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yelenabelovasbxtch · 1 year

Text

My Professor PT. 4

Natasha Romanoff X f!reader

a/n: So long time no see with this one 😅...anyways I've been getting like an unbelievable amount of requests to continue this one so here we are! It has been SUPER long since I've written this and I did re read it but forgive me if there's maybe a continuity error or two...anyways...I hope you enjoy and as always my inbox is always open!

Warnings: Cussing, 18+, mentions of smutty shit

Word Count: 1485

Taglist: @yelenaslyubov @youreatotalposer @jeyramarie @flosbelova @bridgecitybrad @justthis-stuff @chloe7076 @ailenepuff @ravenclawbitch426 @mellowladyangel @amcg0605-blog @kassies-take @yelenaswife1996 @wandanatchick @lilroachsworld @inluvwithfictionalwomen @x666hours @natashaswife4125 @onetruwhore @karmasgxrl @hopelesslyfallenninlove @setsuna1415 @swiftdazer @imobsessedwithmilfss @madamevirgo @louisprettybab @splatalia-jumpanova @jediluka @t00manyfand0ms (LMK IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST)

God was going to class the absolute last thing you wanted to do today. What was even going to happen? She walked out on you this morning with no warning, no text, just left. So what, was she going to just go and lecture and act like nothing happened? Was she going to tell you why she walked out? Either way, class was the last thing on your mind but you also couldn’t let a stupid relationship get in the way after how hard you had worked to get here. So, of course, like the good student you are, you got off your ass, had a shower, grabbed a bagel and coffee and headed to class. You were a little bit earlier than everyone else but you liked to have time to enjoy your breakfast at one of the tables in the common area within the building of your lecture hall to unwind before having to sit down for two hours listening to the same woman who was going down on you last night speak about whatever it was she wanted to lecture on today.

As you sit there enjoying your coffee your phone buzzes and a notification with her name pops up at the top of your screen.

“Professor Natasha Romanoff: Class cancelled - Sorry for the last minute notice everyone but I am having some unfortunate car trouble and won’t be able to make it to the lecture this morning. I will see you all next week. Have a nice weekend.”

What the fuck?

She absolutely knew what she was doing, sending this and not reaching out to me first. She knew I was on this fucking mailing list for whatever bullshit course this is and that this would get me unbelievably agitated. Whatever. She's a bitch and I need to move on anyway.

I’m done, maybe I should just drop her class to make sure that shit’s final.

You decided to get some work done while you were on campus for a bit and headed home.

You’re done your work for the day and you have no other classes so what else is there to do in university other than school? You guessed it.

You made your way to the same bar you were at when you met Nat for the first time. Were you kind of hoping she’d be there? No. Subconsciously? Yes.

You walk in, pull up a stool as the bartender asks you what you want with the most beautiful smile. She obviously rakes in tips. You ask for two shots of Vodka that are quickly thrown back in seconds. Feeling nothing was kind of the goal at this point because even though you were full of rage and anger over what happened– you also developed deep feelings and what she did, how she left suddenly fucking hurt. The bartender continues to throw drinks your way, changing it up for you as the night went on, the drinks got fun, started tasting less like bitter alcohol and more like fruits and other flavours. The two of you talked quite a bit throughout the night but she also had other customers to tend to so you spent half your time just staring at your phone contemplating messaging her.

“Can I get a scotch – neat?” you ask.

She nods and grabs a glass from the back of the bar to pour your drink. After your first swig you open up your messages and send one her way.

Y/N: hi

Obviously you weren’t anywhere close to actually thinking she’d respond but you were past the point of giving any kind of shit.

You just kept looking at your phone when you saw the three dots pop up then quickly disappear. Your eyes were locked on the screen when all of a sudden a small grey text bubble pops up.

Nat: Y/N, it’s midnight. This is not appropriate. Not appropriate? What else wasn’t appropriate? When she had her tongue down my throat last night? Who the fuck does she think I am?

Y/N: Who gives a shit

Nat: We cannot do this again.

Y/N: Who Saus

Y/N: Saus*

Y/N: FUCK

Y/N: Says*****

Nat: Are you drunk

Y/N: Not really

Nat: How much have you had to drink

Y/N: She just gave me my 6th drink

Nat: Who’s she.

Y/N: Just the super hot bartender.

Y/N: You know the one…has the patchwork tattoos, toned arms, blonde hair and the most beautiful smile…doesn’t make me pay for my drinks.

Nat: Where are you.

Y/N: Out

Nat: Send me your location right now.

Y/N: Why? I am a big girl, I can go home with whoever I want.

Nat: Y/N, stop fucking joking around. I’m coming to get you.

Nat’s phone dings with your location popping up on find my friends. Within minutes you see her storm through the door.

“Let’s go.” She says in a stern tone.

“Natty!!! Becca, this is Natasha.” You say with a big goofy very drunk grin across your face as you boop Natasha on the nose and introduce her to the hot bartender.

“The girlfriend! She has been talking about you all night.” Becca says with a smile as shes cleaning glasses.

Natasha throws her a sarcastic smile-smirk as she grabs your arm and pulls you off the stool.

“Come on, we're going. And here.” Natasha says as she slaps down $150 on the bar to pay for the tab plus tip.

“No that’s oka–” The bartender speaks up.

“No, I insist.” Natasha says in a less friendly and more bitter tone.

Nat walks you into her car and buckles you in. “Don’t puke, this one’s a rental.”

You smile and nod at Natasha as you doze off in her back seat.

You wake up the next morning, in a new place.

Where the fuck are you?

Smells like coffee and bacon though so you could absolutely stick around.

Also, whose clothing are you wearing?

You slowly get out of bed and take a look around, there’s a cup of water and some Advil waiting for you on the side table. You take a big swig and head downstairs to where that glorious smell is coming from. You walk into the kitchen seeing your favourite redhead at the stove in her sweats and a tshirt cooking food.

“Finally awake I see.” Natasha says as she turns around.

You awkwardly smile and nod as you stand there.

“What happened…last night? Did we?”

“No. I picked you up from the bar and brought you here to sleep off your super fun night you had. Don’t worry, I slept on the couch.”

“No you shouldn't have done that I–”

“You what y/n? YOU chose to go out last night and do what you did. I had no choice.”

You felt bad. It’s not fair that you felt bad. She fucking broke your heart. But also why did she come pick you up? Did she care?

“Sit.” She says as she puts a plate of food down for you with some water and a coffee.

The two of you eat in silence, unbelievably awkward silence.

“Thank you.” You mutter out when you finish your final bites. “No problem.” She says back quietly.

“Nat–”

“What.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I can’t tell you why.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you why I left without warning. That’s what you were going to say right?”

You look at her with a sad and slightly confused look on your face.

“But why not?”

“Because. I just can’t.”

“Because you don’t know…?”

“Stop it.”

“Or because you don’t want to..?”

“I said stop it!” She raises her voice.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just– was it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“For fuck sake y/n.”

“Y-You know what? You want to know why I left? Because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. You’re like this kryptonite to me. You just came into my life and completely took it over, everything I do ends up making me think about you. The other night it got the best of me and we did some things we shouldn’t have so leaving before I could let you convince me to stay was the only way that I would be able to get out of there. Even when I left I was still FUCKING thinking about YOU. And then I tried to keep my distance but guess what? That clearly didn’t fucking work. Because look where we are.”

You looked at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly gaping open as she said all of these things at you, your incredibly hung over mind could barely process what she was saying. Everything she said sounded like stuff you wanted to hear but it was said in a way that didn’t feel welcoming.

– End of PT. 4 –

#black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #my professor #teacher kink #mcu #mcu wlw #marvel women #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff wlw #natasha fanfic #natasha romanoff angst

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rebelwrites · 1 year

Text

Pancakes, Frenchman And Heart Attacks

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Pierre Gasly Masterlist

Summary: Pierre remembers that you never eat breakfast before work and makes sure that today you ate. Even if it meant potentially causing a heart attack

Prompt: "You brought me breakfast?" "Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I'd make sure you ate something." Requested by @mehrmonga

AN : first time writing for Pierre 🥰 hope you enjoy I know this is quite short but the cuteness level is high. Ive tagged my Leclerc TagList which is now turning into the F1 TagList

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

The sound of kitchen cupboards slammed caused you to jolt awake, your heart pounding at the sound of someone downstairs in your house. Squinting at the clock on the bedside table you groaned at the red 5:05am blinking back at you. It was like it was taunting you as the banging from downstairs only got more regular and louder.

Tugging your boyfriend's hoodie on you stole when you last saw him, and a pair of sweatpants that were lying by the bedroom door, you tried to calm your nerves down but nothing was working. The thought of someone being in the house put you on edge.

As you crept out of your bedroom you swiped the baseball bat that was propped up against the wall. At least you had something to defend yourself with. You found yourself holding your breath as you slowly walked down the stairs trying your hardest to avoid the parts that would creek giving away your position.

The closer you got to the kitchen you could hear someone singing along to the radio, their voice was low so you could quite work out who was invading your home.

Holding the bat up against your shoulder you were ready to swing. But the moment you stepped into the kitchen the person spun around. A wide smile etched on their face.

“What the fuck, Pear?” You breathed, dropping the bat to the ground, placing your hand over your chest trying to slow your heart rate down as you glared at your boyfriend.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He said with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you sleep well?”

“You do realise you caused me a heart attack right?” You hummed, raising your brow at the Frenchman. “I thought someone had broken in.”

Pierre shook his head lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

“I’m sorry my love.” He whispered, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “I was trying to surprise you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, one look in his bright blue eyes melted your heart. Wrapping your arms around his neck you let your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Not that I don’t love having you here but it’s not even half 5, why so early?” You chuckled, as he moved away from you, turning back to the coffee machine.

“Making breakfast.” He grinned proudly, placing a freshly brewed mug of coffee in front of you as you perched on the bar stool at the breakfast bar.

Looking around the kitchen you realised he had brought all the ingredients for making pancakes, but not just any pancakes, the best pancakes in the world. Nothing could beat Pierre’s pancakes.

“You brought me breakfast? And broke into my house to cook it! I didn’t think I was gonna see you until the weekend?” You hummed, letting your fingers wrap around the coffee mug.

A smug smile crossed his face as he spun around to face you. “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I'd make sure you ate something."

This statement made your heart melt, instantly forgetting that it was so early in the morning.

“And we got back earlier than planned and I didn't need to be at the track until 11 so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You giggled, taking a sip of your coffee letting the taste dance over your taste buds as you watched your boyfriend gracefully move around the kitchen.

Today was going to be a good day, even if it did start with having a heart attack.

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman @marvelousmendess @mehrmonga @sbgal @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @mloyer

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine

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im-suchanicegirl · 4 months

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Hi! Feel free to answer this whenever you're rested from your trip. But I'd like to know how Germany was 🥰 (other than the guys from SPC saying you're a good photographer 🤭)

HIIIIII.

Im still on the adrenaline of the flight and all but oh my god im ready to leave again for Germany.

Some highlights:

- "the Germans" became "the Germs" and @lovesomehate and I must have said ‘fucking germs’ too often

- german tv had an after hour sexy ad thing with half naked girls and one of the ad was called ‘susie 9’ and i said "oh no, this is what susie the saxophone grew up to be"

- i was holding my phone saying HELLO FROM MONTREAL and Stefan R. saw it and pointed at me, i pointed back (like the spiderman meme) and he did a 🫶🏼 but i didnt get a picture

- Dan, when i said i was from Canada: Montreal??? What are you doing in Germany? IN LEIPZIG?? Did you get lost??

- jan, when he heard us speak french: were you at the electric callboy show in Montreal?? IT WAS SO HOT?? *rambles to @chaotic-gingey about it*

- being thoroughly confused by The Butcher Sisters every single night

- I sang Ein Zwei Polizei everytime we saw a police car (sorry @lovesomehate and @chaotic-gingey )

- It was Anne-Marie in Germany instead of Emilie in Paris, as I strolled in the morning to get breakfast, coffee and food from the grocery store.

- Germans are so fucking tall y’all i need heels

- i can’t even explain how good and better food is there. The quality. The diversity. (Though i hope you like paprika)

- the döner and curry wursts are the unsung heroes

- on night two there were no barricades so we were right at the feet of the bands which was… interesting to say the least.

- thats when stefan said he and dan liked my pictures and i basically melt on my bed.

- me: these are candies from Canada for EVERYONE. Roberto, the merch dude: oh, Daniel will love this.

- @chaotic-gingey and I didn’t vibe in Berlin so we drove to Hamburg with the idea of visiting and maybe attend the show

- spoiler we did 🙄

- we stayed by the sound booth as we were tired and hot and basically… forgot to eat that day. Bad idea. The place got so hot i was sure I’d faint. Front row were troopers!

- @chaotic-gingey and I ‘awwwwwing’ when we saw that Bollo’s screen background was the Tekkno tour picture with the guys and their team

- Two German dudes tried to invite us to a party or a bar and wouldn’t take no for an answer and tbh it was just hilarious as they were not threatening. They even asked for a picture with us when they left 😂

- we met the guys again🥰 Stefan’s hugs > any hugs. Better than Kevin’s hugs. I don’t know. It’s just, pretty sure he cracked my back. He thanked us again a million times for coming.

- roberto gave us flame glasses and it was hilarious and its one of my favorite things

- me: did you like the Canadian candies? Dan: ohYES. I haven’t finished them but im working on it.

- the entirety of State fall guys being the sweetest bunch❤️

- we went to eat at the döner place after the show

- @chaotic-gingey : wouldnt it be funny if Bollo or any of the guys were to come in hahaha

- narrator: Bollo did come to the döner place to get some food, much to her shock.

- i fell on the ice And couldnt stop laughing

- we drove back to Berlin and with less than two hours of sleep we made our way to the airport

-now im writting this to you and I’m sad

-lets all move to Germany

#ask #anon ask #i miss Germany #already #jupiter-balls

19 notes · View notes

4littlefishies · 3 days

Text

The 36th Floor - Coffee Beans & Corporate Meetings

satoru gojo x suguru geto

warnings: none

wc: 5.1k

previous chapter here

note: We're starting with a small little time skip, but nothing too confusing or drastic, hopefully!

The sound of wind chimes play through the speakers of Suguru’s phone, signaling to him that it’s time to get up and get ready for work. He sighs deeply before slowly rolling over to shut off the alarm. Taking a couple deep breaths, he finally stands up and heads to the bathroom to take a shower. He ties up his hair and puts on a shower cap, not needing to wash his hair today. He continues going through the normal routine of brushing his teeth, then hair, and finally deciding how to wear his hair for the day. 99% of the time, he had it half up and half down, and on special occasions, he would wear it all up into a bun. Today he decides on half up half down.

Suguru decides against breakfast this morning, as he does most mornings. He instead walks out to the kitchen and pulls out coffee beans and a scale. He turns on the electric kettle to get the water boiling before carefully measuring out 18 grams of beans and dumping it into the grinder. While the small machine grinds the beans, he pulls out the chemex along with a filter, dumping the fresh grounds into the prepared filter once they're finished grinding. He leans up against the counter as he waits for the water to finish boiling, humming along with the music playing softly from his phone in his pocket. The kettle clicks and he turns around to pick it up. Suguru carefully pours the boiling water over the coffee grounds in small circles and waits for the water to go down before eventually pouring more in.

As his coffee slowly but surely drips through the filter, he cleans up after himself and pulls out his travel mug. He unscrews the lid and sets it to the side before he picks the soggy coffee filter up and tosses it into the trash, ensuring not to drip any coffee on the floor. He dumps the hot coffee into his mug and turns around to the fridge. Grabbing the creamer, he adds the most miniscule amount into his cup before putting it back in the door of the fridge. Suguru finishes by screwing the lid back onto his cup and heading back towards his bedroom.

He steps into his closet and tries to decide what to wear today. He picks out a navy blue suit jacket along with khaki pants to go with it. He takes his time making sure every detail is perfect in the bathroom mirror. Today was an important day. Suguru would be having a meeting with Utahime and Nanami to discuss how his first month at the company has been going. I think I’m pretty good at my job, Suguru reassures himself as he tightens his tie and adjusts his shirt collar to cover it. He adjusts his jacket once more before looking at himself in the mirror and walking out of his bathroom.

Suguru grabs a pair of loafers from his closet and sets them by the front door, along with this bag. He goes into his kitchen and grabs his coffee, along with a granola bar that he slips into his bag before pulling on his shoes and slinging his bag over his shoulder. The lights are flicked off and he pulls open the front door. He locks the door behind him and makes his way down the two flights of stairs and out the front door of his building.

The walk to the office is short, but he takes the time to think about what he has planned for the day, other than his meeting with Nanami and Utahime in the morning. He wasn’t necessarily nervous about his meeting, but there’s always something about meeting with your boss that’s nerve wracking. He takes a deep breath as he pulls open the heavy front door of the now familiar office building.

He makes his way through the bustling lobby and into an elevator that’s quickly filling up. He presses the 36 button and takes a step back, allowing more people to make their way into the small space. Suguru stands with his fingers clasped together, waiting for his floor. “Excuse me,” He says, politely as they approach the 36th floor. The few people in front of him step aside for him and he makes his way down the hallway towards the large glass doors. He scans his keycard and pulls open the door before stepping inside. He takes a right almost immediately and steps past Satoru and Shoko’s still empty cubicles and takes a seat at his desk.

Suguru puts his bag in its normal spot underneath his desk and turns on his computer. He looks up at the clock on the wall above the doorway. 8:48. Satoru and Shoko should be here soon. He smiles to himself as he logs into his computer and begins checking his email. He’s 5 emails deep when Shoko walks through the doorway and sits down in her chair with a sigh.

“That bad already?” Suguru asks without looking away from his monitor.

“My hot water isn’t working so I had to take a cold shower.” She says, the glare on her face very apparent in her voice.

“Hopefully they fix that.” Suguru says, continuing to check his emails, finally catching up from the day before. He looks back up at the clock that now reads 9:03. “Satoru better show up soon.” He says, grabbing a sticky note and a pen. He pulls the cap off and sticks it onto the end of the pen before starting to write.

I’m off to my meeting with Nanami and Utahime. Good luck on your presentation! :) - S

He smiles to himself as he sticks it to the top of the report in his hands before putting the whole stack on Satoru’s desk as he passes by. “I’ll be back.” He says to Shoko as he sets down the stack of papers. She doesn’t say anything, but offers a wave as Suguru makes his way out of their area of cubicles and takes a right, heading towards Utahime’s office.

He passes by the various conference rooms, including one that was being prepared for the visitors from corporate that were scheduled to come today. Satoru had been preparing for the presentation tirelessly for the past few weeks, and Suguru knew how important this was for him. He passes the hallway to the break room and reaches Utahime’s open office door. He leans around the door frame before knocking on the open door to get her attention.

“Good morning, Utahime.” He says, a smile on his face as he slowly creeps into her office.

She flashes a smile back up at Suguru before responding. “Good morning, Geto, come on in!” She gestures to the arms chairs on this side of her desk. Suguru quickly takes a seat in one of the two grey armchairs. “So, how you feeling?” She asks, looking across the desk at him.

“Good, I think?” He says, a nervous laugh as he says it. Utahime nods her head with a smile.

“Sounds about right.” She says, a soft chuckle following her response. They talk for a few moments before there is a presence behind Suguru in the doorway. He turns as he hears a soft knock on the door to see Nanami standing there, his hand wrapped around the door frame as he leans in. Utahime raises her eyebrows as she looks at him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“You guys can step into my office now.” He says before continuing off down the hallway and into his office. Both Utahime and Suguru stand up and walk out into the hallway, following Nanami’s lead. Utahime grabs a folder as she steps out of her office and closes the door behind them. Suguru waits and follows her towards Nanami’s office. They walk through the door and Suguru is immediately amazed by the view. The sun still low in the sky, the light coming through the windows that surrounded the office. The view was clear for a December day, the view clear for miles around. The sky, a bright blue that reminded Suguru of a certain someone's eyes.

“Have a seat.” Nanami says, making his way around the back of his desk to sit down in his expensive looking office chair. Suguru sits down in the comfortable arm chair, unbuttoning his jacket as he does so. He sits back in the chair as Utahime joins Nanami in a chair on his side of the desk. “So, we just like to do these meetings at everyone’s one month mark just to check in and see how things are going.”

Suguru nods his head as he continues to listen to his boss speak. Utahime is writing something on the papers in her lap, probably filling out the necessary paperwork and taking notes about the meeting. “How have you felt about your first month, Geto?” Nanami continues, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his desk.

Suguru takes a breath as he tries to think of the words that he wants to say. “I’m really liking it.” He starts out, both Nanami and Utahime nodding their heads, waiting for him to continue. “Some things were definitely a little confusing at first, but the more I do them, it definitely gets easier every time.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nanami says, Utahime nodding her head in agreement with a soft smile on her face. “You’re definitely doing everything right. It’s really nice to not have to babysit my employees, so I appreciate the work you’ve been doing.” He continues, earning a smile from Suguru. “You get along with everyone, you show up on time, and you finish your work on time. That’s all I could ask for. Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.” He finishes up, leaning back in his chair once again. Suguru notices as Nanami looks over at Utahime for a quick moment. “How do you feel about possibly traveling in the future?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at Suguru.

Sugar smiles and raises his eyebrows, not expecting a question like that. “Uhh-” He says, rubbing his palms together, trying to form a response. “Yeah, yeah, that would be amazing.” He says, not entirely sure of what his boss is implying.

“It’s still a couple months out, but there’s a conference in Shanghai that we want to send you to.” Nanami says, not beating around the bush whatsoever. Suguru’s eyes widen at the offer and his mouth is now agape, surprised to hear this already. “We’re really impressed with the work you’ve been doing and I think you would represent us great.” He continues.

“Would it just be me?” Suguru asks, worried about the possibility already.

“Actually, you would also be going with-” Utahime starts out before pausing to look down at her paperwork, shuffling through to find the correct page. She winces slightly when she finally finds the page she was looking for. “You’d be going with Gojo.” She says, sounding irritated just to have to say his name. Suguru feels his hands immediately clam up at the thought. His heart rate picks up as he tries to focus on what’s happening, rather than let his mind wander.

“You seem to get along well with Gojo, so I think it’s only fitting that we send you two on the trip as a pair.” Nanami says, smiling across the desk at Suguru. He feels the tips of his ears get hot, “It’s still a couple months away, so we’ll talk more about the details with you as we get closer.” Suguru nods in response as Nanami sends him one last soft smile. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, okay?”

“Absolutely.” Suguru says, standing up. He steps behind the chair and stops for a moment. “Thank you.” He says before opening the office door and heading back down the hallway towards his desk. He passes the conference room with the blinds closed and knows that Satoru is probably in the middle of his presentation by now. He smiles to himself, thinking about the possibility of going on a trip with Satoru, even if it is just for work.

He rounds the corner and quickly sits back down in his chair, looking over at Shoko. “How’d it go?” She asked, looking over at him.

“Good!” He says with a smile. “Really good, actually.” He continues.

“You gonna elaborate?” She asks when he doesn’t explain further.

“They wanna send me to a conference in Shanghai in a couple of months.” He says, the smile on his face growing. Shoko’s eyes widen at him over the cubicle wall.

“Dude! That’s awesome!” She says excitedly, a smile on her face, happy for her friend. Suguru just smiles to himself.

“Did Satoru show up?” He asks, trying to seem nonchalant.

Suguru doesn’t notice the look that Shoko shoots him before answering. “He didn’t stop in here. I think he just went straight into his meeting.” Suguru is disappointed that Satoru didn’t see his note before his big presentation. He turns on his computer and starts working on his daily tasks that need to be completed.

Before he knows it, it’s almost time for lunch. He hadn’t seen Satoru all day, but expected that he would be done soon. Suguru steps out of his cubicle and starts down the hallway towards the bathroom. The conference room blinds are still closed, but the door is cracked. Inside, he sees people shaking hands, probably almost finished with the meeting and saying their goodbyes. He didn’t notice Satoru and continues on towards the bathroom.

He steps into the dark bathroom and the lights flick on. He quickly finishes up and finishes washing his hands, unable to stop smiling at himself in the mirror. He dries off his hands and exits the bathroom to head back towards his desk. On his way back, people are exiting the conference room, and Suguru quickly notices Satoru. He meets him and they walk down the hallway next to each other.

“How did it go, Satoru?” Suguru asks, his normal smile on his face. Satoru doesn’t say anything and just shakes his head, seeming annoyed. “I had my meeting with Nanami. He mentioned something about a conference in February!” He continues, excited to tell Satoru his good news.

“Good for you, Suguru.” Satoru responds, irritation apparent in his tone. The way he spits out Suguru’s name immediately makes him feel sick to his stomach. It’s so drastically different from the typical way Satoru lets Suguru’s name slip so effortlessly off of his tongue, almost like it’s the only thing he’s able to say. Suguru feels his stomach do a flip and immediately stops. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” He says, turning around and heading back towards the

bathroom.

He quickly enters and looks in the mirror, his face looking like he’d seen a ghost. Suguru leans up against the counter and looks down at the sink, turning on the cold water. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand under the cool water before holding his hand to his forehead, trying to calm down. What the fuck was that? He thinks to himself. Satoru and Suguru had been almost inseparable for the past month, becoming much closer as friends rather than just coworkers. This was the first time that Satoru had snapped at him or even been actually upset with him in any way. He takes a couple deep breaths and looks at himself in the mirror one last time before heading back to his desk, ready to go to lunch.

Suguru finds himself back in his cubicle, but Satoru is already gone. Ouch. For the past three weeks, they had gone to the cafe every day and sat at their table in the corner, people watching on their lunch while eating their sandwiches, and sometimes, a sweet little treat. “Did Satoru already leave?” Suguru asks, looking over at Shoko.

“Yep, He was quick.” She says, looking down at her phone. Suguru feels more disappointment as he pulls on his jacket and grabs his wallet, ready to go find something to eat. He decides not to go to the cafe today, just in case that’s where Satoru went. I’ll just give him some space. Suguru thinks to himself, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth as he rides in the elevator down to the lobby.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We appreciate it, Satoru. I’m excited to see what you do for the conference in February.” The tall man with dark hair says as he shakes Satoru’s hand, his presentation finally behind him after weeks of planning. It hadn’t gone exactly how he had hoped.

First of all, his train was delayed, so he started off the day by being late. He wasn’t able to stop by his desk when he arrived, and had to head straight into the meeting with no time to prepare or look over his notes. Some of his slides were glitchy, causing things not to work, thus causing further delays. He just didn’t want to seem incompetent in front of the visitors from corporate.

“Thank you,” Satoru says through a fake smile. “I’m looking forward to it, Yaga.” He says, nodding his head. Fuck all of this. Satoru thinks, extremely irritated at how his presentation went. Ask anyone but Satoru and they would tell you that it was fine, but being the perfectionist that Satoru is, he was upset by anything less than perfect when it came to his work.

Everyone begins filing out of the conference room and out into the hallway. Satoru is one of the last ones out, a sour look already on his face when he sees Suguru walking in the same direction. He notices him start walking next to him before he hears his voice, even happier sounding than normal. “How did it go, Satoru?”Suguru asks, his normal smile on his face. Satoru shakes his head and doesn’t answer, hoping he’ll get the hint that he doesn’t want to talk. “I had my meeting with Nanami. He mentioned something about a conference in February!” Suguru continues on, excited to tell Satoru about his good news.

“Good for you, Suguru.” Satoru spits out. He immediately regrets it after he says it, but Suguru is already turning and walking in the other direction.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” He hears him say. Satoru turns around immediately feeling like a giant asshole, but Suguru quickly disappears back down the hallway. Satoru quickly drops his things at his cubicle before making his way out towards the front door, not bothering to say anything to Shoko. He pops his headphones in, something he hasn’t done on his walk to lunch ever since he’s been walking with Suguru. At first, the two of them would only talk about the work day, but they had slowly transitioned into talking about things outside of work.

Satoru makes quick time on his walk and makes it to the cafe, pulling the door open and pulling his headphones out of his ears. “Hey Gojo!” Yuji calls out as Satoru makes his way towards the counter. “Where’s Geto?” He asks, confused to not be seeing the dark haired man that has been with Gojo every day for the past three weeks.

“Uh-” He tries to think of an excuse quickly. “He wanted to try something else today.” He says, a fake smile on his face. Yuji smiles and nods at Satoru.

“I think it’s good to try new things sometimes.” He says, a smile on his face. Satoru is bent over, looking at the pastries in the display case.

“I think I'm going to get two of these as well as my usual.” Satoru says, pointing to a couple of the cupcakes behind the glass. He plans on bringing back one for Suguru as an apology. Yuji packs up the two cupcakes and Satoru is on his way. He sits at the same table as always, but doesn’t eat his lunch this time. He doesn’t feel any need to eat right now and still feels sick at how he spoke to Suguru. The look on his face before he turned away caused a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

He spends his whole time at the cafe looking up and hoping that one of the people entering through the front door would be Suguru, but he doesn’t show up. Just as he's about to head back to the office he gets a text from Shoko.

I’m going home, I feel like shit, so no drinks tonight. Satoru quickly types out his response telling her to feel better and clicks send. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands up, pushing his chair in.

Satoru grabs his food and heads back to the office, ready to finish up the work day hopefully better than it started. The walk is boring without Suguru to talk to, but Satoru quickly makes his way back up to the office, hoping to see Suguru waiting in his cubicle, but being disappointed when he comes back to an empty cubicle.

A slight frown tugs at the corners of his mouth as he grabs a sticky note from his desk and a pen. He writes quickly with just a simple -S on it and sticks it on the cupcake before leaving it on Suguru’s desk.

Satoru sits back down at his desk and looks over at a stack of papers that he doesn’t recognize, a purple sticky note on top reading “I’m off to my meeting with Nanami and Utahime. Good luck on your presentation! :) - S.” He smiles as he reads the note, feeling even worse about what he said earlier now.

“God, I’m such a fucking asshole.” Satoru sighs out into the empty room, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head. He finishes updating one of his spreadsheets for tracking sales for each department before heading off to another meeting. This one is with Nanami, as well as Ijichi, Utahime, and Nitta to discuss the upcoming conference in February.

He enters the conference room, everyone already waiting for him, seated around the large table. “Cutting it a little close, aren't we?” Utahime calls out, looking at the time on her phone as Satoru settles into the chair closest to the door. He shoots her back a smile, knowing that it would irritate her even more.

Everything is going smoothly, Satoru learning that he will be doing a presentation to help the Shanghai branch of the company catch up to the level where the Tokyo branch was currently at. “We’re really counting on you for this, Gojo.” Nanami says, fidgeting with the pen in his hands.

Satoru nods his head, ideas already bouncing throughout his head. “And, Geto will be joining you for this as well.” Nanami continues on, making Satoru’s eyes widen. He had heard Suguru tell him about it earlier, but he hadn’t fully connected the dots until right now. His stomach immediately did a flip at the thought. Going to Shanghai with him? I don’t know how I’m going to survive that. He ponders, a whole new wave of thoughts bouncing around in his head.

He feels like his head is going to explode as the painfully long meeting starts wrapping up. Satoru is starving and wants to get home and wash this day off. The group in the conference room disperses, heading back to their respective offices and desks. Satoru heads back to his cubicle, seeing Suguru sitting in his as he rounds the corner. They immediately lock eyes and Satoru stops.

“Uh, hey.” He says, giving a small wave.

“Hey.” Suguru says quietly, still looking back up at him from his seat.

Satoru takes a deep breath. The moment of silence between them is almost deafening as Satoru tries to think of what to say so that he doesn’t accidentally say the wrong thing and make things worse. “I’m really sorry, Suguru.” He says, stepping closer towards Suguru’s cubicle where he sat. “My presentation went bad and I took it out on you and I really shouldn’t have and I-” Suguru tries to get him to stop, but he keeps apologizing and trying to explain himself.

“Satoru!” Suguru finally raises his voice slightly in order to get Satoru to stop talking momentarily. “It’s okay, really.” He continues. “I get it.” Satoru feels himself breathe a sigh of relief.

“You don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it, you know.” Satoru says, feeling his shoulder relax more as he steps closer to Suguru. “I realize I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I really am sorry.”

“Satoru.” He says, looking up into the bright blue eyes of the man standing in front of him. “I mean it. It’s okay.” Suguru reiterates, trying to convince Satoru that he’s telling the truth. They smile at each other and there’s a moment of silence before Satoru speaks up again. He feels like a heavy weight immediately disappears from his shoulders as he realizes that Suguru actually means it. I don't deserve you, he thinks to himself.

“Yuji missed you today…” He says, quietly, which translates roughly to “I missed you today.” Suguru smiles up at Satoru, the cupcake box in his hands.

“You didn’t have to get me this.” He says, looking down at the perfectly frosted cupcake in the small brown box.

“Yes, I did.” He says, leaning over , resting his elbows on the side wall of Suguru’s cubicle, his face much closer to his level now. “I was an asshole, it’s the least I can do.” Suguru looks at Satoru and shakes his head with a smile, pushing his hair behind his ear.

“Thank you.” Suguru whispers up at Satoru, who smiles down at him with the light of a thousand suns. Satoru stalls for a moment, an idea popping into his head.

“Do you wanna come with me to dinner? I mean- we missed lunch, and Shoko went home because she wasn’t feeling good, so we’re not getting drinks tonight, but I’m going to get something on the way home, probably, if you wanted to join…” Satoru says, sounding slightly flustered. Suguru listens as he rambles on, a smile on his face watching and listening to Satoru talk.

“Where were you thinking?” Suguru asks, deciding to entertain the idea, knowing that he’s going to agree to dinner with him either way.

“Wherever you want. You decide.” Satoru says, placing the responsibility onto him. Suguru taps his chin as he thinks for a moment.

“I want to go to your favorite place to eat, Satoru.” Suguru says, relinquishing the responsibility back to Satoru. He nearly melts at the way Suguru says his name and immediately agrees to his request, no matter what it was.

“Okay, let’s go.” Satoru says, turning around to head out of the office.

“Wait!” Suguru calls out, rushing to gather his belongings as Satoru has already started out into the hallway towards the front doors. Satoru stops just around the corner, only for seconds later, Suguru to come rushing around the corner, trying to catch up with Satoru, who he thought was about to leave him behind. Suguru collides with Satoru and almost sends him toppling over, not expecting to be hit with such a force as Suguru runs into him. “Shit! Sorry!” Suguru calls out, the two of them stumbling, thankfully not dropping anything.

“You trying to kill me?” Satoru teases as they both regain their balance. Satoru feels his face on fire at what just happened. He makes sure to keep his face away from Suguru until he feels it subside. Suguru laughs as they continue down the hallway and out of the front door and towards the elevator. Satoru is happy that it seems things are back to how they should be between the two of them. He smiles to himself as he presses the elevator button and turns around to look at Suguru, his long hair falling perfectly over his shoulders and cascading down his back. “Nice shoes.” Satoru says with a cheesy smile as Suguru joins him in the elevator.

“You too.” Suguru shoots back, a grin on his face at the small quip that's now become a daily thing from Satoru. The elevator ride is comfortably quiet, ending with Satoru leading the way out onto the sidewalk. “I’m following you.” Suguru says, waiting for Satoru to lead the way. He takes off down the sidewalk towards the train station, his long legs quickly taking him, Suguru having to hurry up in order to keep up with his pace. “Where do you get so much energy?!” Suguru asks, Satoru practically running in front of him. Satoru lets out a maniacal laugh as he throws out his arms and turns around to look at Suguru.

“Just tell me you can’t keep up.” Satoru says practically skipping down the sudewalk, teasing Suguru who walks behind him. Suguru shakes his head and smiles as he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to shield himself from the cold winter air. Satoru continues on quickly towards the station with Suguru following closely behind him, similarly to following behind a toddler to ensure they don’t run away from you.

They quickly approach the train station and only have to wait a couple minutes before a train is pulling in and coming to a stop. The doors open and Satoru hurries in, sitting down in one of the many open seats. Suguru follows behind and sits down in the seat next to him. Satoru feels his heart rate soar the moment Suguru sits down. He can feel the heat radiating off of his body and finds it hard not to lean in closer to him to get warmed up.

Suguru leans his head back, letting it hang slightly as the train begins to move. “I bet your presentation was great, Satoru.” Suguru says, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his head fall to rest on Satoru’s shoulder. Satoru’s eyes widen and he is paralyzed at the feeling, but before he’s sure of what to do, his head is gone from his shoulder, leaving it feeling emptier than ever now. He feels his hands clam up in his pockets.

“Thanks, Suguru,” Satoru starts, quietly, turning his head towards Suguru. “That means a lot to me. Really.” He says. The rest of the train ride is quiet as the two sit in the familiar comfortable silence that they’ve come well acquainted with.

chapter 5

#satosugu #stsg #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #geto suguru #suguru geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #office au #4littlefishies #the 36th floor

12 notes · View notes

somber-sapphic · 8 months

Text

Fuzzy Socks and Burnt Breakfast

〘Prompt 12- Alt. Prompt: Fuzzy Socks〙

〘Notes- Yet again I'm way off track. I'm probably going to double back and do 11 at some point but for now we will continue as if I'm totally on time and everything is fine. Oh, and like most of these this is mostly unedited as I don't have a whole lot of time, so please be nice :,D〙

〘Summary- Lena get's more comfortable admitting she's sick and Kara is famously bad at cooking.〙

〘Word Count- 800〙

〘Pairing- Supercorp〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

The first sign that Lena was sick was the change in her sock choice. Typically, the CEO wore sensible socks with little or no pattern. If there was a pattern, it was simple, such as stripes or polka dots. The colors were muted- blacks, greys, navy blues. Nothing fancy, simply there for function.

Whenever she got sick, those boring mundane socks turned more fun. It started with prettier colors, a pastel rainbow. Then, when she really didn’t feel well, they were fuzzy. Not the short ankle socks either, they went up to mid-calf and were accompanied by sweatpants and Kara’s NCU sweatshirt.

Since the two women started dating, Kara had been working hard to chip away at Lena’s walls, helping her to open up and allow herself to be human. The first time she had gotten sick while they were together, she hadn’t said a thing.

She’d gone about her day the same way she always did, consuming only coffee for breakfast and a granola bar for lunch. That night, she had practically passed out in Kara’s arms and had ended up in the ER with pneumonia.

The blonde had been so scared that she had started to cry, waking Lena up with her barely restrained sobs. Seeing the woman she loved so much in such emotional distress had changed something in Lena. She had decided that she would do everything she possibly could to never make her girlfriend cry again.

Thus began her long journey to fight against what had been instilled in her, accepting that illness did not equal weakness. It was difficult, in the beginning she found herself lying about the way she felt, struggling to admit to feeling unwell.

As the months went by, it became easier. Strangely enough, it was made even less awkward when Kara herself got sick. Seeing a literal superhero curled up in bed with soup and a red nose made her feel a bit better about getting a regular human cold.

So, when the CEO woke up with an uncomfortable pressure in her sinuses and a sore throat, she felt more comfortable pulling on Kara’s oversized sweatshirt and her yellow striped fuzzy socks. The woman knew that the second her fever set in she would be freezing, so the socks were a must.

“Morning Lena!!” Kara chirped, bouncing around the kitchen. She was cooking something that appeared to be pancakes, and it looked like this wasn’t her first attempt. There was flour all over the counter (and the hero) and there were badly burned somehow raw piles of batter in the trashcan.

“Morning my love. What happened in here?” Lena croaked, coughing into her elbow to clear her throat. “Sorry.” She mumbled, sounding exactly the same. Oh well, that was her voice now.

The blonde furrowed her eyebrows, that notorious crinkle appearing on her forehead. She abandoned the pancakes on the skillet and walked over to the other woman, taking her face in her calloused hands.

“Oh Le, you’re warm. Did you feel sick yesterday?” While she was secretly pleased with the affection, Lena was currently more worried about the pancakes.

“Kara, pancakes. They’re burning.” she said, moving hastily to the stove. She turned off the burner, heaving a sigh of relief as when she lifted the half-cooked breakfast food to find it a pleasant golden brown. By some miracle this batch remained unburned.

“I don’t care about the pancakes; I care about you. Do you want to get back into bed? I can make soup, or get you ice cream or potstickers or—” Lena found herself smiling, and even let out a soft chuckle at the concern of her girlfriend.

Without hesitation the young genius pressed herself up against Kara, laying her head on the blonde’s chest, right above her collar bone. She sunk into the warmth of the woman she loved and wrapped her arms around Kara’s waist, settling comfortably against her.

“It’s just a cold my dear, a light flu at worst. You don’t need to worry, okay? I don’t want anything to eat, could we just cuddle on the couch?” Her words were punctuated by a stifled sneeze, but she didn’t bother to move. She knew that Kara couldn’t get sick and knew that she didn’t care anyway.

The alien let out a huge sigh of relief and pressed her nose into Lena’s hair, perfectly happy to do whatever the raven-haired woman wanted. She loved her with everything she had and would do whatever was needed of her. Hell, she’d fly across the world for Lena. She’d fly to the damn moon if it meant making her girlfriend happy.

“Of course, we can. I’ll um, clean this up later.” Kara mumbled sheepishly, pulling away just enough so that she could see Lena’s face. The CEO let out a chuckle -which quickly turned into a cough- and shook her head.

Her love for the sweet reporter was undying but she couldn’t possibly bring herself not to laugh at the attempts to cook. The teasing was all in good fun and often times Kara would join in. She could lift buildings and fly to outer space but couldn’t cook to save her life.

That didn’t matter, after all, Noonan’s had amazing potstickers.

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anika-ann · 2 years

Text

Love on the Brain - part 6.1

Ch6: Floriography (1/2)

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 5000

Summary: After the long night, you come back to the case with fresh eyes… and a new piece of evidence. You wished more evidence was good news. It’s not.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics; I didn’t want to split this one, but it was getting really really long and no one wants like a 11k chapter. Enjoy 🥰

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever." — Alfred Tennyson

When you slipped out of Steve’s room, you were met with the smug face of Natasha, the bodyguard ready to walk Steve to the conference room; she assessed your appearance with a smirk on her face, but at least she didn’t dare to say a word beside a good morning.

You questioned whether it was a good one. You strode to your own room to take the world’s quickest shower, jeans and the A.I. t-shirt and hoodie on in a record time, bursting into the room not later than seven minutes after Jarvis alerted you.

Everyone was already in there indeed and they all snapped their gaze to you as you took long quick steps, examining the tables and the white board for new notes. There weren’t many.

“Morning,” you greeted them swiftly, noting that some of them were nursing a small breakfast consisting of fruit, yogurt or granola and fresh juice or a cup of the black coffee, the half-empty pot sitting in the middle of the central table. “What’s the word?”

“Good morning to you too. The word is eat at least a granola bar or a piece of fruit before you ask about work,” Emily hummed good-naturedly, earning an unimpressed look.

Who thought about food when there was clearly some news even if you hadn’t seen any traces of it? They all knew what it was already, you could tell.

But instead of sharing, Emily told to eat.

That could only mean it was not good news, you realized; and you’d be terrified of what it was, but Steve was here, so whatever happened couldn’t be worse than your worst fears.

“She’s right. Sit down and eat something. Drink, Bean,” Spencer supported her, a brief tense smile on his lips.

Grunting, you obeyed, blindly reaching into the bowl of snacks and grabbing a small bottle of water. You took a seat between Steve and Spencer, closer to the latter. Even with the hum of a case in progress, you could sense awkwardness in the air, the unfortunate but expected outcome of the stupid maybe you had told Steve.

Because that was just what you needed now, on top of everything.

Once seated, you moved onto staring Spence down, hoping at least he might spill the beans; the idea that anyone else would was frankly laughable. Natasha wouldn’t budge, neither would Hotch, Tony probably got off of knowing something you didn’t and Emily apparently wouldn’t say a word until you finished chewing.

To his credit, Reid drummed his fingers against his chin, eyeing the board to avoid your gaze. Traitor.

“You didn’t miss anything. As of now, the security team of the Tower is on the highest alert, because of a delivery. We just found out and Tony was about to call Mr. Hogan to give us more information once you’d arrive,” Hotch explained as you took two quick bites and chunked half a small bottle of water.

You nearly choked on it, eyes widening in shock.

Now the semi-ominous faces they all had when you arrived made perfect sense.

This was not good. That meant the unsub was escalating, making contact for the second time in two days and you had a feeling that this time, she wasn’t sending photos.

This was so so not good. It had to have something do with the women in the pictures. God, if it was a body part-

“What kind of a delivery-“

“We don’t know,” Natasha said, not even letting Steve finish the question you would have asked hadn’t you been trying to clear your airways. “Tony?”

“Jarvis, put me through to Happy,” Tony hummed, not even bothering to look up, knowing the artificial intelligence would catch it. “Put it on speaker.”

“Yes, boss.”

You and Reid laid your elbows on the table, leaning forward; he nudged you lightly to finish your excuse of a meal, making you roll your eyes.

You weren’t about to chew when you needed to hear the slightly goofy but most loyal head of the Tower security, one Happy Hogan.

“Hey Tony.”

“And company. Hey,” Tony greeted the voice, the rest of the team following his example. “Talk to us, Happy. What’s up?”

“8 o’clock sharp, there was a flower delivery at the reception desk,” Happy announced matter-of-factly, having you glance at your phone – it was 8:08. This really was relatively fresh news.

Flowers though?

That could mean a myriad of things; and it depended on many factors, starting from the number of flowers, the kind, the price, the type of shop chosen and the area it was stationed at… and most of all, the note if there was one to begin with.

“Okay…? It’s for Steve, I assume?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s all we can do right now. Assume,” Happy replied with a sigh. “There’s no name – no addressee, no signature besides ‘Yours truly’.”

Your eyebrows shot up, heart skipping a beat. It was natural everyone was being cautious – and thank god for that, your mind was already racing, analysing what the signature could mean, the choice of words yours truly rather than more common and less formal secret admirer – but… this could actually be a false alarm.

You prayed it was.

“Oh-kay…?” Tony mumbled, looking just a fraction unsure as he glanced at Hotch and then you.

You exchanged a look with your former boss; a barely visible nod told you he was giving you a green light to take lead on this since Tony seemed a little lost at best.

Steve noted your silent exchange, his foot gently nudging yours in support; even two chairs away, his toes were long enough to reach your insole. Glancing at him with your face as straight as you could muster, you were rewarded with an encouraging smile, causing you to gulp.

Damn him and his stupidly beautiful face and stupidly kind heart.

“Hello Mr.Hogan, Happy, this is Jones. Is there anything else you can tell us about the flowers? Was there something that tipped you off? It’s weird timing for sure, but could it be that the flowers are just for the girl working the reception desk today?” you asked, slipping into the investigation mode and trying your best not to get your hopes up – or to show them.

You fooled no one.

“Not much I can tell. Two dozen of white roses. They’re sweeping them for bugs and prints right now. As for Jody having a secret admirer, well, I doubt that because of the note. It says, and I’m reading word-for-word, ‘I’m sorry I scared you into hiding. I could hurt people who are not worthy of you, if necessary, but I would never hurt you’,” he recited.

The words were like a punch straight to your solar plexus, knocking the wind out of you. You pressed your lips together, hands curling into fists automatically, as if to strike back – but there was nothing you could punch, nothing you could fight off.

Well, except for a stupid bouquet for Steve, no doubt from the unsub himself.

Fuck.

“…fair enough,” Tony said into the stunned silence of the room, causing your eyes to slip shut as you pressed your lips into a thin line. Fair? Nothing was fair about this. “Thanks, Happy, we’ll be in touch.”

You heard the call disconnect, the frozen room coming back to life judging by the shuffling. You looked to your right when you felt Steve’s large hand gently curling around your fist.

So you summoned a smile for him – albeit a lame one.

He needed your head in the game; he needed a supportive friend who’d have his back. Not a weepy shaking weakling. He needed this crazy-ass delusional stalker gone so he could go back to his normal life as soon as possible. He needed a professional BAU agent.

And you were going to give him exactly what he deserved; even if his deep blue eyes told you he would accept anything less than that too.

Loosening your fist, you squeezed his hand shortly before dropping it and rising to your feet.

“Let’s get moving. Spence-“ you turned to him, only to see him already making his way to the board to take notes of what you just learned. “Thanks.”

“What’s the game plan?” Emily asked no one in particular, but automatically turned to Hotch, the team leader. “This is a clear escalation. Two contacts in two days. Less personal touch, but more defined threat of violence towards the women and somehow… more protective of Steve too.”

“I agree. We need to get the NYPD on this, or your agents,” Hotch beckoned to Tony and Natasha, naturally leaving out Steve – the subject of the case – out of the action. Even if the subject appeared much less shell-shocked than you felt; and he probably was, because you were in love with a reckless idiot. “The women for questioning shouldn’t arrive alone.”

“On it,” Natasha confirmed, exchanging a look with Tony, ready to help him choose from the most trustworthy – hopefully trustworthy – agents.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage at the thought: hopefully trustworthy. The circle of truly trusted people became absurdly short after yesterday – in fact, the most trusted people were in this room.

And they needed to stay here.

You knew it made you the biggest asshole in the world but you were just fine with the Avengers and the BAU being exclusively around Steve. You wished no harm to anyone, but if it came down to Steve or some random woman… as much as you’d give everything to protect all, you had your priorities straight.

The person you cared about the most was here, safe, and it had to stay that way.

Momentarily lost in thought, you barely registered the dialling tone from the phone in Hotch’s hand. However, you certainly heard the voice on the other end.

“You called the hot line. Would you like to talk to someone special?”

For the second time that morning, all noise and movement in the room stopped, only the startled faces of the Avengers snapping to the source of the peculiar greeting that could only be a misdial.

Your gaze flickered between all of them – your former colleagues clearly stiffening a laugh, Hotch closing his eyes as he realized his mistake of putting the phone on speaker right away – and despite everything, you burst out laughing. It was incredibly liberating.

It did sound like a misdial; or the BAU’s technical analyst, queen of all things awesome, speaking.

“Garcia, you’re on spea-“ Hotch broke through your laughter, only to be interrupted by her astonished voice.

“Oh my god, is it my time to go to heaven already? It must be, because I’m hearing angels! Was I called by someone special?”

Chuckling still, cheeks hurting from smiling even wider when you saw Steve’s baffled expression, you greeted your favourite IT magician.

“I’m here, Penelope, it’s good to hear your voice. And please, never ever change,” you pleaded heartily, your companions gradually relaxing and returning to their previous tasks.

“Oh honey, I could never,” she promised. “It would break Derek’s heart if I as much as tried to dim my amazing sparkling self. What can I do you for?”

Your smile slipped despite the innuendo, words caught in your throat as your saw movement in your peripheral vision. Bruce was making his way to the conference room, the glass automatic door revealing the huge white bouquet in his hands; and the ominous expression on his face. Your stomach twisted, throat tightening.

“Well, the local tech genius is a little busy, so we wondered if you could track a flower delivery for us?” Emily stepped in, causing your attention to snap back to the call, stubbornly ignoring Bruce as he walked in and set the flowers on the table. “The order would be within the last 24 hours, over two dozen of white roses, and was delivered to the Avengers Tower… exactly 16 minutes ago.”

A rapid staccato of Garcia’s fingers against the keyboard could be heard as the words spilled from her mouth just as fast.

“Who-oou, if I didn’t know we’re talking a stalker case I would have swooned. And they say chivalry is dead...” she contemplated. “Hello to the Avengers if there any, by the way. Is the Captain there? And Black Widow? Iron Man? It’s so cool that you got to work with them! And Thor, the actual god of thunder, not just my chocolate thunder? I’m so jealous…”

“Garcia, the flowers...?” Hotch reprimanded her, half-serious, half-resigned.

And secretly amused all as you all were.

Despite the horror Garcia tended to see on her screens, she was the literal bottle of sunshine that made all of your lives brighter, a force of nature and a ray of hope shining between the grim world of serial killers, stalkers and child abductors.

By right, she was thoroughly adored. By everyone.

“Please, sir Hotch, you know I can multitask,” she sassed him, sounding offended as the clicking in the background never ceased.

Even with your heart in your throat, you couldn’t but smile a fraction at her antics, giving her what she asked for – gladly.

“Steve, Natasha and Tony are here, now doctor Banner too. Clint’s around, but no Thor. And believe me, I know for a fact they should be excited as much as you are, working with a team as cool as the BAU.”

You caught Spencer smiling over his shoulder at you, still ready to write down any information Garcia was about to give you.

“Aww, honey! You just say that because it’s true!” Garcia cooed, causing the corners of your lips to twitch. You wished you had her cheerfulness – and her confidence, at least as a mask. “Alright, the delivery was executed by Bella Flora, pretty on the nose to be honest, a local shop owned by Julian Peters for eight years now. He’s clean besides doing dirty to his wife, aka cheating on her with his shop assistant, they divorced three years ago. Good for her if you ask me. The roses were paid from a credit card registered to… one Howard Fleming. I’m searching for—- oh.”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch questioned as everyone grew serious again.

You held your breath in anticipation; but you had a feeling that this was not a good kind of oh, even if you might be a little rusty on reading Garcia’s exclamations.

“Well, Mr. Fleming is 88 years old and lives in Idaho with his lovely wife and three adult children and way too many grandchildren. So I guess he’s probably not our unsub. Sorry, guys. I’m gonna dive into his kids’ background, but I’m afraid it’s more likely his card was stolen and not blocked properly. I’ll keep an eye on the activity on the card, keep digging and call you back.”

“We’ll be looking forward to it,” Spence assured her, not letting his disappointment show. “Thanks, Garcia.”

“Anything for you, Boy Genius. Hug Jones for me. Peace out.”

“He already did!” Tony called out, but the line was already dead. “I like her. Can I steal her for the A.I.?”

The response he got was overwhelming: Hotch, Reid, Emily, Natasha, Bruce, Steve and you managed to all to reply in unisono.

“No!”

“But-“

“Tony…” Steve warned him lowly, causing the man to lift his chin defiantly, a pout on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to deal with his child-like sulking.

“Let’s find each of the women an agent to bring her in, come on,” Natasha prompted him, her index finger poking Tony’s shoulder when he stared blankly ahead, still acting offended. “Your ego wouldn’t handle such competition in the house anyway.”

Considering everything you knew, you couldn’t argue; nor had the time for it anyway.

You had more important things at hand; to add to the profile since despite the new evidence surfacing, you had no names to add to the board.

“Okay. What do we know now?”

It could be barely an hour after the call and you were ready to scream in frustration: because you knew nothing anymore.

As nicely as you had wrapped it up yesterday, with a conclusion and a true sense of progress, the delivery made cracks in the very foundation of your investigation: the profile itself. You had planned to add to the profile after you regrouped in the morning, not to have it fall apart completely.

Too bad, it seemed.

And to add insult to the injury, you had nothing else either.

No useable fingerprints on the flowers or on the card.

No writing to analyse from the graphological point of view, because the card was typed and printed.

There was no residue of a chemical weapon to disguise an attack as a flower delivery.

There were no bugs.

Garcia had texted Hotch that the Flemings were coming off clean so far.

All you had was the photos and plain flowers with a crazy note, with a lot of questions attached to it rather than answers.

You were so fucked; back to square one if not on square zero or square minus one.

“There’s something off about all this… I feel like we’re missing an important variable,” Reid muttered as he watched the board, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s something off from the start if you ask me,” Natasha said dryly, eyeing him, Emily, Hotch and you. “Thoughts for us with less profiling experience, please?”

You glared at all the notes, refusing to answer. To say you were thoroughly displeased with the development would be an understatement. You were pissed. Because nothing was making sense anymore, which was saying something, since it didn’t seem to make any sense from the very start. You were one step from becoming a nihilist.

Luckily, Emily took initiative, sharing her thoughts.

“Well, at first, we profiled the unsub as narcistic. The not worthy meaning why don’t you notice me, I’m right here, I’m much better than them… but then these flowers, white roses of all things – not passion. White signifies purity or grief, roses are timeless classics, expensive. Even the I could hurt those who are not worthy of you. It’s like she’s saying I would hurt people for you if they hurt you. It’s… it’s almost protective.”

Protective my ass. You did agree with Emily wholeheartedly, but her words only fed your frustration.

The most puzzling thing for you now was the bullets; what kind of an unsub could think of stealing a means of ending the object of her affections in case he’d disappoint her or rejected her so long in advance? More so if she was the protective type? It didn’t make sense – most people would care about this after their target betrayed them, usually using a weapon of opportunity.

Or were the bullets only something to ensure Steve’s obedience? You, my beloved, will do as I say, or I’ll shoot you dead? How was that being protective?

You were no fan of using violence at any cost but you swore you could put one of those modified bullets straight between the unsub’s eyes at the moment. If you only got the change or had any clue about who she was to begin with.

“It’s true that if you look at the note linguistically, she chose different modal verbs,” Reid jumped in, gesturing wildly as he pointed at the note he rewrote on the board, red marker in hand. “I would never hurt you suggests an incredibly low probability, leaning towards epistemic modality. In contrast, I could hurt those who are not worthy of you suggests not only determination, but also the ability, leaning towards deontic modality. She says she is able to hurt, she has the means. I would think she’s talking about the bullets, but those are not any more harmless than a normal bullets to anyone except for Steve…”

You shuddered as you watched him from the other side of the table, hating the invested expression on his face. You adored your friend, truly, but it would be great if he could come down from his genius plane of existence and think about the fact this was not a puzzle to solve for fun, but to save a life.

What was he even talking about? What did it matter?

“What are the chances she didn’t know what she was taking?” Reid asked, turning to Tony, who only replied with a silent confused frown.

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, irritation rising by the minute.

Everything you had put together was falling apart. You weren’t sure of anything anymore; something just wasn’t adding up, the unsub brimming with contradictions.

Protectiveness and care were more likely to point at a female unsub, than again the emphasis on violence was considered typically male.

An apology – I’m sorry I scared you into hiding – was extremely untypical for a narcissist at best.

And now Reid was questioning the intelligence of the unsub and the level of organization she possessed by wondering whether she knew what she had taken? Get the fuck out of here.

“Could she have thought she was simply taking some special reinforced bullets, not knowing they were designed to hurt Steve specifically?” Reid pressed, causing you to grit your teeth.

You believed the chances of that were zero.

But what did you know? What did any of you know anymore? All you had was a bunch of agents and profilers going around in circles.

“I don’t know, G-man,” Tony hummed sceptically, shaking his head. “There are a lot of devices that could do much more damage to anyone. And some of them just as easy to carry. And you said she was… what do you call it, organized? She had to know what she was after, right?”

It was a testimony to how fucking messed up the situation was that for once, you agreed with Tony Stark, even if only on one thing. You could still smother him though, with your bare damn hands.

More damage? Bullshit.

This was bullshit. More damage? How was it possible that something more dangerous than a weapon to murder his friend wasn’t guarded better?

Tony really had the audacity to say that the unsub could have taken something that—that was insane.

How was the theft still an issue with no real suspects in the first place?

Why were you still dealing with this, questioning motivations, the level of how organized the unsub was?

This should have already been done. These were the Avengers and the BAU and an artificial intelligence joining forces for god’s sake!

And yet, you were a mile behind the unsub.

You weren’t working fast enough. You weren’t doing your damn job and someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was going to be the person you cared about the most and that was just so fucking maddening and downright impossible, because this was Steve. Steve had to be okay, he was always okay, even when he wasn’t, because he was Steve---- god-dammnit he was not going to end up like Meyers, he had to be okay and it was your damn responsibility to make sure he would and you WERE going to do exactly that.

‘She knew what she was after?’ Fuck that.

“Who, you mean,” you muttered darkly, unable to hold your irritation at bay anymore.

Six heads turned to you, some swift, others with reluctance. Only Tony voiced his confusion, as eloquent as ever.

“Huh?”

“You meant who she was after,” you corrected him again, realization dawning on his face as you looked him dead in the eye.

The sudden thickness of air was nearly palpable. Good, you thought. The same air felt just as heavy in your lungs for a while now. Your heart was speeding up gradually, blood boiling

No one moved. No one spoke. No one dared to as much as suck in a breath, feeling a storm brewing. You purposely avoided looking at Steve; your voice would break, the indignation would give into self-pity – and you did not want that.

“How the fuck do we still not have a suspect? How the fuck did we just get a flower delivery with a note that screams stalker and the shop just went with it, no fuss, no calling the police? Or you,” you hissed, nodded to Natasha and Tony’s direction. “They were sending an absurdly sketchy stalkerish note to the Avengers Tower and they what, they just didn’t care?”

Were people really so stupid these days or maybe desensitized? Or simply indifferent? Not giving shit about anything anymore?

Natasha took a breath, ready to react, but before she could, Emily stepped in.

“Well… they do care about business. You worked with the BAU, you studied human behaviour… you know what kind of kinky stuff people are into, this is probably far from the creepiest note that went through their hands,” she reasoned, her matter-of-fact tone only feeding your anger.

“I don’t give a damn about people’s kinks or their damn business! They should have known better-“

“Sparkles,” Steve interjected gently, your head whipping his direction on instinct.

You didn’t linger with your gaze long enough to have him shake you, extending your index finger in his direction to stop whatever excuse he had for the damn shop owner – or your poor ensemble of a team.

No, you were done with this shit.

“Don’t- we should all know better. We’re profilers, you’re the Avengers for god’s sake!” you exploded, hands flying in wild gesture to each and every one of them. “We have an artificial intelligence on our side! With so many clues and assets, we should have already made an arrest. Instead, we are comparing modality as if she didn’t choose it completely randomly-“

“That’s not very likely, she is highly organized-“ Reid argued, voice perfectly levelled in contrast to the rising volume of yours.

You almost laughed, the sound tasting sardonic and fake.

For real? Who the fuck was Reid kidding?

“Do we really know that, Reid? Or are we just playing psychic, spit-balling as we go? What if she is so organized that she chose the modality to throw us off? What if she knows everything about damn floriography and she’s playing with us? Huh? Not even with Steve anymore, us, because she knows he came here, she probably figured we have profilers involved because she clearly did her homework on me and Natasha-“

“Sparkles-“

You promptly ignored Steve’s attempt to speak, only raising your voice further to drown him out.

“WHAT do we actually know? We had a profile and now it’s fallen apart! We have more evidence, but instead of suspects, we have fucking ziltch! Some profilers we are, if we’re completely hopeless until a dead body drops, which is not a fucking option here! What are we even-”

“Jones.”

The new voice had your mind come to a screeching halt, an old instinct kicking in, breath hitching.

A fresh flood of emotion – guilt and shame above all – cut off the burst of outrage. It was like flipping a switch on you, your brain in particular.

That was how powerful Hotch’s authority was: a single uttered word, not menacing, but a kind warning; strict, but gentle. Fatherly.

You did not fall silent out of fear; but out of deeply ingrained respect.

“That’s enough,” Hotch added for a good measure, his calmness washing over you like a wave.

You took a deep breath, feeling tears burning in your eyes as you looked at every member of each team, purposely only skimming over Steve again, unable to face him.

It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look: everyone in the room was tired and frustrated too, but also determined. Concerned, because they all cared – about you, about Steve, and about the case.

They were all good people and they were here to help. The last thing they needed was your salty attitude and your inability to deal with stress and past trauma.

You knew that all along; but you needed to realize it again. Just as you had needed to voice your irritation – even if your friends deserved better.

And so did Steve. If you looked at him for longer than a second, you were sure you’d cry.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t mean to yell and—I’m sorry,” you stumbled over your words, taking another calming breath. Jesus, you needed to get the hell out of here. Now. “Uhm. I need fresh air. And some actual non-healthy sugar and coffee. What can I get you, guys? Macchiato with one sugar for Steve, mocha with a double shot of espresso and four sugars for Spence, you guys…?”

The rest of the room obediently told you their preference, not even blinking, tuning down the obvious concern in their expressions for you.

No one protested against your plan. No one pointed out that Tony’s coffee machine was a thing from caffeine addicts’ dreams and could prepare virtually anything. No one offered to help you with the large number of cups and sweet treats you had mentioned, understanding that needing air meant needing some alone time too.

It seemed they could all be pretty smart cookies after all – you would crack this case before it was too late, right? There were no other options anyway.

You motioned an awkward ‘gotcha’ on Emily and Hotch, nodding to yourself.

“Should have remembered those orders – some things never change,” you said wistfully, grabbing your phone with a credit care in its case. “Coming right up, guys. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, Bean.”

You smiled tightly at Spence, all but escaping the room as you felt more and more embarrassed at your emotional outburst – something coffee could hardly make up for, especially since it wasn’t your first scene in the past 24 hours.

You were all over the place ever since this mess started and you really did need to get your head straight.

And since getting a good night sleep in Steve’s room – bless him – didn’t help, your morning slip-up only making for more nerves, it seemed that you needed to do it alone.

→ Next part

Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist

Thank you for reading 🥰 We’re entering the second half of the series... and things are happening 👀

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #criminal minds #captain america #mcu x criminal minds #criminal minds x mcu #steve rogers imagine #former bau agent reader #bau agent reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #love on the brain #anika ann

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flotsams · 26 days

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hi - i'm jo (read more as yo than joe please 💔; 21+, she/her) and i'll be writing the first character from the summer's end subplot: an hamin, who is also my only character, so the follow will come through this blog. i don't mind plotting either here or on discord (@lahrimosa)

hamin is twenty-two, a resident of yuseong bay and kind of a flop... you can access his profile through this link, and while i'm trying to sort out his pinterest board so it's not a whole mess, here is a screenshot of general vibes.

i will be putting the rest under the read more as i kind of yapped </3

when did your muse first arrive in yuseong bay?

hamin arrived to yuseong bay at the beginning of june '01, that is - when he was born! he grew up on the island, too, scarcely leaving it, save for a couple swimming competitions left and right, when he could afford it; the longest he's been off the island was the near-twenty months he was stationed mainland during his military service.

what does an average day look like for your muse?

his average day is very... average. hamin wakes rather early in the morning, preferring (and being assigned to; with the way everything works around the bay, i assume that his manager would meet him half-way) morning shifts at lemon marts. he prefers the european style of breakfast; a coffee and a smoke, sometimes had at home and sometimes in front of andante, before his shift starts. there, nine hours pass slowly, welcome and have a nice day doorbell rings constant, but nonetheless, he is a diligent worker. depending on the day, he either delivers groceries to elders of the town who cannot make the trip on their own, or he is picking his brother up from school. he tries to read in his free time, but his attention span is somewhat fried. he also does physical work around the house, having stepped as the de-facto man of the house in his father's absence. over the weekend, he can be seen at 88& bar, or at pierrot lanes.

how does your muse feel about hanhwa resort?

feelings about hanhwa resort are conflicted - on one hand, he understands that this offers new job positions to many residents of yuseong bay and a better chance of life. a larger part of him, however, thinks their town isn't built to support the amount of people coming in, or whether the native residents will even be able to survive with the rising prices of living. it's something that tears him at the seams and with it being a conflict within his closest friend group, too, he prefers not to think of it for as long as he can.

is there an aspiration for your muse to stay in or leave yuseong bay?

once upon a time, hamin wanted to leave. he had big dreams of being a national athlete, however, those all fell through. that is why nowadays, he wants to stay; a sense of duty to provide for his family and see his brother grow up well anchoring him down.

list your muse's three favorite songs.

love wifi - hong jinyoung, love love love - kim hyunsuk (an unusual liking for trot influenced by his mom's taste), i'm a b - hwasa (it was definitely better waking up and seeing one of the red moon concept photos of her first thing in the morning rather than his cranky superior's face)

describe your muse's wardrobe.

very simple and comfortable before everything else. summer wardrobe consists of cotton shorts and shirts, swimming trunks used as everyday wear, staple fake nike slippers, airy clothes (x, x). winter wardrobe consists mostly of loose-fit jeans and sweatshirts, and sweaters his grandma made (x, x). owns one pair of sneakers, a pair of winter boots, indoor flipflops and aforementioned 'nikes'. a lot of his clothes is old, in a sense that he takes good care of it and buys new clothes only when necessary.

what is a color, word and emoji that you feel describes your muse?

for color, i'd say a beau blue - any of faded blues in general. word is one that is this blog's url - flotsam: debris in the water that was not deliberately thrown overboard, often as a result from a shipwreck or accident. and emoji would be a simple smiling one - 🙂 - as he tries to keep a smile in spite of what life throws at him.

three strong likes and dislikes for your muse.

likes: swimming (though he would never admit it, insists on hating it instead), cats, walking on the beach - as corny as it sounds. dislikes: gossip, small talk in the mornings, horror movies

three positive and negative traits for your muse.

+ optimistic, friendly, altruistic - jealous, self-critical, gullible

three talents and shortcomings for your muse.

talents: can hold his breath underwater for a prolonged time, really good at tongue-twisters, good listener. shortcomings: will eat cup noodles for days instead of cooking, bites his nails, spends more money on buying food for stray cats than on living expenses

what is a book/tv series/movie/video game character that you feel your character relates to?

a bit like eli jang, minus the criminal past and a child. very protective of family and friends and overall kind, non-judgemental and non-confrontational individual.

a relevant goal or arch for your character to overcome.

1) quit smoking; 2) keep his friend group together and from falling apart; 3) go back to swimming, even if it's not on a competitive level again; 4) find his kicked out slash runaway father so that his mom can finally go through with the divorce and he can get his money back. from these, the most plausible one is the first one and the one that breaks his heart the most... is the second one.

#yshqs:intro

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kittrrrr · 4 months

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Tom's Diner

Hello! This is a secret santa gift for @sm-writes-chaos as a part of @writeblrcafe 's exchange!

It's 1,446 words and it was inspired by Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega and (to lesser extents) All I Wanna Do by Sheryl Crow, Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something and Allison Road by the Gin Blossoms. It's under the cut

===

Clinging to the corner of Alison road and Parker square, there is the tiny Tom's diner. It’s many things, but no matter what it was, from market to Chinese restaurant, it was always called Tom's dinner. People, young and old, would joke about old Tom's inability to let go of a name that often didn't fit. However, on this occasion, Tom had just completed a transition back into an actual diner, after spending at least three years as a Chinese restaurant. He was cleaning the counter, because the roof was leaking again, and if any of the regulars had been there, they would be ribbing him to “just fix that damn leak already!”.

The bell jingled, and a windswept wander stumbled into the store. Tom grunted, acknowledging the person's entrance. The person, in question, was Elliot Tiffany, son of the owner of Tiffany's, a little breakfast place on the otherside of town. He pulled down his hood, looking around the eatery. Wet floor signs (the only leak was over the bar, and the only wet spot by the door) covered the ground, and Tom manned the bar, looking like a taller, salt and pepper santa. Elliot picked his way over to the bar, Tom finally looking at him

“Good mornin’, what'll it be?” Tom huffed.

“Just a coffee,” Elliot said, picking up a newspaper. Tom glared, to which Elliot rolled his eyes. “I'm on a budget.”

“Says the person that's drivin’ me outta business.” Tom grumbled, shuffling around for a thirty year old pot that required oven mits to handle safely.

“It's not my fault you refuse to update. You're the only reason you're not making the money your father used to.”

“I ain't ruinin’ the place my father worked so hard on! His whole life went into this place, his whole life for me to have a chance in this country!” Elliot rolled his eyes, flipping through the newspaper, but otherwise saying nothing. Tom set the coffee pot down, although Elliot's cup was only half full. He picked up a clean rag and dried the counter again. Another man came over to the counter, one of the people that came into Tom's regularly. Thus, he knew that Tom was not in a mood to Be Messed With, and he accepted the menu that was thrown at him without complaint.

Tom aggressively tried to keep the counter clean, an impossible task with the only leaks in the diner over the counter and the heavy sheets of rain. Tom tried anyway. Elliot sighed, not finding whatever he was looking for in the want ads, if he even had a reason to look through them anyway, and set the newspaper down.

A woman paused, looking in her reflection in the window of the diner, and she shifted her hood, causing water to pour onto her hair. Then she came into the eatery, and kissed the man that had come in before her. Elliot walked around the back of the counter, well aware Tom was ignoring him, and grabbed a carton of 2% milk.

The diner was quieter then it should've been for nine in the morning, quite then it would've been when the coffee pot was new. There was the couple giggling, the gurgle of milk, and the pounding of rain. Too quiet. It got on Tom's nerves, how quiet it was, if he was honest, but he’d long learned to shove those feelings down. He had work to be doing.

Well, not much work. The only thing that demanded his attention was keeping the bar nice and dry. And that was not exactly urgent in itself. Nothing like it was when Tom was just taking over. Had he really been the reason that his dad's legacy was falling apart, thirty-odd years after it had been intrusted to him? He barely stopped himself from punching the counter. No! That uppity Elliot Tiffany was the only reason he was thinking like this! Speaking of which…

“I didn't take you for the kinda guy that would be messin’ ‘round in the horoscopes.” Tom said, not looking up from his drying of the counter.

“Just what I'd expect from someone who just wants to live in the past.” Elliot said coolly. “But no. I was looking for the comics.”

“Now that's unexpected. You? A funny bone? Hardly!” Tom chortled.

“There's something to subtle comedy. Not something your kind understands, I take it.” Elliot hummed. “More coffee, please.” Tom took the pot, fully filling up Elliot's cup this time. He dropped the carton of .ilk in front of Elliot.

“I suppose someone like you wouldn't appreciate the simple pleasure of a cup of black coffee, anyways.” Elliot flipped past the comics, coming to the orbituraties instead.

“I don't have to, old man.” Elliot poured the milk, steam rising off the cup. It twisted on the air, floating to the leak. Drip, drip, drip, and rub, rub, rub. The silence in the diner stretched as Elliot reached a point where he was content with the milk to coffee ratio. The couple had an order of juice and pancakes, then quickly left. The rain was freezing, but the normally cheerful diner was even moreso. They would find some where else to be until it thawed again.

Faint breathing and rain attempted to fill the canyon of quiet that filled the spaces between the two men. Finally, Tom couldn't take it anymore. He snapped, dropping the rag he was using.

“Why ya here!? You shouldn't have no reason to come botherin’ me, Tiffany's is on the other side a town!”

“You should know full well why I’m here, Tom. You’ve done a very good job of digging yourself into a hole. My mother and I have talked, and we believe that it would be prudent to expand our business. I’m here to offer you a way out of that hole.” Elliot dug into the depths of his jacket to produce a contract.

“No, no, no! I- I can't take this! My pop put his soul into this place!”

“It'll be your downfall. Tiffany is ready with a very generous offer especially considering the-” Elliot looked around the place, a sneer on his face “-the state of this place.” Tom growled. That was the last straw. This little twerp came into his restaurant, which had been managing since before he was born, and insulted it, insulted him. Tom snatched the papers out of Elliot's hands. A middle aged blonde came in, the one and only Mrs. Tiffany Tiffany. She smiled at Tom.

“So dear, have you considered our offer?” Tiffany asked, sitting at the bar. “I'll have a coffee. Budget, y'know? I wanted Lee to handle a deal on his own, but I couldn't help but see how everything was going! Love this place, y'know? I've been coming here for ages, and I can't wait to update it! Rip out that ugly flooring, redo the seating! Oh! Tom's Diner will be at its very best under my-”

“Get out.” Tom snapped, unable to handle the blathering of this idiot blonde for any longer. “I will never sell this store, not as long as I live. You don't know what it means, ‘n’ you never will. This place was the last hope for desperate people fleein’ their homes. You, with your fancy little breakfast café, would suck all the life out of Tom's diner- my home, the home of the hopeless.” Tom drew himself in, towering over Elliot and Tiffany. He was doing his best impression of a Latino bear. “Get out! I hope I ain't ever hafta see your sorry butts again!!” Tom dug his fingers into the papers and ripped.

And again.

He slammed the pieces of paper onto the counter, shrieking profanities at the Tiffanys as they scrambled out the door. They got soaked, of course, because it was still pouring. Tom smiled to himself, after he stopped shaking.

“Y’know why I won't sell? Tom's has been standin’ for much longer since before Tiffany's, and it will standin’ long after.” Tom turned away. He dried the counter with the shredded contract- it was really about time he fixed that leak- and started another pot of coffee. There'd be more people soon. Tom dumped Elliot's cup into the trash. There wouldn't be any trace of those two rats if he had anything to say about it. Shortly after, people, like drowned rats, started washing in.

A few years later, Tiffany’s went bankrupt… but that’s a story for another day. Tom’s Diner is a little diner that’s been many things, but it has been true to itself. So it's always been called Tom's Diner.

#wcsecretsanta #writeblr cafe #writeblr #writing #my writing #why not #writers on tumblr #does this make sense #i hope i tagged this right #fandom brainrot stole all my og ideas #made it harder to write this then it should've been #but i'm also on mobile and traveling

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

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Whats frankies morning routine like when he wakes up with Ms Jackson? Does he make them breakfast in bed or do they sit with coffee in the kitchen? Do they laze about in bed for a while before getting up, are they morning sex kinda people or nah? 😌

Oh those cuties! Let’s get a snuggle on with them, shall we?

Easy Like Any Morning

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish" Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson"

Summary: What is Frankie and Ms Jackson’s morning routine?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, past Sex Worker!Frankie, unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), accidental somnophilia (everyone’s cool with it in the end), just a whole lotta fluffiness.

Note: Please enjoy a sweet little something about our favorite Frankie. I love love love this ask, and while this isn’t really a story it’s full of my favorite headcanons about what waking up with Frankie is like. Get ready for some cozy sweetness my dears!

Takes place after Something More over several mornings.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

First, it depends on where they’re at.

Frankie always wakes early, a leftover remnant of military life, so he often gets the morning routine started. Coffee is a priority, for you more than him. He rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen, measuring out fragrant grounds into the coffee pot. Some blend you get from a coffee shop you like, though Frankie will drink whatever he can get his hands on. Once it’s percolating and he’s had a chance to get a glass of water into his system, he returns to bed.

He likes to watch you for a moment before crawling back in, your face pushed into the crack between the two pillows after rolling into the center of the bed. It’s the little game you play every morning. Frankie pretends to be annoyed, as if his intention wasn’t to haul you right there the moment he’s under the covers.

“You’re in my spot,” he whispers as he slides his arm under your half-awake body, guiding your head into the dip of his shoulder and letting you koala-bear around him. Your deep sigh, coupled by the lazy squeeze of your limbs, tells Frankie you’re perfectly happy to share.

Frankie lays on his back as you slowly come to consciousness, letting his mind be still and quiet in the first waking hours of his day. If the night was especially late he might slip back under, but often he’s greeted with a, “Good morning,” and a kiss on his chest to signal you’ve woken. The continuous murmured conversation of, “How’d you sleep?” and “I had this wild dream” merry-go-rounds until nature calls and you trudge to the bathroom.

Coffee is enjoyed in the kitchen as you make breakfast. Saturdays are normally eggs and toast, over easy for you, scrambled for Frankie. Sometimes an omelet if you’re feeling fancy. Sundays are bagels from the little shop Frankie passes on his way to work, cream cheese getting caught in his scruffy mustache. He’ll scroll through his phone and call out anything interesting to you, from upcoming events to news stories, as you bring your plates to the living room to watch some morning TV. If you have plans that day, breakfast normally blends into showers and tasks and sweet glances over the course of the day.

Now that’s a typical weekend morning, but we all know Frankie and Ms Jackson are far from typical. Of course there are some outliers.

After barbecues or bar crawls with the Millers and Santi, often out until well past 1am, mornings tend to be slower. Frankie’s rebellious body still pushes him to wake, but he brings back a glass of water for you and sometimes an aspirin if you’re groaning at the sunlight. Face down in the pillow, Frankie drapes an arm over your back and rests his cheek on your shoulderblade, dragging his fingers lightly across the back of your arm. His warm weight soothes your wakeup, dragging you into the little spoon when you start shifting against him.

“Tastes like I licked the bar floor,” you mumble, your mouth still sticky and dry as Frankie chuckles into your skin.

“Never again?” he grumbles, kissing the back of your neck. He has a light headache of his own, his voice a little hoarse from shouting over the noise, but nothing he can’t handle. Plus you always comment on how sexy it sounds when he rasps that deeply.

“Oh definitely again, next time I just gotta remember to hydrate,” you say, which pulls another chuckle out of Frankie.

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Well maybe next time I’ll remember.”

If either of you were proactive, a Doordash delivery would be arriving just as you’re stumbling out of bed. A breakfast burrito can cure most things, hangovers especially, and the messy exultation with which you devour yours is akin to prayer. That, and a Gatorade or two, normally gets your bodies moving.

Frankie often stays the night with you, mostly because you have a house and he lives in an apartment. Privacy is a treasured commodity when your nights could be active. And noisy. But the few times you’ve stayed the night with him he likes to turn the tables. He wakes you slower at his place, knowing how disorienting it can be to rise in an unfamiliar setting. Soft strokes of his fingers across your back, kisses against your forehead, as you open your eyes to see the constant presence in your life. He always kisses you more in his bed, like he’s thanking you for being there. You once voiced a worry that you had terrible morning breath, to which Frankie laughed and replied, “How’s mine?” The bleary realization that it never mattered to you makes you press your face into the base of his throat, a kiss grazing along his collarbone.

Always disarming you, your sweet man.

He’s made it a rule that you can’t cook at his place, so mornings consist of you sitting at his kitchen island and watching him make whatever extravagance he’s decided on this time. He introduced you to huevos rancheros, you introduced him to shakshuka, and if he’s not creating a spread that will make you immobile for the next hour it’s not Breakfast at Frankie’s. Many times you’ve complained that you’ll never get anything done with your stomach that full yet he’ll do it again in a heartbeat.

The one thing you might find surprising is that they don’t have a lot of morning sex. Not that they haven’t tried, but as someone who values his precision and skill at making you cum, Frankie prefers to be alert and attentive.

Though quite by accident, you did discover you enjoyed something you didn’t anticipate.

In the depths of a dream, swirling in colors and gentle rocking motions, a tingle begins at the base of your spine. You lean into the sensation, warmth blooming through your hips and crawling up your back. Waves of pleasure wash over you, licking goosebumps along your skin and making your toes curl. You chase it, feeling the heavy cover of sleep lifting.

The first thing you hear are Frankie’s deep pants, rhythmic next to your temple. Why is he breathing so hard? Pulling yourself closer to the surface, the pleasure that was bubbling under your skin suddenly boils up as you find yourself moments from orgasm.

Frankie is driving his hips into you, cock obscenely slick as he presses two fingers against your clit. You choke on your breath as you go from swimming to the surface to crashing back into the waves, your orgasm thrashing through your loose limbs.

“Oh yeah, baby, fucking so good, cumming on my cock,” Frankie gasps above you. You rock and choke through your orgasm, barely able to form words or thoughts as you drown in pleasure. Once you're able to get your mind back into your body, you grip Frankie’s shoulders.

“F-Frankie, what…?” you stammer out, stopping his hips immediately.

“Babe, you…you were…oh fuck, baby,” he says, slipping out of you and hovering over your face. “I’m sorry, I thought…you reached for me and I…fuck, baby, are you okay?” His hands are frantic, almost overstimulating on your still groggy brain soaked with sleep and a grade A orgasm.

“Frankie, Frankie, shhh,” you soothe, stroking your hand across the back of his neck. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” You let out a little huff. “More than fine, that was…shit, did I start that?” You both dissolve into giggles, Frankie laying kisses on your collarbone.

“Sorry, we probably should have talked about that before I went ahead and assumed,” Frankie murmured, stroking your temple.

“You thought I was awake, and…that was a hell of a way to wake up,” you say, tugging Frankie down for a hungry kiss. “Now get back inside me.” Frankie’s cheeky “yes ma’am” throbs in your core, and lit only by the meager glow of starlight you bring Frankie to a peak as glorious as your own and, hands held, tip over again.

After a morning discussion about implied consent and boundaries within your relationship, your nights occasionally get even better.

END

The story continues in Rosalie

#francisco catfish morales x f reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfictions #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #sw!frankie #prolix fics

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