#complete with forehead tan line
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wake up i have something important to show you
#the untamed#lan suzhui#lan wangji#lan zhan#wen yuan#thinking about dad!lwj lately#complete with forehead tan line
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make it up
chris sturniolo x fem!reader
summery: your situationship gets in the way of your fun at a pool party, especially when it’s with a flirt who you leave no other choice but to make it up to you.
warnings: smut..don’t let the cute cover fool you lol, sub!chris, lowkey both him and the reader are toxic, fem!receiving, face sitting, missionary, unprotected sex, i think that’s all
a/n: this was a struggle to write and i think it took years off my life but that’s okay!!
4.2k words
love, sienna <3
it was practically impossible for you to focus on anything other than the way that Chris looked, standing there with his chest exposed and his swimsuit hugging him in ways that make you woozy. you aren’t official, so it takes everything within you to not go and let the world know he’s yours, but he is.
you and Chris both lack a sense of commitment to romantic relationships, it’s what makes your situation so much easier to navigate. there’s a level of trust within your dynamic because you both want the same thing out of it. there’s also spoken rule of not seeing anyone else, a rule you’ve both obliged to for the past few months.
a pool party isn’t necessarily something you were yearning for, but Chris insisted that you come along with him, and you weren’t one to say no to him very often.
the sun is beating down on the comically large backyard, your scalp feeling hot and a few sweat beads trickle down your neck as you pour yourself a drink at some pop up table.
this wasn’t entirely… your crowd, but you do have a few people you’re somewhat friends with which you are more than thankful for as you create small talk near the table.
Chris has put his focus on playing volleyball in the pool with a bunch of his random friends, his wet hair falling on his forehead before he runs his hand through it so he can see the net better.
you mindlessly talk to the people around you before very quickly growing bored with the effort-fuelled conversations about the weather and whatever new couple just broke up.
it feels a bit un natural to be standing around in two small pieces of fabric that are vibrant against your skin while being completely above water. so you set your random plastic cup down and walk towards the clear splashing water that’s surrounded by concrete walls.
you opt to sit along the edge, keeping a close eye on Chris who couldn’t help but notice your presence immediately.
maybe the reason you work so well with him is because you’ve known him for such a long amount of time. he was your lab partner in junior year chemistry and as annoying as you may have found him at first, he was funny, and it was his goal to be constantly putting a smile on your face.
it wasn’t long after until he was putting more than just a smile on your face—and god was he addicting.
you let your feet sway in the slightly cold water while you rely on your wrists to keep you upright, in full view of the blazing sun.
if you weren’t going to be having a blast the least you could do is create a few tan lines.
the boy across from you tries his best to stay focused on the game, but he can’t help but pay attention to the incredibly flattering swimsuit that rests on your body as your skin glistens in the heat. your thighs squished together on the cement outline of the pool with small droplets of water dripping down them has him insanely distracted to say the least.
“cmon Chris focus up!” a plea can be heard from some random guy who stands next to him, furthest from you but still very aware as to where Chris’ head is at.
everywhere but the game.
he shakes his head, leaving you a small, playful smirk before looking back to the poorly set up net towards his eager opponents.
you watch for a while, eyes fixated on the way his tongue darts out of his mouth to coat his lips. his full focus on the same is weirdly attractive.
his back muscles are outlined perfectly in the sun. you want nothing more than to have your hands scratching helplessly over them with your nails.
soon enough the ‘game’ comes to a close, bringing your head back to reality.
Chris swims over, situating himself between your legs and placing his cold wet hands on the base of your knees. “hi” he looks up at you, blue irises highlighted in the immersive light pouring down on him.
you laugh slightly, wrapping your bare legs around his smooth back. “hi pretty boy did you win?”
“were you not watching?” he inquires, wiping stray water droplets off of his freckled face. he leans in slightly closer as if he’s telling you a secret. “definitely lost but they’re too drunk and they fully believe that i won so i’ll let them believe what they want”
another small laugh escapes your lips when the mentions of the sport remind you of a memory. “do you remember third period gym class when i accidentally served a volleyball directly at your face?”
he rolls his eyes playfully in response, a bead of water dripping down the side of his neck. “course i do, you apologized for like a week straight”
“not my fault you were walking around the halls with a black eye! i felt bad” you defend yourself passionately.
“well it actually was your fault but” Chris just schooches you slightly closer to him. hands pulling you in by your lower back so that your plush thighs make contact with his sides. “it was cute when you felt all bad and shit”
you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, fingers delicately running through the hair sprawled on the back of his head. “how much longer do we have to stay?”
“you act like a pool party is a chore” he laughs softly. “give it another half hour and then we can get ready to leave”
before you can say anything in reply you hear a familiar voice call out your name. “hey come over here! we’re shotgunning right now”
you don’t entirely want to go, your time would be much better spent with the boy in between your legs but he’s not your boyfriend, and it would feel wrong to cancel on people wanting to do something with you for him. even if just looking at his face is more than enough to keep you occupied. “i guess this is my sign to go socialize”
he fake frowns dramatically, slowly guiding his fingers up your legs until they make contact with your upper thighs. “okay lover boy i have to get up” you mutter out, fighting every urge to close the space and bring his lips to yours.
most people know you have something with Chris, they just aren’t entirely sure what. the two of you flirt constantly and tend to stick by each others sides at gatherings but usually pda is off the table for your own sanity.
today you were just a lot more needy for any form of contact with him, and you can’t be bothered at this very moment to hide from the world.
it is however annoying to constantly be answering questions about you relationship status. most of the time it’s easier to have them completely oblivious rather than curious.
so you stand up, gently taking his hands off of you before placing your feet on the cement and walking over to the girls who are standing in a patch of grass with drinks in hand—not without feeling Chris’ eyes glued to your back.
“hey you ready?” a girl asks, dark brown braids draping over her back as she hands you a colourful can.
“yeah i am, someone have a coin for me?” you ask, reaching over for the random girl that hands you the circular copper coin.
the group does a countdown and after the number one you immediately crack open the can and tilt your head back, allowing the fruity liquid to stream down your throat.
after a moment of relentlessly swallowing, you release the tin from you lips and crush it while wiping the drink off your lips.
a girl beside you practically spills her drink everywhere and you laugh with her momentarily, enjoying the small moment. this is before something catches your eye.
Chris at the back of the pool with a girl standing uncomfortably close beside him. it’s obvious to everyone around him that her intentions are anything but innocent.
people flirt with Chris all the time, he’s hot. but the way she’s practically straddling him in the chlorine water and the fact that he’s done nothing to deny her advances? you’re sick.
“hey isn’t that your boyfriend?” a random girl across from you asks, going to the table to grab a slice of water melon and handing one to you. assumingely feeling bad for you.
you shake your head, taking a bite of the flavour fruit before replying. “not… technically. but he knows better than to pull some shit like that in front of me”
she laughs softly, rubbing your arm sympathetically. all you can do is hope it’s not pity.
“what’s your name again?” you ask, trying to distract yourself from the heart wrenching sight across the still water that fills the pool. Chris hand now on the girls lower back as she talks to him about god knows what.
“maria” she replies, reaching for a bottle of sunscreen from her tote bag that rests on a random pool lounger. “and you?”
your name lingers on the tip of your tongue as you refocus your gaze onto your man who’s sitting there with a smug smirk on his face. he’s clearly amused at the girl who puts in full effort to get him interested in him.
“y/n” a fake smile forms on your face before you begin to walk towards the pool. “please excuse me while i go deal with that fucking idiot” you spit out, earning a gentle laugh in reply.
“you’re too hot to let a man like that walk over you” she adds as your back now faces her.
it’s clearly bothering you and you can’t sit back and do nothing anymore. someone clearly needs to learn a lesson.
your feet walk before your mind can even fully comprehend what’s happening. it’s un deniable that you’re in a hurry to get Chris the fuck out of that pool and your body language speaks for itself.
he sees you walking over, detaching his hands from the girl who know holds a clueless expression on her pretty little face.
“hate to break up your fun but we’re going, Chris” you mutter out, looking down at the pair as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
the girl immediately gives you a nasty look in return. “i’m sorry who are you?”
you roll your eyes, Chris now walking towards the pool ladder as you continue the petty conversation. “i’m his girlfriend”
she laughs. “really? because he told me you guys are just friends. might wanna sort that out before you get all possessive over someone who doesn’t feel the same”
there’s no point of explaining yourself to this random girl who is in full belief that she’s in the right. besides, you’re more mad at him than you are at her.
————————————————————————
“do you beg for your other friends like this?” you question, finger placing light pressure over the familiar patterned swim shorts. you’re standing over him, knees brushing against the mattressinserting your complete control in the dynamic.
it’s slightly later now. a golden hue shooting its vibrant light through the bedroom window as a helpless boy lays below you, propped up by his elbows so as to still look up at you.
he breaths out, shutting his eyes closed as if to somehow focus on anything other than the pads of your fingers and the touches they’re applying to him. “fuck no”
you let out a soft, menacing laugh at his innocence. it really is admirable how effortlessly you’re able to get him like this, his hips squirming restlessly against the soft blankets that rest below him.
as much as you’d love to be completely angry with him, it’s much more enjoyable to be petty. and besides, he’s got lots to make up for.
you hover over him, your hands placed next to his hips while your head dips down to his exposed neck. there’s remnants of marks you’ve left behind recently, something that girl from the pool consciously chose to look past. “you like it when i mark you up?” you whisper into his ear, chills immediately trickling down his spine while blood rushes to his growing length.
he just nods pathetically. there really is no point in arguing with you, he knows you’re right. it’s hilarious how he portrays himself to the world, like he’s some big tough guy who gets all the girls. last time you checked tough guys aren’t whimpering pet names in your ear while you tease them, maybe you’re wrong.
you take your time. getting lost in placing small kisses along his jaw, making a point to leave behind a noise with each one. it’s obvious he’s trying to hold back, it’s not easy for him to be like this but he knows he cums the best under your touch.
“who the fuck do you think you are pulling that shit in front of me? do you know how embarrassing that is?” you spit out, hands placed on your knees as they try desperately to relieve the tension that formed in your arms.
he just rolls his eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel while a stupid smug smirk pulls at his pink lips. “it’s getting really old when you do this shit. you only act like you’re in love with me when you’re jealous”
“in love with you? wow that’s rich. maybe i just didn’t wanna watch you suck face with some random girl in a musty ass pool” you argue. deep down he’s probably right in what he’s saying. you aren’t very good at showing emotions towards him until he shows interest in anyone that’s not you.
“please” he whines as your mouth creates suction on his collarbone, notably leaving more marks to add to his scattered collection.
his words are in vast contrast to those he was spewing on the car ride home, much less bratty.
you smile into his chest, hands running up his sides only causing more squirms in response. “please what? cmon be a good boy and use your words for me”
the way his chest rises and falls at his neediness already has you feeling the need to close your own thighs together. you need friction more than anything and your body is begging you for it.
“just touch me please, i need it” his voice practically shakes through the words. regardless of how annoyed you are with him, you immediately do as he says, palming through the thin damp fabric.
“so worked up for me already Chris, you like when im on top of you like this don’t you?” you coo into his ear as your hand moves menacingly across his length. he’s already completely hard under your touch and the combination of your words almost makes it painful how badly he wants you. “but i’m not sure you deserve to cum after the shit you pulled earlier”
his hips buck up slightly as the palm of your hands lifts from his sensitivity. “mmh how- how can i make it up to you?”
you hum, as if deep in thought. in reality you already know exactly how you want this to go, he just needs to be the unsuspecting pawn in your evil game of chess. “i don’t know…. im pretty mad at you baby”
“i’ll do anything, please i need you”
his consistent begging is like music to your ears and the last thing you want to do is press pause. your mind wanders when you think about all the things he could provide you in order to make up for his foolish mistake.
his hands.., his thighs—you even consider giving in right away and allowing him to have sex with you right here and now. but it wouldn’t be as fun to give him what he wants right away, and his toxic little mouth should really get put to better use.
you speak low, only furthering the anticipation for what he needs most right now. “i think you need to be shut up. that mouth of yours is mine yeah?” you run your finger over his lip, pulling his bottom lip down lightly until he replies to your question with another eager nod.
your lips meet with his, your tongue immediately attaining dominance within his mouth before you bite down gently on his bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from the boy.
the strings of your bathing suit are the only thing holding you back from the pleasure you’re aching for. “Chris baby can you help me?” you bring his fingers to your hips so as to guide him to where you need help.
he gets to work right away, untying the strings and immediately causing the bathing suit to slip off of your body to leave you exposed in his line of sight. “you’re so beautiful” his voice leaves behind an innocent compliment.
your lips turn into a smile at his praise as you pick of the wet fabric that lies beneath you, tossing it to the floor that resides besides the bed. “thank you” your fingers trail up his bare chest as your legs straddle him. you make point of sitting down just slightly on his dick, enough to make him wanting more but not enough to provide him any real pleasure.
slowly, you shift higher up his body until you’re aligned with his pretty face that looks up at you with eyes fuelled with worship. “you gonna make me feel good?
he nods again, hands lifting from the sheets to your thighs to pull you onto him before you can get another word in. it’s clear how desperate he is to make you feel good and it only makes you want him more.
Chris places a few teasing kisses above where you want him, having his fun with taking his time before you sit down on him.
it begins slow, his tongue licking a stripe through your folds before focusing on your clit. he’s sure to make sure your weight is fully on him, the pressure of his pink muscle pressed against you is intoxicating.
eventually your hips begin to rock sensually on his mouth while his lips create a suction on your throbbing clit, only proving to build the pleasure you’re experiencing below.
“mmm such a good boy for me Chris. you always know how to make me feel so good” your praise only causes him to increase his speed, giving you exactly what you want. “i’m the only one that gets this- fuck. no other girls can have your tongue the way i do”
you can’t help but fuel your own ego at your situation with Chris, proudly expressing how grateful you are for him while placing subtle jabs at anyone who tries to interfere.
the pace increases. soft moans leaving your lips while his hands squeeze your ass into him, only increasing the pressure of his tongue more.
you’ve quickly forgotten about earlier. your thoughts flooded with the the sensation of his soft lips on you as his tongue inserts itself into you, curling upward.
you fall forward, your upper body becoming weak at the overwhelming speed of his tongue switching from curling into your wetness to sucking on your puffy clit.
a loud sigh escapes your lips as his fingers rub small circles on your lower back, his mouth doing all the work. it’s impossible to stay still, and his tongue makes your body move in a rhythm against his face. hips grinding hungrily into him as you approach your high.
“so good fuck, i’m close baby” you moan out, and you can almost feel his lips curl into a smile under you at how easily it was for him to make you unfold, but he quickly resumes his rhythm on your clit, desperate to give you what you need.
your stomach tenses as your orgasam overtakes you, thighs squeezing his brunette curls that rest between your legs, his tongue working you through your first orgasam.
eventually his mouth slows before you pull yourself off of his face. the sight below could almost make you cum again, his flushed cheeks and messy hair along with the wetness dripping from the corner of his mouth.
god you really do love having him like this.
you swing our leg off of Chris, laying on the bed horizontally next to him. a puzzled expression replaces his hopeful one, he’s not entirely sure what you’re getting at by laying next to him.
you speak after another moment of confusion passes by. “what’s taking you so long? thought you wanted to cum?”
he sits up practically right away, moving his body to hover over yours. you can tell he’s not entirely sure this is what you’re asking but you quickly confirm his suspicions with a short kiss, your hands immediately reaching for the waistband of his shorts. “i need to feel you”
it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his head and he’s immediately more excited than he is confused, hands dropping down to assist you with pulling down the damp bathing suit that keeps him from you.
the sight before your eyes is mouth watering but you can’t give in, still attempting to remain dominant. his dick is clearly exhausted from waiting so long, remnants of pre cum dripping down the veins that surround it.
“make it up to me Chris, i don’t wanna be mad at you after this” you demand, his hands finding your knees to spread your legs open, your centre still leaking slightly from earlier acting as a perfect lubricant for him.
“yes ma’mm” he spits into his hands before spreading the warm saliva over himself, stroking a few times before aligning himself with your entrance.
it begins slow, he always allows you to adjust to his size momentarily, just sinking into you and starting off with lazy, sensual thrusts. his face is aligned with yours, the plush pink colour on his cheeks showing just how badly he needs this—how badly he needs you.
“you fill me up so well baby fuck” you moan out, his pace inside of you increasing slightly as his tip has no problem brushing over your sweet spot.
he leans in, leaving a few wet kisses to your bare neck before whispering in your ear. “i’ve been so bad, let me make it all better”
before you can mutter out some form of a reply his hands travel to your thighs, lifting your legs so that your knees are aligned with your head. this new position only makes the feelings of his thrusts feel deeper.
he quickens his pace, hips moving in a rhythm that causes nothing but small whimpers and moans to leave your lips.
a smile tugs at his lips at your current state, your tits bouncing in the thin bathing suit fabric and your mouth in an o shape at the constant pleasure he’s inflicting onto you.
the strength of his hands on your thighs only further help push himself into you, hitting your g-spot relentlessly. Chris knows you well enough to know when you’re close, your eyebrows furrowing and your walls closing in on him, so he takes that as a sign to bring one hand down in between you.
the pads of his fingers find comfort on your sensitive clit, rubbing light circles as the pace of his hips hasn’t let up once. “fuck Chris you’re so good” you moan out, hands gripping onto the sheets beneath you.
he leans in to your ear again, voice slightly shaky as he avoids the urge to moan. “do you forgive me?” his hand moves quicker against your clit, practically begging you for a simple ‘yes’.
“mmh i-“ you throw your head back, orgasam approaching quickly.
“i need you to say it pretty girl”
the new sense of confidence behind his voice only further turns you on, your orgasam hitting you like a brick before you can even prepare yourself. “yes! mm i forgive you Chris”
at your words he continues slamming his hips into you, using your release as leverage to come to his own high that he’s been holding back for awhile.
suddenly he pulls out, giving his dick a few pathetic pumps as he releases onto your bare stomach, head thrown back and eyes shut in pleasure.
he practically plops in bed beside you, the two of you completely exhausted from the day and the events that transpired moments prior. “i’m so sorry, fuck i was stupid” he groans out, bringing his hand to his forehead to rub at his skin.
“it’s okay, we’re both kind of idiots sometimes” you giggle, placing a small kiss on his cheek before sitting up. “we really need to shower now though, we stink of chlorine”
a/n: hope you enjoyed lol i’m gonna take a break from writing on my page for a while due to burn out and such but i will still be contributing to collabs
if u haven’t read @greatooglymooglyyy or @luv4kozume fics today go do that now those are some of my fav ppl and writers on this app and they deserve all the love!!
taglist:
@lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift @junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @sturnified @madsdogst @justlivinglive @sluttycupsworld @flowerxbunnie @mbsbaby @sturniolossmut @lustfulslxt @69isabella69 @dracoflaco @mattslatinagf @raekensluver @worldlxvlys @greatooglymooglyyy @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss @imwetforyourmom @sturniolololover @immuneweed @its-jennarose @taco-taco-posts @luverboychris @gracealwaysdisgrace @gamermattsgf @mattscoquette @nervoussagittarius
#🌺 — triple threat event!#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo oneshot#chris sturniolo fic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut
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kinktober: day one
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
kink: cream pie
word count: 0.9k
warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, unprotected p in v, cream pie
taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The day you got on birth control, Steve was like a man possessed. You had raised the premise nonchalantly, whilst the boy was between your legs, tongue swirling around your pussy as you blurted out the fact that you had now been prescribed a certain little pill.
You had stopped him in his tracks, his wide brown eyes looking up at you from the apex of your thighs, your arousal coating his mouth and chin. Your fingers went to his hair, raking through the soft strands pulling the boy from his trance.
“Does that mean—?”
“Yes,” you cut him off, bucking your hips just enough to urge him back to what he was doing before.
“Fuck,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your doughy thighs in a bruising grip. Putting all his attention back to your dripping core, working you as best he could.
Steve’s eyes were closed as he groaned obscenely into your pussy, licking and sucking on your aching clit. You were soon hurtling towards the edge, sparks shooting through your body as your vision went fuzzy and your head went dizzy. Fingers tugging on Steve’s hair as you ground your pussy on Steve’s mouth.
The boy made quick work of his own underwear before sitting on his hunches between your legs, stroking over his stiff cock as he gazed at you through hazy eyes. Spitting in his palm, he lined himself up with your entrance.
“Are you sure about this?” He asked, his free hand found itself placed on your thigh, thumb stroking soothingly over the sensitive skin.
So you hooked your legs over Steve’s hips, your feet crossed at the small of his back, pulling him closer to you. Your foreheads were almost pressed together, the points of your noses knocking as you whispered against his lips, “Please.”
“Shit, okay—,” Steve murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat, exhaling a moan against your lips as he let the tip of his cock press into your hole. A moan which you gladly swallowed.
Steve began to roll his hips slow and deep against your own, his cock dragging out of your pussy at an agonising pace only for your cunt to suck him back in every single time. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his large palm clutching at your hip.
The sweet little moans and whines you breathed out below him along with the intense feeling of you wholly wrapped around him was pushing him towards his climax embarrassingly fast, the boy blurting out, “I don’t know, fuck, how much longer I can last, baby,” he whined, his skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, “pussy feel so. fucking. good.”
“Oh, Steve,” you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he picked up the pace now, his hips snapping against your own, the sound of skin slapping against skin sounding throughout your bedroom. All your thoughts incoherent, all your attempt at sentence complete nonsense as Steve fucked his thick cock in and out of your cunt.
Poor Steve tried to hold off as long as he could but it was no use, you felt too good, too warm, too wet. He tried to savour every moment of this latex-free rendezvous but the way you clenched around him with every thrust really did a number on his brain. He slithered a hand between your bodies in an attempt to lazily rub at your clit, egging you on to finish with him.
“Baby, I gotta cum,” he whined, hips beginning to stutter, his stomach beginning to tense, “where can I cum, pretty girl? Please tell me, fuck.” He pleaded, begged rather. The intense feeling building up in his lower stomach was becoming too much to bear.
“Inside me,” it came out strangled, a hoarse moan as you whimpered, nails digging into Steve’s broad shoulders, raking up his tan skin, “want you to cum inside me, Stevie, please?”
Cock growing impossibly stiffer, his heart thumping on overtime, if he wasn’t buried inside you to the hilt he’d ask you to pinch him. The pure thought of seeing his cum leaking from your pussy, the creamy white thick and warm inside you, sent Steve into overdrive.
He held himself up on his elbow whilst his hand cupped your cheek, his lips hot and wet on yours in a searing kiss. His hips still working against you, his fingers still rubbing at your puffy clit, both of your climaxes on the brink.
“Just like that,” you cried, “don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You arched your back off the sheets, pressing your chest against Steve’s hairy one, your skin buzzing as everything became hot and tingly, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.
“That’s it, baby,” Steve cooed, his hips unrelenting against you, “gonna stuff you full of my cum, pretty girl, is that what you want, huh?” He asked, “Wanna have my cum dripping from that pretty little pussy?”
“Yes!” you whined, pleading with Steve to give you what you wanted, which he always did. His thrusts began to grow sloppy, the boy taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he came undone above you.
Steve moaned that sweet little moan as he filled you with his cum, his chest heaving as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on your skin tough. His thighs shook as his toes curled, grumbling and groaning incoherent mumblings of praise and pussydrunk filth.
The sight before him when he finally pulled his cock from you was one he would never forget. Your pussy wet with your own juices and creamy with Steve’s cum leaking from your hole. He reached his fingers out to you, careful not to overstimulate you, spreading the stickiness over your puffy lips.
Having you spent like this, dripping with Steve’s cum was truly a sight for very sore eyes.
#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington oneshot#stranger things fan fiction#k.fic#kinktober2023
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I’m so ashamed to be requesting this… but I’ve been looking everywhere for a shower smut with Miguel O’Hara and I feel like I can trust you not to let me down😩😩😭 if you can, ONLY if you can I don’t wanna be a bother.
Hey, no need to be ashamed haha! That’s so sweet of you, thank you for trusting me with this 😉 and I hope this short blurb doesn’t let you down… I wrote this instead of focusing on my assignment lol!
Miguel smut under the cut, 18+ only
Your muscles were aching, the hot water spraying down your back helping to release some of the tension there. You had a long day and couldn’t wait to get home for some down time, and a hot shower was the perfect start to your relaxing evening. You hear the bathroom door open and the blurry large shadow of Miguel in the doorway. You know it’s him just by his sheer size, nobody else you knew took up that much space.
“Mig, can you grab me a towel? I forgot!” You shout, turning to rinse the shampoo out of your hair.
“You always forget,” he grumbles lowly, thinking you can’t hear him but he’s closer now.
“Yeah, I know I know, can you just get me— no, no! You can’t just—!”
It was too late. Miguel had stripped his clothes in record time — or maybe he walked into the bathroom already naked — and joined you in the shower, his height effectively blocking the water from spraying on you as his broad frame took up most of the shower space.
“You got me all wet, nena,” he says looking down at you, slowly backing you against the tile wall behind you.
“I didn’t tell you to come inside…”
He sniffs out a laugh.
“Actually—“
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
Reaching a hand up to pull him by the neck down, down, down to meet your lips, your tongues collide hotly under the spray of hot water. Pretty soon, you’re a moaning mess under his skillful tongue and roaming hands, lost in the sensation of your lover’s touch.
Miguel lifts you against the tiles and you gasp into his mouth at the cool wall against your back while he groans at the feeling of his hard cock bobbing against your core. He’s rubbing himself against you, effectively making you drip for him while the water ran down his back.
Both of you were wet now.
Removing himself from your lips for a moment, he rests his forehead against yours to look into your eyes and smile, a rare one, a real one. You don’t see this one often.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Tan buena que eres conmigo,” Mig tells you quietly before lining up his fat tip with your entrance and slowly pushing forward, kissing you again when you start moaning at the intrusion.
It’s always a stretch, no matter how much he tries to prep you. Inch by thick inch, he bullies his way into your cunt, massaging your breasts and mouthing at them to distract you. The sound when his lips wrap around your slippery skin is sinful, popping off your peaks with a satisfied hum while your chest heaves from everything you’re feeling.
He’s everywhere, around you and inside you all at once. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.
Once he bottoms out, he waits for your go ahead, a small nod while you rest your head against the cool tiles has him starting to pull out nefariously slow, intent on making you loose and pliant by the end of the session. Bucking his hips, he fills you again and again, pressing your body into the shower wall and grunting on every pass.
The water was already hot and the way he’s fucking you has you burning up, the coil tightening in your belly so much that you’re about to pass out. He notices your breath coming out shallower.
“Needed me to loosen you up, isn’t that right nena? Uh huh?”
You’re whining incoherently, eyes shut against the tiles as he plows into your pussy. You try to answer him but all that comes out are pathetic noises that you know only feed his ego.
“What was that, baby? You’re close, aren’t you, can feel you— ahhhhh!” He groans out loud when you finally gush around his girth, body shuddering in his arms.
Completely reliant on his strength to hold you up — the way you’re impaled on him also helping — you let go. Utterly and entirely, you let yourself go in his arms, trusting him to take care of you.
Gripping your ass as he holds you up, Miguel continues to fuck into your fluttering hole, bucking his hips untimely as he nears his own end after feeling yours. His growls and grunts are bordering on animalistic, the smooth golden planes of his body catching your eyes as you ride out his assault on your pussy. The way his biceps ripple when he flexes his hands holding you up, the way the vein in his neck throbs when he’s breathing heavily, the way his abs flutter when he’s close to cumming —
He’s absolutely stunning, and he’s all yours.
And he’s making you his, coming inside you and pressing his hips into yours, after essentially drilling you into the shower wall, he holds you there while groaning through his release.
The stress you were carrying was all gone, replaced with everything Miguel. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your evening with him.
S/o to my translator — @xbellaxcarolinax ❤️
#inbox 💌#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara imagine#atsv smut#atsv fanfiction
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Imagine trying to get mafia!Simon to take you away on a vacation. He’s been so stressed lately, and you want to be a good wife, and get him away from it for a while.
It also doesn’t hurt that you want him completely alone, while not picking up on how he wants the exact same thing…😩😩😩
yummy. this has a smidgen of primal prey and exhibitionism with a small side of breeding kink
———————————————————————
“hi.” you sat down on the couch, taking advantage of a rare day where simon was home before dinner. you had been sleeping together (actually sleeping) since the incident, but every morning he’d leave at 6am with only a forehead kiss and you wouldn’t see him until that night, sneaking under the covers with you and falling asleep immediately. you wanted more, you wanted your husband, but unfortunately his work was keeping him extremely busy.
simon missed you so much it ached. today was a rare occasion and he was hoping to actually spend some time with you, maybe another kiss or two. he fucked his fist daily in his morning shower, thinking about you, but never had time for anything more. so when you looked at him slyly and mentioned “you know we never had a honeymoon…”, he is all over it, immediately telling his bosses he’ll be gone for a week and booking flights to territories far outside any mafia business.
which is how you ended up on one of those private islands in the caribbean, only you two and the ocean for miles and miles. you’ve decided you need to have your husband, all of him, and are finally comfortable enough to go all the way with him. it’s just a matter of making him see that…
“so if we’re all alone…” you say after breakfast the first day, taking in the sunlight and how your backyard connects to the beach. “and i don’t want tan lines…” simon’s eyes are on you, burning holes into the skimpy bikini you have on, mask halfway up his face from eating breakfast up. he’s taking in all your curves, bit of belly and some stretch marks, cataloging every piece that you’re allowing him to see. your hands track his movements sensually, sliding up from your waist to your neck, and ever so slowly, undoing the ties of your top. you hold them there for a second, reveling in the hunger in your husbands eyes. you untie the straps at the waist and the top falls, baring all of your tits to a man who might devour you right here, right now.
to cover the blush on your face, you turn around, working your bikini bottoms off, adding some sway into your hips. you bend over, fully naked, and hear something between a whine and a growl from behind you. you turn around again, baring all of you this time. if he can’t tell you want him by this, you might need to just jump on him. there’s a glint in his eyes, a reminder of ghost, the man who gets what he wants no matter what.
you’re running towards the beach, simon right behind you. he’s stripping off his shirt and mask as he goes, too caught up in the moment of care. your feet touch the ocean, stopping for a second to take in the salt in the air. that was your mistake.
simon grabs you from behind, marking you with bruises that will last for days. “thought you could run, wife? could tease me and leave?” you’re clawing at him, pretending to struggle while secretly loving it, loving this man who can catch on so well to what you want. “say red if you want me to stop.” he whispers and you nod. simon bites down on your shoulder and you gasp, the sensation so foreign. through the pain you find pleasure in being marked his, finally. he presses you against him, clad in only boxers, allowing you to feel how hard you make him. you try to run again, only moving because he lets you, making it so your torso is above the water.
simon is right there with you, standing in this ocean, captivated by you. “i’m glad we’re finally alone.” he says, stopping the scene from before so you know how much he wants you. “me too.” you reply, hands running up his torso you’ve felt in the dark but never seen. and finally your hands make it to his face, thumbs running over faded scars and bruises. you pull him in for a deep kiss, murmuring “thank you” in between kisses, grateful for this man showing you all of him. he picks you up, chest to chest, hand pulling your hair as waves gently hit you both from behind. simon is done with this, the teasing and the wanting, he just wants to take you.
so he’s running again towards the house, desperate to have you. he lays you out on the kitchen counter, a meal he’s waited weeks for. your kisses turn sloppy and he stops them, causing you to whine. “let me taste my wife, yeah?” and you nod. he makes his way down, licking your nipples, giving you slight bites when you try to tug him down more. next is your stomach, where he places reverent kisses so you know how much he loves it. finally he’s right there, licking the salt from the juncture of your thighs. your hand finds his hair and tugs it, so he tugs your nipple right back. “siii” you moan. he noses the outside of your clit, a sharp gasp bursting from your throat. “that’s what i thought.” he dives in, moving your legs over his shoulders, he starts slow, licking the remaining water from your folds. kitten licks, getting accustomed to the scent of you, his day old scruff scratching your thighs. he moves toward your hole, swirling his tongue around before finally plunging in. he’s sure to keep his nose against you clit as he tastes you, the squelching sounds increasing with every lick.
he moves his right hand from your thigh to your ass, thumb on your other hole, pausing to let you tell him off. when you don’t, he presses in slightly, just the tip of his thumb, giving you more pressure. he can tell you’re on the top of your orgasm, your walls sucking his tongue in as your whines get more desperate. he hums “come for me, lovie.” and there you are, walls clenching around nothing as he pays attention to your clit. he pushes his thumb in a bit more into your ass, prolonging your orgasm as you feel full and empty at the same time.
“simon, fuck.” you whimper at your husband between your thighs. he slowly removes himself, thumb out of you, as he gives you a slow smile, covered in your juices. he climbs forward to kiss you and just as he does, inserts two fingers into your aching cunt. you moan into his mouth, needing more. he knows. “what do you need, lovie?” simon smirks down at you, knowing you’re absolutely cockdrunk and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. “i need…” you lose your nerve, suddenly aware of being fully naked with the doors open. anyone could walk by your villa and see you spread out in front of your husband. like a switch, the thought turns you on.
“i need you to fuck me.” you say, gaining courage. he raises his eyebrows, surprised at his little wife finally saying what she wants. his dick has recovered from the ocean water so he drags down his boxers, letting you see it jut out against his stomach, leaking precum.
“need who to fuck you?” he asks, somehow climbing on the table, forearms braced against your head as his dick lays on your cunt, teasing your clit. “say it.” he growls, pinching your nipple because of your silence. you draw him in for a quick kiss, a moment of tenderness, letting him see the trust in your eyes. “need my husband to fuck his wife.” you reply, hand snaking down to pump his cock. he grunts, cock lengthening at your touch. he lays his hand on top of yours as you guide his cock to your entrance. he takes a second to read your clit with it, and while you’re gasping at the sensation, he slots it in.
you both moan at the contact, reveling in the feeling. his thumb finds your clit, swirling it as he works his way in, small strokes until you fully let him in. finally his hips are against yours, his face in the crook of your neck. “simon.” you cry, needing him to move. and he does, hips pumping into you as he rises up, one hand under your head to protect it as the other plays with your clit. you’re already on edge from his fingers, so when he changes the angle to hit your pubic bone, you’re there, walls spasming around his cock as he draws it in and out. “you feel so good, lovie. i want to make this longer but fuck.” your nails draw his hips in, letting him use you to reach his orgasm. you give him sloppy kisses, saliva dripping down to spread beneath your tits, showing him how much you want him to use you as you suck his tongue.
“come in me, si. want you to get me pregnant.” you both know you’re on birth control but that doesn’t matter in the moment. “waddling around, everyone’ll know how good you fuck your wife.” that’s it, simon’s cumming in you, white liquid seeping down your folds as your womb can’t contain all of it. you both leave his cock in you as he collapses into you, breathing hard. “want you to fuck me like that all the time, si.” you whisper, letting him know how much you liked that. “gonna be a good little wife for me? bend over anytime i want?”
“yes sir.”
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley smut#cod 141#simon riley wife#mafia au#fluff#breeding k1nk#honeymoon#tornadothoughts
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↺ that southern drawl. old cowboy’s first time bottoming. hanky code. soundgasm link.
“i’ve never seen a cowboy without his hat.” at that, there was a confused glint in the strangers eyes, before you gesture towards the rust colored hanky in his back pocket.
the left one, to your surprise. that can change.
he nods in understanding, sitting up straight and shifting to face you. “left ‘em home. old boy needs a break.” you chuckle, now taking a seat beside him as he pushes his glass to the side.
“what color is it?” a pause. “the hat.” there’s a belly laugh given before the answer. “brown.”
you make a noise, clicking your tongue, then taking the hat off your head and placing it atop his own. after situating it right, you take a good look at him for the first time that night, holding his chin. he lets you, staying still as if you commanded him to. your gaze alone was enough to make him silent.
he’s got a stubble, with the shine of a few gray strands, the same thing going for the grown-out hair on his head. you spot smiles lines, crows feet, some forehead wrinkles, all on tanned skin. your black leather cowboy hat brought it together.
his adams apple bobbed slightly, almost nervous as he’s never been observed like this before. he’s usually in your place. oddly enough, he doesn’t mind the switch. might even like it.
“you look better in black.” no, he loves it.
time seemed to blur together as you both drank, and eventually he ended up desperately grinding against your jean clad thigh. his breathy grunts were muffled by your lips, thin flannel hardly shielding his back from the cool bathroom stall door he was pushed against.
you separate, earning a groan from him, but before he could complain anymore you unbuckle his belt. “you givin’ into me, cowboy?” your hand reaches back, slipping the hanky out of his back pocket. “this don’t mean nothin’ to you?” you laugh in his face, him completely ignoring you as his hips move faster. his panting started getting whiner, unashamed; his role was made obvious, why not go all out?
though, you had other plans. using that same bandana, you gag him, shoving the fabric between his wet lips. “don’t get too loud now, boy.” he gave a huff, borderline whine, through his nose, leaning his head back until it hit the door. once he was looking away, you unbutton his jeans, pulling them down to rest just under his ass.
you palm his ass, spreading him open while spitting on your hand. you rub your middle and ring finger against his hole, before one pushes inside. his hands grip at your shoulders, biting down and drooling onto the bandana. “look at that. not as tight as i thought you’d be, huh? you finger yourself, partner?” it almost feels like you’re taunting him, and it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.
your hat tilts and covers half of his face, and when you adjust it, you see how his eyes are locked onto your bulge— so close to his freed dick. his hips jut up, attempting to hump against you and get away from the finger in his ass. you show some mercy, pressing your cock onto his and playing with his tip. the texture of your pants felt rough rubbing along the underside of his dick, sucking in a breath as his legs twitch. one jolted, and you hook it onto your arm to get a better angle as you add another finger.
he couldn’t decide what to focus on, all he knew is that he wasn’t going to come until your dick was inside him. he had to be stubborn in some way, for the sake of his own dignity. his takes the hanky out of his mouth, hardly acknowledging the amount of drool collected in the cloth.
“come— c’mon, boss, if yer’ g’nna fuck me, then fuck me.” and how could you turn that down?
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summer is with you - j.fisher
part one (a glimpse of summer) - but can be read on its own!
masterlist
pairings: Jeremiah fisher x reader
warnings: fluff
a/n: THERE ARE NO SPOILERS OF SZN2 OR BOOK 2!!!
the door to your bedroom creaks open, you can hear him shushing the old hinges for their squeakiness.
you feel the mattress dip and can smell his shampoo, the smell makes a smile form to your lips as your eyes flutter open to see him staring at you. you could get used to waking up to his beautiful blue eyes.
“good morning.” he whispers gently placing a kiss to your forehead that makes your nose scrunch. you mumble the words back and flip over onto your other side for more sleep. usually you’re up and at ‘em, but summer time is meant for relaxing and taking each day one at a time. you’d have enough Jeremiah for three months.
“what are you doing today?” he asks nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, you can feel his caramel colored curls tickling your skin making your body’s ticklish reflex kick in and kick his shin.
“trying to sleep.” you mumble shoving your face into your pillow.
“I have work in an hour, will you wake up for me?”he peppers, whatever part of your face is visible to him, with kisses before he finally leaves your bedroom.
the same hinges squeak yet again, but this time he doesn’t shush them, he just allows them to wake you up, and if that wasn’t enough Conrad’s stomping feet up the stairs certainly did.
“morning!” he calls into your bedroom completely ignoring that you hadn’t even risen out of bed, but the commotion of a summer morning certainly does.
—
salty hair, golden tan lines, a good book, and frozen lemonade are your company at the beach until Jeremiah’s shift was over. you lay sprawled across your towel listening to the seagulls and the ocean waves crash against the sand while reading.
any minute now you knew you would hear the clap of his flip flops against the sand, you can feel the excitement bubble in your stomach.
“y/n!” you hear him call as he runs against the thick sand, his flip flops kick sand every which way until he finally collapses against the edge of your towel. he’s wearing his red swim trunks from lifeguarding, and was throwing off the tank top they made him wear.
“hi,” you smile up from your book deciding it was no longer important. the beautiful smile and tan skinned boy in front of you was much more exciting than words on a page, “how was work?”
“boring, per usual.”
he takes the chance to kiss your chapped lips, and it’s like he’d been waiting to do it all day. the passion and desire behind it, made you melt as you reciprocate the same energy. his hand tugs on a strand of knotted hair from the waves, your mouth opens in response allowing his tongue to slip inside your mouth. he’d waited hours to kiss you.
“what’s all this for?” you pull away placing your hand on his visibly rising chest. his smile widens allowing you to see his pearly white teeth as he just shrugs, “can a guy miss his girlfriend?”
you nod pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before collapsing back against the sand, “just lay with me, jere.” you open your arms up and he doesn’t take a second to think before resting his head against your chest.
“I could spend all day here with you.” he sighs settling his body against yours. your legs naturally intertwine with one another, his fingers rake through your hair.
“cousins and you are my favorite.” you say with a long happy sigh as you close your eyes. you listen to his breathing pattern, the seagulls chattering, and the sound of the ocean. you could lose track of time here, and somehow you always do, because august always comes so soon.
“you’ll always be my favorite part of cousins, y/n.”
#the summer i turned pretty#tsitp#tsitp x reader#tsitp x you#tsitp fanfic#tsitp jeremiah#tsitp x y/n#tsitp imagine#tsitp imagines#tsitp fic#tsitp x oc#jeremiah fisher fluff#jeremiah fisher x reader#jeremiah fisher imagine#jeremiah fisher x y/n#jeremiah fisher#jeremiah fisher fanfic#jeremiah fisher fic#Jeremiah fisher x you#jeremiah x y/n#jeremiah x reader#gavin casalegno#conrad fisher#tsitp s2#tsitp season 2#tsitp oneshot#tsitp conrad#the summer i turned pretty fics#the summer i turned pretty fic#the summer I turned pretty imagine
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141 Headcanons: On Holiday
John Price is 100% a dad type. He likes golfing and fishing and sailing. Activities that let him unwind, sometimes make new friends in the shape of other middle-aged men at the country club or at the docks or at the lake. Rents a little cabin by the lake, where you can take a soak or sunbathe, while he goes out with his little fishing boat and try (and fail) to catch something nice for dinner.
Johnny MacTavish is an adventurous type. He likes hiking and camping, stuff that lets him stay busy, and will definitely explore some forest or national park or mountain range. But he also likes fun activities. Music festivals, for example. He'll definitely book you all-inclusive 3-day-long tickets even though there's only one or two artists/bands you want to see, just so you can have that experience and have fun together.
Kyle Garrick is a family lad. His family is big and loving and they book a little trip every year somewhere fun. It might be a new destination, or it might be somewhere they've been before, or maybe somewhere to visit family. But he loves bringing his love along, go do all the touristy things, see all the landmarks, take loads of pictures, try new restaurants and new food, and do cultural things like reading all the plaques on statues and fountains and monuments.
Simon Riley likes peace and quiet. That's the jist of it. Needs it, in fact. So, prepare to rent a little historical cottage in the Cotswold, or maybe a beach condo, or a cabin in the woods. Doesn't matter, what matters it's that it's fairly isolated, with no neighbors to really bother him. He can sleep in late, with no one to force him to do things he doesn't want to do, no schedule to uphold, no people to answer to. He'll roll out of bed at noon, make himself tea and go sit outside and feell the breeze on his skin for once.
Crack headcanons: Beach Day Episode™️
John Price tends to burn, instead of tan, surprisingly. Probably because his uniforms tend to cover him from neck to toes, leaving only his hands and face showing... And if you'd expect his face to be immune to burning, you'd be wrong. Especially because he's terrible at applying sunblock. By the time you notice, his cheeks, nose and forehead are red, and there are white lines around his muttonchops/beard where the sunblock didn't absorb... so he just looks ridiculous.
Johnny MacTavish likes to say he's not English/British... until he goes on holiday to southern Europe and he's suddenly the perfect example of the stereotypical English tourist. Football jersey, denim shorts, socks and slides/sandals, his entire skin is burned to a crisp and red, and, of course, he's wearing the most stupid-looking sunglasses you'll ever see... And then he gets to the beach, takes off his shorts and he's wearing a red speedo.
Kyle Garrick is 100% the type to disappear off his towel while you're sunbathing and, by the time you notice, he's in a completely different side of the beach playing beach paddle ball, beach volleyball or beach football with a group of other blokes or even with little kids. And he does all this while wearing his little cap (but backwards) and while absolutely covered in tanning oil. Does he need it? No. But he likes the feel of it.
Simon Riley would not be caught dead in swimming trunks or a speedo. The man needs full coverage. He's in a wet/surf suit and wearing a facekini WITH his stupid dad sunglasses and, maybe even, a visor. He gets fidgety if he has to sit in his towel for too long so he's also the type who'll go for a walk out of nowhere, down the beach, and, eventually, cross paths with an Asian grandma who's wearing the same exact outfit as him.
#ikea writes 💚#masterlist#headcanon#simon ghost riley#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#cod headcanons#141 headcanons#holiday headcanons#crack headcanons#soap headcanons#ghost headcanons#price headcanons#gaz headcanons
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The Bratty Belle
Chapter 1
Summary: You’ve just moved to the city and want to get to know your new neighbours. One very snarky and very handsome one in particular presents you with a challenge.
WC: 2k
After spending all day unpacking, you finally sat down to observe your new surroundings: you’d kept most of your old furniture, like the vanity table perched in the corner along with your beloved princess bed- complete with an intricately carved wooden headboard. The room was pleasantly familiar beside the new addition of white chiffon curtains that hung around your bed, shrouding you in a comforting cocoon. You let out a dreamy sigh, fiddling with the numerous pillows and plushies littered all over your plush bedding. You might be old enough to move to the big city and have your own condo, but you’ll still cuddle your tatty old teddy to sleep.
Peering out the window, you observe the neighbouring houses strewn along the street opposite, a green meadow separating the complexes. Most of them had a door and mailbox per floor, signifying that a different person resided on each of the levels. The same could not be said, however, for the last house at the very end of the street, which stood detached and boasted a single entryway. It was the only house you could see into being that it was directly opposite yours- unlike the other condos, which joined together in rows a little further up the road. You’d only moved in 2 days ago but noticed that the blinds were shut and the lights always remained off. Maybe no one lived there?
As a reward for your gruelling work unpacking, you took some candy along with your sketchpad and headed out to the field outside your new home. Deciding against another layer over your pink mini dress, you grabbed a picnic blanket and staked out the perfect spot - cosy and tucked away so that the neighbours down the road wouldn’t notice you. Your feet kicked the air playfully as you doodled the flowers in your line of sight, humming contentedly with a cherry-flavoured lollipop hanging from your lips. You were so engrossed in your sketch that you almost didn’t notice the shadow looming over you, blocking the warm sunlight.
“Who are you?” A tall man with dark features frowned at you and you looked up, mirroring his frown.
“I don’t talk to strangers.” You huffed, returning your attention to your notebook. That wasn’t strictly true- you were bubbly and befriended anyone who would have you but this man in particular intimidated you.
“What are you, ten?” He scoffed and raised his thick eyebrows, forehead wrinkles deepening.
Much to your annoyance, you could sense that he wasn’t leaving before he got a satisfactory response - so you put your pencil down and looked up at him again. His cerulean blue eyes shone so brightly they practically twinkled and a sharp spark flew through your heart at the sight. Rugged, almost-black hair choppily framed his chiselled face, which had smudges of dirt and sweat flecking his tanned skin. A manual labourer, perhaps?
“I’m Bunny. Jus’ moved in over there.” You turn around and point at the apartment behind you. “And you are?”
“Happy to see you.” His deep, raspy voice replied teasingly.
“I meant your name.” You corrected him snappily.
“My real one or a fake one like you just gave me?” You pout your lips; you didn’t like his sharp tongue.
“I’m James. James Kelly.” He said after a while of staring at your scrunched-up face. “I’ll call you by your stupid pet name if you crave affection that badly.”
Your mouth gaped open at his callous words and you felt as though you’d been unmasked. It was undoubtedly pathetic but the truth was you considered your first name to be too harsh, too cold. You much preferred being sensitively referred to by an affectionate pet name- one that people often didn’t realise they were being duped into using, assuming it was real. But not him.
“You won’t get the opportunity to use it, I’ll make sure of that.” You crossed your arms and furrowed your brows.
“Well you’re just a little ball of anger aren’t you?” He chuckled, finding your short temper adorable. “Very tense for one so young.”
“And you’re very nosy for one so old.” You gather your colouring pencils into your fluffy pencil case, your creative inspiration rattled by his presence. You surmised that he was at least 10 years your senior; his hands looked weathered but still supple, his crows feet visible but not yet entrenched.
“Hey, you don’t have to move, I’m leaving.” He protests but you’re already on your feet. “Alright moody, suit yourself.”
You shoot him a displeased look as you clutch your sketchpad tightly against your chest, turning your back to him and taking a step forward.
“By the way.” He adds and you halt tentatively. “You should really wear a longer dress if you’re gonna be laying down like that. I could see your panties.”
Your cheeks flush a burning red and you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment.
“They’re cute though. I like the strawberry print.” You can feel his grin beaming through his words and you want nothing more than to run away and never see his stupid handsome face again.
“Leave me alone.” You attempt to say confidently but it comes out as more of a squeak. You tried to walk off with as much dignity as you could manage under the pressure of his burning gaze but you ended up frantically skipping back, wanting to go home and bury your face in your pillows as soon as possible.
“What a rude man.” You thought. “Rude and irritatingly attractive.”
Later that evening, you took it upon yourself to bake several lots of chocolate chip cookies- eager to use them as a way of getting into your new neighbour’s good graces since you lived off a steady diet of praise and compliments. You separated the different batches and ordered them into various paper bags, each lovingly wrapped with a ribbon and placed delicately into a woven wicker basket. Glancing into the mirror before you set off, you manoeuvred your lace-trimmed tank top down a little to accentuate your cleavage- you loved to watch men struggle to maintain eye contact with you.
After determining your chest looked too bare, you bounded over to the bedroom to retrieve your favourite necklace- a dainty silver rabbit pendant. As you fiddled with the clasp, something out of the window caught your eye- you noticed that the house usually shrouded in darkness had a glimmer of light peeking through its half-opened blinds.
Curiosity inevitably got the better of you so you grabbed your baked goods and made a beeline to the dark house, intrigued by the prospect of who its resident might be.
Clearing your throat and brushing some creases out of your skirt, you press the sooty doorbell and hope your mystery neighbour is in a sociable mood. The hopeful smile is wiped off your face when the door opens and you see the same rude man from this morning before you.
“Look at that! My very own girl scout.” He laughs incredulously and you form a face of disgust.
“It’s you.” You recoiled.
“Try saying that with less repulsion.” He retaliated, eyes flicking between your frowning face, your tits and the basket of cookies. “Coming to a man’s house and being disappointed that he lives there. That a hobby of yours?”
“N-no, I didn’t know who lived here.” You stuttered, taking in the sight before you: he must’ve just gotten out the shower as his hair was dripping wet and his shirt unbuttoned, a silver cross necklace dangling over his collarbones and positioned between his firm pecs.
“Thought you said you don’t talk to strangers, let alone turn up at their house.” He cocked his head to the side, leaning against his doorframe. “Uninvited, at that.”
“I don’t. At least not the rude ones who make comments about a girl’s underwear.” You retorted petulantly.
“Hey, that was me looking out for you. Don’t know what kind of pervs live ‘round here- they could take advantage of a girl like you. Those for me?” He points at the basket.
“I-I guess.” You go to take out one bag but he snatches the whole basket. “What do you mean a girl like me?”
“Oh you know-“ He speaks casually, mouth half full of his first helping of baked goods already. “Ditzy. Spoilt and naive.”
You huff in disbelief- you’d hardly had two conversations with the guy and he’d managed to insult you several times already.
“Don’t get offended, princess. I’m sure you’re not used to people speaking so candidly with you but welcome to the real world.” He makes a face indicating that he was impressed with your confectionary, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “This your first time living away from home?” He points his second cookie at your face before stuffing that in his mouth too.
“Uh, yeah.” You drawl, confused. What planet was this guy from?
“Alone?” He lowers his voice, staring hungrily into your eyes.
“Yeah.” You squeak, wondering why your confidence had abandoned you.
“Shouldn’t have told me that.” He sneered. “I could be a predator and you’ve just armed me with the knowledge that you have no one to protect you.” His eyes look crazed and you get the sense that he got a kick out of playing around with you.
“Well, are you?” You reply unamused and he drops the act, looking at you through squinted discerning eyes.
“Mm, no.” He sniffed. “Haven’t got the stomach for it. Great cookies, by the way. You’re quite the little baker.”
You can’t resist the smile that creeps up on your face, delighted with his approval. “I try.” You humbly gleam, teetering on your tiptoes.
“Aw, you actually look sort of pretty when you’re not scowling.” Your glowing face drops in an instant, marred by his insult.
“Sort of?”
“Yeah. Like in an endearing but bratty child kind of way.” He notices your sullen face, tensed up with disapproval and confusion. “You’re not really my type, sweetheart.”
“Y-you’re not mine either!” You spit out a little too fast.
“The only difference is I don’t care.” He snorts and you remain in stunned silence, your ego bruised beyond words. “What’s the matter? Never had a man uninterested in you? Come in, I’ll make you a consolatory coffee.”
He gestures for you to enter and you walk in cautiously, following his lead to the lounge. His house was minimalist, fitted with sleek black furniture and a surprisingly clean kitchen at the other end of the living room.
“I don’t drink coffee. And what is your type then?” You sink down onto his leather armchair and cross your arms.
“I like a more mature, developed woman.” You look down at your large round breasts. “I meant emotionally.” He adds before you can say anything.
“I’m plenty mature.” You think grumpily. You knew better than to base your self-worth on the validation of a man but goddamn it, you wanted him to like you even if you didn’t like him.
“My type is also mature men.” You countered haughtily.
“I don’t recall asking.” He pours himself a coffee and sits down opposite you, continuing to steal glances at your chest.
“I also like them wealthy.” You add, spurred on by his disaffection.
“Like your daddy?” He smirks as he takes a sip and you scowl at him.
“Oh no, not the frown again.” He falters mockingly. “If looks could kill…you know Bunny, you shouldn’t let things get to you so easily.”
“Can’t help it. I’m sensitive.” You mumble half-mindedly, preoccupied with plotting all the ways in which you could seduce him. You tried to have self-respect, you really did, but it was just so hard. Especially when you’d just been dealt such an unprecedently juicy challenge; a man who didn’t want to sleep with you? It was practically unheard of and you humbly decided you would take it upon yourself to cure him of this affliction.
Next chapter
Taglist:
@crazy4hotmen @erinkeifer @mortalheartache @arzua10 @mugwump327 @offthethirlwall
#hayden christensen#hayden christensen fanfiction#anakin skywalker#James Kelly#American heist#james Kelly fanfiction#anakin skywalker smut#anakin x reader#anakin x you
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Before the Storm
Summary: Gus finds way to keep you warm as you both sail on his boat during April.
Pairing: Major Gustav (Gus) Phillips x Reader (no description)
Word count: 2K
Warnings: 18+, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex (woman receiving), a bit of fingering, teasing, a sweater, a pinch of angst.
A/N: Gus is a character we know nothing about only that he is an unhinged gentleman (?) so I just went with what I felt and oh I hope others will enjoy :). Many thanks to the lovely @captainsy-cookiemonster and @agniavateira for beta and emotional support.
Please reblog with comments if you enjoyed 🖤
Before the Storm
Gus. Gustav. Gustavus.
Such a timid name for a man who was wilder than the seas he sailed. When you first met Gus, you thought that he was the ocean itself; Untamable, unpredictable, a maelstrom of a man. Little did you know, you were wrong about him; if Gus was anything, it must have been the god of the sea.
The only thing he was missing was a golden trident.
Resting on the deck of his yacht with a small plate of local sweets and a book by your side, you watched him through a veiled gaze. The tall man stood at the bow, preparing the boat for the evening sail. You knew very little about nautical travel, but you always enjoyed watching him work on his boat.
Liberats - he called her - the only place he thought of as home.
His large chocolate curls swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, thin threads of sliver-grey rimming each ringlet, though as the April sun began to set, those fine curls were kissed by vivid hues of purple, orange and pink.
A deep frown line creased his forehead as he held onto the mast. You entertained yourself at the notion that he had the same exact look when he was hovering and grunting above you. Lightly snorting at the thought, you reached for the plate and grabbed a sweet while continuing to stare.
“Like what you see?” Gus asked without looking away from the mast. His thick English accent rang through your ears in a melodious tone. He had a way of making everything sound either like poetry or sex.
You ogled him gingerly. In complete contrast to you, who lay in undergarments, Gus donned a chunky grey sweater and dark work trousers. You hated that. It hid what you knew was underneath it. The body of a god.
“Hmm…” you stretched, “I haven’t seen enough to decide.”
A slanted smirk tugged his cheek, and he threw a side gaze at you, but his smile fell as he noticed the little shiver in your arms. You weren’t exactly dressed for the season, in fact, you weren’t even dressed for a cruise, but for the time being, simple pair panties and bra sufficed.
Until they didn’t.
Not saying another word, he let go of the mast and sauntered toward you, mumbling, “oh, darling,” while already slipping the heavy sweater off. Abs and pecs that might as well have been crafted by a master sculptor glistened in the waning sun. Tanned and sweaty, his skin was like honey. Busy appreciating the view, you didn’t notice the lumpy grey thing that headed toward you at the speed of light until it smacked you in the face.
“Gaws!” Your words were muffled by the sweater that covered your entire head.
Annoyed, you tugged it away, one brow arched with ire, but your expression softened as Gus’ scent poured upon you; seafoam, salt - fresh and untamed - you inhaled it, inhaled him.
Unable to resist the urge to be enveloped by his presence, you pulled the sweater on and sighed at the comfort it brought, your fingers clutched onto the collar to hold it closer to your nose and with a deep breath, you took him in. For a moment, you felt yourself slipping into delirium, but then the warm shadow that loomed over your face dragged you back to reality.
Gus stood over, the breadth of him blocking the sun. Head tilted down, arms crossed together, he observed the treat before him, a crafty grin playing on his lips.
“Looks better on you than on me.” Hand reached up to his moustache, he twirled its edge between his index and his thumb. “I sure like what I see.”
You smiled sweetly, your bare legs stretching forward in an invitation. “Too bad this sweater doesn’t cover all of me…”
His marine-blue gaze followed instantly, a flicker of excitement igniting within them. “Cara Mia, need me to keep you warm?”
Gus was the type of man who never needed a special invitation. Nor did he ever waited for an answer. Simply, because he always got what we wanted. Gently, he sank to his knees before your feet, and reached for your ankles. His hands were roughed by manning the ropes of the boat and things you didn’t wish to think of, yet his touch was as tender as the caress of a wave as he ran his hands up and down the length of your legs.
“Smooth,” he murmured, “it always stuns me how soft women are.”
Half chuckling, half moaning, you laid back onto the deck, casually reaching for the bowl of sweets and grabbing a piece. Gus’ glare darted at you, watching you nibble while the coarse pads of his fingers glided below your knees, his touch sent a stream of shivers that coursed through your skin, making you tremble in his grip.
It took every drop of strength to remain composed and not give yourself entirely, you were always afraid of him having too much power over you, and Gus knew that and knew just how to bend you - figuratively and literally.
His palms smoothed higher with each stroke, kneading your thighs, fingertips reaching close to your heat yet not close enough. Every wave of his touch only left you more frustrated. Wetness pooled at your core, the unmistakable bloom within calling for him in yearning, like a flower opening, awaiting to be seeded, yet he took his time.
“Still cold?” Gus provoked at how wildly you quivered.
Lips pressed into a thin line, you swallowed a moan and shook your head, clutching onto the sweater as if it served any protection, but all hell broke loose as, without any warning, he pressed his thumb against the wet fabric of your underwear.
“Fuck!”
“Such a dirty mouth.”
Giving into a shuddering yip, you pushed your pelvis forward, trying to grind into his thumb, only that he pulled back.
“Gus! Stop this!!!”
“Stop?” His eyes flared comically. “I thought you were enjoying this…”
Ready to throw the book at his stupid face, you frowned, which caused Gus to chuckle before he hooked a finger below the strap of your underwear. “Now…” his voice dropped, and his eyes darkened as if touched by a storm cloud. “Are you going to say it?”
Already at wit's end, you pouted and let out a breathy, “please...”
He tugged on the strap a little, sliding the garment to the mid of your hips, yet not enough to expose you. “Please, what? Cara Mia?”
“Please, fuck me.”
Triumph burnt on his face. Overjoyed that once again he managed to break you, he paused, eyes gliding at every inch of your body while his fangs grazed over his bottom lip. The way he stared at you, you could have sworn that you could feel his touch wherever his gaze landed; your mouth, your breasts, your nipples, the base your belly - he was everywhere, but you needed more. You needed him inside you.
“No.”
“No?!” Your cry could be heard across the 7 seas. “What do you mean ‘no’!?”
“You had your candy, I think I’ll have mine.”
Without any other delay, he yanked on your underwear and threw them over his shoulders. Exposed to the open air, you breathed a shuddering gasp. The chill ocean-breeze blew upon your slit, further storming the tidal-like spasms that swept over you. Still, it was nothing in comparison to the storm that Gus was about to bestow upon you.
The bearded Adonis looked ethereal as he crawled between your thighs, his curls and brazen bristle tickled your skin. His broad, muscular shoulders flexed in a predatory motion, and his face wore a dark, preying shade to match. Brows knit together, jaw clenched, his fingers dug into your ass, and with a guttural groan, he lowered his head to the valley of your thighs and granted you the sinful kiss of Poseidon.
Slow, yet not lazy, his mouth drew a languid course between the little pearl above your cove to your inner thighs as if testing the water before plunging in. The touch of his hot lips and coarse bristle was enough to elicit the most desperate yelps from you, and like a siren washed up on the shore, you writhed for your god, begging for salvation.
It wasn’t as if Gus didn’t know every inch of your body, yet still, he revelled at the different cries that escaped you as his mouth marked different parts of your flesh, almost as if it was a game to him, as if you were a toy he examined and coaxed to his whims until you were completely broken and at his mercy. It was only then when you were bent and vulnerable, that’s he would tear you completely apart.
With his breath hot on your flesh, he hummed against your clit. Legs quaking, you prepared yourself for yet another tender kiss, only that instead, you felt the wet glide of his tongue teasing your flesh. Once, then twice, his velvety serpent stroked and twirled. The third time he wrapped his lips around the tender nub and suckled with every ounce of love he felt toward you.
Inarticulate sounds followed from your throat, your toes curled as the spasming jolts of ecstasy flowed all across your body. He brought you near impulsion, but he wasn’t done playing with you just yet. Grunting, he slipped the edge of his tongue between your swollen petals, pressing just enough to provoke you, yet not enough to bring you undone.
You wanted to scream his name but found that you had no words. Instead, you heaved and cried breathlessly, your head pressing to the wooden deck beneath you, eyes wide open, staring at the seagulls floating in the air. In the open ocean, everyone could see you. Everyone and no one. You were one with the gods and the sea creatures and you sure as hell writhed as if you were drowning on dry land.
Appeased by your helplessness, Gus locked his strong arms around your thighs, holding you spread open and in place as he finally dove his tongue inside you.
“Fuck!” Your back arched against the surface. Tears of joy brimmed in your eyes as Gus fucked you ardently with his tongue. Over and over, he plunged into your cove, groaning and savouring the dew that dripped from it as if it was a feast.
As greedy as they come, he wanted to devour you; there wasn’t a single patch of skin he hadn’t laved, kissed or suckled. Even while his tongue wreaked havoc on your clenching cunt, his mouth continued to suckle upon your swollen lips with little hums of delight that vibrated through you.
It wasn’t fair. He brought you on the verge of pleasure on despair. You felt the storm within you rage; violent waves of pleasure gushed and surged, begging to be unleashed. Knowing your body so well, Gus wrapped one sturdy arm around your belly, held your mound to his hungry mouth, and finally, took his fingers and buried them deep inside you to force you into ecstasy.
Climax shattered through you in several electric currents that continued to hit. Each one stronger than the other Still convulsing in ecstasy, you lifted your eyes to Gus. The last rays of sunlight glazed around him in a golden aura. For a moment there, you imagined him as the lord of the ocean, who, in his fury, pierced his trident at the ocean’s bed and split it apart.
Split you apart.
Spent, you fell back to the deck with a deep sigh, your eyes gazing aimlessly at the evening sky while you snuggled Gus’ sweater around you. The moon had already risen, surrounded by a shy group of gleaming stars resembling precious pearls embroidered on a blue dress. Memories of childhood sprang to mind; summer days in the sun, when you floated carless over the waves.
“Are you alright?” Gus moved to lie beside you. His knuckles brushed your cheek in a tender caress.
You nodded weakly, your breath still hitched from the intensity of the pleasure he wrought from you.
“Speak, Cara Mia,” Gus asked gently and, with a small pinch around your chin, brought you to stare at him. "I need to hear you say it."
Quiet, you stared back, your lower lip parted, but no words came as you studied his face. The little wrinkles around his eyes and the silver tainted his beard made him look somehow pure. So pure, it broke your heart to think that once you dock again, you will have to take off the masks and costumes you wore and be who you really were - soldiers fighting to liberate the world and Gus, as spirited and wild as he was, would never be free, never be able to fully commit to anyone other than his cause.
Still, you loved him.
Enough to follow him into hell.
#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill fanfiction#major gus Phillips x reader#Gustav Phillips x reader#ministry of ungentlemanly warfare#gus phillips#the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare#gus march phillips
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|| another installment i won't even apologize for i'll be back to working on requests later this morning let me have my brainrot in peace ✌🏼 this newest episode broke something loose in my head
[Heads up!: handjob (Law receiving), hickeys, subby Law a lil, cursing, Law has vitiligo you can pry that from my cold dead fingers, gn!reader]
"You're gonna overheat."
If Law hears you, he pretends that he doesn't. His head is tipped back against the lip of the tub, arms braced against the sides. Water beads over his skin, half-traced along the dark lines of his tattoos.
"You look comfortable though," you remark, undeterred by his silence as you set a clean towel aside for him, eyeing him for a moment before you make your decision.
It's the soft sound of clothing hitting the floor that finally gets Law's attention, eyes opening as he tilts his head to take in your now bare body. "What are you doing?"
"Gonna join you," you say, nudging at his shoulder. "Scoot up."
The tub is big enough for you both in the barest sense of the term, with little wiggle room ㅡ but you still manage to settle comfortably behind him and you reach to coax him into leaning back against you.
"Better?" You ask, and Law's eyelids flutter as you sweep your fingers from his forehead into his hair, combing through in lazy strokes that make him sigh. "You need to relax more, you know."
"Can't," he answers, and you huff before deciding it isn't worth the argument tonight ㅡ he's supposed to be relaxing, after all. You observe him for a moment before you settle your hands on his shoulders and begin kneading. "What are youㅡ"
"Giving you a massage," you answer as you work at the corded muscle beneath tanned skin. "So you relax."
Law grunts in answer but doesn't protest, and you smile to yourself when he sighs and eases into the work of your fingers. His shoulders are the worst of it, though you sweep your thumbs against his neck as well.
Lulled into a drowsy half-sleep by the warm water and your touch, Law stirs when you press a kiss to his neck. "Thought you said you were giving me a massage."
"I am," you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice. "I'm being thorough." You press another kiss to his neck and then to his shoulder, lavishing special attention to the patches of skin lighter than the rest.
Your hands wander, flutter of your fingers over his ribs and up, tracing slick lines along the curve of his tattoo. Law hisses when you graze a fingernail against one nipple and then the other, a warning in his voice as he speaks. "[Name]."
You try not to laugh. "I'm not doing anything," you coo, faux innocence that makes Law's teeth grit as you continue to work over his nipples, tugging until they're stiff before you pet down the line of his abdomen.
With your mouth at his shoulder and your hands working down towards his hips, Law can hardly be blamed for how his body responds, the soft noise that escapes his lips at the wrap of your fingers around his length.
"Shh." You nip at his skin, worry blossoms of pink that you soothe with your tongue. "Let me take care of you, hm?"
There's a protest on the tip of his tongue that this is not the time nor the place for this, but your grip becomes a little more firm and he makes a soft, choked noise as he bucks into your hand.
The movement of the water is a give away for what's going on below the thin layer of bubbles, but you're hardly worried about that when you've locked the door. All you're focused on is the way Law's head tips against your shoulder and the flush to his cheeks, half the residual heat of the bath and half arousal as you stroke him.
The hand unoccupied below the water splays against his abdomen to drag back up to his nipples, admiring the way he shudders against you and huffs a soft curse. It's not often you get this kind of upperhand over him during intimate moments, and it's a heady feeling to have him so completely in your hold.
"Fuck," Law half-gasps as you thumb over his tip, shivering as you pick up your rhythm, feeling the way he throbs in your hold. His teeth lock around a groan, sound muffled as he fucks into your hand.
You wonder if this is how Law feels when he watches you fall to pieces underneath him in various ways, eagerly drinking in the way your boyfriend writhes, chest rising with stuttered, shallow breathing.
You hum as you work your way up the column of his neck, lingering at the bird-wing tempo of his pulse before you nip at the shell of his ear. "You sound so pretty like this," you purr, "I think I could get used to this."
Law's orgasm surprises you both for the abrupt way it crashes over him, choked grunt leaving his lips as he bucks hard into your hand and shudders as he spills into the water.
You stroke him until he reaches down to still your hand, breathing hard as he turns to give you a look. "You ruined the point of this bath."
You have the grace to look sheepish, though your heart leaps at the dark promise lurking in Law's eyes. "Are you complaining?"
"No," he answers, eyes flashing as he eyes your lips. "I just hope you know what you're in for."
#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#bye i blushed writing this its uh *checks time*#1:30am gbye crawls into bed
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My Future In You | 2.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist
Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.
Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, enemies to lovers kinda thing, requited love but they’re idiots your honour, smut, pinv, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy / birth complications
…
A little past 1am, legs stretched out ahead of you, draped across Bradley’s legs. Some old straight to TV movie playing, giggling like a couple of teenagers. Bradley loudly voices his complaint as he picks up a m&m that had been thrown at his forehead.
He’s in just a pair of shorts, his hair dry now and his curls a little shorter than normal. Navy regulations. You kind of miss the length that he used to have on the back and sides, but this look suits him too.
“I’m just saying, you’re the one who fucked my roommate.” You shrug, mock-nonchalantly, and pretend to focus back on the movie in front of you. It’s some dumb story of a small town cowboy.
In the mood for dramatics tonight, Bradley throws his head back and groans.
“Before I even met you!” He chides, sitting forwards and snatching the candy from you before you have opportunity to turn any more of them into projectiles.
“Then you texted her after you’d already knocked me up.” You remind him, playfully calm.
“Ah, ah — She texted me, it’s not like I would’ve fucked her again — and let’s not forget that you had a whole boyfriend until you were in your second trimester.” Bradley points out.
“And stop saying knocked up. Makes me feel weird.” Grumbling like a discontented teenager, Bradley nudges your leg with his so that you have to look at his face and see his little frown.
All of that seems so far away now. Ryan. Your roommates, who you’ll probably never see again. Christmas with your family. You’ve barely even thought about it all since you got here.
“I’m sorry, Bradley — how should I be phrasing it?” You tease.
His lips tug at the corners, threatening to disrupt his dramatic frown and disarm his little act. A small shrug of those broad, tanned shoulders.
“All those couples at the parenting class keep saying ‘when we found out we were expecting’. That works.”
“Mm, but when I found out I was expecting I cried for three days and when you found out you implied that I was a whore and offered me money. Our story doesn’t really sound like theirs’.” You remind him. He presses his lips together in a line. That feels so far away now too.
He remembers the anger he felt towards you back then, which is a complicated thing in itself. He remembers why, and how — and everything about that first week, actually. He remembers being so furious at you for making that choice without him. A complete stranger, complicating his future when he had just stepped out of his complicated past.
The anger still makes sense to him. He doesn’t feel it anymore, he isn’t proud of the way he acted, but he can look back now and know that it was all just fear.
Going from being a scared little boy and looking after a sick mother, to being an adult and having nothing to care for but himself, to then meeting you. It hadn’t felt fair to have that all stripped away before he had started it.
But now, when he thinks of this living room being empty, or that small room being an office instead of a nursery, it makes this all seem so much more bleak.
The movie credits roll, leaving you even more confused about what the plot was supposed to be. Bradley sits up and pushes himself onto his knees, then parts your legs for him to dip between. You’re sighing softly now, contented as he presses his lips to yours.
“I don’t think you’re a whore,” He mumbles against your mouth, making you chuckle softly against him. “And I’m glad that I knocked you up, for the record.”
Another soft chuckle. He presses his lips warmly to your skin. Cheeks, jaw. A gentle tour of your face.
“You are?”
“Yeah, you’re hot pregnant,” Bradley beams at you, earning himself another little laugh. “And — y’know, I’m excited for the kid too.”
Looking up at him, your fingers circle over his smooth, freckled shoulders. A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before a commercial comes on and disturbs the bliss.
“Time to put the baby to bed, don’t you think?” He asks. You glance down at your swollen stomach and back up at your new boyfriend. Smiling at him, you give a defiant shake of your head.
“We aren’t tired.” You decide.
A soft groan and he cups your belly in his hands, feeling soft fluttering kicks to unfortunately support your claims. Smile growing into an embarrassingly amused beam, you watch Bradley as he pushes your shirt up and peppers kisses across your stomach.
“Tell him to give his old man a break, some of us have to be up in a couple hours,” Bradley murmurs into your skin, earning himself an applause of his new favourite sound. He looks up grinning at your laughter. “What?”
“You, being somebody’s old man,” A quick scrunch of your nose and a shake of your head, laughter still bubbling through you. “Weird to think about.”
His cheeks redden like the tops of his ears, then he grins. Sitting back on his heels, his hands slide along your stomach to rest at the very bottom. Again, he feels a soft little kick against his palm.
“Y’know, I think he’s nocturnal. I barely felt him this morning and now he’s wide awake.” You explain.
Another shrug, smiling as he leans down and kisses your stomach once more. “Wanted to stay up and watch a movie with his folks.” Bradley muses, making you smile. Absentmindedly, you card your fingers through his fluffy, air-dried curls. His lips press warmly to the underside of your belly, “No harm in that.”
Fingers trailing from his auburn curls, down over the tanned muscles in his shoulders as he peppers kisses across your stomach.
“He’s got you wrapped around his finger already. Old man.” You tease, nudging at his leg with your foot. He chuckles softly, cool breath tickling your skin. Another kiss, then he looks up at you.
“Me? — Mama’s the one letting him stay up late.” Bradley prods, sitting up and bringing his mouth to yours once more. The kiss is slow, lazy, his hand cupping your hip. When he leans over you now, your stomach always bumps into his middle. He’s going to miss it when it isn’t there anymore.
Turning his head, he presses his face into your neck and nips softly at your skin. You hum, keening towards the feeling. It becomes growingly tender, lips replacing teeth, tongue soothing over the warm spots left behind.
Finally, he sits back up and kisses your lips chastely. “Will you come to bed with me?”
“You can go ahead, I won’t wake you up.” You promise.
“I know, but I like falling asleep with you.” He squeezes softly at your hips, remembering to be gentle with your sore joints these days. He sits forwards and kisses your mouth again, then again after that. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he isn’t going to stop until you agree.
Pushing against his bare chest, he sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows at you.
“Fine…” You huff, extending your arms for him. Slipping his hands into yours, he’s on his feat with an annoying level of ease that you can no longer manage. He tugs you up with him.
“I’ll lock up.” Ducking around you and kissing your neck, he leaves you with a gentle pat on the ass and then moves to make sure all of the doors and windows are locked and that the lights are off. You pad along the hallway to your shared bedroom and peel your shirt over your head.
Over the past month, you seem to have really popped. The kid is really making himself known in there. Enough so, that you’re well into the stage now of wearing exclusively maternity clothes or stretching out Bradley’s old gym clothes. Tonight, given the lingering heat, you opt for an old basketball shirt that Bradley hasn’t fit into since high school. Before he grew a foot and lost eighty pounds in his junior year.
It’s not huge on you at this stage of your pregnancy, but gives you the reprieve of a waistband pressing into your stomach.
Bradley’s chest hits your back before you even feel him approaching, turning his face into the crook of your neck, almost knocking you over with his weight.
His hands skim under the shirt and up over your stomach, making an all-too-familiar beeline for your breasts. He groans softly into your skin, growing half-hard against your back.
“Mm-mm,” You’re smiling and shaking your head at him all at once. “You need to go to bed, remember?”
“Fuck,” He breathes out, eyes closed, soft skin under his palms. If he pressed any harder into your back, he would knock you onto your front. “I do.”
Your palm slips between the two of you, reaching back to cup him over his shorts, stroking just loosely over the length of his hardening cock.
“Would be pretty difficult to sleep with that, though.”
“You’re such a tease.” He mumbles into your neck, kneading softly at your breasts. He rolls his hips forwards slightly, using your hand for friction on his increasingly hard cock.
“Are you flying tomorrow?” Your head falls back to rest against his shoulder, his lips sucking softly at the curve of your neck. His realization courses through him like relief, you can practically feel it.
His head shakes quickly. “In a classroom all day.”
Your palm squeezes softly around the tent in his shorts, a quiet hum, mock consideration, leaving your lips. His hands push at the shirt, slowly dragging it up your middle and tugging it over your head.
His eyes feel heavy on you, hands trailing featherlight along your sides. Bradley reached out slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he takes hold of the band in your hair. He’s especially gentle as he takes it down and turns his face towards your hair.
Illuminated by the soft light of the bedside table, Bradley’s becoming increasingly gentle with you — each time that you’ve slept with him recently, you can feel that he’s being more careful than he would normally be. He knows that you’re sore and more tired than you would normally be, but he never once declines the opportunity to have you.
Today is no exception as he turns you towards him, palms skimming along your back, squeezing at your ass as he holds you against him. Laying you down slowly on your shared bed, he notices your lips quirk softly as he covers your body with his.
“What?”
“Nothing.” You give a small shake of your head and lift to kiss him, still smiling when you pull back. He squints at you, studying the amusement on your features. It just makes you want to smile, is all. Him being so wordlessly soft; knowingly gentle. It doesn’t take a conversation or a warning. He knows your limits.
He knows you so well these days. The kind of shampoo or deodorant to pick up. Exactly which spots to press his fingers harder into when he’s giving you a foot rub. Exactly how to make you scowl at him and melt into his arms moments later when he’s being annoying. Your chest heaves with a particularly deep breath.
Bradley’s lips are on your chest, his hands skimming along your thighs, kneading at the flesh.
“Tell me you want me.” It’s a pant, really, just breathless. He rocks himself against your core, sitting back on his knees and squeezing at your hips. He takes that plush, pink bottom lip between his teeth and just stares down at you with the prettiest mahogany coloured eyes you’ve ever seen.
Teasing at an almost smile, you bite the inside of your cheek to contain it. A soft shake of your head and he smiles back at you. You glance down, watching him palm over the tent in his shorts. Finally, you meet his gaze once more. “I don’t think your ego can handle being any bigger than it already is.”
“It can take a little more,” Bradley hums. He exhales, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watches his ring and index fingers dip through your folds, gathering your excitement on the digits. “Tell me you want me.”
You do. So badly that it makes you hot. Makes your muscles go tense. Makes your chest tighten.
“I want you,” It’s an admission that you never would’ve given him months ago, weeks ago even. There’s a lot about you now isn’t the same as it was a few months ago. It’s right on the tip of your tongue. I love you. It’s insane — terrifying, actually. You swallow and stick to what you know, “I want you.”
It would slip so effortlessly off of your tongue. When he’s buried into you, breathing hard into your ear, your face buried into the curve of his neck and god — he still smells exactly like him, now mixed with your body wash that he’s adamant he doesn’t steal. So natural, just another breathless, meaningless exhale in the middle of sex.
“You feel so good,” Bradley groans out, his thick fingers sliding along the nape of your neck and up into your hair. He curls them into your roots and flexes his fist just softly. Just the right amount of tug, a gentle pull that has you moaning against his jugular. “Fuck, baby… you…”
He turns his head, lips grazing your jaw and working lazily along to your lips. When he gets there, finally, it feels like your heart is going to explode out of your chest. He kisses you slowly, his tongue in your mouth and his hand in your hair. In your shared bed.
The mattress is softer here and he never wakes up with a sore neck because of the shitty pillows. Sometimes he wakes up with a sore neck because of how his body is wound around yours, but he doesn’t mind that as much. Moaning into his mouth as he fucks into you slowly.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
A breath catches in your throat and you aren’t sure whether it’ll turn into a laugh or a cry. Ultimately, it settles into a soft moan, your breath tickling his earlobe and making him shiver. Then, it becomes a laugh. He sits back on his knees to get a good look at that grin on your face.
Stretching out his shoulders, he guides your thighs over the tops of his. He gives them a soft squeeze and slows down a little, giving a breathless nod. “I mean it. You’re so fucking perfect, just like this.”
He wets his lips with his tongue, eyes trailing ever so slowly along your body, rocking his hips forwards tenderly. Briefly, you think that he’s going to say it. It doesn’t happen. Just more expletives, shallow breaths, eager grunts. More kisses, his hands on your skin.
After, when you’re settled into his old basketball shirt, under your sheets, and he is wrapped around your body from behind, his big palm sprawled out over your stomach — you’re okay with it. The silent knowledge that he must be on the same page.
The next morning, he has to be up before the sun is even halfway risen. He’s growing proficient at doing it without waking you. Showering silently and dressing in the bathroom, laying his clothes out the night before. It always makes you stir when he slips back into the room and leaves you with a chaste kiss on the lips, and a soft peck at the top of your rounded stomach. Still, you’re okay with that too.
You squirm a little, laying back against that perpetually uncomfortable plastic-leather mix exam chair. The gel is a lot more uncomfortable when you’re still hot from the mid-day Florida heat than it had been on those snowy mornings back in Virginia. Still, it’s all routine by this point. The cold jelly on your stomach, comfy pants that can easily be pushed down a little, warm sweater to combat the always high air conditioning.
You’re missing the part of your routine that has always made you comfiest: Jake sitting outside in the waiting room. He’s states away, Bradley’s stuck in work, you’re all on your own. It’s just a routine check up — just to check if he’s breach. You’ve been telling yourself that all morning. It hasn’t stopped you from sitting on the carpeted floor of his nursery and staring at his crib, still in the box.
Your heart swells at the idea of meeting him. You’ve been picturing him a lot recently. Your nose, Bradley’s lips. Soft morning cuddles, sleepless nights, constant diaper changes — it’s easy enough to tell yourself that you’re ready, it’s just more of a complicated thing to be certain that you are. Even if you’re not ready, he’ll be here in a few short weeks. You need to remind Bradley to pick up screws for his crib.
The doctor’s brows knit together, she adjusts her glasses and wiggles the wand a little bit, then looks back to you. “Hm, have you been experiencing reduced movement at all, Miss Seresin?”
The question throws you. Blinking at her, chilled from the whir of the air conditioning, you shake your head. Your throat squeezes. “No, not at all. He was kicking a lot last night.”
Both of you look back to the screen. He’s moving now. Little legs just kicking softly in that familiar black and white hue. A quick glance across, you stare at your sweater on the chair where Bradley should be sitting. It’s too cold in here. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to move to get the sweater.
“Hm,” She nods her head slowly. Her face is calm enough, her tone doesn’t give you any clues. The thought that crosses your mind hits you like a speeding semi. Blunt force, speeding — out of left field. Six and a half months of no contact and all of a sudden, sitting alone in this exam room, too cold, you want your Mom.
It’s clear that you’re panicking, and the doctor continues with as much caution as she can. She speaks to you like she’s trying to soothe a crying child, but it isn’t patronising. Her neatly groomed brows raise at you, “Any fatigue, bleeding, stomach pains?”
“I’ve been tired, I guess.” You squeak. She softens, reaching out and placing her hand into yours. Your throat tightens. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s just looking a little bit smaller than we would have expected for this stage in the pregnancy,” Your heart sinks, and the side of the exam table suddenly feels especially empty without Bradley there. The doctor continues on as comfortingly as she can. “I’d just like to run a few tests while you’re here — just to make sure that we’re prepared to make the end of your pregnancy as safe and comfortable as possible.”
As she turns and leaves you trapped in that little grey room with the closed blinds, shutting out any semblance of sunlight, all that you can think about is the first appointment that Bradley ever came to with you. Everything going on back then and how badly you had wanted him to not even show up. How confusingly nice it had felt to have him holding your hand through it. Your head falls back against the exam chair and your eyes burn with tears.
You leave the office with a pamphlet on fetal growth restriction, potential causes and side-effects. It might not be that, she tells you, some babies are just smaller and that’s just fine. They just want to keep a close eye on you these last few weeks. Early delivery is a possibility.
You’re dialing the number out of pure instinct. Flowing tears, running to Mommy — there’s a natural link there. Some kind of hardwired impulse, probably. Chest heaving, blinking back searingly hot tears, you listen to it ring and ring. It’s just a Wednesday morning, maybe she’s at the office. It just keeps on ringing.
Bradley frowns as he listens to the busy dial tone, pulling back and checking his phone. You’d promised to call him when you got out of the appointment. He checks down at his watch. Maybe Jake got a couple of minutes to call you. He has to be back in class. He texts you that he’ll catch you at home and turns.
If his mind were clearer, he might have noticed the stare on him as he turned. The familiar blue eyes, blown wide open. Maverick pales at the sight of the boy at the end of the hallway. Familiar sandy brown curls, a brief look at Bradley’s face. The mustache he had been trying to grow when Mav saw him last has grown in now. Maverick swallows.
He hasn’t seen this kid in almost two years. Not a single phone call or text. He hadn’t even known where Bradley was living after he moved out of the house in Norfolk. And now he’s here, standing at the end of a hallway in a random Navy base that Mav wasn’t even supposed to be at this week. Dressed in his khakis, he’s a kind of familiar that makes Pete Mitchell’s stomach churn.
“Bradley?”
…
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#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#miles teller#bradley bradshaw au#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw x reader#my future in you#top gun: maverick#top gun smut
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Haunted Pub Crawl - Tangerine
Authors Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN
Word Count: 774
Warnings: a lil violence
Description: Small halloween blurb.
This is apart of my Halloween event, stay tuned for a new story every hour!
Happy Halloween!
“This is so bloody fucking stupid.” Tangerine snaps, reaching a hand out to slap the jello shot Lemon had been holding without even having to turn around to see. “What fucking-”
“You agreed to come.” Lemon sighs, staring at the jello shot as his brother fixes his jacket beside him once more.
They are waiting by the bathroom in some dingy bar as the pub crawl worker calls for everyone to begin making their way to the front. Tangerine rolls his eyes, watching the woman dressed as a ladybug read off names off her clipboard.
You were in the bathroom behind him, and Tangerine reaches a hand to rap at the door quickly, not that it mattered since you were already on your way out with a drunken smile on your face.
“Hey baby, hey Lemon.” You greet, tripping forward as his hand shoots out to wrap around your waist tightly and keep you upright. You kiss as his cheek and leave a bit of lipstick behind in it’s wake before turning to grab at Lemon.
Tan leads you both to the front of the bar, nodding to the ladybug to let her know you were there before she begins to lead you all outside for the next bar. He keeps a tight hold on you and an eye out for his brother.
Parties like these were never really his style, but both the people he loved and cared about had begged to go and here he was, donning his best suit that made him look like he was from the 70s. Not that people really understood, because next to your 70’s supermodel they all only thought one thing.
The wind of the night whipped around you both and people in their costumes were passing your own group, whooping and hollering.
Some fucker in a toga blinks at you, smiling wide in a way that makes Tans chest tighten and his blood boil, images of breaking his jaw flashing through his mind.
“Pimp and hooker, fuck yeah!” Toga shouts, passing by. You blush a bit and Tan freezes, stopping completely. You look up at him with wide eyes, shaking your head.
“Tan, baby, it was just some drunk guy-”
“No lovey.” Tan sighs, making sure Lemon has a hold on you before whirling on his heels and whistling. “Hey, Frat fucker!”
The toga douche turns around. Mouth falling open in a comical way as he stares.
“The fuck did you say to my bird?!”
“I was complimenting your guys’ costumes. Chill man.”
“No I will not chill because you just referred to her as a fucking hooker! You stupid fuckin cunt!” He yells, marching up and hitting him square in the jaw in a way that has you gasping in the background.
The Toga Douche lands on the concrete beneath him with a quick thud, the crest of Tans ring etched onto his face.
“TAN!” You shout, seeing the cop car sitting down the block flash his light. Two sets of hands grab his arms, and then you three are off, dashing into the alleyway to meet out the otherside and hop a fence.
“Can’t we ever have one night of fun?!” You snap, tripping up a bit as you rush down a hill.
“He called you a fucki-”
“I heard. But I really didn’t care. He was just some douchebag in a toga.” You sniffle, swiping at your cheeks as he rushes to move your hands away from your face and do it himself.
“I care, because you’re my lovey and no one calls my lovey a hooker. Kay’?” He asks softly, kissing your forehead.
“Kay’.” You mumble, playing with the lining of his vest, kissing his chin. “But…. and don’t get mad. We kind of do look like-”
“Guys! The thomas halloween special is doing reruns on pbs!”
-
The next morning you are curled up on the couch, nursing a huge hangover, holding a cup of coffee as the news plays slowly in the background.
“-And reports from last night state that Kyle Harold, a young bartender had been attacked by a man. The attack was sudden and unexplainable.” The news reporter explains before they cut to the video of the interview.
“Yeah, I was walking past this friggin bar crawl thing and then this dude in a pimp costume just ran up and hit me.”
Your eyes snap up to the screen where the yoga douche from last night, sporting stitches and a black eye.
You can’t hear the rest of the interview, laughing too loud when Tan gets home and gives you a weird look. “What is so fucking funny?”
#tangerine#tangerine smut#tangerine angst#tangerine fluff#tangerine imagine#tangerine fic#tangerine fanfiction#tangerine bullet train#tangerine x y/n#tangerine x reader#tangerine x you#tangerine and lemon#bullet train tangerine#bullet train smut#bullet train x reader#bullet train fluff#bullet train angst#halloween#halloween fics
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i'll be here in the morning (jake 'hangman' seresin)
AN: hi friends! this next piece was based on a request and since i’m also a sucker for that cocky southern charmer, i was delighted to fulfil it. no warnings, just cotton candy clouds of fluff.
pairing: jake seresin x female reader
“You're not flying fast enough.”
You almost lose Jake Seresin’s voice in the din of the roaring plane engines around you. Removing the helmet from your head, it takes a moment to adjust to the glaring light from the relentless San Diego sun and he's watching you from his perch against his plane, his viridian gaze a tonic for your tired eyes.
“Gotta make up your mind, Seresin.” You're breathless from your recent dalliance with gravity. “Am I a good pilot or a slow one?”
Jake’s grin rivals the blazing California sun as he pushes himself from his Super Hornet to wrap a tan, toned arm around your waist. “You are one of the best, Zen. There's a reason you were top of your class,” He presses his lips to your sweat-damp temple. “But I’m telling you this as someone who was top of their class four years before you were. You are flying too cautiously.”
You’re holding on too tight. You’ll lose your edge.
“I completed the task, Jake.” His line of critique- though not unusual, is irksome in this very moment and the urge to be freed of your uniform (and this conversation) is overwhelming.
He squeezes you a final time, his dazzling green gaze alight with a familiar fire. “Sure Zen, but at what cost?”
You watch him retreat from the tarmac knowing that the conversation is far from over; it will continue later on from the comfort of your bedsheets.
“He’s too hard on you,” Phoenix calls out from a few yards away. She is gorgeous always, but especially after an hour in the sky; a sheen of perspiration glistens on her forehead, and her cheeks bare a flushed, rosy hue from physical exertion. “Doesn’t he know he’s talking to someone with as many confirmed air combat kills as him?” She appraises the blush seeping into the apples of your cheeks with a smug smile, and winks. “C’mon Zen, let’s go see Penny about a beer.”
Seated across from him at the Hard Deck, it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when your distaste for Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin morphed into unbridled adoration. He was already a cemented legend at TOPGUN by the time you graduated; rumors of his exploits (both in and out of the sky) ran rampant among your comrades and succeeded in leaving you nauseated and impressed in equal measure.
“Forgive me if this is forward, but will you dance with me?”
You swill back the last of your beverage and turn to Jake, amused. “Since when have you ever shied away from being too forward, Lieutenant?”
His laugh is loud and infectious and fills every square inch of the bar up with a happy echo. “You got me there.”
“Why now?” You ask because you’re genuinely curious.
Jake smiles and brings the neck of the beer bottle to his lips, taking a swig. “You want the truth?”
You nod.
“I leave for something important tomorrow that I don’t know if I’ll be back from, and I reckon it’d be a damn shame if I burned out of this world without at least asking you.”
“Where did you go, m’dear?” Jake’s southern drawl rouses you from your reverie and you smile into the memory.
“I was thinking about the first time we formally met.”
The delicate creases next to Jake’s eyes deepen as he too revisits that night. “A wonderful memory, indeed.” He concedes after a while.
“Come throw darts, Seresin!” Coyote calls from the next table.
Jake throws a thumbs up in compliance and stands from your table. “I never did tell you the other reason I wanted a dance that night, did I?”
You shake your head, an incredulous smile tugs at your lips and all you can think is, you cheeky Southern charmer…
“Nope.”
Jake marvels at you under the caliginous bar lighting. “Word travels fast around here, Zen. Two air-combat kills in three months? I had to know if you danced as well as you flew.”
You can’t help the wry laugh that bubbles up from the base of your throat and causes his grin to stretch wider. “And?” You eye him, expectantly.
“And- after four years of this, I’m still hard pressed to believe there is anything you can’t do.”
He retreats from your table to join Coyote in front of the dart board a few feet away, and it strikes you- not for the first time, his innate way with words and the effects they have on you.
“When do you suppose he’ll finally ask you on a date?” Rooster sidles into the cracked leather booth in front of you, his gravelly voice slicing through the Johnny Cash tune emanting from the jukebox in the corner. You have half a mind to tell him it’s already happened; that Jake spends more time at your house on off-duty hours than anywhere else- but for now, and certainly not for much longer, it’s a secret best kept between the two of you.
“How do you know he hasn’t already?” Penny smirks, dropping off a fresh round of ice-cold beers.
Rooster guffaws loudly. “Zen may be a difficult book to read, but Hangman certainly isn’t!”
Grinning around the rim of your glass, you take a deep sip of the malty, amber liquid. “Trust me Rooster, if anything ever finally happens- you’ll be the first to know.”
And despite all of this- not even one of them bats an eye when an hour lapses, and you leave in Jake’s vehicle.
The drive back to your house is silent, save for the muted pitter-patter of light rain on the car windows. Jake’s large, warm fingers laced between your own keep your mind from wandering and help to ground you in the moment. You marvel at his profile in the waning evening light; sun-kissed skin stretches taut over pronounced cheekbones, a rosy flush blooms on the apples of those cheeks and the urge to kiss him like your life depends on it has never felt more pressing.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it was rude to stare?” His teasing tone brims with mirth.
“I’m sure she mentioned something about it but if you were seated where I was, I imagine you’d find yourself in a similar predicament.”
Jake’s fingers squeeze yours thrice, his gaze bashful. “Stop it…”
And it’s true. You have the divine pleasure of waking up to his face more days than not, and it never gets old. He is still just a roguishly handsome as the day before, and yes, he can be astonishingly cocky and sure of himself… but a heart of gold still beats inside his chest, propelling him toward greatness.
Once in the comfort of your own home, and thoroughly soaked from fumbling around for your keys in the pouring rain, Jake draws you a bubble bath. Ridding himself of his clothing, he sinks into the sudsy water in front of you, a low, satisfied sigh emanates from his lips. He rarely allows himself time to relax. He has a tendency of leaving one half of himself down here, and the other half in the clouds, but you’re pleased to see any stress or anxiety he may have had, dissipate the longer he soaks.
“Why don’t you ever wear your ring?”
Your eyes slide open, and you swallow hard, picturing the breathtaking engagement ring Jake had given you six months prior. It sits pretty in a small oak box atop your dresser, right next to a few precious pieces of your grandmother’s jewelry. “I wear it…” You murmur, defensively. “But the idea of losing it in a plane, or out at sea keeps me up at night so I try to be as cautious with it as possible.”
Jake shrugs. “It just dawned on me that I never really see it on you anymore.”
“I will absolutely make an effort to wear it more often.”
Jake gestures for you to join him at the apex of his open thighs, which you oblige happily. He rests his chin in the crook of your shoulder blade, his warm breath as it fans out over your wet skin causes you to tremble into him and he presses his lips to your neck. “Do you know why we call you Zen?” He asks, after a while. His calloused, soapy fingertips traces wet outlines over the dips and valleys of your hips and arms.
You yearn for his touch; constantly craving more of it. “Tell me, Jake.”
He kisses your neck again. “I’m convinced that some sort of intrinsic magic courses through your blood; you bring peace and calm wherever you go. If I’m feeling off, or out of it in any way, all I need to do is to be around you and the whole world shifts back to where it’s supposed to be. I’ve never just… fit, with anyone the way that I do with you.”
You tilt your head to the side to press your lips to the underside of his defined jaw. “It’s because no one could put up with you long enough, Seresin.”
His laughter comes in rolling waves and is the happiest sound you’ve ever heard.
He’s already gone when you rise in the morning; but in his wake he’s left a single pink rose and a handwritten note which reads:
Gone in to work today to help Rookie with some of his maneuvers. Should be back in time to help you with dinner. All my love, J x
Ps- fly faster, kid.
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you lift the rose to your nose, inhaling the heady floral scent of it and shake your head in mild amusement.
My cheeky southern charmer…
After puttering around the house for a while, boredom eventually sets in, and you decide to head to the naval academy to finish up some paperwork. Finding Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob in an empty classroom, you join them.
“He isn't going too easy on Rookie…” Bob’s weary gaze travels to the radio on the front desk. Jake’s Texan drawl is unmistakable anywhere, and you smile softly to yourself at the mere sound of it. While hundreds of miles away, he’s still somehow next to you.
“Does he ever go easy on anyone?” Phoenix asks.
Rooster snorts and gives his head a half-shake. “Not a chance. I hear Zen isn’t even immune to his torment.”
“And yet, the rumors are true,” You sigh, holding your hands in the air. “I am his favourite.”
This earns you a raucous round of laughter from the peanut gallery and you’re about to quip back with something else when the distinct sound of an object being sucked into a metal tube causes the words to die in your throat. Silence descends on the room so quickly, you can hear a pin drop; every single person here knows all too well what that sound signifies.
“Bird strike!” Rookie’s panic-stricken voice slices through the all-consuming silence, confirming your fears.
“Jesus,” Jake curses under his breath- and your heart immediately sinks. “I am throttling back and shutting off fuel to the left engine; extinguishing fire.” His voice is even and calm, though you imagine he’s anything but.
Come on Seresin, you know what to do.
“Right engine’s out now, I’ve tried restarting it but it’s not looking good.”
“They’re both on fire, Hangman.” Rookie’s trying in vain to keep his voice as even as his mentor's but it’s to no avail- dread drips from every word.
“God, Zen’s going to kill me.” Jake hisses in frustration and a piece of your heart splinters in your chest.
“I really don't think you can shake this, Jake!” Rookie is frantic now.
Jake curses again and announces his plane is going into total hydraulic failure. A quick glance to Phoenix tells you she’s having an extremely hard time with this. Bob chews on the bottom lip wedged between his teeth, and his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he listens with eyes closed to the accident unfolding in real-time before him.
So like their own…
An alarm can be heard blaring in the background and you imagine the rolling San Diego hillside coming up to greet him with nauseating speed. Bitter bile rises in your throat. “I’m punching out, Rookie. Tell Zen I love her. Eject, eject, eject.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Jake asks one evening.
You bend down to pluck a cowrie shell from the surf at the ocean’s edge. It is entirely perfect in its shape and size, the texture smooth from years of wear from sand and sea salt. “Five years?” You sigh.
Jake nods.
“I see myself here- in San Diego. With you.” His bashful gaze falls to the shell in your hands, and then back up to yours. “Or- it doesn’t have to be San Diego. But I’d prefer it to be with you, and ideally, I’d still like to be flying planes.”
Jake laughs at that. “I don’t think there’s anything on earth that could stand between you and a plane, Zen. It’s one of the endless things I love about you.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years, Jake?”
He shifts next to you; his hand finds yours and encloses around it. “I too would still like to be flying planes.” He brings the back of your hand to his lips and kisses it, gently. “Zen, will you marry me?” It’s quiet; like the Earth has slowed its perpetual turn for a couple seconds to allow you to live in this moment for as long as you wish. “I want it all. I want the long days, the fights, the breakfast for dinners, our friends, the Hard Deck, children… that is where I see myself in five years.”
There is zero hesitation on your end when you say, “I would be honoured to be your wife, Jake.”
His mossy green gaze glistens with happy tears as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans to produce a tiny wooden box. He will later tell you that his grandfather carved that box for his grandmother, and that the ring that now glitters at the base of your left finger contains diamonds from her beloved wedding band.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Zen.”
You laugh and squeeze his hand thrice. “And somehow, that’s never gotten in my way before.”
It’s hard to imagine that the person lying in the hospital bed a couple feet from where you sit, is the same man you shared a bath with not less than twenty-four hours earlier. He is hooked up to a myriad of machines, and an IV protrudes grotesquely from a vein on the back of his hand. Apart from a few lacerations to his face, a black eye, and a couple of broken ribs- he has come away from his emergency ejection in remarkably good health.
“Bet I gave you quite the scare.” His hoarse voice rings out into the stagnant hospital room before you.
Swallowing hard, you reach for his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “You did. Maybe not as bad as Phoenix and Bob, though.”
Jake’s eyes fall closed and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Zen.”
“It could’ve happened to anyone.”
And it could’ve ended worse.
“And unlike you, I could care less about how fast you fly- just that you make it home to me at the end of the day.”
Jake laughs. “Roger that, Lieutenant.”
You find yourself at your favourite watering hole a month later, surrounded by friends and familiar faces. It’s Rooster’s birthday, and he’s just finished performing a bang-up version of Great Balls of Fire on the cherished piano in the corner of the bar. The only tell-tale sign of Jake’s accident is in the slight breathlessness from his still-healing ribs.
Rooster slides into the booth before you, his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of birthday beer, and his awe-inspiring performance. “You get any better at that Bradshaw, and we’re going to have to hire you for our wedding.”
His glassy hazel eyes widen in surprise as he takes in the sight of the engagement ring on your finger; and you can see the wheels turn in his head as he glances between you and Jake, expectantly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked Zen here to marry me oh what- six months ago, now?”
You nod, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Six months ago, on the dot.”
Penny’s laugh is loud and causes pleasant goosebumps to bloom in patterns over your arms. “What did I tell you guys? Mav and I knew the moment Hangman met her. Congratulations you two.” She leans over the table to press a kiss to your cheek and then to Jake’s and heads off to fetch the table another round of celebratory drinks.
Rooster is still speechless; and Phoenix and Bob’s combined laughter causes your heart to swell in your chest. The love you have for these people is insurmountable; they are your family.
“You know what the best part of all of this is?” Jake muses, quietly.
You shake your head. “I haven’t a clue, Seresin.” Gazing at the light smattering of freckles that dust the bridge of his nose like miniscule constellations, you realize just then how blesssd you are to wake up to his face day in and day out for the rest of your life.
“Even when you and I first met- you felt so familiar. And as time passes it feels less like I’m getting to know you and more like I’m remembering who you are. I'm not sure if that makes a lick of sense, but it's how I feel."
Slinging an arm around a broad shoulder, you press a kiss to his clean-shaven cheek. "I can't wait to wife you, Seresin."
#all i want in life is an intimate bubble bath with him#is that so hard to ask??#jake 'hangman' seresin#hangman seresin#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun: maverick#writing#fluff#jake seresin#jake seresin fanfic
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love, can you write something really spicy for gavriel? i love how soft he is, i need him to be a whimpering mess
Gavriel is the DILFiest of all DILFs change my mind
Every Part
Gavriel x f!Reader smut
Warnings: smut below the cut, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, minors dni
Leaning against the doorframe separating your bedroom from the bathroom, you watched Gavriel, who sat shirtless on your bed, seemingly deep in thought as he looked down at the tattooed names along his body.
Your heart sank, knowing that look all too well. The kindest, most devoted male you’d ever met, who was so hard on himself for any mistake. He never forgot the names of those he couldn’t save, something that tortured him, yet it was one of the parts of him that you loved most.
“Gavriel,” you purred, hips swaying as you prowled towards him. His tawny eyes flicked to yours, lined with a sorrow that you couldn’t bear to see. Stopping in front of him, you cradled his face in your hands, leaning your forehead against his. “I love you,” you whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before you trailed along his sharp jawline, down his throat.
A groan escaped Gavriel as you licked a stripe along his collarbone, biting the tanned skin at the base of his throat. Rolling your hips into his with increasing desperation, you pushed him back on the mattress, lifting up to admire the glazed look in his eyes, his golden hair splayed out beneath him. “I love you,” he murmured, tucking your own hair behind an ear as he looked up at you, nothing but adoration in his eyes.
With a wicked smirk, you kissed your way down his body, stopping to lick and suck on each of his abs as your nails raked down his sides. A gasp left Gavriel’s lips, hips jerking beneath your touch as you reached the waistband of his pants. “Please, let me touch you, love,” he ground out, his voice husky with desire.
A soft laugh escaped you at his plea, the simple shake of your head your only answer for him as you dragged his pants down, clawing his legs as you sank lower. Stepping back, you looked down at the strong male, completely bare beneath you as he pleaded for more of your touch.
You reveled in the whimper that left his lips as you kissed your way up his thigh, his hard cock emanating heat as you hovered over him, soft teasing breaths causing him to buck up towards you. With a sharp laugh, you pinned his hips to the bed. “Let me go at my pace, or I will stop,” you breathed in warning.
Gavriel stilled at your words, muscles tightening as the male attempted to obey. A sick satisfaction ran through you at his desire to please, which surged your own. You lowered yourself, breasts rubbing against his thighs as your tongue licked a stripe over the slit of his cock, moaning at the salty taste of precum on your tongue.
His cock twitched in your hold as you sucked on the tip, hollowing your cheeks as you took him as deep as you could. Gagging as he hit the back of your throat, you brought one hand to reach the length that your mouth couldn’t, sucking harshly as you thrust your tongue up and down his shaft, pumping your hand. You moaned as he thrust into your hand, panting as he gripped your hair.
Gavriel pulled you off of him, chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. “Not yet,” he choked out, pulling you up his body. You ground your hips against him, head falling into the crook of his neck at the relief. “Please, let me pleasure you,” Gavriel whispered, licking a stripe up the shell of your ear.
You nodded, limp in his hands as he flipped you onto your back. Effortlessly ripping off your nightgown, Gavriel pinned your wrists above your head as he sucked harshly on your neck. You moaned, eyes rolling back as he moved down your body, tongue flicking out against your right nipple, teeth grazing over the sensitive bud before he moved to the other. You writhed under his hold, babbling pleas for more as he released your wrists, moving down to grip your thighs open as he inhaled the scent of your arousal.
Gasping, you squirmed under his hold as Gavriel licked a stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. “So sweet,” he murmured, diving into your heat. Gavriel sucked on your clit, canines digging in on either side as you pulsed under his lips. His tongue flicked out, the friction of his tongue in contrast with his spit soothing your sensitive core.
Your back arched as he dipped his tongue into your center, the hot muscle caressing your walls as you clenched around him. Gavriel laughed, a feline smirk gracing his lips as he continued his assault on you, lips and teeth brushing your clit as he pushed a finger inside of you, curling against your sensitive walls.
A tightness coiled in your gut, breaths becoming shallow as he worked you through your orgasm. Gavriel’s own hips rutted against the bed as you screamed his name, panting for air as you tugged him up towards you. You pulled him into you, tasting yourself on his lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hard cock rubbing against your center in sinful delight.
“Fuck, Gavriel, please,” you mewled, arching into him, desperate for any friction you could get. He hung his head, grunting at your movements as he found the strength to bring his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head against your pussy. You bit your lip, lifting your hips towards him in a silent request.
Gavriel slid into you, a slightly painful stretch as always while he settled inside, stretching your core. You nodded, urging him to begin moving as Gavriel pounded into you, lewd moans escaping as you braced your hands above you to avoid hitting the headboard. You clenched around his cock, the only warning before you crashed into your orgasm, the feeling of his thumb against your clit dizzying as you writhed helplessly under his thrusts.
Gavriel came soon after, a roaring cry leaving his lips as his hot cum spilled inside of you, both of you lost to pleasure as his thrusts turned sloppy. “So good for me,” he murmured, lowering to kiss down your neck as he stilled inside of you.
You wrapped your legs around Gavriel’s waist, keeping him there for as long as he let you before rolling away, turning you with him. Your eyes locked, a soft smile playing at your lips as you admired the beautiful, selfless male in front of you. “I love you,” you whispered again.
Gavriel swallowed thickly, emotion dancing in his eyes as he took in the sight of you. “I love you, more than you know, my love.”
#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfiction#gavriel x reader#gavriel throne of glass#gavriel x you#throne of glass fanfic#throne of glass x reader imagine#throne of glass imagine#throne of glass x reader#throne of glass smut#gavriel#gavriel tog#gavriel smut#throne of glass gavriel#throne of glass x you#throne of glass x reader smut#tog imagine#tog series#tog fanfic#tog x you#tog x reader smut#tog x reader#tog fluff
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5:45
Frank Castle (Peter Castiglione x reader)
Part One
WC : 2.5K
SW : No usage of"Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Reader is gender neutral! but is implied to be AFAB. Mentions of blood, knives, stab wounds, etc. Frank and the reader do some smooching and some snuggling because he so cute and I just wanna put him in my pocket and carry him around.
If there's any more warnings to be added let me know!
Ths is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.
Pete’s apartment is on a side of town you’d never been to. A shifty looking building with no front entrance, only a back door. You can’t really make anything out, your body slowly shutting down, your vision blurry, lids heavy. But you can briefly make out the fact that Pete removes one hand from holding you to wrench the building door open. It feels as if all the blood that isn’t pouring out of the stab wound in your side floods to your face. Literally on the verge of passing out from blood loss and you can only focus on his muscles, good going, you think to yourself.
You’re snapped out of your drooling reverie when Pete begins the ascent up the stairs. He tightens his grip on you, apologising profusely at the sound of your quiet pained whimpers, briefly explaining that the place had no elevator- it had been broken for years. He once again removes one hand from you to dig into his pocket grabbing a singular key to unlock his door. He quickly rushes you to this bed, placing you down gently. He glides his palm along your forehead as he immediately rushes off to some other part of the house.
Once again your mind is filled by Pete. Bleeding out or no, you can’t help but focus on the way the sheets are absolutely doused in his smell. Looking around you take in the small apartment -- if you could even call it that. The room is bare, as are the walls. The paint is tan colored. The bed he placed you on is small, next to it is a simple white night table. Upon the table is a stack of books, which makes you smile, there's a lamp, and a propped up photo, 4 white lines running through it, showing all the times it had been folded and unfolded. The corners are crinkled and dirty, and in the photo is a gorgeous woman and two children.
Oh.
“That’s Maria.” You gasp, whipping your head around. You hadn’t even noticed that Pete had come back. He places a hand against your sternum, thumb rubbing in a soothing manner. He takes a pair of scissors and begins cutting your shirt from the bottom of your stab wound to the edge of the fabric, gently peeling it from around the area and lifting it up to rest around the bottom of your ribcage. He says nothing else as he gently rubs the skin with an alcohol soaked cloth, gently avoiding the knife. The hand holding you down becomes heavier as he applies more pressure to keep you from squirming.
When he’s done with that he reaches down and grabs a thick leather belt from the rest of his supplies. He stands only to replace his hand with his knee, holding you down. He goes to hold the belt in front of your mouth, uttering a quiet “you’re gonna wanna bite down on this.” You’re confused as to why he’s got his knee on you, pressing down with all his body weight. Your confusion soon becomes painful understanding as he grabs the handle of the knife and slowly pulls it out. Your screams are muffled, teeth clamping down so hard on the leather you think they’ll snap right out of your mouth. Your hearing goes fuzzy, a dull ringing beginning to take its place. You can briefly make out Pete’s praise and whispers of how well you’re doing, that it’ll all be over soon. But you hardly understand him, your head spins, the ringing picks up full force and the world goes dark.
Everything hurts. That’s the first thought that comes to your mind when you wake up. Your whole midriff hurts. Eyes heavy, lids struggling to open. You make the mistake of trying to sit up, only partially getting up before the pain overtakes you. Letting out a loud yelp, eyes snapping open at the sudden burst that fills every nerve of your body. Tears well in your eyes, immediately spilling out the corners. A hand slides to the small of your back, another to the soft bit of your stomach. “Easy sweetheart, easy. I got you baby, don’t worry I got you.” Eyes snapping to your right to see Pete, body immediately going lax. “Pete?” voice wavering as more tears spill out. “Yeah sweetheart it’s me. Don’t move, I don’t want you to pull your stitches.” Your back makes contact with the bed again, pillow fluffed and plush under your head. One of his hands goes to your head, palm smoothing down on your forehead, pushing hair out of your eyes.
“Do you remember what happened?” Voice quiet and… scared? “Yes,” letting out a cough, your voice rough and scratchy, “The man from the diner, he got me. You got him.” The corner of one side of his mouth pulls up, before it drops down. He turns extremely serious in a split second, eyes losing any sort of emotion in them. He goes cold. “Yeah. I got him.” Eyes glancing away from you, his head turning, looking at the walls, the floor, the window, avoiding looking at you at all.
“Pete?” A hand placed on his, you see him physically tense up at your touch, causing you to let go, not wanting to disturb him. He turns his head back towards you, looking in a longing manner at your hand that's now resting back at your side. He gives you a long look before he spins around, sitting on the edge of the bed, back facing you. “Petey are you okay?” His head goes down, shaking. You’re worried you’ve done something wrong, why is he shaking his head?
“It’s Frank.”
“What?”
“My name’s not Pete, it’s Frank.”
~
This was such a bad idea. He’d be putting you in so much danger by telling you who he really was. But then again he had already put you in enough danger when he befriended you. But you deserved to know, he had literally killed a man in front of you less than 2 hours ago. He could still feel the fear in his system, the panic, the thought that you could’ve been gone, ripped from his world in a split second. He doesn’t realise that his eyes are welling up with tears, his hands beginning to shake.
“What do you mean?” your voice shaking, he can hear you shuffle in the sheets, the apprehension and confusion in your tone. He turns to make sure you haven’t made any drastic moves, that you haven’t hurt yourself further. When he looks at you there’s a tenseness in your bones, a crease between your brows, and a certain look of fear in your eyes.
This was a bad idea.
“My name isn’t Pete, my name is Frank Castle.” He watches the gears turn in your head as you connect the pieces. He knows you’ve put it together when your eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows from furrowed to raised in shock, your body becomes even more impossibly stiff. “The Punisher.” you whisper, eyes turning to make contact with his own, he can only muster a nod of the head. Licking his lips, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but Frank seems to fall short on words.
He starts to feel panic swell in his chest, the idea of you being afraid of him is something that doesn’t settle right. He scrambles for words, anything to say to you to make you not afraid of him.
“I-I never did anything to anyone that didn’t deserve it. Everyone I killed was a piece of shit. I would never do anything to hurt good people, t-to hurt you.” His voice is but a whisper, hoarse, he can feel himself choking up, that impenetrable wall that he had built was crumbling. He whispers your name, “I would never hurt you. Ever.”
“I know.”
Frank can feel the weight of the world fall off his shoulders, even more so when you prove your words by placing your hand on top of his and squeeze. “I know Pe- Frank. I trust you.” He hadn’t realised that any tears had slipped from his eyes until your hand briefly left his own to brush against his cheek, wiping the salty drop away. You trusted him.
What more could he ask for?
~
It was shocking. To find out the man you had been pining after for months was the Punisher, New Yorks’ most lethal man. Shocking, but not surprising.
Pete-- Frank, had always had the characterization of a dangerous man. At first glance he was an ordinary man. Quiet, respectful, he worked long hours doing construction, he ate the same thing every time he came into the diner. But that was at first glance. You knew him-- to some level, at least. He had that look in his eyes. A caged predator prowling, waiting for someone to forget to lock the door. It had always been there, lurking, waiting. It was second nature to him, pain was his career, in the military, and as Hell's Kitchen’s scariest vigilante.
You honestly feel sort of stupid, for not realising sooner who he was. You remember when he was in court, the trial of the century. You remember that you had honestly felt sympathy for him, he'd only been avenging the deaths of his wife, maria, and his children. He had never killed anyone that didn’t deserve it.
And you had never been afraid of him anyways. Quite the opposite really, the massive crush you’ve harboured for the man since the first time he invited you to sit at his table with him.
You’d fallen for Pete, but you could see yourself falling for Frank too.
You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Frank squeezed your hand. His eyes soft and his lips in a soft smile. You feel yourself giving him a soft smile too, “Thank you Frank. For everything. Truly.” Letting go of his hand so you can hold both arms out as much as you can, muscles still weak. He moves slowly, legs straddling yours. One arm slowly weasels its way behind your back, the other gently cradling the back of your neck. He gently moves you into a sitting position. You find it doesn’t hurt as much when he gently lifts you up, the precise and calculated movements hurting less than when you try to push yourself up earlier.
When you’re fully sat up, he accepts your invitation for a hug. One arm coming around your shoulders while the other gently cradles your head against his collarbone. “You really had me worried sweetheart. I was really afraid you weren’t gonna wake up. Your pulse got so weak, I just…” His words fade off as his fingers card through your hair. You snuggle closer to him, arm trying to wrap around his waist with as much energy you could muster. “I’m sorry for worrying you Frankie.” He squeezes you a little, pulling your head away from his body.
He says no words, the creases and hard lines in his face smoothing out. Frown going away. His face becomes soft, the corners of his lips pulling up a little bit. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be apologising for baby. None of this is your fault.” his face moves closer and closer to yours, his arm around your shoulders subconsciously tightening around your shoulders, pulling you closer to himself. His eyes glance down to your lips, “Nothing at all.”
It’s like fireworks going off when his lips fall upon yours. You can’t help the slight gasp that falls from you at the feeling. His lips are chapped, yet his kiss is soft. It’s barely a featherlight pressure upon your lips, his hesitancy to kiss you properly holding him back. It’s only when you weakly put your hand up to his cheek and try to push closer does he put more force behind the kiss. A low groan rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips harder against yours, the hand cradling the back of your head moves to entangle itself in your hair.
It’s when your hand slides off his cheek, nail gently scraping across his beard does he let out a very loud, strangled, groan. He pulls away from the kiss, his breathing heavy, warm puffs hitting across your face. “We gotta stop before I get too worked up sweetheart.” Dropping his head so it bumps against yours lightly. Frank places a kiss on your temple before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, the coarse hairs of his beard rubbing against the sensitive skin.
You can’t form any words, both of your hands coming up to hold the back of his neck, brushing all the hair off his nape, fingers gently playing with the long strands.
“You’re a really good kisser Frankie.”
His body shakes with the force of the laugh that comes out of him. Frank pulls back from your shoulder, mouth in a full smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. You can’t help but think of how pretty he looks like this. He looks so normal like this, so carefree, like he just left everything that makes him who he is at the front door when he walked in.
You can’t help the admiring and lovesick tone in your voice when you say “You’re so pretty,” bringing your right hand down and around to brush against the crinkle next to his left eye, down to the smile lines just barely visible through his beard.
Frank slowly lowers you back down against the pillows before taking a spot next to you. He lays on his side facing you, half of his body on the edge of the small bed to give you more space. His left arm lays under his head, his right arm gently places itself along your midriff in a protective position. Being extremely mindful of your stitched up wound.
He continues to look at you with that crinkled-eye, dazed smile on his face. “You’re even prettier, sweetheart. Now get some sleep, you’ll need rest to get better.” You say nothing, simply nodding your head in agreement. Right hand going to the side to grab the bottom of his shirt, gently tugging on it. He takes the hint and with extreme caution, scoots closer to you, his front almost pressed completely against your side.
He moves his left arm out from under his head to lie under yours, pressing you snuggly against him. With your right ear pressed to his chest you can hear his heartbeat, even and strong, reverberating in your mind. You find that the warmth radiating off his body makes you extremely sleepy, eyes getting heavy, lids slowly slipping closed. Before you drift off to sleep you make sure you tell Frank how appreciative you are one last time.
You tilt your head to look at him, and just over his shoulder you can make out the beginning of the sunrise slipping through his thin-curtained window. “Thank you for saving me, Frankie.” Eyes closing all the way as you fall asleep.
A gentle kiss placed against your hairline, “Anytime, sweetheart.”
~
Originally posted July 8th, 2022.
#frank castle x reader#pete castiglione x reader#the punisher#the punisher x reader#frank castle#1-800marvelqueen#mywriting
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