#The K-Files tag | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sheepfish03 · 11 months

Photo

Here is my part of @shepscapades ‘s character design challenge! I went with drawing non-life-series hermits as red lifers.

originally I just did Welsknight, but I was on a roll so I added Xb as well, and,,, you can’t separate Xb from Keralis so he’s here too, being his,,, lovely self (wow look at that eldritch horror K propaganda)

(Below the cut I’ve added individual shots of them all without the gradient layer I used as shading here, and I talk a wee bit about the designs etc.)

Some general notes include:

originally I intended for Wels to be working for Ren during 3rd life, but then I was plagued by visions so this is actually set on an original life series season I’ve been calling wanted life (pspsps come closer,,, ask me about this I swear I’ll be normal and not abandon all my current projects to develop a fic or something)

All three of them are an allied, their base Is in a snowy mountain (which is why Wels and Xb have the fur collars) I don’t know what their alliance is called but I’ll figure it out probably

Wels went red first, due to some unfortunate luck regarding the gimmick of this made up season, and had been red for a while before eventually Keralis also joins him on the reds. Xb is the last to turn, and in fact survives on so long that by that time Wels has already lost his last remaining life.

Here’s Wels! My pride and joy! I really wanted to do him because it’d be a great excuse of designing some armor again, without having to chain myself into having to do that for every life series member when I eventually draw them

Originally, to make him seem more intimidating, I was going to put him in a massive suit of armor, but after gathering my references I realized it might be hard to make work with my,,, centaur design for him (You can’t put all that heavy shit on a horse I’m pretty sure!) So instead I just, gave him an different suit of armor than I usually do. If you’re wondering what might be up with all the eye imagery, It’s,,, mostly because I couldn’t figure out anything better to put there so I gave him all the eye imagery I couldn’t give Keralis on account of him being,,, naked.

The really fun part about his design though,,, is his big-ass anime sword! If you can’t tell I was heavily referencing a few genshin impact weapons for this. When he’s green/yellow the eye is closed and only opens when he gets to red.

Xb! He’s a shark. And he has a bow.

I don’t have much to say of him since I was mostly just winging everything here,,, He’s a shark because I like them, he has a bow because hes good with them. the bow looks like that because I wanted it to vaguely look like the same Genshin esque bullshit that Wels’s sword does.

I did give him black eyeliner,,, I,,, can’t remember why I did that but hey it’s there.

Okay so Keralis,,, all red-life-skins, exist on a spectrum, idk what the spectrum is but for reference Skizz’s limited life skin and Rendog’s 3rd life skin are on the opposite ends of the spectrum.

While I would have loved to draw Keralis all badass and stuff,,, I knew in my heart that he would be the kind of guy to,,, you know,,, follow in the footsteps of Scar and Skizz

HOWEVER to make him a little creepy I figured I could tap into those sweet sweet eldritch horror allegations

“But Sheep!” I hear you asking, “Isn’t their base in a snowy mountain, wont he get cold.” He will, and he does. You underestimate how far he’ll go for a bit. (Also it’s a fantastic opportunity for him to steal Xb’s hoodies!)

also a bonus meme I doodled as soon as I realized... the situation

transcript since it’s my handwriting: Has to draw Keralis as a “half naked red-life” instead of a “badass red-life”

Too long, didn’t read, I’m happy for you tho or I’m sorry that happened

#Welsknight #xbcrafted #keralis #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #trafficblr #ShepsHermitDesign23 #sheepfish draws #I KNOW I WAS SUPPOSED TO FINISH HERMITADAY TODAY BUT I GOT SO MUCH BRAINROT OVER THIS I HAD TO OK #wait i should probably tag this for... future sorting purposes #wanted life AU #there #btw I named the file K and his wisconsin babygirls... if you even care /j #I will definitely draw the again in the future... I already have at least one (1) silly comic idea for them :3 #also hey peep my sona in the readmore You haven't seen it yet :D #anywayz team zit up tomorrow!!#<- i say with sooo much certainty i prooooomise i'll do it i sweeear (skitters off to draw Wels and Xb in create...)

110 notes · View notes

junewild · 7 months

Text

"It's aliens."

“It’s not aliens, Mulder.” Scully retorted, sweeping the beam of her flashlight across the deserted park. Someone had called in suspicious activity--something about heavy wind and lights in the sky. "It's never aliens."

"Lights in the sky are one of the most classic tells," Mulder argued, angling his own light into the grass. "If there's smoke, there's fire. Plus a heavy wind? In the middle of San Francisco? Localized to the Golden Gate Park?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not all fires come from little alien engines."

"No, look at this," he insisted. "This indentation in the grass over there. It's weird." He began to walk toward it, his long legs eating up the ground.

Scully glanced his way, unimpressed. "That could be anything. Someone set up a volleyball court too hard." She resumed her casual study of the trees, off to the left.

Mulder didn't reply. Uncharacteristic. Scully looked over again, and--

"Fox!"

He was lying crumpled on the ground.

Scully was an expert at running in heels. She was by his side in no time. She knelt down, training the flashlight on his face. A cut was dripping blood down the side of his forehead.

"Mulder," he murmured. "It's Mulder."

He was awake, at least. Scully swallowed her initial distress and put on a business-like air. "What happened?"

He waved a hand vaguely. "Air's solid."

"Air isn't solid."

"This air is." This time his hand moved further before stopping abruptly. Scully heard a thud.

"I don't understand," she said, reaching out one hand tentatively herself. "Are you talking about some kind of electromagnetic field?"

"It's a wall," he replied, sounding drowsy. "An invisible wall."

Scully's searching fingers found--solid. She stroked along it. It was cold and had the distinct texture of metal.

"I don't understand," she said again, mostly to herself. "It's a trick of the light. It has to be."

She found herself reaching for her sidearm.

Bright light spilled over her from above, and her arm jerked upward to shield her eyes. "What?!"

A door was taking shape a few feet up and to the right. She squinted at it, uncomprehending.

"A wall," Mulder repeated happily. "'S got a door and everything."

Three figures resolved in the doorway. They began to float--or, no, to walk?--down. Scully had dropped her flashlight, but she fumbled for it with one hand and unholstered her pistol with the other.

"There's no need for that," one of the figures said. They were at the bottom of the invisible ramp now. As the three of them turned toward Scully, she swept her flashlight across their faces. Three men, one of them a little shorter than the others. They were wearing some kind of uniform, though in two different colors. One of them, in blue, had some kind of square device in his hand.

But it was the other one dressed in blue that Scully had a hard time taking her eyes off of. His face was wrong. Human-like, but different. Dark eyebrows swept dramatically up above his eyes. Pointed ears curved up along his temples. His face was emotionless.

The yellow-shirted one was smiling. He was the one who had initially spoken. "It looks like your friend is a little out of it. Can my doctor take a look at him?"

"I--I suppose so," Scully said, finding herself at a loss for words.

"Bones," the man who seemed to be the leader of the group said, "go ahead and patch him up. I don't want to leave anyone worse off than they were when we leave."

Bones (what an odd name for a man) strode forward briskly, holding his rectangular object. Scully put out a hand. "Don't bring that thing near him."

He ignored her. "This is a tricorder. I can see from here that he's bleeding, but he's probably concussed."

"An alien," Mulder said, wonderingly.

"I'm a doctor, not an alien," Bones retorted acerbically. "Now, Spock over there is as alien as they come." He moved Scully to the side, not ungently, and knelt over Mulder's prone body.

"Half alien," the other blue-shirted man corrected. His tone was as emotionless as his face. "My mother was a human. My father was a Vulcan. Admiral, a concussion is far from fatal. There is no reason to compromise our camouflage."

"Nonsense, Spock." The admiral smiled at Scully. "You heard them. They were looking for us. Why, they found us. We might as well have a chat."

Spock tilted his head. "Jim."

"Perhaps they'll know something about whales," the admiral--Jim?--added.

Scully was not keeping up with this discussion. "Whales? Like the mammal?"

"Ah! I see you're educated. Many people of this time seem to consider them fish."

"Illogical, as they are warm-blooded and nurse their young," Spock murmured. "They are clearly not fish."

"Yes, well." Jim extended a hand to Scully, and she realized that she was still kneeling on the ground. Defiantly, she rose by herself.

He retracted the hand, still smiling. "How is the patient, Bones?"

"He's concussed, Jim," the doctor replied. "It's not brain surgery, but I'd like to keep him under observation for the next day or so."

Jim seemed delighted by the news. "Then I will invite you to accompany me into the ship, Miss--"

Scully realized that she had not introduced herself. "Special Agent Scully," she replied. "And this is Special Agent Mulder. I'm with the FBI."

"The FBI," Jim said, sounding thoughtful. "Weren't they something to do with food inspection?"

"You are thinking of the FDA, Jim," Spock corrected. "The FBI were one of the American government's primary security and law enforcement agencies."

Jim's smile fell slightly, but then it brightened again and he clapped his hands together. "Well then, I'll have to introduce you to Pavel. You can share security tips."

"I haven't said I would come aboard," Scully said, feeling the need to exert some agency. "If Mulder is concussed, I should take him to a hospital."

Bones made an extremely rude sound from where he now stood, having gotten up. "A hospital? In the 20th century? They'll butcher him. Absolutely not. No patient of mine would be caught dead in a hospital."

Scully dug in her (metaphorical, seeing as her literal heels were already quite well dug into the grass) heels. "I don't know you from Adam," she insisted. "Why should I trust you with Mulder?"

"Jim," Bones said, with a meaningful glance at Jim.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock began, with a meaningful glance at Bones.

Jim ignored them both. "He will be in the best hands here," he assured Scully. "I would trust Bones with my life. Indeed, on many occasions, he has saved many of my crew, including myself and Captain Spock."

Spock's meaningful glance was now directed at Jim, but it was a different flavor. These men are very important to each other, Scully decided.

But it was time to start putting the puzzle pieces together. "Captain?" she asked. "Admiral?"

Jim beamed. "Yes! Welcome to the--well, this isn't the Enterprise." The smile faded again. "Welcome to this Klingon warbird. I am Admiral James T. Kirk, and this is, er, Captain Spock. We are Starfleet officers."

"Starfleet," Scully repeated. "And you're from--where, exactly?"

"Earth," Jim replied, at the same time as Spock said "Vulcan."

"Earth doesn't have a Starfleet," she protested.

Jim held up a finger. "Earth of today doesn't have a Starfleet. Earth of the twenty-third century?"

If it weren't for the door open in the sky, Scully would have laughed in his face. "Time travel? And aliens?"

"Alien," Jim said. "Singular. Half, really, on his father's side. Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of what, if Scully remembered correctly, was an invisible ramp.

Mulder would never forgive me if I said no, she thought, with a sigh. "Might as well, if the truth is in there."

35 notes · View notes

thebranchingfigtree · 1 year

Text

bitches claim not to be asexual but get annoyed when the characters start getting it on in the fanfic they're reading instead of continuing to discuss what to have for tea for the next 10k words

i am bitches

#(im not asexual)#(i think)#(maybe i am)#(anyway enough about me here's the tags)#this is completely targeted at 'domestic' spirk fanfics that ARENT #spirk #star trek #fanfics #fanfiction #lgbt #asexual #the x files #k/s #msr #sculder #aromantic #asexual meme #fandom

81 notes · View notes

sun-3-160 · 15 days

Text

almost forgot to post this here.. mwah!

#Удачи тебе дружище !!!!#txf #the x files #video #mulder/krycek #i wanna tag this m/k ultra but no one finds that funny but me

2 notes · View notes

yngai · 11 months

Text

dash game, get to know the mun. ( repost, don't reblog )

🦋 name: nadiya, diminutive of nadezhda. 🦋 pronouns: she/her. 🦋 preference of communication: tumblrs IMs as a starting point though i will always move things to discord since it's less of a hassle. 🦋 single/taken: single & aromantic so i'm fairly comfortable as is.

🦋 three facts.

currently i work in a fairly expensive & somewhat busy sushi restaurant in my city that's about 2 minutes away on foot from my apartment, so can you believe that my favorite movie from 2022 was the menu? all the kitchen nightmares & hell's kitchen binging me & my pals did during the pandemic didn't help.

beforehand i worked at a run-down pasta shop that survived through delivery apps & while the food was pretty good (i wasn't a huge fan of pasta beforehand), the location was in a part of the city with a bunch of restaurants that act as fronts for potential criminals, so most of the owner's friends were coen brothers characters. i'm glad i got out of there. the place closed down after i left, my boss was sent to a mental health facility for 2 weeks for reasons unknown, though her last act was to try & rally a bunch of businesses against the leading delivery app in my city, which failed spectacularly, as you can imagine. me & an ex-coworker still text each other whenever there's an update on our old boss.

restaurant work has led me to pick up a smoking habit that i've avoided till now.

🦋 experience.

gosh i've been roleplaying since i was barely a teenager on windows live messenger, then skype after a long break, & i eventually moved to tumblr in 2014 because i got very tired of the group chats i was in, stuck to d.octor who for ages & ages writing basically every character you can imagine, from the show to the audio dramas & its expanded universe novels, it was a fixation for a large part of my life that led me to meet some of my best friends on this website. then i switched over to h.ellsing & that blog is what helped get my foothold in the rpc, i was a pretty obscure writer until then, & the people i met through the fandom i still talk to daily, we've been a gaggle for five years now, inseparable. we'll see where things go from here but i'm pretty solidified with writing ada, i care a lot about her character & properly portraying it, & while i've had my ups & downs in the ressie rpc i'm glad to be back & very happy with the writers i've befriended since my return & with all the peeps that have stuck around with me since i first made the blog, you're all so cool, i don't deserve any of you.

🦋 sub-genres.

political/crime thriller is my favorite genre to write in which is pretty basic taste though it does fit the blog, mix that in with the ideological/body horror of ressie & you have a recipe for success. across other blogs though i love both utopian & dystopian sci-fi, high & modern fantasy, again, basic.

🦋 plots vs memes.

plotting is my bread & butter i'm always sitting on like a million headcanons, ideas, inspirations for my characters & i'm always looking for people i click with to share them. tumblr is a social media platform first & foremost so i'm always searching for people i can bounce things around with very smoothly & maybe i've been lucky that i've never struggled to make new pals. even the act of plotting itself can be fun & creatively rewarding to me, we don't have to actually write anything on the dash, really.

🦋 long or short replies.

i used to struggle with longer replies as a younger writer but now i write so many needless paragraphs of introspection for most of my characters i feel like i give nothing to the other writer to reply to, just thoughts upon thoughts with little action & even lesser dialog.

🦋 best time to write.

i try to get a reply in before a shift if i can help it because usually i come home exhausted, if i'm off work though i usually write in the evenings or afternoons depending on how not distracted i am.

tagged by: @croftborn, danke :) tagging: steal it, i dare you.

#* file // : OOC — ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐄 . )#k tagged basically everyone i'd tag

6 notes · View notes

ijichi-nijika · 1 year

Text

i’ll post it here too so people can see my bad taste or whatever, if you even care

10 notes · View notes

smzeszikorova · 10 months

Note

Tell me about Nicholas Tries to Escape

Does he manage to do it?

Ah, yes. So Nicholas is a character in Book 3, whose relationship to the other characters I won't explain for Massive Spoiler reasons. But basically, he's in training as a spy, ends up trapped somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, and can't contact his trainer for help because he's surrounded by mind-readers.

His solution is to escape through the underground prison, which is full of hidden secret exits, and unfortunately, he doesn't even get past the entrance.

This document is actually on the older end, so a lot's changed since I wrote it. I think I can get away with putting a little snippet here without ruining too much.

The door swung open. There was only one pair of footsteps, so far as Nicholas could tell. He could hear the person’s boots clicking against the chamber’s metal floors as they approached the exit. Then the footsteps became suddenly soft and disconcertingly close. The person was in the grass now, invisible to Nicholas in the dark, but no more than a few feet away from him. He could hear them breathing, though this sound was quickly muffled by the slamming of the chamber’s heavy door and the clicking of its lock. Now his window was gone, and Nicholas was less than an arm’s length away from a Kenacian officer with special access to the underground prison network. Nicholas didn’t have that access. He had no excuse for being here. And if he was seen . . . he couldn’t let that happen. The officer kicked at the grass languidly and hummed in a high, airy voice. For some reason they’d stopped moving; the footsteps had come to a halt. Nicholas slowly lifted his body a few inches from the ground. At this point it was probable that he’d be left with no other alternative but to run and pray to God those months of racing magically-enhanced sprinters had paid off. He released his mouth for a moment and drew in a shaky breath, then immediately clamped it shut again when he heard the officer speak. “Is someone there?” they said, sounding more amused than concerned.

Thanks so much for the ask! (Swear to god, it takes everything in me not to just dump the entire plot of Book 3 here.)

#p&k #p&k asks #my old writing #tag game #file tag

3 notes · View notes

providencehq · 1 year

Text

BK is fun because I get to see how much my style has changed ANWAYS I found old and newer art of her lost in the depths of my ever growing csp folder which is 98% wips

#mine #i am not tagging it because i don't want to throw these in tags but just know #i am always thinking about bk #she is my baby girl my evil scientist my beloved villain #wip #just think of what providence would have been like from the start if she was in charge yikes #also csp file is 2.5 k files right now who knows what it holds

10 notes · View notes

astroellipse · 2 years

Text

Tired tag vent 😞

#collecting my thoughts #seriously though why cant i do a read more on mobile #ah whatever. the informality of tags feels better for this. i guess.#just. anxious. i was chill all day everything was fine granted i was tired as hell cause i alept like shit #and now all my anxieties are hitting me! suddenly heart palpatations! yayy!!!#maybe i should not have watched better call saul before bed i shoulda done aomething more chill #granted i was getting j ro that funk where i didnt want to do anything but k couldnt aleep yet #going to implode head going to turn j to a great big fireball #theres just a lot all at once but its not even really that much im just a nervous wreck #i start school soon. never filed my fafsa for some godforsaken reason. hopefully i can focus through that #the place i replied to stopped replying abruptly while trying to digure out skmethjn with their website #had a weirsly atreasful time dealing with healthcare stuff #ambient worry about self image and my current situation and the future #aocial worries that i cant even vent about anymore because relevant people follow me now #not that thats a bad thing that's a net positive love havin friends #sparking with nonsense i need to ramble about but i cant cause its all just non issues and pity party stuff and hrg #the one thjng ill grant myself is oh my god maybe entering that relationship before was a bad idea now i know what it feels like #to be in love and i want that again so so bad #exploding again #i need to shower someone with love and affection jfc #maybe thisll pass or get less with time hopefully it does #but man its bad #as part of my weird sleep nonsense dreams last night there was one where i was in a relationship with fucking JERMA.#and it wasnt a dirty dream or anything we were just a tender couple talking about mundane shit and i rest my head on his shoulder and #ok now im getti g sodetracked because why the FUCK was it JERMA?? it coulda been my actual crush! that woulda made sense!!#hes not even my type!!!!!! god. anyways back to my crippling anxiety remembering that dream lightened my mood a little at least #heartrate atill funky but less overthinking #anyways going to pass out now its 1 and ive been exhausted all day that was enough no sense rambling #good night reader

2 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

Text

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults.

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard.

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like.

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow.

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you.

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady."

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes.

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance.

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times.

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock.

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?"

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in."

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them.

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?"

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury.

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all.

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him.

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout.

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips.

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing.

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes.

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep.

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job.

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then.

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?"

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up.

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two.

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

3K notes · View notes

floralcyanide · 4 months

Text

— 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 (nsfw)

important note: if you don't like rpf (or fanfic about real people), please just scroll past. don't be rude in the reblogs or tags or I will just block you. it costs zero dollars to mind your business and keep scrolling. tom will literally never see this. I will never send it to him. therefore, no one is getting harmed by this. rpf is written by many about many real people and has been for a long time. if you'd like to file a complaint, I'd love to see you say that writing rpf is weird to the Hamilton fandom, the Billy the Kid fandom, the Elvis/ Queen/ Greta Van Fleet/ other bands and singers fandoms, (especially the k pop fandom. I pray you survive if you do.) etc etc. basically, just ignore this if you don't wanna see it. have a good day (:

⌯ pairing: tom blyth / fem!reader

⌯ warnings: mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, mentions of smoking, reader smokes but it isn't explicitly described (can be an ignored detail), eventual smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (please protect yourself with strangers), oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, cum eating, fluff if you squint

⌯ word count: 3454

⌯ summary: at your friend's christmas party, you meet tom blyth and there's a strong connection off the bat. after a little too much to drink and a night spent talking, the two of you have an intimate christmas eve together. (based on those nights by bastille.)

⌯ author’s note: I've been so busy that I haven't been able to finish this until today lol and it took ages because I kept getting distracted ((: anyway!! merry christmas and happy hanukkah, I hope everyone enjoys this (: if you don't pls keep it to yourself

divider credit: @arminsumi | @eloquentreverie | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist ⌯ taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ.

You’re nursing a glass of half-sipped champagne, trying your best to pay attention to what your friend is saying to you through the pounding music. Being social with them is the least you can do, considering this is their holiday party you’re attending. And they’ve supplied the alcohol that you’ve helped yourself to all night. This is one reason why you can’t focus very well, but there’s another reason, too. You swear you feel eyes from somewhere in the apartment searing into the back of your head. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. But now it’s almost as if you’re scared to move in case someone is watching. Still listening to your friend, you realize you’re unable to look around to find the source. So you push away the sensation the best you can for now. A mutual friend waves at you from across the room where the makeshift bar is. Downing the rest of your champagne, you bid the friend you’re conversing with a quick goodbye for the time being. Hurrying to your friend who beckoned you over, you look at them with a raised brow when their face scrunches up into a giddy smile.

“Why do you look like that?” you ask, carefully eyeballing them.

Your friend chuckles at you, leaning into your ear, “There’s a hot guy back there who has been eyeing you for quite some time.”

Your face contorts into realization. So that’s why you’ve been feeling eyes burning into you. You hesitantly turn around, hoping you aren’t too blatantly obvious in finding who is staring. However, at this point in the night, you aren’t entirely graceful by any means. Your eyes catch onto a brunette man almost immediately, like you’re drawn to one another somehow. The man glances down at his drink before letting his eyes shoot back up to yours, his determined gaze sending goosebumps across your skin. Your friend has been too busy making you a drink to notice the tension but still manages to switch out your empty glass with a full one despite your daze.

“I’ll be right back,” you say just loud enough for your friend to hear over the song blaring through the speakers.

With the alcohol burning in your system, the atmosphere of the apartment seems otherworldly. It’s a fairly glitzy party, so you’re dressed for the occasion. Your outfit highlights your best features, allowing you to have an air of confidence. A kind of confidence you don’t usually carry. The alcohol certainly helps with that. The shimmery lighting bouncing off the walls gives off an ethereal vibe to the apartment. The dim glimmer of the room casts the shadow of the brunette man’s eyelashes onto his cheekbones. The closer you get, the more you notice about him. His aquiline nose, the contour of facial hair on his face, the tasteful and subtle golden hoop in his left ear. You see a small smile stretch across his lips as you approach him.

“I am so sorry if I’m coming off as creepy,” he shouts over the music, laughing to himself, “I promise I don’t mean to. You’re just really attractive.”

You take a moment to let your eyes take in his form as discreetly as possible, noticing his towering height and lean physique. Now that you’re close enough to properly see his face, you note that his eyes shine a hauntingly beautiful shade of icy blue. He takes a moment to study your face as well, waiting with bated breath for your response.

“That means a lot coming from someone who is also attractive. And I thought I felt someone staring,” you jokingly smile at him around a sip of your drink.

“Sorry about that,” the man rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I just never know how to approach without being awkward.”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach at the heavy weight of the brunette’s eyes on yours, your drink burning away any nervousness that had previously lingered.

“I get it,” you match his smile that has yet to wipe off his face, “I’m not the type to come up to someone I find cute. But…” you trail off, taking in the man’s attractiveness, “There’s something about you I can’t put my finger on.”

“Well,” he chuckles at you, bringing his glass to his lips before hesitating, “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Oh really?’ you raise your eyebrows, a playful tinge to your voice, “How’s that?”

“Do you smoke?” the man asks.

“Only when I’m drinking,” you chide.

The two of you weave around the other party-goers toward the fire escape, and you snatch the bottle of something from your friend’s hand while passing the bar on the way out. After clambering from the window behind the tall man, who effortlessly climbed out, you take his outstretched hand. Planting your feet on the landing, you watch as the man fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches from his back pocket. He looks up at you expectantly, patting the spot on the metal grating next to him.

“I don’t bite,” he jokes, “Not hard, anyway.”

You bite back a snort but sit down anyway. You take a swig of the clear liquid in the bottle you took before offering it to the man with a sour face. He’s in the process of lighting up, the cigarette hanging between his lips casually as he holds a lit match to the end. You watch him do this, and something stirs inside you. He takes a drag before handing the cigarette to you and taking the bottle from your hand.

“You smoke a lot?” you ask him before taking a drag of your own, your eyes not leaving him.

He shrugs, “I picked it up while in college. It’s a bad habit I go back to sometimes.”

“I see,” you say, “I forgot to ask, but what’s your name?”

“Tom,” the brunette says, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he offers a free hand for you to shake. You gently take it.

Despite the chill of the night, Tom’s hand is warm against yours. You both hesitate to pull away, but a shy chuckle shared between the two of you causes a natural break of grip. You continue to smoke and pass the bottle to and from each other, talking about this year’s notable events in your lives. You speak for a while before more personal details begin spilling. Like how much you hate your job and how Tom missed his co-stars from his last project. Or how you both hate being single during the holidays. The more alcohol that’s consumed, the more you discuss your lives. It’s only been an hour or two, but it feels like you’ve known each other forever.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you. Tom looks over at you, admiring how your cigarette looked so natural in your hand. And how your hair fell perfectly around your face and how you swung your legs back and forth innocently. The corners of Tom’s lips twitch upward as he subtly moves closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours. He thinks you’re quite interesting and pretty- he doesn’t know why you’re still single when you’re such an amazing person.

You feel the roughness of his trousers against your bare thigh as you finish your final cigarette. You swish the remaining contents of the bottle around, deciding that your blurry peripheral vision means it is time to stop drinking. When you turn to offer Tom the rest of the alcohol, he’s facing you already, mere inches away. Your breath hitches as his eyes look into yours. They drop to your lips, and despite your intoxication, you feel giddy in your stomach.

“Can I,” Tom whispers, lifting a hand to your cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

You sit the bottle down on the other side of where you’re sitting, a drunken smile growing on your face, “Of course you can.”

Tom leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently. You inhale sharply through your nose at the intense feeling of electricity between the two of you. You can taste the alcohol on him when you run your tongue across his bottom lip, testing just how far he wants to go. Your hand reaches up and cards through his dark hair, bringing him as close as possible as the kiss becomes more passionate. Tom’s free hand grasps your hip, his thumb digging deeper into your skin the harder you kiss him. Your head swims as he peppers his lips along your jawline and under your ear.

“We should probably go inside,” you pull away reluctantly, but even in your stupor, you don’t want to get carried away and fall off the fire escape.

You struggle to push up the cracked open window, and Tom giggles at you as he effortlessly pushes it open for you. Both of you climb through, and your friend shakes their head at you when your feet land firmly on the floor.

“I had wondered where you ran off to,” they chuckle, “I see you’ve met my friend Tom.”

“Uh, yeah,” you smile, looking up at him as he stands beside you.

Your friend looks closely at the two of you, noticing your bitten lips and Tom’s flushed face, “Now that the party has dwindled down, you guys can chill upstairs where it’s quiet. I have a book collection you two would enjoy.”

“Gotcha,” you nod as they walk away to mingle with other partygoers.

Looking around, you notice the remainder of the gathering is in other parts of the apartment, leaving the living room and upstairs unoccupied. Tom grabs your hand, pulling you away from the kitchen to the hallway leading to the stairs. You pull him into another kiss, Tom giggling at your eagerness as he sways slightly. He walks you backward until you feel your back against the nearby wall. Neither of you would do this on a typical day, but the energy between both of you is so intense. Your hands move underneath his shirt, your cold palms making contact with his warm skin. Tom gasps into the kiss at the contact, and you scoff, pulling away from him and grabbing his hand to drag him up the stairs.

“Careful,” Tom says to you as your legs wobble. Meanwhile, he’s struggling to climb them as well.

After a few minutes of tussling and laughing, the two of you finally reach the second floor.

“So about that book collection,” Tom raises an eyebrow, catching his breath as he grabs you by the hips, bringing you close to him.

“Only if you really want to,” you look up at him, both your and his eyes glazed over.

“I do,” Tom runs his hands along your sides, his gaze heavy on you, “Lead the way.”

You walk ahead of him, pulling him into the guest bedroom, where the books do happen to be stored in a giant bookcase along the wall. String lights around the ceiling give a soft golden glow to the room as you approach the mass of books. Tom closes the door softly as he enters the room, walking up behind you as you trace the spine of one of your favorite books. Tom wraps his arms around you, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck gingerly. You melt into his chest, closing your eyes as he travels down your shoulder. Your dress has an exposed back, and Tom is taking advantage of it as Tom falls to one knee and continues kissing down your body. He delicately unties the silk ribbon holding the two sides of your dress together, pausing before allowing it to fall to the floor.

“Let me know if you want me to stop,” Tom says.

You turn around and walk to the bed, allowing your dress to fall behind you. Sitting down, you motion for Tom to come over to you. His eyes scan your face, avoiding your intricate and deep-colored underwear as he stands up. Tom stands between your slightly parted legs, and you move your hands to the lapels of his black blazer, pushing them open. He discards it from his arms and to the floor before pulling his t-shirt over his head. You try not to ogle at his perfect body, but your hands wander anyway. Up his abdomen and across his chest until you reach his neck, where you pull him down for a heated kiss. Tom lightly pushes you onto the bed, and you move to the pile of pillows to rest your head. He climbs over you, caging you underneath him. Before you can react, Tom pulls your legs up around his waist as he rests his body on yours. His lips hover over yours, his darkened eyes boring into yours much like they did the back of your head earlier in the evening.

“Don’t stop,” you say, crossing your ankles behind Tom’s back.

Tom attacks your neck with hot kisses and soft bites, your hand grasping the back of his head. As his body relaxes into you, his weight presses you against the bed, and you feel how hard he is. You lift your hips to lightly grind into Tom, and his soft bite into your collarbone turns harsh in reaction. He continues downward, slipping his fingers underneath the straps of your bra and sliding them down your shoulders. You arch your back so Tom has the room to unclasp the band and remove the garment from you. He wastes no time resuming his kisses on your sensitive skin, avoiding the areas you desire his kisses most. You gasp when Tom lets his hand brush against your breast, his thumb circling your nipple softly. A small moan leaves your lips, and Tom glances up at you through his lashes to gauge your reaction. He admires how your eyebrows crease momentarily in pleasure, so he circles his thumb again. You moan louder this time, craving his touch without hesitance.

“Please,” you sigh, “Don’t hold back either.”

Tom hums in response before dipping his head down and enveloping your nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue teasingly. He rubs your other nipple with his thumb, simultaneously stimulating you. You whimper, heat from your still buzzed body rushing to your clit. Your hips roll in response, and you’re sure Tom can feel your dampened panties against his chest. He gives your nipple a sharp tug with his teeth before focusing on your needy core. He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clothed heat before removing your underwear. Still buzzed from all the alcohol earlier, Tom tries his best to be soft with you despite the pit of desire growing between you. You want him- all of him, and you want it now. And Tom wants you. Before you can speak, Tom’s warm mouth meets your folds, his tongue lapping at your arousal. You squirm from the sudden stimulation, but he stills your hips with his grip. A hand flies to Tom’s mussed-up hair as he plunges his tongue into you, his nose pressing to your clit. He inhales your scent, and it intoxicates him more than alcohol ever could. Shaking his head, Tom’s nose rubs against your clit perfectly as his tongue fucks you. Your whole body is up in flames, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You’re muttering incoherent praises as you ride Tom’s face. He replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, your relaxed wetness allowing him to slip them in easily. They scissor against your fluttering walls as Tom sucks on your bundle of nerves. Your fuzzy mind keeps you from hiding how good his mouth feels on you, and your moans grow louder. His mouth leaves your cunt abruptly before reattaching to yours, silencing you immediately.

“Gotta be quiet,” Tom huffs against your lips, “People are still downstairs, love.”

You wrap your legs around him again, grinding yourself into his still-clothed cock. He’s the one to moan this time, slipping his tongue into your mouth and letting you taste yourself. You unwrap your legs and work to unfasten Tom’s trousers, pushing them down his thighs. He kicks them off the rest of the way, along with his underwear, as he continues to kiss you. You reach down between your bodies and palm Tom’s length, to which he groans into your mouth. You guide his tip to your entrance, allowing him to comfortably push into you. Your hands grasp Tom’s shoulder blades, your nails lightly digging into his skin with every inch that enters you. You whimper in pleasure at him finally being inside you after longing for it all night. Tom bottoms out with a content sigh, also elated at the feeling of you clenching around his length after craving it for so long.

Your chests heave against one another, your forehead pressed to Tom’s. His enticing blue eyes meet yours as he slowly pulls out before slamming his hips against yours. You gasp, arching your back and letting butterflies swarm in your belly when Tom kisses the corner of your mouth. He fucks into you again, slowly building a steady pace. Your lips barely brush against Tom’s as he snaps his body into yours. Your buzz has now faded away, allowing you to feel him entirely sober. He sneaks his hand between you and presses his thumb to your clit, making you hiss at the sudden stimulation. Your head pushes against the pillows, exposing your throat. Tom lets his hand lazily wrap around it, not squeezing but instead holding it as he grazes his teeth on your skin there as he kisses your neck.

“Feel so good around me,” Tom says dazedly, and you feel his eyelashes flutter under your jaw, “So gorgeous.”

Your hand rests in his hair again, gently combing through his locks as he rocks into you faster. His weight on you, his thumb still rubbing your clit, and his hand around your neck seals the deal for you as he plows into that sweet spot inside you.

“Tom,” you moan, “I’m close.”

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he whispers into your skin, leaving soft kisses in contrast to his rough thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you mutter, your chin resting on Tom’s head.

Tom lifts your leg and places it on his shoulder, allowing him to hit a new angle inside you. You bury your face in his hair to deafen the cry that escapes you in response.

“Right there,” you pant, your hands desperately holding onto Tom’s hair as your mouth hangs open in silent pleasure.

Tom breathes heavily into your neck, using all the energy he has left to mercilessly fuck your weeping cunt. You feel your stomach tensing, alerting you of your impending orgasm. Tom chants your name as he firmly presses his thumb into your clit, causing the tightly wound knot inside you to snap undone. Your thigh clamps into the side of Tom’s neck while the other shakes against the bare skin of his sweat sheened back. The feeling of your tight pussy pulsating around him makes Tom explode inside you with a gasp. You grip Tom’s hair desperately as you milk him of everything he has, his thumb still not letting up on your clit. Another orgasm washes over you suddenly. This time it makes you convulse, your cunt gushing around Tom and dripping down your thighs as you cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you gasp for air, Tom pulling out of you.

He moves down to your pussy, cleaning up the cum spilling from you with a hungry tongue. You’re so sensitive that your thighs slam into the sides of Tom’s head. He suckles your clit for a moment for good measure, making you writhe underneath him. You pathetically whimper when he pulls away, finally catching your breath. Tom returns to his previous position on top of you, his face buried in your neck. He wraps his arms around you, softly stroking your skin.

“Wow,” you giggle, letting your nose dig into Tom’s brunette hair.

“Yeah,” he smirks, “You’re amazing.”

“That’s all you, I’m afraid,” you say.

Tom hums, “I disagree, sweetheart.”

He rolls over momentarily, lifting the duvet for you to climb under. He embraces you again, holding you close as if you’ll disappear like some sort of dream. You wrap your arms around Tom’s, smiling as he presses his nose to your hair.

“I still haven’t put my finger on it,” you say after a moment of silence.

“Hmm? On what?”

“That something about you.”

“I guess you’ll have to stick around and find out, then.”

“Deal,” you chuckle, “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

taglist:

@barbaraelaine @devotedly-sassy @nowitsmissing @arzua10 @screamqueenpink

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x reader smut #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x you smut #floralcyanide writes #tbosas #billy the kid #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth fic #tom blyth fanfic

651 notes · View notes

kentocidal · 5 months

Text

OPEN UP AND SAY "AHH..." .txt

USERS: dentist!kento nanami x fem!afab!reader

WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED WITH THE FOLLOWING MALWARE: dubcon, oral inspection, gloves, medical malpractice(?), oral (m!receiving), spit, dacryphilia, choking/gagging, power imbalance, oral fixation, ask to tag

NOTES: something happened to me while i was writing this. anyway, here you go. ~3.2k words.

the dentist’s office was one of those medical buildings that was clearly a house before it was an office. built in a cape cod style with a tiny parking lot that had been added far later. you had found this place online, after it had gotten some stellar five-star reviews that you trusted enough to schedule a consultation and a cleaning.

it wasn’t one of those gimmicky, commercialized dentists either. it didn’t have a tooth for a mascot, or a commercial with a jingle that never left your head. it was simply a dentist’s office. the page on google came up as “kento nanami, d.m.d., dental practitioner and surgeon.”

something about the blandness of the webpage, matched with the homey feel of the office, dissuaded your nerves. you had finally found an office you felt comfortable going to get your cleaning at.

you took a breath in as you stepped through the threshold, and found that the home had absolutely been converted to a medical building. the hardwood flooring, the almost sickly yellow lighting, the stock paintings on the walls of oceans or some tropical place. it would almost be tacky in any other place, but it felt right for a dentist’s office such as this.

the girl at the desk, clearly some part-timer, popped her gum as she looked up from her phone when you approached. “do you have an appointment?” “ah, yes. at twelve-thirty?” you nodded faintly, eyes glancing over the girl’s nametag. ‘k. nobara.’ perhaps she was studying under dr. nanami.

she hummed softly as she clicked around on her desktop for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “i see it. here, just fill this out, and i’ll send you right back.” she flashed the barest hint of a bored smile at you as she placed a teal clipboard on the desk with a pen, and you thanked her before going to sit in one of the padded chairs.

name, address, insurance information, when you had your last cleaning, reason for your visit. standard paperwork for a new patient.

how did you hear about dr. nanami?

you wrote in: online. all positive reviews! :)

you filled out the rest of your medical information before walking the paperwork back up to nobara, who took it from you and popped the bubble she made with her gum. she barely even looked at it before taking it to the scanner and making a copy. once she finished her own side of the paperwork, she looped around the desk and opened a door to lead you down a tiny hallway. “just this way, please.”

she brought you into a small room retrofitted to be an examination room. the dentist’s chair was in the middle surrounded by all of the necessary equipment. there was a television mounted to the wall, displaying what was on the computer monitor in the corner, there to reflect x-rays and other important images. nobara moved a little table filled with sharp instruments on it over to the side to allow you space to sit in the chair. you sat, taking a breath and sitting back. the leather squeaked under you, and it wasn’t the most comfortable place to be, but it was to be expected.

nobara made sure you were settled before grabbing a piece of blue medical tissue and a thin ball chain with clips on either end, leaning over you to place it around your neck as a bib.

“dr. nanami’s just finishing up with his patient, he’ll be right in for you.”

you nodded and thanked her again, to which she smiled softly before leaving and shutting the door behind herself.

it was quiet outside of the ticking of a clock behind you and faint music playing from another room. it didn’t take long for the music to be turned off, footsteps to come down the hall, muffled chatter to be heard as who you assumed to be the doctor’s last patient gets checked out.

you shift in the seat and lick your lips, nerves returning. you didn’t really like the dentist (who does, anyway?), but you couldn’t find a reason to be so worried about it outside of superstition and online horror stories.

just as you buried yourself into your head, there were two rapt knocks on the door behind you before it was pushed open. “ms. l/n?”

“ah,” you turned your head and peered over the back of the chair the best you could as the doctor entered and shut the door behind him, “yes, that’s me, hi.”

“nice to meet you.” he was tall, broad, curt; his hair was perfectly styled atop his head, wearing a blue polo and khaki slacks rather than scrubs. the only dentist-ish thing about him was the surgical mask that was pulled under his chin.

brown eyes met yours and his lips quirked up into a cordial smile as he approached. you smiled back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks; he was far more attractive in person than he was on his medical profile.

“nice to meet you as well. thank you for squeezing me in, i-”

“it’s no problem. there was an opening. it made sense to get you in here quicker rather than make you wait.” he shook his head as he grabbed the rolling stool from under the nearby desk and took a seat, dragging the computer stand over with him to start typing away.

“you’re here for a consultation, yes?”

“consult and a cleaning, yeah,” you breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. “it’s… been a while.”

“when was the last time you had a cleaning?”

“three years?” you smiled sheepishly when the doctor cast you a sidelong glance and clicked his tongue. “i didn’t mean to keep forgetting! i was new to the area at that time, and it just kept slipping my mind.”

“still, it’s not good to neglect regular visits like that. i’ll make sure you schedule your six month follow-up before you leave today.”

you nodded, because that made sense. at least he seemed to care about your health, unlike some other dentists you’ve had before in the past.

dr. nanami typed for a moment more before pushing the computer away and getting back to his feet. “before we can start, i need to take some x-rays of your teeth. have you had this done before?”

“a long time ago, yeah,” you watched closely as dr. nanami took a step over to where a protective vest was hanging, watching him pull it down before approaching you again.

he used a foot pedal to lean the chair back slightly, and you went with it, your head resting against the high back of the chair. he looked much taller from this lower angle, his cheekbones high and his jaw cut and perfectly angled.

he laid the heavy vest over your chest and then leaned over your body completely to reach for the x-ray camera that was hovering overhead, tugging it down closer to you. you sucked in a breath; he smelled of some foreign, expensive cologne, the scent making your head spin slightly.

dr. nanami hummed in the back of his throat as he stepped away from you to reach for a box of gloves on the desk, tugging out two of the black latex garments and pulling them on, one at a time. you watched the latex shine in the sickly fluorescent light of the examination room, watched the way he stretched the rubbery material over thick fingers and broad palms. one by one, he snapped them on, making sure he was protected.

you shifted in the chair again when he leaned over you to bring the plastic piece to your mouth. he was so close – he had to be, this was an exam, snap out of it! – “i just need you to open up wide and then bite down on this, okay? it’s going to take a few photos of your teeth and your jaw.”

you blinked like a deer in headlights, because suddenly a gloved finger was tapping your cheek. you opened your mouth, nice and wide, and felt the cold plastic slip past your lips and rest between your teeth.

“bite down,” and you did, “that’s it. good. now stay still.”

you found yourself preening under his ministrations. he would step away and let the machine whir as it photographed your teeth and your bones and your jaw structure, and then he would be right back in your space to adjust where you were holding the piece between your teeth. he took about five or six pictures (it felt like you were swimming in his cologne) before he finally pulled the piece from your mouth with a soft pop and pushed the attachment away.

his wide, gloved hands lifted the vest from your chest, and you felt like you could breathe again once the weight was gone.

“not so bad, hm?” dr. nanami quipped, though he didn’t smile, and you laughed airily like a little girl who got caught with ice cream she shouldn’t be having.

“not so bad, right.”

he nodded once before he took a seat on the stool again and sat right next to you, pulling up the fresh x-rays as they loaded up. you were presented with the images on the television just as dr. nanami viewed them up close on the computer screen in front of him.

“your teeth look good,” he murmured, as if it was more to himself than to you. “all even – none missing. adult teeth grew in almost perfectly, though you did wear a retainer briefly, did you not?”

“yes.”

“right.” he clicked over towards an image of your molars, humming under his breath. “have you been experiencing any pain in this area?”

“hm? no, why?”

“there’s a bit of a dark spot here,” he moved the mouse over to a spot on the image, on a tooth that had to be all the way in the back of your mouth. “it could be a cavity.”

you moved your tongue in your mouth to feel for it, but came up short. “i don’t feel it, but maybe.”

dr. nanami pushed the computer away and shifted closer to you, reaching up over your body to grab the light fixture and drag it down towards you. using the foot pedal again, he brought your chair back, back, back; it felt like you were completely horizontal by now.

he rolled his stool over to be behind your head, leaning over you. it was almost as if your head was in his lap, separated only by the chair’s headrest.

he pulled the light down lower until it was perfectly on your lips. once settled into position, he moved his surgical mask back up and over his mouth and nose, and you thought that it somehow made his eyes all the more alluring to you.

“i need to conduct a further oral examination to assess the cavity. is that alright?”

“yes,” you breathed, and dr. nanami made a sound of approval.

you figured he would reach over for the metal table and grab for one of those little mirrors, or maybe even a water pik of some kind, but, no; dr. nanami leaned more over you and pressed two gloved fingers to your lips.

“open up and stick your tongue out, yeah?”

you blinked at him, heat rushing up to your cheeks once again. you felt as though your ears were playing tricks on you; dr. nanami had sounded huskier, like his voice had dropped an entire octave when he muttered the command to you.

you swallowed the saliva that pooled on your tongue before opening your mouth as wide as you could, sticking out your tongue and flattening it so he could see your teeth better.

“good girl.”

your whole body shuddered the moment those gloved fingers pressed on your tongue with the utterance of those two little words. what was this?

a part of you was saying that something was off about his ministrations, about the way his fingers pressed and almost petted the flat of your tongue before starting to explore deeper. the other parts of you, however…

it felt as though you were floating as dr. nanami brought his other hand up to your face to hook a finger in your cheek and pull slightly, tugging your mouth open just a little wider. your eyes fluttered and you made a wet little sound, only for dr. nanami to click his tongue behind his mask and murmur for you to settle.

his fingers continued their journey, probing and prodding at the warm flesh of your cheeks, the hardness of your teeth, rubbing and feeling over your tongue and your flesh and bone.

you whimpered softly when you felt his index finger rub over your molar in the far back of your mouth. it felt as though his whole hand was forcing your little mouth open, but that definitely wasn’t the case.

“what a pretty little mouth you have,” muttered the doctor, before his fingers dove down towards your throat.

you gagged harshly around his digits and kicked up a fuss in the chair, rattling the attachments and kicking your feet. dr. nanami let up only for a moment as you felt drool start to form at the corners of your mouth and coat your tongue. your eyes brimmed with tears, wetting your lashes, and dr. nanami only watched you with those golden brown eyes.

you couldn’t see the bottom half of his face, but he had to have been panting.

“your teeth are in very good condition,” he spoke in such a soft tone it almost had you relaxing again as he unhooked his finger from your cheek, letting your jaw slip just slightly closed again to try and find comfort.

“ah, i’m not finished,” dr. nanami chastised you with a tap of his wet finger on your cheek, and you whined softly under him as his forefinger started to probe and inspect your mouth yet again.

one by one he inspected all of your teeth the best he could, feeling each one, filling your mouth with the taste of latex and the scent of his cologne. your eyes were locked on his face, while his were locked on the way your lashes stuck together, wet with tears, and drool started to drip from your lips and drag down your cheeks.

his eyes flickered away from his inspection for a brief moment to watch the way your thighs were squeezing together, and that was it for him, the sign that he needed.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth and tugged his mask off of his face, placing it to the side as you heaved.

“now then,” he started, shifting back away from you as you caught your breath, “your teeth are in perfect condition, but i’m concerned about your throat. let’s… conduct an experiment.”

your wet eyes shifted hazily backwards as you tried to look at him again, only to be met by a thick cock springing free from dr. nanami’s khakis. he was leaky and drippy at the tip, and it smacked wetly against your cheek.

oh. oh.

you squirmed in the seat and moved yourself backwards (or, well, up towards him) with a bit of his help, a wet hand on your shoulder tugging your body up so your head would hang off the headrest of the dentist’s chair.

from this angle, dr. nanami didn’t even need to get up. he could stay seated in his stool and let you do all the work.

but you were his patient, and he was your doctor. he would take care of you.

he shifted his weight and took his cock in hand, guiding the tip over your spit-soaked lips. his other hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his thumb hooking onto your jaw to force your mouth open.

“there you go, nice and wide, just like that…” dr. nanami hunched over you, studying your fucked out expression. “is this okay?” “ye-yes,” you whispered, and dr. nanami finally smiled down at you. it was brief and fleeting, but it was there.

and then he gathered spit between his lips and let it drip down onto your waiting tongue.

you moaned, quiet and wanton, just as dr. nanami slipped his cock into your mouth.

he tasted musky and salty and perfect. he fucked your mouth open slowly, his hand a nice weight on your throat, helping to hold your twitchy body down as you shook with anticipation.

slowly, slowly, he worked the tip of his cock further and further into your mouth, until he was muttering, “open wider, wider, just like that, good girl, take it…”

it felt like all of your blood was rushing to your brain in this position, but at the moment, you didn’t care. all you cared about was how you choked and gagged around the tip of dr. nanami’s cock as he worked it into your awaiting throat.

he sheathed himself in your tight heat and started to rut into you as your throat fluttered around his girthy length. the room filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin, soft gags, wet plaps, and dr. nanami’s little gasps and moans.

he moved his hand from your throat to the hem of your pants, managing to undo the button and the zipper with just one gloved hand before it was slipping into the front of your panties to graze over your clit.

you gasped and moaned around his cock before starting to choke again, drool dribbling all over your cheeks and face as dr. nanami collected some of your slick on his gloved fingers to rub your clit in quick circles.

“shh, quiet. feels good, right? feels nice to have your throat fucked like this? you like it when your doctor touches you here?”

you had gotten so turned on that his words were almost enough to send you over the edge, your nails clawing at the rubbery material of the dentist’s chair.

“i can feel you throbbing,” he grunted as he fucked his cock deeper into your throat, “go ahead, cum on my fingers, cum, cum-”

his fingers didn’t stop even as you creamed in your pants and all over his gloved hand, your body jerking and your throat constricting around his cock. dr. nanami groaned low in his throat as he finished down yours, pumping his hips slowly and riding out his own high.

he pulled back from you and panted, pulling his hand from your panties and licking your juices off of his glove, then discarding both.

you laid on the dentist’s chair, head hung over the edge, boneless and still twitching from the waves of your pleasure.

“now, for your cleaning…”

—

“so, do you want to make your six-month follow-up now? or should we send you a letter reminder in the mail?” nobara popped her gum and twirled her pen between her fingers as she looked you over.

“i’d-i’d like to make it now, please.”

“sure. and don’t forget to leave us a good review online, alright?”

#kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #tw dark content #tw dentist #tw dubcon #dark.txt #tw medical #medical.txt #dubcon.txt #ask to tag.txt #jujutsu kaisen x reader

570 notes · View notes

jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Text

Cookies and Whiskey (Javier Peña x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: This is co-authored by @lil-stark ! She literally handed me the most beautiful idea on a platinum platter AHHHHH. I loved writing this so much, my heart is so happy at soft!Javier.

Word count: 2.7 k

Warnings: yearrrrrning

You glance at the clock as the man before you stubs out his cigarette and loudly yawns. He rubs his eyes with the edge of his palms a groan emitting from deep within his chest.

“Tapping out, Peña?” You smile understandingly.

“None of these words are really words anymore.” He mumbles as his big brown eyes meet yours causing the army of butterflies to tickle your insides.

The past few days have made everyone increasingly tired and you could see that it was taking a toll on everyone, even on the DEA’s most resilient. You and Javier often burned the midnight oil at the office, not wanting to mix business with the comfort of your homes. It worked out easy for you because you’d often commute to work with Javier, with the additional advantage of Javier living in the same apartment complex as you.

Javier slaps the file he was working on close and stands up to grab his jacket, with you following suit. You smile at the guard who took the office keys from Javier, locking the office behind the both of you. The ride home was relatively quiet, only punctuated by you humming something that had been stuck in your head. Javier focused on your humming, feeling his whole body tune towards you as he drove on autopilot.

The spell only broke when Javier turned the corner of the street to the apartment complex, his demeanour turning slightly sour at the prospects of having you leave him for the night. He spends most of his day with you but he can’t seem to understand why he feels the nauseating need to continue being around you. The few hours that he spends with you not around are agonising to him, hurts him in places he didn’t realise could hurt.

You closed your eyes the second the complex came into view. You always hated this, saying good night and not having a good night. Sometimes you find yourself hearing so hard that you would fight the urge to kick Javi’s door down and barge in like you owned the place, taking what was rightfully yours.

You glanced at the way his hands gripped the steering, strong and powerful. You wondered if they would grip you the same, holding you down and steering you in the right direction. You sigh to yourself and set your hand on the handle, waiting for Javier to stop the car.

Javier tries hard not to feel the indescribable anguish as you click the car door open, gently closing it behind you. He loved how your hands held the capability to kill but chose to be gentle with everything else. It mesmerised him, the way you would hold files, papers, or coffee mugs; he wondered if you would hold him the same way, fragile and breakable. Then something fired up in him when you would hold a gun, powerful and strong, the agility showed him something that he could not resist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You say as Javier admits defeat with his emotions and slips the key into the lock.

“Only if you get me coffee.” He replies with a fond smile, before slipping inside.

He shuts the door and sighs softly, his eyes becoming heavier by the moment as he tossed his keys into the glass dish by the door. He can’t keep going on like this, his mind was overruled by thoughts of you. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, not carrying where it landed. You were not his to keep or to lose and he needed to get his priorities straight. Slumping onto the couch, he presses his face into his hands, groaning slightly at his plight.

He sat like that for a few minutes, getting his thoughts straightened out. He didn’t want to dream of you, only to wake up in the morning, upset at the fact that nothing was real and he had to go back pining for you. He was rhythmically massaging his temples with his knuckles when suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

“Javi?” Came your soft voice, making Javier immediately jump up from the couch, all thoughts of sleeping evaporating from his tired mind.

He scrambled quietly, trying to find his shirt that he threw away, but it was nowhere in sight. He tried to act casual, slowing his steps as he approached the door, slowly opening it and peaking around to see your sheepish face.

“Everything alright, hermosa?”

A few minutes ago, you had sleepily trudged your way to your unit, trying to fish your keys from your bag, your mind filled with thoughts of Javi. You frowned when your fingers couldn’t grasp the familiar keychain amidst the mess of your bag. You knelt down and split the contents of your bag onto the floor, rummaging through to find your keys. A panicked pang slammed into the depths of your stomach as you realised that you had left your keys at the office.

You bite your lip as your mind shifts to your second option as you eyed the window to your unit, contemplating whether you should break it. You could just sleep over at Javier’s place. The both of you were already inseparable, it wouldn’t be so hard for you to just crash on his couch for one night. Your brain was still going through the scenarios as your legs began to carry you towards Javier’s place.

Eyeing the rust on the knob, a voice saying “Are you sure?” sounded in your head. You sighed and knocked the door, praying that the man hadn’t already succumbed to his tiredness. Your mouth dropped open as you eyed the golden skinned, half-naked man who opened the door. You blinked up at him as you registered his question, your brain slow and mushy from the sight you have been blessed with.

“Uh, yea, umm. So a little bit of a problem, I'm locked out of my apartment, and I don't want to break any windows just to get in.” You ramble slightly, and Javier’s mouth twists into a light smirk.

“Well, you know you're welcome here, make yourself at home, I’ll get you some clothes you can change into." He says as he takes your bag from you and steps aside, opening the door a little wider for you to step inside.

You had been to Javier’s unit before, during Steve’s birthday and it was the complete contrast of the man you knew at work. It was homely to say the least, constantly smelling of candles and cookies, along with the lingering scent of cigarettes that Javier would chain smoke. It's warm inside, humid really, explains why his shirt is off, but doesn't make it easier to stay focused.

“Do you want a drink, or water?” He gently asks, setting your bag aside.

You blurt out "water" without thinking twice and he nods, walking to his room to get you the stuff you need. He comes back and hands you a towel, toothbrush, one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to your right.” He says softly, nodding towards the small hallway.

You quietly padded towards the bathroom, your heart soothed at the hospitality he had shown you. You stripped as fast as you could, eager to get under the water to soothe your aches and knots. When you were done and switched off the shower, you heard the soft tinkle of music and you smiled, slipping on the clothes Javier lended you. They smelled like him, coffee and smoke, your favourite things about the pretty man.

You step out and make your way back to the living room, where Javier is sitting on the sofa, his hand over his face as the other one holds a glass of whiskey, your water on a coaster on the coffee table before him. The radio was playing sweet melodies and you sank into the sofa, leaning slightly forward to take your glass of water.

You watch as Javier tips the rest of the whiskey into his mouth and stands up, going to his little bar and filling it with another finger of the brownish liquid. The music changes and it's one of your favourites, making you smile as Javier approaches the couch again. He sets the glass onto the coffee table and holds his hand out for you, making you blink up at him with a confused look.

“Wanna dance? I know this is your favourite song.” Javier says, a little too smoothly for your liking.

You smile and slip your hand in his, letting him pull you up. You cling onto his shoulder as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer than he intended to. Your eyes fall onto where your hand settled upon his shoulder, trying hard not to linger at the sharp toned muscle. They quickly snapped back to his eyes as he pulls you away from the coffee table, into the empty space of the living room, swaying you and him to the rhythm.

“So, are you really locked out of your apartment or did you want to see me?” He breaks the quiet suddenly, making you roll your eyes at him.

“In your dreams Javier, I really am locked out.” You sigh, your hand unconsciously tightening its grip on his shoulder.

“Well, then pinch me because this does seem like a dream to me, cariño.” Javier says.

You let go of his shoulder and pinch his cheek without even waiting for another second and he laughs, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Actually, to be completely honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing you like this more often.” He whispers, almost to himself, but you were already hooked, questions flooding your head.

“Like what?” You say, watching him from under your lashes.

“Like this, wearing my clothes, in my arms, doing whatever we pleased.” His face was so close to you his breath fanning your face.

“And what do you think would please the both of us?” You whisper, your lips now a hair's width from his, your cheeks blazing.

“Baking cookies.”

“Huh?”

This was certainly one of the top five things that you hadn’t expected from Javier Peña.

“You know, making yummy cookies and then eating them?” His eyes were twinkling under the dim lights and you couldn’t tell whether he was humouring you.

“Say yummy again.” You ask, a laugh edging up your throat.

“Yum-my” he punctuated, squeezing your hip, causing you to giggle.

“Fine, show me how you bake cookies, Agent Peña.” You smirked, trying not to melt at the way he was holding your hip.

You were sure you were in a fever dream, soon you were perched up on the kitchen barstool, watching as Javier mixed up ingredients in a bowl. You had to swallow a little more times than you had intended to, your mouth pooling with saliva at the half naked man whisking eggs. He was meticulous, carefully measuring out the ingredients one by one.

As soon as Javi left the kitchen island to put something in the fridge, you reached out to pull the mixing bowl.

“Do not eat raw cookie dough, cariño!” He shouts and you jump in your seat as your eyes snapped to Javier who was glaring from the open fridge, his hands on his hips.

“Fine.” You pout and slump back.

Javi moves on to scooping the cookie dough onto the trays after preheating the oven, pressing extra chocolate chips onto the flattened cookies. Without a word, he takes a little bowl and fills it with chocolate chips, sliding the bowl to you. You grin and pop the chocolate chips into your mouth as you continue feasting your eyes.

“Your stare is going to burn a hole through me, angel.” Javier suddenly says, when his back is turned to you, sliding the cookie trays into the oven.

“I wasn’t staring.” You stammered a little and Javier turned around slowly, anchoring his hands onto the kitchen island separating the both of you.

“Says the person who loves me saying the word ‘yummy’.” He smirks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Javier Peña.” You say, straightening your back.

“Well, I beg to differ, hermosa.” He licked his lips and leaned in.

Javier decided to test out something that Steve had told him over a couple of beers, crossing his fingers and toes, hoping to god that Steve wasn’t just teasing him.

“Bullshit.” You said, all sing songy and Javier decided to finally catch you at your own act.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, given the fact that I know what Steve knows.” He says and you swear your heart almost stops.

Steve fucking Murphy.

You had confided in Steve and Connie a long time ago, them being your closest friends. You told them how you felt about Javi after a few too many glasses of wine and they promised to keep it a secret. You made a mental note to place a swarm of ants in Steve’s work drawer if you ever got out of this situation alive.

“Well maybe Steve lied.” You say, your response automatic.

Big mistake.

“So you know what I’m talking about?” Javier raised an eyebrow.

Your breath hitched as Javier circled the kitchen island and prowled closer to you.

“Steve can’t lie for shit, angel, we both know that.” His eyes were sparkling with something unknown and you didn’t know whether you wanted to reach for the unknown or stay planted in your seat.

So instead, you slip off the stool and edge away from him.

“Thank you for your hospitality Javier, I promise this won’t happen again.” You mumbled your eyes downcasted.

You turn on your heel and try to walk to the bedroom when his hand wraps around your wrist and twirls you, making you collide with his chest.

“Is that really what you want, hermosa?” Javier says as you tried to catch your breath.

You nod, trying your best to keep eye contact. What was the use of trying though, you were already caught.

Javier suddenly dips his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss onto your searing skin, making you shiver.

“You’re a worse liar than Steve, amor.” He murmurs, his nose pressing into your neck.

You stiffened in his arms, making him stop his ministrations and look up. You were looking at him like he was your world but there was a veil of doubt covering your eyes and Javi could sense it.

“Hermosa, que paso? Did I do something wrong?” Panic rushed over him, terrified that he had taken it too far.

You took a deep breath, trying to word the things you wanted to say gently.

“Javier, you cannot use me and then leave, my heart can't take that. Please.” You say, your eyes welling up in tears at the prospect of you and him ruining what you already had with him.

“Oh, cariño.” He sighs and literally melts at the sight of your tears, pressing a lingering kiss onto your temple as you wrap your arms around his bare midriff.

Suddenly, his hands are on your arms, easing your grip around him. He drops to his knees, still holding your hands as he gazes up at you.

“Look, my sweet angel. You’re my best friend and I would literally die if I had to choose to walk out on you or us. So don’t you dare think that it would happen in this lifetime or in the next few lifetimes.” Javier surprised himself with what leaves his mouth, your presence making him delirious.

You kneel down too, bringing yourself to be at eye level with Javier. You cup his cheek as he pulls one of your hands to his chest. You search his baby doe eyes and smile, a feeling inside you blossoming and you realise that he was most definitely true to his word.

Before you could think twice, your lips were on his, kissing him softly. He sighs ever so gently and pulls you closer, falling back slightly and letting you lead. You pressed harder against him, licking his bottom lip gently when suddenly the timer goes off, causing the both of you to jump.

The both of you laugh shakily, your cheeks tinted in the prettiest pinks. Javier stands up and pulls you with him, turning off the oven, before kissing you again.

“Let’s snack, then, maybe, continue this in a place a little more, quieter?” Javier whispers.

“Okay.” You whisper back.

Just like that, your little mishap had the biggest silver-lining you had ever encountered. You squeeze Javier’s arm a little tighter as he pulled the cookies out of the oven, smiling to yourself.

Everything was going to be alright.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

Tagging: @joygirlmelii @wolfbook87 @nyotamalfoy @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @magic-schoolbusdropout @anony-muse @anonymously35

675 notes · View notes