#kisses 4 all of em ! <3
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LOTUS FLOWER. pt one.
— featuring ┊ genshin men (neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, kaveh, alhaitham) x f!pregnant reader
— warnings / content warnings ┊nsfw. not proofread. all consensual! mentions of breeding k!nk, t!tplay (neuvillette), vaginal fingering (lyney?), implied semi-public s3x (wriothesley), s!ze kink if u squint (alhaitham), dirty talk obvi, them being absolute sweethearts, reader implied 2 be physically smaller than them, cunnilingus (kaveh), nicknames used, overall suggestive content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
— a/n ┊ this is part one guys!! part two will come soon! since i’m a little late for kinktober (oops) i’ve decided to try n do this thingy of my own </3 genshin men w a pregnant partner n maybe i’ll do separate oneshots too throughout the month if im not busy enough, i’ll try my best! i also took time 2 try n improve my writing style n i think it paid off.. anyways reblogs + feedback appreciated ! (guys i wroye this when i’m half asleep #help)
𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄, 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄
— "love, you're too cute when you pout like that," neuvillette chuckled, lightly pecking your cheeks with soft chaste kisses
NEUVILLETTE has always been your caretaker during your hard months of pregnancy, he was always there to aid you even if he had such a tight schedule! trust me, he’s always there to aid you no matter where he is.. oh you’re craving something? he already had it made and prepared downstairs for you to eat, oh you’re in pain? he’s already massaging your body to calm your nerves, oh you want him to get something for you? he’s already making his way downstairs to get it! let’s all be honest, this dragon is one of the sweetest darlings ever.. he’s just so thrilled that you’re carrying his little dragonlings, he couldn’t be happier! neuvillette’s so gentle with you.. even during intimate moments. neuvillette always has you laying down on a soft surface, his lips dancing across your flesh as his hair tickled your sensitive skin, he knows how to make sure you feel good.. sometimes he gets too lost in the moment he doesn’t even notice the littlest things! trust me, he knows how to make you feel good, he knows how to calm your hormones.. he knows how to pleasure you. neuvillette knows it all.
here you were, laid down comfortably on the mattress.. the sheets beneath you warming you up as you tugged on your husband’s white locks, emitting a soft grunt from him. neuvillette had been too caught up in the moment to notice only a little milk dripping from your other breast. instead, he kissed and sucked at your other one passionately, his hands caressing your waist in between bouts of fondling your tits. the sight of your exposed body sent a deep and primal wave of lust through him, it was enough to send him into pure euphoria as the feeling of your body against him was a kiss from the heavens above and the archons themselves. “my sweet angel," neuvillette whispered gently, his voice soft yet full of passion. "i want to love you from head to toe, i want every part of you to scream my name in delight.. i want you to experience pleasure beyond your wildest imagination. please, let me give you more litters of dragonlings inside this irresistible body of yours..”
𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘, 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄
— “you’re positive, right? you sure you’re alright?” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against your neck
WRIOTHESLEY honestly never thought of having kids himself, but that all changed when you announced your pregnancy to him a few months prior.. he was thrilled! a little shocked and nervous to say the least, since he was nervous he wouldn’t be a good husband and father to your future kids but it went by smoothly, wriothesley had a major soft spot for you and only you. his face always fills with love and joy as he took note of your swollen and pregnant belly, sometimes he lets you wander around the fortress but sometimes he knows you’re sensitive to many smells and all that so he just keeps you in the house. but yet sometimes.. he has too much on his hands that he never has time to come home. visiting him at work became a frequent thing but he grew more protective of you, telling w few workers down at the fortress to scram if they bother you too much. wriothesley loves having you around his office, but yet, huh.. who knew visiting him here could also have it’s benefits.
wriothesley held your knees, his large hands engulfing your flesh as he grunted at the mere pulse of your pussy around his cock. he knew he shouldn’t be doing this, someone could walk in any moment but who was he to deny his own wife? he can’t deny you when you’re all shy and embarrassed like that.. asking him to fuck you and breed you just like he did those few months before, who was he to deny a request like that? the larger male had kept a slow and steady rhythm with you, he promised himself he wouldn’t listen to your begging.. begging for him to go faster. but i guess it’s fine to break promises every now and then, right? wriothesley picked up the pace as he rubbed his thumb against your clit, the feeling of his cock pounding deep inside your cunt was enough to send you to the moon. “fuck.. taking me so well, princess.. ‘gonna make me cum quicker than normal.” he whispered against your ear, caressing your belly ever so gently.. his gentleness corresponding with his harsh thrusts. “what, hm? you want someone to see you in this state? ‘want someone to catch me breeding my pretty pregnant wife in my office?— mm.. seems like y’do.. look at how much you’re sucking me in.”
𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄
— “oh? someone’s moody today.. did i do something wrong, sweetheart? you know i didn’t mean it, c’mon! talk to me.”
LYNEY was one of the main reasons for your constant smiles and giggles throughout the day, your baby isn’t even born yet and he’s already an excellent father! the magician always sits down and chats with you, chatting about all sorts of things. what you both can name your baby(s), what magic tricks he can teach to them, how adorable they’ll look in clothes he bought for them.. he’s excited to be a father and he makes that clear! he spreads the news to lynette and freminet, and sometimes he might accidentally spread the news throughout public eyes. i mean, in a positive way! lyney takes great pride in being the father of your kids, he wants you to stay healthy and happy so your pregnancy goes smoothly, that’s all he wants. lyney’s touch is always so gentle.. caressing you like you were a mere piece of glass he had to protect.. there was something about his touch that just never fails to make you squirm, he’s good with his hands, of course you know that.. he’s just so gentle with you in many ways possible, it drives you absolutely insane sometimes.
“yeah? you like that? hmm.. how about you show me where else you would like me to touch you, go on.” his voice was just as hypnotic as his gaze.. lyney’s lips pressed against your neck as he waited for you to show him. “c’mon, you can do this.” he urged you on, you could feel your hands moving on their own as your hands made their way to your breasts, pinching your sensitive nipples in between your fingers with your mouth hung open in pure ecstasy, sending nothing but deep electric vibrations throughout your body. “l—lyney.. here. i want you to touch me here.” your voice was laced with honey, the magician could’ve sworn he could taste and sense the need and want in your tone, it only made him desire you more. “mm.. we both know that’s not all, sweetheart. show me another, and show me how you want me to touch you there.” your other hand came down slowly, lazily playing with your clit as your body shook at the even the softest touch. lyney hummed against your ear as he pressed his finger gently against your lips, trying to silence you as he gazed down at your swollen belly the blonde magician held you close, pumping two fingers inside your hole, smirking against your skin. “there, there.. good girl. such a good girl for me, are you?”
𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇, 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓
— “alright.. i have this, this and this for you. do you need anything else? still hungry?”
KAVEH is a a good and caring husband.. though sometimes he’s a little too busy, which often frustrates you since he isn’t there to support and be by your side half of the time. honestly, you can’t blame him sometimes, he always comes home late with a shit ton of papers and piles and piles of sketches and drawings he made that day, kaveh’s always busy, you can’t stop or deny that. most of the time, he makes up to you by providing you with the things you like.. like food you’ve been craving! kaveh adores talking to his baby within your belly, always talking about how ‘papa is always there for them’ and how much he loves them. to put it in a more easier way, the young architect considers your pregnancy an absolute blessing, you were sure he kissed the floor and thanked every star in the universe when he found out you were expecting his little one, he was overjoyed! despite his busy tasks, kaveh will be willing to provide you with anything you want. especially pleasure.
“you want me to please you here?” his voice rung in your ears, nodding slowly as you bit your lip. you missed this, you missed him. kaveh had too many rough and difficult schedules already, you missed him and his touch.. you missed everything, but tonight he was gonna give it all. your lashes slowly fluttered open as your hands tightened your grip on his shoulder, kaveh smiled softly, his eyes looking deep into yours with affection. "i’m giving you what you want now, sweet angel.” the architect caressed your thighs as he slowly lifted your dress up and started to caress your stomach. "you’ve certainly become quite attractive with your pregnancy bumps," he whispered softly, smiling warmly before he allowed his urges take over, closing his eyes as his tongue mingled with your folds, giving small kitty licks before pushing himself further into you, savouring your juices. he was slow, yes.. but he wanted to get used to your taste again, flicking his muscle against your sensitive bundles of nerves as he allowed himself to get lost in your taste, palming the bulge through his pants. “let go, lovely. let me claim you once more.”
𝐀𝐋-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌, 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐄
— “tell me, go on. what do you need? i’m in all ears.”
AL-HAITHAM is a hard individual to read, that’s for sure. sometimes you couldn’t really tell if he was happy about some story you decided to share with him and whatnot, but one thing you do know is that he’s absolutely thrilled about your pregnancy. alhaitham would be lying to himself if he said that the sight of your expanded belly didn’t awaken something in him. he’s always there, helping you around despite how busy he gets sometimes.. he’s calm and collected, sometimes you’d catch him talking to your baby when you’re asleep, talking about how pretty their mama is, and how excited he is to teach them about his own knowledge about this world they’re about to enter, he’s excited for his baby to be born and you know it. well.. maybe a little too exited.
he tried to be gentle, he really did. but you know he can’t resist you when you’re whining and whimpering like this, especially with that beautiful round belly of yours. alhaitham can’t help himself, really. he was needy, needy for you. he needed you and he needed you now. the scribe bit his lip as his large hands grabbed at your hips, lifting you further against him as his cock slid into your cunt so perfectly. alhaitham’s thoughts went blank at the sound of you calling his name in that way, as if you were speaking words of pure music. “mmh.. look at you. look at how good you’re taking me, even when you’re pregnant you’re still a slut for my cock now, aren’t you?” his hair fell onto his shoulders in wet clumps, “so fuckin’ full, so damn soft. you’re all round and smooth, the perfect body to bear our children." his dick buried myself into your walls, your juices coating it with white, “just like all my other possessions, this body is mine. maybe i should even put my name on it.. so damn perfect, yeah?”
#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა#genshin smut#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#neuvillete x reader#neuvillette smut#wriothesley smut#kaveh smut#wriothesley x reader#lyney smut#alhaitham smut#lyney x reader#kaveh x reader#alhaitham x reader#kisses 4 all of em ! <3
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im making my contribution to society because i cant handle the lack of content for this series ok.
#kyuras art#sushi pack#kani maki#maguro maki#im still kinda figuring out how i wanna draw these guys so for now ive only drawn them bc theyre my faves. absolute girlbosses.#girlbosses that also kiss to be exact.#i'll probably add the other 3 on to this eventually whenever i figure out how i wanna draw em.#i hope youre eating well all 4 sushi pack fans ever this goes out to us!
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my arm hurty and my nose pressy but almost $2k later my tattoo is finished teehee :3
#Ravage.txt#dl#i’ve been wanting this specific one for a good 3-4 years now so it’s bizarre to me that it’s. done. it’s all finished. i have it now#cant wait for the saniderm to come off i hope the yellow looks good on my skin tone 🙏🙏 highkey bled a lot right below my collarbone (and#that’s just what i noticed when i wasn’t reading fanfic) so it was really hard to see how the bit of color looked with the ever-present#ketchup and mustard (ink smear) combo. fingers fucking crossed it looks good bc that was three hours and i approved the bottle lmao#in my defense it looked good!!! great even!!! god i hope i don’t need to get it touched up/redone in the end ugh even more money#oh em gee this tag is so fitting when i typed ‘anyway’#anyway bye i’m missing my favorite scene (blackout absolutely wrecking a base’s shit)#<- like yes i AM missing my favorite scene. granted it’s on purpose bc i’m going to bed i’m too tired to finish the movie but STILL#blowing a kiss to my action figure of blackout on my desk love u king one day i’ll get a copy so u can be in both modes at once#i haven’t even tried to transform him or megs bc i threw out the instructions for one on accident and lost the other </3 + they were expensy#af. and i like them in robot mode they’re so cool i’m so glad dad got me into collecting. i need r.otf a.rcee and 2007 b.arricade now frfr#i found them already but it’s like 30 or 40 bucks plus whatever shipping is and i both spent $500 on my tat today AND i’m saving for art#comms so like :/ blegh. BUT two weeks from now i may get a brief housesitting gig which will hopefully pay pretty well considering the labor#so who knows maybe i’ll get them! i love 2007 b.arricade honestly it’d be great to have him. and a.rcee is easily one of my favs as my#collection demonstrates (ULTIMATE fav is r.ipclaw). anyway night night my allergy med is working slightly so i’ll be able to actually sleep
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ignore any system posts accidentally posted here. we got too drunk -___-
#shouts out 2 my headmates...4 of em up here wit me ...!!!!!!#shouts out to my main mans law....he really does carry this entire system. God.#anyway its bedtime methinks....snork mimimi love u all kisses smooches mwuah mwuah peace + love on planet earth <3#.txt#to provide context the system blog + discord is our main method of communication and also making fun of each other.#alters love to make fun of each other more than anything ever
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It's a Match! || 141 x Reader
[ Chapter 13 ] || [ Chapter 15 ]
Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader
Words: 1.6K~
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
a/n: this is purely self-indulgent. I wanted them to kiss.
Click here to see some fanart of this chapter by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.
Chapter 14: (B)romance?
After that conversation, things got slightly easier. You found yourselves talking about random things, Simon showed off a few bandages from fresh injuries he got just this past week on a mission…
And almost an hour after they arrived, you were all sprawled from the couch and over the coffee table, watching one of the original Scream movies, much to Ghost’s delight and your displeasure… Which soon switched and turned into your and Gaz’s pleasure and Ghost’s dread.
“Look, it’s you.” You pointed at the TV for the fifth time in the row every time Ghostface was seen.
“I hate you.” Ghost groaned playfully. “Kyle, why’d you tell ‘em I wear a skull on the job?” He scoffed.
“You’re the one wearing it and you wanna blame me?” Kyle quipped as he cocked his brows. He had his arm draped over your shoulders and he used his hand to nudge Ghost on the shoulder.
“It’s making me look bad, mate, it’s the principle of the thing!” Ghost retorted as he snaked his arm between your back and the back of the couch, nudging Gaz’s exposed side with his own finger.
It was the first time that Gaz had ever heard Ghost call him, or anyone, mate. It would’ve made him smile, if the bloke wasn’t poking him.
“Oi! Watch it!” Kyle complained as he squirmed a bit against you.
“You ticklish, Garrick?” Simon quipped with a mischievous glance.
“Will you two stop it? I’m trying to watch the movie!” You scolded them, nudging them both with your elbows, causing them both to squirm, though Ghost’s squirming was much more stiffening than wiggling. “Childish…” You added.
“Not childish.” Simon retorted. “I’m 3-fucking-4.” He replied.
“You’re what?” Kyle asked as his head turned sharply to look at Ghost. “I thought you were 40.”
“You thought I was as old as Price is?” SImon asked as he turned to look at Kyle too.
“No wonder you look young, I thought you looked good for your age because of the mask and not being in the sun all day.” Gaz explained.
“Oh. My. God. Are you two having a moment right now?” You asked them, making them both turn to look at you with wide eyes. “Your little bromance is interrupting the movie.” You quipped with an impish smirk on your lips.
“Oh, we have a ‘bromance’, is it? You wouldn’t talk like that if you had my tongue down your throat like a few weeks ago.” Simon asked with a look in his eyes that said he did not appreciate the joke. But that just made you start giggling and biting your nail.
“Wait, you’ve kissed?” Kyle asked in surprise as he bounced up a bit and turned to look at you both.
“Yeeeees…?” You replied with a sheepish reply.
“So you’ve seen what Ghost looks like?” Gaz added.
“Noooo…?” You added as you casted Simon a glance, which only made him chuckle behind his mask.
“I said I’d let ‘em in due time.” He explained for you as he gave you a little squeeze.
“So, you’ve gotten drinks, eaten dinner, played videogames, had a movie night, slept together… All with the mask on?” Kyle asked, flabbergasted.
“Well, no. I took the mask off to sleep.” Simon replied.
“YOU TOOK THE MASK OFF TO SLEEP?!” You shrieked a bit, which only caused another grin to form on Simon’s face, his brown eyes crinkling smugly.
“You were asleep. It would’ve stank up if I slept with it on, I’m a mouth breather.” Simon replied.
“Ew, a mouth breather.” Gaz quipped, making you both laugh.
“I guess we’re just… not gonna watch the movie, huh?” You remarked as you glanced over at the TV where some blonde was screaming bloody murder.
“Guess not.” Gaz replied and shrugged a bit. After a beat of silence, he glanced over at the two of you again and narrowed his eyes. “How was it?”
“Hm?” You asked with a cocked brow.
“He means the kiss.” Simon replied as he nudged you with his shoulder, his arm lightly squeezing at your waist.
You scrunched up your lips sheepishly and shrugged. “It was good…”
Gaz and Ghost shared another look over your head, silently communicating between one another while stealing glances at you.
“Just good? And here I thought you’d liked it.” Simon remarked in mock offense.
“Right? I was going to say that doesn’t sound very convincing.” Kyle quipped.
“I-” You hesitated and sighed. “Will you two stop that? I know what you’re doing! Don’t fucking bully me!” You scolded them and you immediately noticed the smirk on Kyle’s lips, which you knew Simon was mirroring.
“Maybe I owe you a repeat.” Simon quipped as he shot Kyle a look and then looked down at you.
“A repeat?” You asked in shock as you blinked lightly.
“And I definitely owe you one for comparison.” Kyle added.
“But…”
“But what? You talk that big game and act like a brat this whole time, trying to embarrass us…” Simon trailed off. “I think it’s time we get payback.” He added.
“Only if you’re okay with it.” Kyle interjected.
“Of course they’re okay with it.” Simon added and glanced down at you.
Sheepishly and with very warm cheeks, you found yourself nodding, not quite knowing the mess that you were about to get yourself into.
But, then again, when are you going to have the opportunity to have two blokes wanting to kiss you at once? Mia and Leah would kill you if you didn’t take the opportunity.
Simon’s warm, calloused and rough hand grabbed reached up to cover your eyes and after a second, the other clamped around your jaw the same way he had done weeks ago. You could hear Kyle’s breath hitch behind you, a sign that Simon had taken off his mask.
Then, Simon’s lips crashed into yours, his tongue already pushing its way inside. Once more, your tongue found the metal of his barbell piercing, the cold and hard texture drawing a whimper out of you as Simon dragged it over your own tongue.
You could feel Kyle’s warmth next to you, his arm slightly tightening his hold on you so you wouldn’t escape Simon’s kiss. Your hands gently grabbed onto Simon’s forearms, fingers digging in as the kiss left you light-headed.
After a moment, Simon pulled back, fixed his mask back into place, and uncovered your eyes. “So?” He teased when your eyes adjusted to the darkened room, illuminated only by the blue light of the TV playing the movie.
“Hm.” Was all you could reply with, a stupid little sound that didn’t at all convey how good the kiss felt. But it made Simon laugh, open mouthed, belly laughter, his head falling back over the edge of the couch.
“Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, no, it’s me.” Simon bragged and you could swear he had a massive shit-eating grin on his stupidly kissable lips.
“Let me check.” Kyle replied and his own hand snaked to grab you around the neck. Before you had time to register it, your head was being dipped back and his lips were against yours.
Unlike Simon, Kyle’s lips were thick, warm, smooth… His tongue was a lot wetter, probably a consequence of Simon’s throat being permanentely dry from wearing the mask too much.
Now that he was so close, you could feel everything. The way his fingers gently rubbed at your pulse points on your neck, the scent of coconut oil that emanated from him, the light prickling of his goatee against your skin, when Simon’s was completely shaved clean…
Simon’s hand snaked down to your thigh and rubbed it lightly as you lost yourself in Kyle’s kiss, your hand grabbing and softly tugging onto his purple jumper.
You were the one that broke the kiss with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open and finding Kyle looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he licked his lips. “So?” He echoed Simon’s earlier question.
Looking away, you sunk back on the couch and scoffed. “I hate you both.” You grumbled, making them both laugh.
“Damn, I didn’t think I kissed that badly.” Gaz quipped playfully.
“I sure as bloody hell don’t.” Simon replied. “I think they just have poor taste.”
Crossing your arms, you glared at them both. “Yeah? Well… If you’re both such great kissers, then why don’t you prove it?”
The two men looked over at you with raised brows and blinking away their shock at the suggestion. Then, they glanced at each other and seemed to be communicating wordlessly again.
“I’m fine with it.” Gaz quipped, humourously.
“Makes no difference to me.” Ghost replied. “C’mere, Garrick.”
Before you even had time to say you were joking, Simon tugged up his mask with one hand, enough to reveal his jawline and mouth, while the other wrapped around the back of Kyle’s neck with more aggression than necessary.
It was the first time you got to see a snippet of Simon’s face and his jawline was just like you had expected. Harsh, sharp like diamonds, free from any type of hair, and riddled with rough scars and a Glasgow smile carved from the corners of his mouth.
Their mouths collided so harshly that Kyle’s eyes doubled in size before he let go and closed them. Your eyes widened as well as you watched them locked in a kiss that was more passionate than I think any of you expected it to be.
As they pulled away, Ghost pulled down his mask again and glanced over at you, while a very shocked Gaz stood perfectly still, eyes widened and mouth left hanging open… Before he shook himself awake from his trance. “You have a piercing?!”
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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):
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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#text story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader
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#new List Item just dropped#and ommmg BYE the compilation of reasons adds up SO *chef's kiss* ugh wow im. Impressed for sure#love that for me for now#it's funny cause if it was just 1 or 2 things The List might not have applied but all this? oh ok alright hell yeah sick sick sick LOVE it#god the possibilities okayokayokayokay breathe#ok so we got the 1. obscure yet relatable interest#we have 2. ten kurwa głos o jejku jaki ... łał łał łał ale fajnie#there's some options for the Other List like 3. movie 4. a boat itself 5. clothes 6. movie 2.0 AKA narysuj jak jedna z ...#cant believe i almost forgot 7. the 1959 thing I KNEW IT fuck what are the chances!!!! check and mate got em#i could go on but hell do i need to? undisputed W tier List Item 8/8 m8#'cześć to twój kolega' KURDE PRZESTAŃ JUŻ Z TYMI BZDURAMI PRZECIEŻ ISTNIEJE MOJA LISTA I NO TAK JEST
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i be back 2 asks after i’m done in the gym ! smoooch <3
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And they were roomates
(Captain John price x F!reader)
Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.
Warnings: some awkward moments, kissing
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7!!!! - part 8
———————
“Look how content he looks, his eyebrows aren’t doing that scowl thing.” Gaz whispers to the boys beside him.
Ghost does a peek over to see the sight but out of all of them he knows best how light of a sleeper John can be, so one look and he quickly he backs up.
“Take a picture.” soap says menacingly.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Ghost says.
Of course Gaz listens to the trouble maker, whipping his phone out of his pocket. The first two photos he takes are from a safe distance but as he goes to take the third he gets closer, too close. The shutter sound accidentally goes off although the ringer is on silent.
It doesn't wake you up no, but the captain's eyes shoot open, the first thing they land on is a phone in his face and he huffs an angry breath. He doesn't make a move nor let out a word in fear of waking you but the look he gives the guys standing behind the couch is deadly enough. They slowly step back and once they're at a safe distance they scurry down the hall.
At some point during the night you ended up completely on top of him. He lays there annoyed with the immature men who woke him up but absolutely thrilled that he can consciously enjoy this moment. Your head placed in the crook of his neck as you huff small breaths, your weight on top of him is almost everything he’s ever needed in this life. The way your hair wafts that familiar light floral scent is captivating. If he died right now he’d be at peace.
“John?” it startles him from his thoughts.
“Yes doll.”
“You're so comfortable.” you whisper into his neck. He laughs while running a comforting hand over your back.
“Did you hear those idiots out here not too long ago?” he asks softly.
“Nope.” you say placing a hand on his chest to lift yourself up into a sitting position. He admires the way your eyes are slightly puffy from sleep, the way your shirt wrinkled in random places. He wants to pull you back down into him, wants to ask for five more minutes. Then he smiles cause he knows one day he’ll be able to.
“Stop staring at me.” You say softly looking away from him.
“Can I take you out tonight?” you turn back to him at that. Rubbing your eyes and smiling.
“Like on a date?”
“Yes, will you grant me your presence for dinner?” he asks hopefully.
“Yeah.” you try to look away and hide the blush that creeps up on your face. He breathes again, he hadn’t known he wasn’t till you answered.
“Okay, em be ready by 6 then.” He inquires.
“Okay well I feel like I can’t just sit here now so I’m gonna go get in the shower.” You stand up nervously. He nods at you trying to hide behind a stoic expression just how giddy he feels inside. He watches you until you disappear around the corner before getting up.
————
“So you asked her out?” John and the boys sit outside, there’s a cigar between John’s lips and the rest of them puff on a cigarette.
“I did.”
“You had to threaten her to say yes, didn't you captain” Ghost jokes with a gruff laugh.
“Yer no one to talk.” Soap says in defense of his captain.
“You can’t even say you’re right.” Ghost quips back making Gaz burst out in a chuckle while John just stares at them with a straight face.
“I’m nervous.” John admits.
“Wow, she makes you nervous. That’s hard to do.” Soap says.
“Of what?” Gaz asks, ignoring soap.
“I feel like I shouldn’t, like she should be with someone younger, someone with a less demanding job.” They all hum not really knowing exactly how to comfort him.
“She seems like the kind of woman that has already thought those things through.” Gaz says.
“I’m sure she has.” He replies.
“Not to fret then, unless you’re the one with the problem.”
“My only problem is that you're all still here.” He laughs before toking his cigar.
“Yeah right you love our company.” Gaz replies.
—————
By the time you're out of the shower and have dressed casually for the day John’s friends are bidding you a goodbye, ghost kindly thanks you for sharing your home with them and gives you another soft handshake.
“Once again thankyou for letting me sleep in your bed, I appreciate it.” Gaz says with a small hug before walking out.
“Lass if he doesn’t treat you right you know who to call.” Soap says jokingly.
“If you don’t leave my home right now, soldier, you won’t be leaving at all.” John says seriously, waiting to shut the door. You just laugh leaning looking up at him and hint of humor in his eyes.
“All jokes, all jokes.” He yells out as he walks to the car they all crammed into. Once they pull away John shuts the door looking over to you.
“Their fun.” You say.
“More fun than I am?”
“Yeah.” He’s surprised by your answer but at the same time not at all. Your smirk is growing into a smile as your damp hair falls over your shoulders.
“Really?” He drags out the word, giving you an opportunity to change your answer.
“Mhmm.” You say shrugging your shoulders.
“C’mere.” You laugh as he grabs at your waist throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.
“Okay no they're not, I promise they're not.” You laugh, his fingers digging into your sides as he walks towards your room.
“Say you swear.” You kick your feet trying your best to make him let you go, but this seems to be light work for him, as if he doesn’t even feel it.
“I swear.” You laugh harder as he throws you softly onto your bed. He climbs right above your waist hovering so he doesn’t kill you with his weight.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I swear I really do.” He lets up, watching you try to catch your breath as he brushes the stray hairs from your face.
“By the way no drinking tonight, none.” You say.
“Why?”
“Cause the last time we went out together and drank only one of us made it out with their mind in the right place.” He laughs in memory leaning down close, close enough that if you moved up an inch your lips would touch.
“Trust me my mind hasn’t been in the right place since I’ve met you.” He brushes his lips against yours and immerses himself in that addicting shock of adrenaline it gives him every time.
“Oh, where’s it been then?” No answer, he just leans further into you until your lips connect softly. It’s a simple kiss and it's as electric as always but isn’t enough for you this time. You slightly open your needy lips and he happily takes the hint, swiping his tongue on your bottom lip to see if he’s right on what you’re offering, sure enough he is.
It’s slow and sensual in the beginning, and it’s actually driving him fucking insane. The taste of you is captivating in itself, the soft rhythm he sets and its consistency is melting the world around you. but the soft whine you made when he lifted your head a bit to accommodate the distance between you was the cherry on top. It’s a battle of dominance and clashing of teeth from then on. Your hands went from gently being placed on his face to being intertwined at the back of his neck and he can’t get enough. He wants more and more and more. His hands are on your waist, your face, running through your hair. He breaks from your mouth to kiss down your jaw impatient yet savoring every moment.
“John, we can't.” He knows you can’t, not that he would, he's too gentlemanly for that, you on the other hand are dancing on the line of control. Although he's desperate and impatient for you he’s also in dire need to keep you therefore no risks.
“I know, doll.” He says into the soft spot right below your ear. When he pulls away from you the look in your eyes can make any man fall to his knees. The swell of your puffy lips and the bit of saliva on your neck with your hair strewn in different places. It’s a sight to see.
You smile, completely and hopelessly falling for him, desperate so desperate that if he had kissed you one more time you wouldn’t have stopped it from going further.
“Ready in about two hours then?”
“Yeah.”
————
You get ready while listening to music, anything to calm the damn nerves in your entire body. You've had dinner with John before, you even live together, but this is completely different.
You dress nicely this time, warm yes, but nicely. Knowing John will either carry you or walk with you gives you leeway to nice outfits. A mini skirt with tights underneath, doc martens, fuzzy crew neck that almost goes over the skirt. You do your hair, light makeup.
You’re putting on your final touches, jewelry wise, when John appears in your bedroom doorway.
“Mmm dolled up for who exactly?” He gives you a long, obvious one up.
“Well I don’t know who I’ll meet, you know?”
“I know many things, dolls but not that one.”
“Well you don’t look so bad yourself.” You laugh, but really he always looks delicious.
“Can you actually help me with this?” You say holding up a gold necklace. He walks up to you, thick fingers grabbing at the dainty jewelry. You turn around moving your hair out of the way as he drapes it around your neck. He misses the clasp a couple times but when he finally gets it he lets out a satisfied grunt. You move to put your hair back but before you can you feel the wisp of his breath on your neck as his lips meet the soft skin of your shoulder humming softly. He turns you around planting one more on your lips.
“You really do look delectable.”
“Yeah yeah.” Your hands run over his scruff.
“Ready to go?” He asks, encasing the hand on his cheek.
“Yeah.”
-----------
im so sorry for the wait for this one, although its my shortest chapter yet I did put my heart into it. Being a sophmore in college isnt for the weak and im the weak.
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3
@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppixie @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving
#angst#captain price x female reader#john price#barry sloane#captain john price#john price x reader#task force 141#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#cod mw3
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Dear Heart and Gentle People 3
Summary: It's been a couple of months since you've seen your ghoul. Neither of you expects to cross paths in the Mojave.
Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader
Warnings. Some heavy putting and kissing here. Alcohol as well, i guess exhibitionist behavior?
Part 4 -> HERE
Freeside is one of the largest and relatively safest cities that Cooper has been to in his two hundred years on this cursed Earth. People still try to kill him, what's new, but this place has tall stone walls and well-meaning gangs that patrol the broken streets. The Kings make him huff and twist his lips as nostalgia hits him like a deathclaw.
The only bar in town is called The Atomic Wrangler, and Cooper castes his gazes across the bar and stage before he turns to the twins who own the establishment. They introduce themselves as Francsine and James Garrett, and Cooper tilts his hat in a greeting and orders a stiff drink.
Several hours later, he sits at a table, legs extended and pleasantly drunk as he laughs with the other patrons of the bar at the comedian on stage. He makes a sound of confusion when a shadow suddenly falls upon him, and then there is a smoothskin blocking his view. The curse that bubbles falls to the wayside when he looks up and realizes that it's not just any smoothskin. It was his.
You smile down at the Ghoul, that familiar amused quirk of your lips that Cooper hadn't realized he'd missed so much. So much had changed since the last time he had seen you, that this almost felt like meeting you for the first time all over again. Coop blinked up at you, jaw dropping as you step between his open legs, and proceeded to sit in his lap.
"Fancy meeting you here, cowpoke," you say, and despite his brain being soaked in alcohol, Cooper wasn't a complete fucking idiot. His hands find your hips and drag you close, manhandling you until you sit pressed flush to his front, your core already hot and pulsing with need. His cock throbs in his pants, and Coop bucks forward, a quiet sigh of pleasure escaping him at the friction.
"I'm too drunk for pillow talk, baby," the ghoul rumbles and his hands find your ass, massaging the globes harshly, and ruts up in a slow grind against your covered cunt. He finds your eyes, licks his teeth, and dives in to bite along the collom of your throat. He trails up your jaw and then your cheeks, lingering there as he hisses in your ear.
"Better get me outta here before I fuck you in front of all thae people. Give 'em a real show."
Your thighs quake at the dark promise, and you have to really think to yourself. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
Cooper watches your reaction, and a slow, evil grin creeps along his face. One hand leaves your ass and slides around, his thumb slipping between the apex of your legs and rubbing against your clothed clit. The pressure has you cursing quietly and falling forward, your face resting in the crook of the ghoul's neck. He laughs, rough and deep in your ear.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Darlin'. You'd want to show everyone in here just who you fuckin belong to."
You hiss through your teeth, already feeling like you're at the end of the rope. You hump against his hand, wanting to come so badly it hurts. Cooper goes back to sucking dark marks into your flesh, teeth nipping harshly, and it takes an embarrassingly quick time for you to tip over the edge.
Cooper swallows your whine with a kiss, shoving his tongue past your lips and tasting the nuka and rum you'd had earlier. He keeps you close as you come down from your high, kissing you until you have to push yourself away from him.
You already look fucked out, but Coop isn't nearly done with you, and tucks his arms under your ass and stands from his seat. He marches to the bar, where James hands him a key to the corner room upstairs without a word.
#cooper howard#fallout#fallout prime#fallout tv series#x reader#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard x reader#dear hears and gentle people
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𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)
* ೃ⁀➷ part 2 - part 3
pairings - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie
summary - your dad hires a stranger to help out around the farm
additional tags - inexperienced but flirty reader, shy/loser ellie, cowboy boot wearing ellie, mutual pinning, slight masturbation mention (e!), e! w/ a southern accent??, eventual smut, (nothing too crazy happens in this part it’s mostly just setting vibes lol)
Beads of sweat collected on the bridge of your nose, and your thighs stuck together as you sat on the porch swing, just lazily swinging back and forth, using your tippy toes to keep the momentum going.
You look out over the vast pasture- green as far as the eye can see, with nothing to distract from the country landscape except for some power lines out in the distance.
Even with the sun starting to set- it was still unbelievably hot.
"Keep goin' like that and you're gonna die of a heat stroke."
You yell to your father who was working under the hood of his rusty truck. Usually, he pays no mind to your nagging, but this time it seemed to work- or perhaps he was just finished for the night.
He shuts the hood, slamming it with a metallic thud before wiping his hands on a greasy rag.
His boots rang loudly against the hallow wooden stairs of the porch, looking down at you through bushy eyebrows.
"I don't need your sass, kid."
You roll your eyes at his comment. He's always been stubborn and tough, but in his old age, you can't help but worry. His cheeks have hallowed over the years, sun spots forming from the countless hours working on the farm, and his movements became slowed from the hard work catching up to him.
"I wouldn't sass if you'd just listen. Seriously, it's okay to hire someone to help. no one is gonna shame you for that." You pester affectionately, standing from the swing to open the screen door and enter the house with him following behind.
You follow him to the kitchen, listing all the reasons why he should have help.
One: he's getting old.
Two: his knee has never been the same since he had that operation done 4 years ago.
Three: the farm is too big and demanding to tend to alone.
"Okay- enough.. you sound just like your mother sometimes I swear." He hold a hand up, pausing you mid-ramble, and takes a sip from the glass he filled from the tap.
You pouted, and once again, your suggestions felt shot down.
He finishes the water, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.
"I actually have someone comin' by tomorrow. They were recommended t' me by Phillip at the feed store."
Your eyes lighten up, a smile grows on your face, and you finally feel like you can breathe, knowing that the hardships wouldn't be your dads alone anymore.
You rush around the kitchen island, placing a kiss to your dads cheek and squeezed him tight.
"Thank you! I can't wait- I'll have to bake em' something sweet tonight."
"Alright- settle down-" he pushes you away slightly with a smile on his weathered face. Truly an adoring annoyance that only a parent could love.
Your old man calls it a night, showering and off to bed he went, but you? Oh- you were busy. You tried your hardest to keep the sound down to a minimum, bowls, and kitchen utensils splayed on the counters.
A small apron draped around your waist, flour smudged on your cheekbone as you pulled the blueberry scones out of the oven. A satisfied smile grows on your face as you observe your work and finishing of the pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar.
Maybe, you were going a tad bit overboard, but the truth is, you were painfully lonely. The only time you had any visitors on the farm was when you held pumpkin patches in the fall, but even then, it was always young families that didn't bother to stay around for too long.
You go upstairs, a slight pep in your step as you did so. You showered and put in your favorite pajamas- a short, soft floral patterned dress with bows that secured the straps.
You tossed in bed, sleep not being in favor since your mind was still wide awake. You try to picture what they would look like- what they sounded like.
Was he tall? Around your age, or is he just another old man like your father? Maybe they're not a man at all.
It's best not to get ahead of yourself; whoever this person is, they are coming to work for your dad and not to become your friend.
-
You slept lightly, and your senses became more aware as a muted thud rang outside your second-story bedroom window. You open your eyes slowly, blinking away the sleepy confusion as dust particles dance in the sunbeams of your room.
It took you a few seconds to realize why today was so important, but once you remembered- it had you scattering out of bed to your window, pulling back the sheer laced curtains, and taking a peak outside.
There was a truck you didn't recognize parked in the driveway. It was slightly newer than your dad's, but that's not saying much; a simple 2-door with an extended bed, slightly lifted with sturdy-looking tires.
A slim figure stood next to the driver's side door, hands on their hips as they looked up at the house. To your surprise, it wasn't a man at all.
You squint, trying to get a better look at her without realizing how big of a creep you are being.
Her hair shined a brilliant shade of auburn in the morning light, a brown button up shirt with the sleep rolled up to her elbows, slightly flared and worn denim jeans hugged her hips with brown cowboy boots that seemed to match the leather of her belt.
You caught a glimpse of something on her arm, dark lines that disrupted her pale skin. It was a tattoo, although you could make out the details of the design.
She looked the part of someone who knows how to run a farm, but something about her seemed so out of place- almost like she was too pretty for such a dirty job.
While you were too busy eyeing her up and down, you didn't realize she had caught you. She put her hand up, holding it there for a second before bringing it back down to her side. You wave back, a slight wiggle of you fingertips which made her smile.
You watch her walk out of the frame of your window before sitting on the edge of your bed- your fingers grasping at the embroidered comforter. You had this weird feeling in your tummy; it was something you couldn't explain, almost like nausea but also like when you go on a big rollercoaster.
You felt nervous but excited all at the same time. You figured it was because she was around your age, maybe slightly older- shrugging it off as you got up and got ready for the day.
You brush your hair before tying it into two loose braids, finishing it with light pink ribbons at the ends. You wanted to put a little more effort into your appearance today since you're meeting someone new, and as daddy always said, "First impressions are the most important."
You take a deep breath in the last most of solitude of your room before making your way down the stairs, the conversation between the stranger and your father growing louder and louder from the kitchen as you inched closer.
"There she is-" your dad motions an arm in your direction, the stranger immediacy turning to meet your face.
"Ellie, this is my daughter, y/n, and y/n, this is Ellie."
"It's nice t' meet you, Ellie." You said in your sweetest voice you could muster as you walk towards her, holding a hand out.
"Likewise." She smiles, taking your hand in hers and shakes it firmly. She seemed respectful, maybe even a little flustered- seeing that her cheeks started to turn a deep shade of pink.
Upon seeing her closer, it didn't help settle your nerves. She was gorgeous; freckles adorned her alabaster skin, a scar that ran through her eyebrow and upper lip, and her eyes a mossy shade of green with dark, long lashes framing the shape.
She was honestly the prettiest girl you've ever seen but not in the same way you were often described. There was a boyish charm to her that you had never seen before.
"Well- best we get to it then." Your dad chimes in, causing you to let go of the calloused hand that you hadn't realized you were still holding onto.
"I'll see you around Ellie." You just barely make audible to her, bitting down on your bottom lip before turning on your heel and leaving them to do their jobs.
Ellie was almost speechless upon meeting you. Never in a million years did she ever think a girl like you could live in this small country town, but fuck, leave it to her luck- you were the boss's daughter, which means you were off limits.
You didn't make it easy on her either, prancing around in your little summer dress that flowed with your movements, rising dangerously high when you would turn around, almost giving her a peek of your ass.
Ellie swallowed hard each time, the saliva filling her mouth with all the dirty thoughts she had- which mostly consisted of you underneath her, completely naked and trembling after she forced a 4th orgasm out of you.
-
The sun was starting to set, blanketing the canvas in shades of orange and pink, and to your disappointment- Ellie would be leaving soon.
She was walking towards her truck, slightly dragging her feet from exhaustion, and you're happy she did so. It gave you enough time to run out of the house barefoot, container filled with the homemade goods in your hands.
"Ellie!-" you called out to her which made her turn around, her hand opening the driver side door.
You nearly bump into her, slightly out of breath as you held up the tupperware with both of your hands.
"Sorry- I made them last night, must've forgotten in to give 'em' to you earlier." Again, your voice is so sweet and innocent- like honey coated candies on her tongue.
A smirk grows on her face, taking the gift from you to inspect them.
"That's mighty kind of you.. oh no, are these blueberries?"
Your face contorts to concern, and Ellie can't help but think how fucking cute you look all worried like that.
"Yeah, why? Do you not like 'em?" You pout, almost like you're on the verge of tears
A low chuckle reverberates in her throat, "I'm just messing with you, doll. They look delicious."
"Meanie."
A few seconds of silence go by, and Ellie looks everywhere except your face, and I mean everywhere- including the plushness of your breast that spilled over the top of your dress - she couldn't have you knowing how red her cheeks are right now.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" She said it almost like a question- as if you'd miss out on such an opportunity.
"See you tomorrow, Ellie. Goodnight." You stand on your tippy toes, planting a quick kiss on the rounds of her cheeks, and run back inside, leaving Ellie in full panic mode.
She gets into her truck, taking a moment to herself before turning over the engine. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as she replays it in her head. She felt like she could combust, literally and figuratively- her head came down to rest on the wheel, and her cheeks ached from the smile that wouldn't seem to leave her lips.
In fact- she thought about it all night long. When she showered, when she laid in bed trying to sleep, she was tingling, an ache growing inside the depths of her stomach.
I mean, could you blame her? You didn't try to hide how hard you stared or how flirtatious you were towards her.
Maybe you were just like that with everyone.
Still- it didn't stop her. And It didn't stop her hand from slipping into the waistband of her checkered pajama pants, and it definitely didn't stop her from fingering herself to thoughts of you.
She came hard that night, harder than she had before, and she can't help but wonder- if simply her imagines of you felt this good, how would fucking you for real feel?
❥ taglist - @machetegirl109
#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x f!reader#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou#ellie tlou smut#tlou ellie#ellie tlou x reader#ellie tlou2#ellie tlou fanfic#ellie x fem reader#ellie the last of us 2#ellie the last of us#the last of us 2#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us 2 fanfic#tlou fic#tlou smut#tlou2 ellie#ellie x y/n#ellie x you#ellie x reader#ellie williams tlou2#tlou2 smut#the last of us
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EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER part 4
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
drop idea for the next part because Im running outta steam lol
It isnt long before you and Miles are hanging out every other day.
You would see him after school when you could, or he would sneak into your room at night.
And this goes on for weeks.
That is until you’re talking to Miles one night outside his flat.
You wish him goodbye, kissing his cheek and being on your way. He goes inside, and as you’re about half way down the block, you get a text.
‘my momma saw you kiss me through the window, she wants to meet you.’
You literally stand still on the sidewalk for a moment, heart beating in your chest.
So the two of you try to schedule a day where you can sit down and meet Rio.
You pitch the following day, but she has to work late at the hospital.
Miles pitches friday, but you have an afterschool study session
So you pick that sunday, which works until Miles calls you and tells you Rio was scheduled a later shift and wouldnt be able to cook that day.
“How about we cook instead? To give her a break.” You say.
Miles’ face scrunches up in the facetime.
“I cant cook.” He says plainly.
“But I can, it could be a surprise.” You say.
So thats what you do. Miles tells Rio and Aaron they’ll order food that afternoon, and you and Miles go to the store to get groceries in the morning.
Miles sat at the island of the kitchen, his head in his hand as he watched you cook.
He was playing music for you, a couple modern hispanic pop songs.
“Shes really gonna like this.” Miles said, small smike on his face.
“I hope so.” You reply, mixing something in a pot.
You put your spoon down, letting the food cook while you turn to Miles.
You reach your hand out, prompting him to stand infront of you.
You smile up at him, swaying your hips softly in tune of the music.
He follows your lead, a little smoother than you expected.
He hums along softly to the song, spinning your around the kitchen.
“Youre light on your feet.” You say, letting him twirl you.
The two of you dance and laugh until the kitchen timer dings, in which you break away to check the food.
And unbeknownst to you, Rio stands at the front door, Aaron at her side as she peers through the opened crack.
“Theyre gonna realize youre watching em.” He says, a smirk plasterd on his face.
“I havent seen my baby dance since he was a baby.” Rio whispers.
She waits until the two of you begin plating the food to smooth her scrubs out and open the door.
“Estoy en casa.” She said softly, catching Miles’s eyes.
“Whats all this?” She had a sort of unreadable expression on her face.
“Miles told me you wouldnt have time to cook, so I thought why not cook for you?” You say timidly.
You take you oven mits off and walk up to Rio.
“Soy s/n, gusto en conocerla Sra. Morales” You smile, holding your hand out to her.
Her expression cracks, a smile gracing her lips.
“Encantada de conocerte, nice spanish you have there.”
You then hold your hand out to Aaron.
“Nice to meet you too Mr.Aaron.”
Aaron is a bit more curt with his handshake, his face still stoic. He hums out a little “mhm” as he shakes your hand.
“Shes pretty, Miles.” Rio gushes, then she turns to you. “Youre really pretty.”
miles shrugs with a cocky grin on his face, leaning against the kitchen island.
You smile and thank her, walking back to the stove.
“Miles mentioned how much you like puerto rican dishes, so i made mofongo and Arroz con gandules.”
Rio looks over the food, taking a moment to smell over the aromas.
“Your abuela used to make this when you were little, Miles.” She says fondly, then she shakes her head.
“This looks great, lets eat. Miles help me set the table.”
So while you plate the food, Rio and Miles set the table. The four of you sat down to eat not before long, You and Miles on one side of the table, Rio and Aaron on the other.
“You did real good here, ma.” Miles says, mouth half full.
“He’s right, you know your way around a kitchen. Isnt that right Aaron?” Rio elbows him.
Aaron humms a ‘mhm’ eating well nonetheless.
“You know Unc,” Miles begins, putting a spoonful of rice in his mouth.
“Y/n might be able to fix your truck.”
Aaron raises his eyebrow at you, your eyes widening.
“Oh- I, uh, my dad works with cars, Miles told me you were having some issues, maybe i could take a look at it.” You say softly, tensing under his gaze.
“Its an engine problem. I doubt you can fix it.” He says.
Before you can say anything, Miles and Rio protest at the same time.
“Cmon man.”
“Give her a chance.”
Aaron rolls his eyes.
“….you can come look at it after dinner.” He says, getting back to his meal.
When everyone finishes their meal and the conversation dies down, Aaron gets up from the table.
“Lets go.” He huffs.
You and Miles stand up and follow him to the door just before he puts his hand to Miles’ chest.
“Help your moma with the dishes.”
“Man what I-“ Miles’ face scrunches up in irritation as Aaron gives him a pointed look.
“We’ll be back.” He says, motioning you to follow him.
And you do, you follow him down to the parking deck. He leads you to a mini garage labeled with a different apartment number than the one Miles stays in, probably for a different building.
Silently he pops the hood of the car for you, propping open his took box and motioning towards the car. He then crosses his arms and leans against the wall.
You gulp.
Quietly you scan your eyes over the mechanics inside the hood, looking to see what could be wrong with the engine.
“The start up is weak.” Aaron says suddenly.
“Took her to the mechanics and they quoted me 7 hundred to fix it.”
“Oh, why didnt they just give it a flush?” You ask, turning to him.
He raises an eyebrow.
You look around the garage for a mechanic creep, stretching it out and rolling your way under the hood of the car. Taking a wrench, you dislodge a couple bolts, pulling a pannel open.
“Do you have a watter bottle?” You ask, reaching your grease soaked hand our from under the car.
Theres shuffling, then a new watter bottle is placed in your hand.
You flush out part of the engine, using a given rag to dry it out and placing the pannel back on. Then you roll out from under the car, wiping your forehead.
“Try starting her up.” You say.
Aaron gets in the car, putting the key in and starting it up. And it starts up smooth.
A suprised expression crosses his face, followed by a smile.
“Id do that every 2-3 months, if you do it too much those parts will rust.” You say, coming up besides him while wiping your hands with a rag.
Aaron claps your back suddenly, beaming down at you.
“Thanks babygirl, I might have to get you in here on off days, get a set of extra hands on the projects we’re working on.”
You wonder if he’s talking about prowler things.
You dont ask though, giving a small ‘you’re welcome’ and walking after him as he closes the garage.
The walk back is quiet for a while, then Aaron speaks.
“My nephew has a lot going on in his life.” He says.
“If you can keep him focused on what’s important, Ion’ mind you staying around.”
You look over at him, then nod your head.
When the two of you return to the apartment, you’re laughing at the embarrassing Miles stories Aaron is telling you.
“Well, how’d it go?” Rio asks, a little surprised at Aaron’s joyfulness.
“She saved me 7 hundred, so pretty well.” He smiles.
“See i knew you could handle it.” Miles nudges your shoulder and kisses your cheek.
“Y/n.” Rio calls you name. Her and Aaron look at each other, then at you.
“¿Puedo hablar contigo un momento?”
You look at her and nod, noticing Aaron usher miles into another room.
“Yes ma’am?” You say, sitting at the dining table across from her.
“You know I love my son.” She begins. The air is a little tense now.
“I love him more than anything else, more than he’ll ever know. And he has lost a lot. I dont want to see him hurt again.” She looks at you seriously.
“I dont want to see him hurt ever.” You reply.
“Lets make a deal, then.” Rio says.
“You take care of him, make sure he knows hes loved, and be there for him in the places I cant, and no matter what youll always be welcome here in my home.”
You smile, shaking her out stretched hand.
“Deal.”
The rest of the evening you spend having hearty conversations with Rio and Aaron in the living room.
Miles has you pressed to his side, his hand on your knee.
Sometime into the night you notice him drifting off beside you, his head drooping onto your shoulder peacefully.
And after a while its time for you to go home.
“Walk her home boy.” Aaron quipped, smacking Miles on the back of his neck and startling him awake.
Miles glares at his uncle, getting up to grab his shoes and meet you by the door.
And he walks you home, hand in yours and shoulders relaxed. And once you’re home, you kiss him on the cheek and wish him goodnight.
Then maybe an hour later, after youve showered and gotten into your pajamas, you get a text.
“You did good today, Hermosa, Im proud of you. Also, my mom really likes you, she said come back soon”
tags: @tishsrealwife @call-me-nev @hana-1235 @youcantseem3 @kaealowri @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @kezibear @urmotherswhor3 @ladylovegood-69 @thetoetickler @cumbermovels @cozmicwonder @yams-ley @sh-tposter2021 @vampjacinda @roadkillmeal @animechick555 @the-smut-plug @iluvdi0r @stevenknightmarc @yoashh @kitsunna @caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb
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Dark Paradise
part 3 of Salvatore
read part 1, Salvatore, here
read part 2, Playing Dangerous, here
pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
summary: left alone in javi’s bed, you go looking for distractions. finding them only leads you further into his world: a world of danger and violence, where no one can protect anyone.
warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, super SUPER light choking) so 18+ only content; pet names (cariño, hermosa, querida, sweetheart, baby) afab fem reader; reader is American; mentions of hair pulling; allusions to SA; attempted SA against reader (not by javi); violence against reader (hitting, slapping, manhandling); smoking; dubcon (power imbalance, trauma sex??).
word count: 7k+
no use of y/n in this fic
u guys. it is here. and the most exciting part is I can already promise u a part 4!! pls be mindful that this part is darker than the rest. it has many triggering themes, so many sure u read the warnings & stay on the safe side of things.
as always, love u all so effing much. feedback, reblogs, comments & asks are always appreciated, & don’t forget to join the taglist in my pinned post !
-em<3
—
No one compares to you. I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side.
- Dark Paradise
“Girl, where did you go?”
You’re on the landline with Carrie, one of the few half-friends you'd made living in Medellín, thighs sore and bruised from the backseat-loving you’d received the night before. While Javi’s at work, you’re on (his words) 'house arrest,' and lounging alone in his apartment feels eerily quiet. The occasional car drives by—you try not to listen for the sound of scraping tires.
So, around 9:30, you’d decided to fill the silent space with a bit of vapid conversation, realizing that last night's antics (and your unexplained disappearance) may have caused a bit of confusion.
You start by filling Carrie in on the generalities: the guns, the car, and the rescue, at first planning to leave out the more… personal details.
Like the one you'd filed away under 'Riding a Cop to High Heaven in the Backseat of his Jeep.'
You also leave out the part where, afterwards, you’d kicked off your heels by his front door, let down your hair in a sloppy, half-drunk movement, made a beeline to the familiar crinkles and folds of his unmade bed, and swiftly passed out in his embrace.
Oh, to fall asleep between those arms for the rest of eternity.
Given your more cynical—okay, borderline self-denying—approach to life, you felt downright ashamed of how much you’d enjoyed it. How much you’d enjoyed him and all of his lasting touches.
And in the morning… Javi’s hardness biting into your hip was a more efficient wake-up-call than the trial nuke sirens back home; the soft kisses laid down the length of your neck and the long, lazy fingers creeping down your abdomen had you surging to consciousness with embarrassing speed. You’d shivered into wakefulness, flattened against his chest.
“Good morning, cariño.” His words were molasses, melted caramel, thick and damp with sleep.
“Hmmmh,” was your only reply, sloping into your highest octaves as his hand sank to push aside your already-ruined underwear, dipping lower to toy with the switch only he knew how to turn on best. Arching into his spine, last night’s dress crumpled up above your waist, leaving him to feel more, more, more of you.
“Thought it would take more convincing,” he breathed against your shoulder, a breeze of late august air.
“Wh’time z’it?”
“We have time, cariño, we have time.”
When his digits pulled a moan from your lips, no other answers really mattered. He’d loosed that deep, guttural rumble of approval that made your chest swell with pride, your legs part in service and need.
“Can you hold this leg up for me, baby? S’all you need to do.” He’d helped fold up your knee, and you’d turned to meet him with pleading, drooping eyes, dutifully contorting to mold into the shape of his body. “Perfect, baby, good job,” a rough kiss to your temple, “n’I can do the rest, hermosa—I’ll do the rest.”
He slid in effortlessly, harmonizing to your sigh of relief with a “shit, s’wet,” and sheathing his cock between the folds of your morning slick. Brows furrowing, mouth falling open, you had every detail of your bliss etched on your expression, all for the beautiful man looming over you. “Always fuckin’ askin’ for it, huh, sweetheart?” He'd mused. “Woke me up moanin’ in your sleep, cariño—dreamin’ about last night?”
An “mhmm,” was all you could muster. Javi’s hips rolled against your ass, and the resulting feeling of overwhelming fullness had you swearing you were still in reverie. When he paused, snaked his arms under your neck and around your waist, and pulled you flush against his chest, you remember it feeling like a dirty, desperate hug.
“M’sore, Javi,” you’d whined at the stretch of your opening, the continued drag of Javi’s fingers against your aching, weary clit.
“S’no excuse, baby,” he’d grumbled into the shell of your ear, pressing hard into that tender bundle of nerves. “Gotta get you used to it.”
A harrumph as he’d turned up the intensity, punishing you for your protests. “Y-you’re a mean-mean man, Javier Peña.”
Soft, gravelly laughter danced, twirled, traveled along the dip of your neck. “‘N you’re gonna come so hard for this mean, mean man.”
He was right, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with the thick, rough pads of his fingertips, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, over and over, in and out of your guts.
“Yeah—yes—m’gonna come for you, Javi,” you’d admitted.
But he’d stolen his magical digits away, used them to turn your jaw, to square your face off with his own concentrated, lust-filled expression. “Show me cariño, yes—gonna be picturin’ that pretty lil’ face aaaaall fuckin’ day,” and you’d tumbled over the edge the moment he’d slid back down to the apex of your thighs, drowning in the darkness of his cinnamon-brown irises and the tantalizing circles—drawn from memory—against your clit.
“J-javi—it feels—feels s-so good—”
“I know, hermosa, s’just what you needed, fuck—”
He was already close enough, but your climaxing trembles and your whining, choked gasps had him wrapping his hand around your throat, pushing you further and further down the length of his tensing shaft.
“Shit—you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me—”
His release came fast and hard, leaking his hot spend into you, painting your insides like brushstrokes on canvas with his final thrust.
He seemed to lay there for forever, softening between your walls as sweet slumber carried you off once more. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he’d advised against your shoulder (as if you’d needed any kind of encouragement), “Did such a good job; go back to sleep.”
It was easy to accede to his command.
You’d come to for a half-second as he’d placed, fully dressed, the clink of his belt and the crisp waft of his cologne rousing you to near-consciousness, a deliberate, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t answer the door for anyone else, okay, hermosa?”
“Huh? Oh—mhm.”
And you’d vaguely registered a low laugh. “Good to know you’re so well behaved when you’re half-asleep.” His finger traced your cheekbone, dragged down to pull teasingly at your bottom lip. “Means I’ll have to keep fuckin’ you to the point of exhaustion.”
“Mhm—please." Squished and mumbled, guttural and breathless.
Another soft laugh, and then echoes of receding footsteps.
Waking up a few hours later, you’d peeled your sticky thighs apart, confused at first by the mysterious pool of wetness between your legs.
You didn’t bother cleaning it up, already feeling the loss of your DEA officer. You somehow chose to dial Carrie's number to kill some time on your day off (or else, you feared, you’d have quickly found another use for your bored fingers).
Being alone in his room leaves you feeling very young. Lying in his bed, thinking about the past night’s events… you feel giddy, like a highschool girl after her first time, and anxious, on edge without Javier’s protection.
You just want to gush about it.
“Do you remember that DEA agent? The Texan?”
You barely have time to finish your thought before Carrie’s cutting your question short.
“Sexy Javi?”
She giggles. You snort indelicately into the receiver.
“I never called him that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she returns. “I deduced it from the amount of times you ranted to me about his… callers.”
You fiddle with the telephone chord, smiling artfully to yourself. “I’m in his bed right now.”
There’s a slap. No doubt the sound of a hand clapping over a set of slack lips. And then—
“I thought he lived outside the city?!”
It’s a strange reaction. You’d expected something a bit more on-topic, confused at your friend’s preoccupation with Peña’s living quarters when you’d just divulged such an out-of-character, personal detail.
Well, at least the enthusiasm is there.
“No, he lives right by the embassy.” You respond, rolling lazily onto your side. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, you grimace to yourself, taking in (on top of the empty bottle of men’s cologne and an old, broken watch) a box of tissue paper, a pair of handcuffs (not regulation), a smatter of sex toys, and a few scattered, unopened condoms. “That new… fancy building on the corner,” you continue, swiping a few tissues between your legs, trying not to giggle at the teasing Javi was in for tonight, “Carrie—are you seriously not gonna ask how it was?”
There’s a pause. You hear a rustle in the background; the sound reminds you of students in class, whipping out pens and notebooks.
Is she taking notes?
“Tell. Me. Everything.”
That reaction felt more appropriate.
It all comes bursting out of you—the night out, Javi’s rescue, your backseat escapade. Carrie’s an ideal audience, gasping and ‘oooh’-ing and ‘girl!’-ing at all the right moments.
When you get to the end of your tale, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Carrie pries for more and more specifics, keeping you on the phone for close to an hour. You don't give her everything (did she really need an approximation of his size?) but you do make sure to remind her, often, that Javier Peña was an excellent fuck.
Finally, the conversation dies down. Sitting up, you realize just how desperately you’re in need of a shower. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the smell of sex, tequila, and Javi’s day-old cologne clinging to your skin, but his place gets hot, and you hadn't anticipated the need to pack deodorant in your purse during last night's going-out prep.
Either way, Carrie's become distracted, the length between your words and her responses growing with every passing minute. You notice a Spanish conversation taking place in the background, no doubt the reason for her decreasing attentiveness.
You’re about to hang up, launching into a polite, “alright girl, I’ll let you go” when she goes back in for more.
“Is he home now?”
She blurts it out, and you're a bit taken aback. Frankly, the urgency of her tone feels a little jarring.
“Um, no,” you answer, uncertain, stretching out your vowels, “I think he went in early today.”
“Good.”
Her clipped tone continues to confuse you. It’s… not playful anymore. It’s administrative.
Commercial.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh,” a flutter of shrill laughter, “Just wanted to make sure he’s not listening in on our—”
There’s a knock at the door before she can finish. You call out just a sec! automatically, pulling on your rumpled clothes from the night before as the receiver tumbles onto the unmade bed.
It’s only once you’ve lumbered over, wiped the grogginess from your eyes, once you’ve unlocked the door and twisted the handle—it’s only once your head is covered with a thick, scratchy fabric, once the world’s gone dark and a cry of surprise is wrenched from your throat—that you recall Javi’s warning:
Don’t open the door for anyone else.
Something else takes over. Something primal. Fight, fight, fight. Find the flesh and punish it, scramble for purchase into any detectable, softer areas. Squirm until your legs give out, 'till your knees hit the floor and the beginnings of bruises scatter across your burning skin in a plethora of vulnerable places.
But when you thrash around like that, make sure your head doesn’t hit the doorframe.
Because then? It’s lights out.
—
The first thing you notice is the smell.
Weed and tobacco. Wet weed and tobacco. It’s not a smell you’re accustomed to (you worked for the DEA, for crying out loud). It makes your already-pounding head spin, so it takes a second before you remember that you’re not safe—you’re not at home, you’re not at Javi’s, and you’re not with Javi.
Instincts kick in. Your stomach aches with fear, lighting you up from the inside, energizing every inch of your body. You wrench, pull, struggle against the restraints suffocating your wrists, binding your hands around the back of a rickety, wooden chair. You can’t kick at anything, either. Your ankles are crossed, squished on top of each other and secured by a firm length of (what you assume to be) rope.
And then the canvas is unceremoniously yanked off of your head, taking a few hairs from your scalp along with it.
You squint, blinking into the dim light, slowly adjusting to your surroundings: some sort of musty basement with concrete walls and floors, decorated by nothing except a couple of small, rectangular windows near the too-high ceilings. It’s completely empty—save for your company.
One, two, three strangers. All men. All Cartel, by the looks of them.
And all positively leering.
The one nearest you, holding the bag in his hands, speaks down to you. It’s quick and harsh, mocking and cruel. Spanish and unintelligible.
Your hatred towards the captor blinds you; it coaxes the animal out of its cage. You spit: “I don’t speak Spanish, motherfucker.”
(Even if you did, the adrenaline coursing through your veins wouldn’t allow you much room for comprehension).
From the shadows, another man appears. He lumbers over to you, and you notice the peculiarity of his European-looking hat as he squats down to level with you.
He clicks his tongue, dousing you with a look of disapproval. “That’s not very nice, hermosa.”
You shiver. Javi had called you that before, many times. And even though it sounded totally different coming from this foul man’s mouth, shrouded under the veil of a thick, Spanish accent, it sticks.
You hold your tongue, biting it to keep from sobbing. The glint in his eye, visible behind his glasses, moves from playfulness to exasperated ire.
He sighs, stands, and grabs your hair, tilting your head back harshly to look down at you. “You’re very hard to catch, you know that?” He muses, darkness trickling across his features. “But you’re alone now, Americana. No DEA—no Javier Peña to protect you.”
He makes a mockery of his name, oozing cockiness as it comes spitting out of his smirk. You glare up at him, simmering anger and bubbling fear claiming you. Would they go after Javi?
No. They wouldn’t dare.
Only an American like yourself—low-value, replaceable, unnoticeable—was expendable.
“What do you want from me?”
He smiles, releasing your head and taking a step back.
“You’re the assistant, aren’t you?” And that deceptively sweet tone is back, frightening you more than his rage. “We need directions, hermosa. You’ve been in all the government buildings—we know, we watched you. Why don’t you give us some assistance,” he pauses, leaning down towards you, “And tell us where your evidence against Pablo Escobar is filed.”
You snort, unimpressed, shocked, and a little humoured by his little monologue. This was what they were after?
This was why you'd been fearing for your life?
A fucking… map?
“Find someone else. I don’t know shit.”
It’s honestly true. The bastards could not be barking up a more wrong tree. For all their criminal genius, they hadn’t managed to catch the fact that you really, truly didn’t give a flying fuck about the particulars of your job.
But if this was about Escobar—the Pablo Escobar—then these were men from the Medellín cartel. The same Medellín cartel that left scores of expendable bodies in its wake, that bombed, assassinated, and tortured government workers like they were no more than rats in a science lab.
You weren’t the end-all, be-all of this operation.
No, you were just another lead.
A lead that (only you knew) led to jack-all. Unless they were scrambling to learn about the best places to go out dancing or the worst brands of moisturizer, you had very little to offer the thugs.
The one with the strange hat—the ringleader, you decide—shares a smile with his co-conspirators, and you begin to regret the arrogance of your statement.
“There are many ways we can do this,” he warns, voice sloping down to a dangerous hum. “It can be easy…” and he lowers a hand to his belt buckle, setting every cell in your body on fire, “Or hard.”
It‘s a plea to God more than a question for your captor, your desperate, self-pitying: “Why me?” It can't be above a whisper, but the asshole responds anyway.
“It’s more enjoyable when we get to work with something pretty.” A dark laugh. “Who’s going to come looking for you, hermosa? Your family? Your friends? Your… government?” He clicks his tongue again, looking down at you in mock concern. “Like I said, we’ve been watching. You have a habit of disappearing. Running away.”
Figures.
Figures that the reason you’d wound up with your life on the line, your body in danger, was because of you. Once again, it boiled down to the lack of attachments you’d curated over the years, passing from one thing to another, quick on your feet the second they hit solid ground. For God’s sake, the only reason you’d made it this long in Medellín was because it hadn’t managed to bore you yet.
Figures that the closest thing to stability you’d been able to find was in the crime capital of the world. It was poetically honest, laughably ironic.
Of course, the American government would assume you’d fucked off—just another ditzy contractor swept up in the thrill of a south-American life.
The other part held water, too—no one would come looking for you. Your boss might huff about ‘these flighty secretaries, can’t hold ‘em down for anything,’ but beyond that, your disappearance would cause less than a stir.
Somehow, that thought comforted you. The lack of collateral, the lack of another’s suffering… very little harm would befall the world in the wake of your absence. Peace was beginning to crest upon your settling soul. And, either way, you’d worked in this line of work for long enough to know that your death warrant had been signed the very second they’d seen you as a target.
You give the bastards what they want? You die.
You hold off? You die.
All things considered, you resign yourself, making up your mind.
Still, your defiant voice quivers as you say it.
“Fuck you.”
The ringleader smiles, like a predator cornering its prey, taking that first bite into hard-earned flesh. Your brain responds, screaming warnings in big letters, in flashing red ink. He barks an order to his underlings in Spanish, and the other two men come forward, roughly undoing the holds along your ankles, your wrists.
“Get the fuck off of me!”
But they don’t listen, yanking you upright and shoving you onto the ground. Your vision becomes hazy. Something takes over, a protective instinct, perhaps, barring you from your own body. Distantly, you observe yourself fighting, but really all you feel is beyond. The words ‘I am not here, this is not happening’ wash over you over and over again, like a cleansing, salt-water wave.
Hands on cement. Clothes torn, destroyed—the cold barrel of a gun to your head, a man barking orders, hitting, slapping—and right as the worst is about to happen, everything just…
Stops.
It’s like they’re spellbound, bugs frozen in amber.
You hear the cause of it well after your torturers do. Footsteps upstairs, and gunshots, screams followed by the definite sounds of a creeping squadron.
The men get messy. Scrambling around, they gather their options. In your dazed periphery, you watch their eyes latch onto one of those open windows, 8 or 9 feet up from the ground.
A hushed conversation ensues. You're familiar enough with the more violent side of the Spanish vocabulary to string together their meaning.
“Shoot her? — no, the noise, they’ll find us faster — kill her? — too long — take her? — too messy — we have to go, we have to go, we have to go.”
Your ruined shirt is shoved down your throat, and then you’re gagging on it, ankles bound once more, shaking and naked on the freezing concrete. The trio uses the little wooden chair to frantically sneak out of the window.
It would be downright comical if you weren’t so terrified.
Soon, you’re alone, choking on cotton and wriggling to flatten your back against the wall. Centuries pass before the movement upstairs graduates to the basement below.
Relief doesn’t grace you. Any man—DEA, cartel, or Colombian police—would likely perform the same violence as your previous captors had planned to. A naked girl, roughed up and completely unprotected, in a dark, hidden basement, totally at their mercy… Shit. You were basically an invitation. A free meal, offered up to a different, hungry crowd.
You just pray that this one might be gentler.
The stairs creak under the certain weight of bodies in motion.
Tears run down the side of your face, dripping down from your temple onto the ground below. You compress into a ball, making yourself as small as possible.
The echoes grow louder, closer and closer. At this point, you just hope they’ll assume you’re an enemy or get trigger-happy and give you a quick taste of lead. Put you out of your misery.
Giving up was well within your comfort zone.
Someone gasps when they see you, and a single name hurtles through the space.
An out-of-commission part of your mind recognizes it—the name—knows it as a comfort. Still, you only tremble, trying to disconnect yourself from what must be a wishful, crafted, deceitful version of reality.
Then someone else comes forward. Your eyes, weary of keeping you in the dark, fling open just in time to watch a tall, dark-haired man push through the crowd of soldiers. You watch his expression—shock to rage, rage to relief, and then rage all over again.
He rushes you, falling to his knees before your wrecked form.
His first move is to wrench the fabric from your mouth. You croak out the most desperate sob of relief, all those stifled, unvoiced expressions of terror tumbling out in great-big-heaves.
“Are you hurt?” He asks.
“No.” You respond.
“Did they…?”
“No.”
Javi tears his big doe-eyes, filled with worry, away from yours, twisting to impatiently address the frozen crowd of four or five behind him. “Can somebody take these fuckin’ ties off?”
Switchblades slice through twine. Someone brings you a blanket, and Javi bundles you up in it, gathering you and lifting you in his arms. You don’t resist, clinging around his neck and hiding in the comfort of his shoulder.
“Hermosa—”
You regret the way you flinch. “Please—please don’t call me that anymore.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t ask questions, sounding a little softer, a little more unsure when he presses on, muffling the desperate edge to his tone. “Did you see where they went?”
“The window. Out the window.”
Most of the rest take to that almost immediately, scattering to start on their chase. Javi delivers a set of orders in his native tongue.
Then, he grows silent, carrying you through the house with two soldiers in the lead. “Close your eyes, okay? You don’t wanna see this.” But now that they’re open, you can’t seem to shut them. You only glimpse flashes of the upstairs area. Tables covered in paper, glass contraptions and coke, so much coke, which is almost more impressive than the quantity of blood splattered against the peeling walls.
And Carrie.
Carrie with half her brains hanging out, long, dark, red-soaked hair fanning around her crown like a rotten halo, lounging on the couch, fingers splayed and palms to the sky as if she were ready to wrap them around a glass of white wine—as if she were ready to catch up on girl-talk.
What’s Carrie doing here?
Should I ask her?
She’s dead.
No, she’s not. She’s right there. She was waiting for me to be done so we could catch up. That’s just how she always sits—it’s just the scoliosis.
That’s why she always showed up so late to the club. She… she couldn’t dance too long because of the scoliosis.
You’re still debating whether or not Carrie would be up for a bit of gossip, another debrief, when big, strong arms lower you into the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee.
Javier buckles you in.
“We can’t go to your place—that’s…” and you trail off weakly, throat burning with effort. “That’s where they took me.”
He nods, his face a complete mask of concentration.
But you know him.
He’s holding everything back. You appreciate him for that, never wanting to hear a man shout for the rest of your cursed time on Earth.
“Steve’s, then.”
It’s your turn to nod.
—
Javier drives in complete and total silence, only speaking the occasional clipped sentence into his radio. Despite your vulnerability, despite your overwhelming gratitude, you feel guilty for taking him away from his work, from his team. For forcing him to rescue you once again.
For sure, he’s angry. Would he have to move? Find a new place? Leave all his stuff at the old one? Would a better captive have paid better attention, taken note of the exact direction her kidnappers had taken off in after clearing the window?
Soon, you’re settled against a couch, the light from the opposing window breaking in and dancing across Javi’s face. A blonde woman—fiery, familiar, concerned—hands you a glass of water.
Javi watches you, eyebrows notched together, lips drawn into a thin line as you take a slow sip in silence. The liquid slides down your throat, cooling and soothing the rips and tears there.
And they both won’t stop staring. Truly, their joint study makes you self-conscious, watching on with unapologetic intent as you shiver under the scratchy blanket.
Finally (thankfully), Steve's wife—Connie, you recall—speaks.
“You can go, Javi. I'll take it from here.”
“No.”
She looks borderline offended at his line in the sand.
“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk, Peña.” It’s authoritative, protective, clearly marked with harboured resentment.
She'd make a good mom.
He scoffs. “I’m not gonna make her talk, Connie. Just don’t wanna leave her like... this.”
Connie looks confused. They share a glance, and an eventual understanding passes over her expression. In fact, even in your distressed state, you’re almost certain you catch a hint of a smile.
“Well if you’re both staying, we’ll need food.”
Javi nods absentmindedly, lighting up a smoke. You look away, still feeling the weight of his eyes boring into your ducked head.
She clears her throat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Remember to lock the door, Javi.”
Then, swinging her coat on, she traces an awkward line out of the apartment.
Silence flits across the room. The agent continues to study you from his seat at the counter across the room.
“Are you okay?”
You pick at your nails, internally asking yourself the same question.
“I’m just glad you were there,” you muster up, looking up at his softened, warm gaze. Concern etches a couple of fresh lines on his face.
Javi nods, taking a long drag. “Always, sweetheart. I’m glad I was there, too.”
You shiver at the thought of what could have happened if he and his team had showed up just a few minutes later. What shape he would have found you in, or if you’d ever permit yourself to feel the touch of a man again. Of anyone again.
“Why were you there?”
The question comes out of nowhere, bursting out the moment you realize that you hadn’t yet bothered to ask him how he’d pulled off yet another well-timed rescue.
It couldn’t have been in answer to your prayers—those had never worked for you before.
“Carillo’s been following Escobar’s cousin for a while. Zeroed in on the neighbourhood, but we spent all morning doing searches. Honestly,” he breaks off for a moment, rubbing at his temples, “It was just damn luck that we found you when we did. Wish I could say it wasn't, but it was. We were gettin’ ready to call it off. I had… no idea you weren’t at home.”
He blames himself for it. You can tell. In turn, you blame yourself for that—for his misguided, self-inflicted anger.
There’s more left unsaid.
“My friend—I called her this morning. From your place. She was there. She was… dead. I think.”
Javi doesn’t react, evidence of the years of gore, wreckage, and betrayal he'd witnessed.
You swallow, soldiering on.
“I told her. I told her where I was. Could she… could she have told them?”
Is she the reason this happened to me?
Slowly, lips pressed around his cigarette, Javi nods. “I’m sorry,” he barely mumbles.
Strangely enough, you’re not. That’s what you say: “I’m not.” And it’s true. “She was upstairs when it was all happening. I’m glad she’s dead.”
Now, he looks at you with a consideration that swells into a kind of respect. Not a respect, no not respect. A knowing. A new kind of understanding, of equal footing.
You meet him head-on with it, basking in your retribution, revelling in the immediate justice she'd been served. You’d mourn the person you thought she was when your wounds weren’t so open, so fresh.
"They wanted directions, Javi," you suddenly blurt out, voice hoarse, "Isn't that insane? They were gonna... they were gonna do that for directions. Not even the evidence, just fucking directions-"
Javi lifts his hands in the air, signalling for you to slow down. Normally, it would make you want to tear his arrogant head off. Now, however, you just do, although the silence isn't very comforting. After a moment, you can tell there's something Javi’s been avoiding, something he’s holding in. The agent clears his throat, finally calling it quits on his tiptoe-ing around the subject.
“Cariño," he begins, "I know you told me earlier, but I... I gotta be sure. Did they hurt you in… any way?”
God, he sounds so deeply wary, unable even to speak his fear into existence. You shake your head no, prompting his shoulders to relax.
“Okay. Good,” he breathes, crossing his arms and looking down at the rug. “Don’t think I could…”
Panic ripples through your frame.
'Doesn’t think he could' what? Bear to look at me, knowing the enemy had been where he’d been, done what he’d done? Touch me in the same grooves they'd left on my skin? Javi’s not that kind of man—is he?
“Don’t think I could forgive myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.”
The rush of anxiety quickly dissipates, replaced by a stifling bloom of admiration and adoration across your chest. Like soft tendrils, warming your shivering body from within.
You smile self-consciously, scoff, and meet his eyes. “I wasn’t ‘under your watch,’ Javi. I opened the door. It was my fault.”
He raises his eyebrows, huffing a breath before ashing his dart, rising, carving a path towards the couch-cushion next to you and taking your glass of water from between your hands. It clinks as he sets it on the table. Taking your unsteady hands between his hardened palms, he coaxes you into meeting his golden eyes.
“It’s not your fault, herm—” a pause as he corrects himself, noticing your flinch, “—cariño. It’s not your fault.”
He waits for your nod of acknowledgement before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself go limp, dragged into the plushness of the couch and the firmness of his chest.
He lays a kiss to your forehead. He fidgets with your hair. He traces long, lazy lines up and down your spine.
How had you gone from that youthful giddiness this morning to this dark, anxious wreck in a matter of hours? It wasn’t even two o’clock yet.
The comfort your agent provides is good—will always be good—but you want more. Every inch of attention he gives you is just another step away from that cold basement, a foot towards freedom.
Time heals all wounds, and you want a distraction while you face those excruciating seconds. Something to move it along. Something to keep you busy, to keep the harrowing images at bay.
So you tilt your head up. Finding his lips, you press into him, shuddering when the rough hairs of his mustache tickle your top lip. When your body asks for more, when your tongue meets his and your hand drops to his thigh, Javi tenses, pulling back and breaking off the kiss.
“Sweetheart—you’re not in a good place,” he whispers, lovingly running his fingers through your hair.
You look up at him with eyes full of need, wordlessly begging him to give in. “I am now,” you assure him, tossing a leg over his hips and straddling his body. His expression darkens as you slowly chip away at his resolve, one touch at a time. “I’m with you.”
He smiles, plucking your hands from his chest. Every kiss he lays to your knuckles sends a ripple of electricity up and down your spine. “That right?” He muses between embraces. “That all you need?”
You nod, the pace of your shallow breaths picking up in anticipation. “When you touch me, Javi, it’s like you’re cleaning them off me,” you croon, leaning forward to brush your lips against his jaw.
“You’re in shock, baby,” but his hands defy his words, slipping down to circle your waist, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Slowly, deliberately, you lean back to stare directly into his heavy-lidded eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
You feel him tense at that, his body hardening alongside the weight building underneath your thigh. He lets you go on, deft hands pooling onto your hips.
“Get rid of them for me,” you plead, grinding down onto his bulge.
“Make me all yours again.”
That does it.
His hands shoot up to your face, firmly cupping your cheeks between their heat. Then, Javi’s kissing you harder than before, warming your desire up to a feverish level. You moan into him, turning to putty in his grasp.
He peppers kisses down your jaw and up your neck, allowing you to clumsily untuck his shirt and undo his belt. It’s frantic and needy—it’s pure business. You free his length from the confines of his clothes, heavy breaths mingling when you look down in tandem, hungrily watching your small, delicate hand pumping up and down his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, his dark crown of cropped curls falling back against the couch, “You make it fuckin’ hard to be a good guy.”
You smile, spreading the slick dribbling at his tip around the head of his cock.
God, the sight of him never gets old.
“Good guys listen, Javi,” you tease, managing to pull off an air of sultriness, “Not just to no—also to yes.”
A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” and he knocks a squeal out of you when he cages you in his arms, flipping you over ‘till your back’s digging shapes into the worn-in cushions below. “Gettin’ mouthy already.”
You giggle up at him, but all of your noises dwindle when a few rough fingers push your torn, ruined underwear to the side. You grow especially wordless when one separates your folds and makes its way inside you.
Javi gives you his signature look of condescension, of mock pity.
“What happened, sweetheart?” He taunts, thumbing that aching bundle of nerves. “All the ways I’ve had my dick in you, just this—” he makes a point to curl his fingers towards himself, pressing against the most desire-stricken spot, “—‘n you can’t find your words?”
Your throat won’t open, choking around your own pleasure. Instead, you nod with enthusiasm, desperately clinging onto his forearm. “More.”
He quickly accedes, pushing another long and thick finger inside you. You shudder at the perfect sting—the stretch—as your opening hugs his knuckles. Javi mutters curses to himself, angry and lustful, supervising your writhing form.
“No one else gets to see you like this.” He speaks low, sitting up to work you with both hands. Your body responds without your permission; Javi clicks his tongue and shoves you back down when your hips buck up. “Don’t deserve it,” he continues voicing his thought as if no interruption had occurred, “I’d have to track ‘em down and kill ‘em.”
His tone goes beyond protectiveness, easily veering into the realm of the possessive. “I-I wouldn’t be good f-for them, Javi,” you manage, wanting to comfort him, to calm him, “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh,” he smirks down at you, finally pulling his fingers from your soaked, ready cunt. “Like you listen to me?”
You spread your legs for him, shimmying down until he’s hovering right above you. He strokes himself, taking you in with hunger, playfulness and… something else.
Something like devotion.
A smile. You stroke his jaw. “You come harder when I misbehave.”
He shrugs and nods, a silent, ‘you got me there,' before lining himself up at your entrance.
You whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound, when the head of his cock finds your opening. “Then make sure to misbehave.”
He rocks inside you, taking note of the way your jaw goes slack, hanging open, and the way your brow furrows, grateful eyes glazing over, showing high praise for that feeling of fullness.
And he laughs to himself.
“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he coos, settling into a comfortable rhythm. “Beggin’ for cock after bein’ kidnapped. I shouldn’t be feedin' into your crazy, cariño.”
It is crazy. But you don’t care, giggling along to his taunt.
“Just makes me feel so-so good, Javi,” you breathe.
“Yeah?” He coaxes, sitting back to tower over you, pressing your thighs to your calves; the new angle has bliss rippling through your centre, your back arching involuntarily. “What feels good?”
He shoves your hips down, lowering a finger back to your clit.
“Oh—God—y-yourcock—” he nods approvingly at you, beckoning you to go on, “your—your fingers, too.”
He slows his pace, pulling out fully before slamming back inside you.
“Look at it, cariño,” Javi instructs, steadying your hips once more. “Watch me fuck your pretty lil’ pussy.”
You struggle onto your elbows and obey, mouth slack and perpetually open. Pressure builds at your core as you watch every inch of his hard, dark length disappear, over and over, inside the shelter of your body. It’s so dirty, and somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
“M-made for you, Javi.”
And he moans, an animalistic sound you’d never heard from him before.
“S’right, baby, made just for me.” He flattens his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Can you come for me now?”
You nod, grateful for his permission as soon as you start to feel your thighs shake. The tension snaps within you, and you tumble over the edge of your climax with a high pitched whine.
“Good girl,” he praises, low, deep, and bristling with pleasure, “Good fuckin’ girl.”
You ride it out. Javi shows no mercy, squeezing your waist and bouncing your lower half against him. His biceps and shoulders strain against his shirt, the sight making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
After having him a few times, you were well aware of his impressive stamina—Javi wasn’t going to finish without giving you another one. Nonetheless, the overwhelming pleasure has you squirming away from his unrelenting grasp.
He pulls you back against him, steadying you between two forceful hands.
And he fucks you harder.
“Still remember them, querida? ” He breathes.
You find your voice, using great effort to stammer out a “y-yes."
It's not the correct answer.
Javi growls, “Then I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”
His shirt grazes the insides of your thighs, and you're certain that every part of his form is working to set your skin on fire. A skilled hand wraps around your jaw, and Javi leans over you, lowering his lips to latch around a hard, peaked nipple.
Your whimpers do nothing to stop him. He just keeps rhythmically rocking into you, the head of his cock reaching impossible, beckoning depths.
An almost-sob wracks your lungs. “S’a lot, huh? Takin’ all this cock inside you…” Javi shushes you with feigned sympathy, nipping and suckling at the softest spots at his disposal. “S’okay, baby, s’okay.”
Then he makes his way to your lips, forces you to kiss him—deeply—as your lungs scream for oxygen. He locks your hands above your head in just one of his own, the pressure of his weight the only thing keeping your squirming limbs in place.
And then his mouth is sliding down your jaw, his breaths hot and heavy next to your ear.
“Fuck—can feel you gettin’ close, sweetheart, gonna come again?”
All you can do is nod.
He rolls into you—hard and deep—forcing tears to pull from the outer corners of your eyes.
“S-so good to me,” you manage, seeing pure white as your third orgasm of the day blooms from between your seizing legs.
He groans, freeing your hands (which immediately find stability in the firmness of his shoulders) to clumsily wipe the tears from under one dazed eye. Above you, he resembles a hungry, lustful angel, eyes darkened with unbridled need, affection, approval.
“‘M’good to what’s mine, baby,” he whispers, pulling you into the crook of his neck as he chases both your highs. “Come, cariño—s’right, come for me.”
And you do, aching, ruined cunt squeezing and releasing, fluttering around Javi. He moans a downright sinful ‘fuck’ at the sensation, reaching his own peak almost in tandem with yours.
Only once his every last drop is spent, once his groan and your whines have stopped echoing around the unfamiliar, open space, does he pull back from your neck.
And when he looks at you… God. There’s something you’re both not saying.
“Only wanna see you cry like this, baby,” he tells you, laying a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Never gonna let them—let anyone—lay a finger on you again.”
Your breath hitches, the words thick and sticky in your throat. The both of you are dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. “I’m… I’m glad we met. That you—that we’re doing this.”
He raises his eyebrows, crooning a soft ‘yeah?’ as he pushes your hair from your face.
You nod. “You make all of it worth it.”
He’s appreciative when leaning in for a kiss, slipping out of you and groaning against your lips. You tangle your fingers in his damp hair, leaning up into him with every aching muscle in your body, wanting nothing more than to become a part of his whole. When he pulls away, it's only to tuck his softening length back into his briefs. He focusses on you again, leaning over to affectionately stroke your knee.
“Is it just sex for you?”
His question comes as a bit of a surprise—you’d never heard him speak so openly, so innocent and vulnerable.
You cup his face. Despite the fact that he looks like the men from earlier, carries the same guns and ammo, knows what they know, even speaks their language, he’s never seemed so separate from them, an entirely different species.
“No—at first, maybe, but now… No. Not for me.”
He eases into a soft smile, wrapping you back into your blanket before laying back, manhandling you to rest against his still-unsteady chest.
Those masterful hands comfort you in a million different ways. He plays with your hair and traces the highest points of your cheekbone. He massages your knuckles, pulls you in for little kisses, dips into the curve of your waist.
“How about you?” The question is small, even though you anticipate the answer.
He takes a second before answering. When he does, his voice is low, quiet.
“Not at all, sweetheart.” He tilts your head up, his soft, caring gaze probing into every corner of your own. “Honestly, I think it’s been more than that since the first time you said ‘go fuck yourself, Peña.’” He whistles under his breath, exaggerating his approval. “Shit was hot.”
It makes you laugh, but it's also enough to make your heart soar. Settling in to the nook of his neck, you breathe in his familiar, earthly scent, until the exhaustion of the day eventually weighs on you.
You fall asleep with a smile on your face, entertained by the fact that while you really should be a wreck, you feel perfectly at ease, wrapped in the arms of your favourite DEA agent. In fact, you can hardly remember what your kidnappers looked like—or sounded like, for that matter—succumbing to slumber, you only think of him.
—
Less than three hectic, hazy days later, you’re pulling a suitcase through the Medellín international airport. There was no sense risking it anymore—you'd have to be transferred to the States until the assholes were caught. Ambassador's orders.
Javi flanks your side, eyes peeled for any abnormalities in your surroundings.
Your heart breaks with every step you take. He comes all the way to the gate without saying a word, merely holding onto one of your bags (that he'd insisted he carry) in a white-knuckled fist.
You’re running behind. There’s not much time.
He doesn’t say he’ll call—knows he’s not that kind of man. You don’t say you’ll visit. You don’t say you’ll write.
No, all you do is lean up on your tippy toes to plant a tender, lingering kiss to his cheek. He returns the favour by cupping your face, leaning down and kissing you intently.
Too intently—as if he were memorizing the grooves in your lips.
Well, that’s what you’re doing, anyways.
Over the loudspeaker, your name is called.
“They’re paging you,” Javi translates, his breath hitting your top lip.
You pull away, doing your best not to cry.
“Thank you.”
It’s all you say—it’s all that needs to be said, really.
Thank you for showing me I matter. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you for saving my life three times. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for making me wait for it. Thank you for giving me a reason to miss this place.
Thank you for loving me. I think that's what this is.
He hears it all, stuffed and contained, overflowing from the two uttered words.
Then he smiles, that well-trained, protective cockiness spreading across his face.
“You’re welcome, cariño.”
You scoff a laugh, slowly dropping his hand and turning towards your gate.
“If I ever visit home…” he calls after you.
You pause, smiling down at the glistening floor, shaking your head. “You’ll never catch me in Texas, Peña,” you call across the traffic of rushing families and over-packed suitcases. He smiles knowingly, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. “Just lock the fuckers up so I can visit. The weather sucks back home.”
You slowly walk backwards towards the exit, ignoring a few flight-attendant-glares, not daring to break off the playful eye contact linking you to your agent.
“I’ll do it just for you, baby,” he calls, grinning like a fool.
Strange. You’d never noticed how the teasing, that snarky back and forth you’d developed together seemed to put him at ease—to relax him. All that time he'd spent, driving you to the brink of insanity... it comforted him.
And that realization was enough to make you beam.
You commit that final glimpse to memory. Javi—smiling, calm, alive, yours. It was rare enough that you felt sure it would stick.
When you finally turn to face the gate, to face your future, you don’t feel like crying anymore.
It was enough just to have met him.
Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.
—
All my friends tell me I should move on
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song
Ahh
That's how you sang it
Loving you forever can't be wrong
Even though you're not here, won't move on
Ahh
That's how we played it
And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody
It won't leave my head
Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine
But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side
All my friends ask me why I stay strong
Tell 'em when you find true love, it lives on
Ahh
That's why I stay here
And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody
It won't leave my head
Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine
But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight
I don't want to wake up from this tonight
There's no relief, I see you in my sleep
And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me
There's no release, I feel you in my dreams
Telling me I'm fine
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side
Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight
I don't want to wake up from this tonight
—
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#javier peña x reader#javier peña#javier peña x you#javier peña smut#javier pena x reader#javier peña x y/n#javier pena x you#javier pena smut#javier peña x female reader#javier peña narcos#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña angst#narcos fanfiction#javier peña fic#javier pena narcos#Pedro pascal#Pedro pascal smut#Pedro pascal x you#Salvatore series
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The Bet
Part 1
Warnings: smut(MDNI)
You and Katsuki make a bet to see who can go the longest without sex.
This all starts because you’re in bed with Katsuki and he’s trying to keep you there. You have plans to go out with your friends, but he’s trying to lure you with sexy time to stay with him tonight.
“Kit Kat, baby, this girls night has already been rescheduled twice. I can���t cancel again. I-I’m going.”, you try your best to sound stern but he’s pressing kisses up your neck and along your jaw. Asshole knows those are tender spots.
“Mmmm, do you remember when you canceled the first time?? It started off just like this.” His voice is low and thick. Dammit, your legs automatically squeeze together.
“Yes, I do remember actually. Which is why it won’t be happening again Kat. Yo- No! No!” He’d started sliding his hands down your stomach. You know that if he got those thick fingers of his inside your panties, you’d end up just like last time.
You roll yourself away from him and get to your feet. When you look over at him he’s half way from under the sheet with his muscled chest and arms on display. He’s also sporting that sexy ass smirk of his.
“ You need to learn how to keep your hands off of me.”, you give him a firm look and all he does is chuckle.
“Y/n, You’re saying that shit now, but you don’t say it when you’re cumming because of ‘em…. But if that’s what you want, I can do that.”, he says all smug.
“You can do what?”, you ask him suspiciously. You start moving about getting yourself together so you can leave soon.
Katsuki’s watching you for a reaction, “ I’ll keep my hands off you.… that is until you beg me.”, he says it so casually. Like you’ve already started begging him. Like he’s already won a game you haven’t started playing yet.
You stare him dead in the eye, “ Please! Katsuki, you wanna play that game with me?? If anything you’ll be on your knees begging me to give you some. You’re an addict.”
You notice the gleam in his eye before he even speaks, “ Ha, me beg?. You living in the same reality as me?? Oh!! This is what your friends mean when they call you “delulu””.
“Babe, have I ever told you how funny you are?? Ha ha… cuz if I did I was lying. I do wanna play your game tho, but we gotta make it interesting.”, you’re grinning at him now.
The two of you are beyond competitive. You knew this was gonna be fun.
“ Ok then, we make a bet. No more sex starting now and the first one to cave, which is gonna be you, loses. Winner gets to decide on the punishment.”
“You’re on. I need to decide my punishment quick. You’ll probably fold before tomorrow.”, you answer him in the cheekiest tone you can muster.
Katsuki gets up from the bed, walks over to you, and leans down to your ear to whisper, “ You have no fucking idea what you just got yourself into sweet girl, but I look forward to hearing you beg for me.”
Fuck, that got you a little. Your mouth is slightly open when he pulls back from you and he’s grinning. He knows it got to you.
“You don’t wanna keep your friends waiting, hurry up and get dressed. I’ll drop you off.”
The bastard already thinks he’s won. Well he’s gotta another thing coming. You aren’t going down without a fight.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
#imagine#bakugou x reader#mha fanfiction#bakugou drabble#drabble#katsuki bakugo mha#bakugo headcanons#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki#fluff#katsuki fanfic#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugou imagine
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Please for the love of god write something about Rick chasing the reader down in the woods I’d DIE
(Rick and Daryl x fem!reader)
cw- reader already has a baby with the boys, reader being chased in a maze, threesome, smut, slight breeding kink… think that’s all…
notes- happy Halloween! This is a fun little one shot placed in Alexandria. It is a follow up of “taking turns” however you don’t need to read it to read this. It’s just the same relationship, a couple years later. I had a few requests for a follow up and for some chasing/hunting vibes so… here you go! I won’t lie this is a bit rushed and not proofread at all so I apologize for any errors or if it’s not my best… but i hope you enjoy and tell me what you think<3
“Alright,” Rick breathes out with a sigh, dropping the large box onto the ground. Daryl right behind him with another.
The kids run over. Judith, at just 4 years old, Gracie, Sam, Carl and a few of the older kids and teens in Alexandria. Your own baby coos in your arms. Incoherent, yet adorable babbles leave her mouth, with chubby little hands grabbing into the air in the direction of her daddy.
While Rick cuts open the cardboard box of costumes, Daryl sneaks away from the cluster of children, all way too excited to get their hands on a cape and a mask. Or a dress and a tiara.
“C’mhere, sweetheart,” he grabs your daughter from your arms. Immediately she’s smiling all big and giggling into his jacket.
“Were you good for your mama while I was gone?” He whispers against her dark curls before pressing a kiss to her head.
“She just missed you, I think.” You respond. In reality, she was fussy. You figured that would happen after two nights without her dad. Daryl definitely being her favourite parent.
The kids are noisy as they ooh and awe and fight over the Halloween costumes.
Rick finally makes his own escape with a costume cowboy hat on his head.
“Hey, officer,” you tip your head up for a kiss as he wraps his arms around your waist. Eager to hug you. To touch you.
He stays holding you for a moment. Just soaking in your warmth.
“Miss me?”
“Every minute.” He confirms against your mouth for one last kiss, before moving to kiss your daughters cheek.
“How’s our little princess?” He asks to no one in particular.
“She missed her daddies. Kept me up all night.”
“What?” Rick faked a shocked tone, “our little princess would never. That doesn’t sound like her at all, does it?” He runs his hand over her hair and plants a kiss on her head.
You roll your eyes but your smile peaks out anyway. The sight of your men being such good fathers will never fail to make you smile.
“Daddy! Daddy look!” Judith’s high pitched voice brings attention as she tugs at Ricks pant leg.
When the three of you turn to look, she’s dressed in a unicorn onesie. Adorable. A bit warm for the weather. But adorable.
Rick picks her up with a groan, “oh my goodness, almost too big for this, aren’t you?”
She nuzzles into Ricks chest, little arms wrapping around his neck.
“I think someone needs a little snooze before all the festivities tonight, hm? You feelin’ a little tired, Judy?” He asks her. You don’t hear anything but you see the white fluffy ears on her hood move up and down as she nods into her fathers shirt.
“This little rascal should have one too.” You nod towards your own sleepy girl, “I can go put em’ both down for a nap.”
“Nah, I’ll do it.” Daryl insists.
“Are you sure-“
“I’ve got it.” He scoops Judith up in one arm, balanced on his hip and very happy to be carried to bed. A snuggly little 6 month old on his other. He starts off upstairs and leaves you and Rick in the living room. Surrounded by a foam sword fight battle that appears to have ensued between a couple ninja turtles and a fairy Princess.
The whole reason for Rick and Daryl’s last run was to find these costumes. Among other Halloween decorations and as much candy as they could salvage. Anything to make it a special day. To show the kids what things used to be like. To remind the ones who did know, exactly how fun the holidays were. You weren’t even sure it was Halloween. Sure, the leaves were beautiful tones of orange and yellow, falling to the ground and crunching beneath your shoes. But you arent sure what day it was. Honestly, you arent entirely sure what month it is. However, according to Eugene’s calendar, It is in fact the 31st of October.
Ricks head tips low to your ear and he whispers an invitation to go shower. He needs to clean up. And he really wouldn’t mind some company.
“Carol,” he turns for a moment and nods to her in the kitchen, prepping some food for tonight. “Can you…” he motions to the living room full of children running around. Carol nods and you can hear her telling them to beat it and go play outside while you’re led up the stairs by the hand.
—
The party is supposed to start at 7. Carol offered to take your daughter for the night, to give you some time off. To have fun. To go to sleep early if that’s what you wanted.
It’s a bit cold out. So you’re in a cream knit sweater and some jeans. A pair of cheap bunny ears are on your head. Your daughter is dressed in the smallest costume you could find in the box, a plush orange carrot. And she’s the cutest carrot you’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.
There’s wine. Lots. And food. And candy. Eugene is setting up a spooky film to be played on a projecter in the middle of Alexandria. A few bonfires surround the yard, scattered with jack-o-lanterns. Carved and lit up with tea lights and glowing eyes.
It’s beautiful. Slightly spooky. And so familiar. It’s everything you remember about Halloween.
An arm snaking around your waist startles you as you sip on your wine. But the smell of smoke and leather soothes you quickly.
“Hey,” Daryl says. You turn to face him, only slightly confused as his voice is being muffled by something.
He’s wearing a mask. A scream mask more specifically. The rest of his attire is typical. His leather jacket on, though no vest tonight. Dark jeans and boots.
“Mmm, spooky.” You lean in and press a quick peck to the white plastic. You can’t see him smile under the mask, but you know it’s there.
Another arm wraps around your waist from the other side. It’s Rick. You know by the thick brown jacket brushing against you. He’s also in costume, wearing a Friday the 13th hockey mask.
“Well hello, Jason,” you tease.
“You scared yet?”
“Should I be?” You ask. Though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.
Rick opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by some commotion from the yard.
Eugene has a microphone, standing on a picnic table and telling the crowd to sit down and get comfy. That the movie will be starting in two minutes.
“Well, are you two ready for some Hocus Pocus?” You ask.
They look at eachother through the masks. What the hell are they plotting?
“What…?” You finally ask.
“We were thinking… maybe we could do something a little different.”
“What, you wanna watch something else?”
“Not quite,” Daryl chimes in, “we were thinking that while everyone is watching the movie, the three of us can make our way through the corn maze.”
The maze is outside the walls of Alexandria. A bit dangerous, but it was part of the fun. The kids had all had their turns in it earlier in the day, heavily supervised by adults and parents. Ones with weapons and training for situations outside the safety of the walls.
“You want us to all get lost in the maze?” You bite your bottom lip and smile.
“We want you to get lost in the maze,” Daryl corrects you.
Rick dips down to your ear and lowers his voice, “and we’ll try and find you. Play a little game.”
“Grown up hide and seek?” You ask. Heat raising to your cheeks at the thought of what they want to do once they find you.
“Exactly.”
You swallow, looking back to the yard where the kids are all lid out in sleeping bags and on blankets. Focused on the film playing in the dark.
“Ok.”
“We’ll give you a two minute head start,” Rick hands you a switch blade. Just incase. Nodding towards the back fence, where you know you can sneak out without being caught. Your heart is already starting to race a little at the thought of having to hide. At the thought of them searching for you. Hunting you down. And Daryl’s little comment when you start off towards the fence doesn’t help either,
“Good luck, little bunny.”
—
It’s pitch black when you reach the maze. Actually, as soon as you made it over the wall and into the woods, it was dark. But inside the maze, the stalks of corn all towering over 10 feet tall and fluttering creepily in the breeze. The only light you can see is a faint glow from the moon. And even then, it’s only when you’re out of the shadows.
You walk into the maze. Immediately met by multiple twists and turns. You weren’t one of the supervisors earlier, so you really didn’t know the route. The straw and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk further into the maze. A quick, brisk walk trying to find the best place to hide. Or, if you’re lucky, to find the end of the maze before the boys even get in.
But you know that’s unrealistic. And you’re sure your two minutes must be up because you can hear them. Footsteps and muffled voices behind a couple walls of corn. Shit.
You start to walk faster. A borderline jog at this point, trying to keep your footing light.
It didn’t occur to you until now how easy it’ll be for them to find you. Daryl’s a hunter for Christ sake. He’ll be able to track your path through the maze in no time.
They’re closer.
Fuck.
You have to run. You can hear their voices. They’re so close.
“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that, baby.” Ricks voice rings out towards you. He’s on the other side of the wall. Through the thick corn stalks and the pitch black of the night, you can’t make out exactly where he is. But he’s close.
You run.
And they follow right after.
The sound of their footsteps is clearer and clearer the further away from Alexandria you get. And the further into the maze.
You shriek at the feeling of a hand on your sweater, jolting forward and starting to sprint. It was Daryl. He’s behind you.
And though him and Rick are both stronger, you have one advantage. You’re faster.
Over your shoulder as you sprint you can see them. White masks still on, glowing in the moonlight.
“Fuck”, you swear to yourself when you
come to a dead end. You only have two options. Turn around, or be caught. They couldn’t be more than a few seconds away.
Without really thinking, you shove your way through the stalks. Catching on every leaf and stick, but ultimately coming out the other side without a scrape.
You can’t celebrate your quick thinking victory too long because you still hear them.
“Split up,” Daryl whisper shouts at his friend, and with their footsteps scattered, it’s even harder to tell where they are.
Fuck.
You keep going. You take a left. And then a right and another dead end. Shit. Is this … is this the same one?
You turn back and take the left instead. But it’s another dead end.
What the fuck?
You’re lost. You don’t even know what direction you came from anymore. Circling the same two dead ends before you finally take a right that leads you a couple meters further than the other options.
You hear a stick crack on the ground behind you, but there’s no time to see who it is.
You turn the corner fast with your heartbeat so loud it drums in your ears.
“Shit,” you stumble right into a brown jacket in front of you. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up. You scream.
Someone warm presses against your back as your feet touch the floor again.
You’re trapped.
“Gotcha,” Daryl’s gravelly voice is already in your ear.
You’re breathing heavy in their hold, sandwiched between the two men.
Their hands grab at your sweater and start to roam.
“Take this off,” a voice demands as you struggle against their arms,
You try for a moment to reach the mask covering Ricks face. But Daryl, or maybe Rick’s, hands are clamped on your wrist.
It’s claustrophobic, but you don’t entirely mind. As long as it’s their arms your trapped between, you’ll never complain.
They don’t kiss you. They can’t. But everything about their demeanour is screaming that they want you. That they want to be in you.
Hands gripping and tugging at your jeans. Your hands snake around Ricks neck in front of you as they peel your jeans down your legs. The air is cold and gives you goosebumps, but your legs wrap around his waist immediately. Daryl’s bulge pokes at your ass while his hand trails under your sweater to pinch your nipple. Ricks pants are tight as his own bulge rubs against the thin fabric of your panties. Your jeans long lost to the straw and dirt ground underneath you.
It doesn’t take long for them to get you how they need you.
Granted, the three of you did have a lot of practice. Your panties swiftly ripped off by the man behind you who wanted more access. The cold metal of both their belts hit your skin.
And with little preparation other than some spit and arousal, you’re stretched to the max with both men. Both holes filled with very little regard for your comfort.
They know you’d say something if it really hurt.
But it hurts so good. The pain of being so fucking full. Stretched to a limit you’d experienced over a dozen times, but no matter what, it just never gets any easier.
“Wanna kiss you,” your voice comes out in wet gasps, lips brushing the plastic of Ricks mask. One hand trying for Daryl’s hood, reaching awkwardly around. You need their touch. Their lips on your lips. Tongues tracing each-other and fighting for dominance.
They’d win.
They always do.
The three of you find a rhythm quickly. Hands on your thighs, holding you up and using you as leverage to pound as fast and hard as they could. Your moans and their grunts fill the air as pleasure starts to swirl low on your abdomen.
“Please,” your head tips back in ecstasy. “Please, please,”
“Please what, sweet girl?” The cold plastic of Daryl’s mask brushes your ear.
“Please- want- uh,” you’re interrupted by sharper thrusts from the two men, catching you off guard. Their both picking up their pace.
“Speak up, darling.” Rick demands, nails digging into your hips.
“Fill me up,” you gasp again. “Want it so bad, Rick, please.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the swirl in your stomach. The one that keeps getting warmer and warmer and warmer until-
“I’m cumming,” you tell them as a courtesy, but you don’t have to. The way you’re involuntarily clenching down around them gives you away far better than a couple raspy words.
“You really wanna get filled up, baby? Bred like the little bunny you are, huh?” Ricks words send you over the edge and a hand toys at the fluffy rabbit ears that are shockingly still secured on top of your head.
You’re out of words. Too stimulated to talk. So you just nod in agreement. Yes. Please. Please.
Their hips stutter to a stop and warm liquid seeps out to drool down your inner thigh.
Breathing heavy, you’re lowered back to the ground, colder now. without the friction of their bodies.
“Here,” Daryl grabs your jeans from the ground and dresses you again. His soft side peaking out now that he’s had his release. Your shoes are back on and your legs a little shaky, and finally, the boys finally take their masks off. The whites of their eyes are bright in the moonlight.
“You alright?” They both ask you as the three of you somehow manage to find your way back out of the maze.
“A little cold…” you smirk.
“But we didn’t-we didn’t scare you too bad right?”
“No.” You smile, “Don’t know if I could ever get that scared by you too love bugs.” You tease, arms wrapping around their waists and pulling them in close to you.
“Pfft,” Daryl brushes off the comment and Rick only smiles.
“Well if we didn’t scare you, then maybe next time we oughta try a little harder.”
“Next time?” You ask. The thought already going straight between your thighs.
The boys share a look over your shoulders that can only mean one thing.
“Hey, baby,” Rick catches your attention, hand guiding you towards the community gates by the small of your back as he searches in his jacket pocket for his keys. “You ever been to a house of mirrors?”
#rick x reader#rick x you#rick x y/n#Rick grimes x reader#Rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n#daryl dixon x reader#Daryl Dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#Daryl x you#Daryl x reader#rickyl x you#rickyl x reader#rickyl x reader smut#rick x daryl x reader#rick x reader x daryl#taking turns part 2
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What No One Tells You About Writing #4 (100 Follower Special!)
Have you got any that deserve to be on these lists? Don’t be shy! Send ‘em over.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
*This list contains mentions of assault, #4
1. Zero cursing is better than censored cursing
I made the mistake in the early days of writing a self-censoring character, and every “curse” she said just took the teeth out of the rest of the statement. I’m talking gosh, darn, dang, etc, not world-specific idioms a la “scruffy nerf herder” or “dunderhead” instead of “dumbass”.
Look to any American TV show that so, so badly wants to use f*ck or sh*t but has to appease the sensitive conservatives who still somehow believe strong language is worse than graphic violence and horrifying psychological damage. For shame! Your characters can be angry without expletives, so rework your sentences to include equally damning insults that don’t resort to potty mouths if you’re concerned about ratings.
Or go full-throttle into the idioms of the world or the time period like Pirates of the Caribbean. Or just… don’t. There’s zero modern cursing in the Lord of the Rings adaptation and not a single sentence that censors itself. The dialogue is above vulgarity and feels more *fantastical* that way anyway.
2. “Yeah, you aren’t the target audience.”
It’s kind of hilarious seeing the range of reader reactions to two characters I intend to have a romantic relationship. Some will go “I ship it!” after the first page of them together… and another will go “wait, I thought they were just friends” up until they kiss. Sometimes you might be too subtle, other times it might be better to just accept that you can’t rewrite your entire book to please one naysayer.
When I’m pitched a fantasy adventure book that turns out to be a by-the-numbers romance where no one is allowed to be a peasant and every important character is royalty in some way, with a way cooler fantasy backdrop, I get severely disappointed. That doesn’t mean the book is bad, it just means I’m not the target audience.
3. There is no greater character sin than making them boring
Unless you live in the wacky world we find ourselves in where any flaws whatsoever are apparently harmful depictions of so-and-so and not at all written with things like ~nuance~. I will gush over your heinous villain committing atrocities because he’s *interesting*. I will not remember Bland Love Interest who’s a generic everyman with zero compelling or intriguing traits or flaws.
There’s another tumblr post out there that I cannot find that says something like this, and I believe the post goes “his crimes are fiction, my annoyance is real”. Swap annoyance for boredom and you get what I mean. So, I don’t care what your character does so long as they’re memorable. I will either root for their victory or their doom, but I do need *something* to root for.
4. The line between “gratuitous” and “respectful” is actually very thick
Less what no one tells *you* about writing and more what no one tells screenwriters. Y’all do realize you can write a character who experiences assault without actually writing the assault, right? Fade to black, have them mention it in their backstory, or have the horrific aftermath as they come to terms with it. An abrupt cut to this devastated character when it’s all over and they’re alone with themselves can be incredibly poignant and powerful. This goes with anything sensitive, especially if it’s not coming from experience.
If you want to write it or film it respectfully, romanticizing assault, for instance, is when it’s framed as if either character has earned or “deserves” it. If the narrative in any way argues that it's justified. The victim might have "earned" it for any of the BS reasons we use in the real world, or the perpetrator might've "earned" it because of temptation, desire, pressure to assert dominance, etc. Representation is important, but are you “representing” to shed light on a misunderstood and maligned topic, or are you doing it to satisfy a fetish or bias in yourself?
5. Don’t let your eyes get bigger than your stomach
Fantasy has no limitations, which means you can dig way deeper into the well of your worldbuilding than you realize, until you look up and realize you’re stuck down there. I have never seen a more obvious inevitable disaster looming than the pilot of GoT season 5. Why? Nobody has any plans. They’re all just led around by whatever side quest the writers throw them on, twiddling their thumbs until the writers deign to pull the trigger on the White Walkers.
To the point that what should be a major character can skip an entire season because his arc is meaningless. Everything in the last half of that show was one big “eventually” while the story toiled around in an ever-expanding cast of characters and set pieces (seriously, it’s hilarious how jarring the extended version of the theme music became compared to the pilot episode to fit all these locations).
When you have too many directionless characters, too many plot elements, too many ideas you want to fully mature and get their due spotlight and then somehow combine them all together for a common foe in the end, writing can get tedious and frustrating very quickly. Why, I imagine, the book series remains unfinished. Fantasy is great for being able to create such complex worlds, but don’t be the snake that eats its own tail trying too hard.
6. No one cares about your agenda if you insult them to push it
This deserves its own post but here we go. Peddling an agenda is a paradox: those who agree with you won’t need to be preached to, and those who you want to persuade will instead reject you further because they feel belittle and disrespected. This is why so many recent “strong female characters” fail on both sides of the aisle. Feminists see an annoying caricature of the movement they’re passionate about. Antifeminists see an insufferable, shallow, liberal mouthpiece when they just want to be entertained. You have failed both sides, congrats.
The answer? Write a strong, nuanced, well-developed character. Then make them a woman. I know this has been said before but this BS keeps happening so clearly the screenwriters aren’t listening. Entertain me first. Entertain me so well I don’t even realize I’m learning.
7. Today’s audiences won’t react the same way as tomorrow’s
Sometimes genres or tropes get oversaturated and need a few years to cool off before audiences are receptive to them again—teen dystopia, anyone?—that doesn’t mean your story is inherently bad because it’s unpopular (nor does it mean it’s amazing because it is popular).
You should always write the book you want to read, not the book that chases trends. I can pick up a well-written teen dystopia I’ve never read before and enjoy it. I can continue to ignore Divergent because it has nothing to say. Write the book you want to read, but then accept that you might make no money because no one else wants to read it, not because they think it’s bad. And, who knows? You might get a boom of chatter months or years down the line when readers stumble upon an uncut gem.
8. Your characters don’t age with you
Depending on how long you’ve been working on your world and what age you were when you started, the characters, concepts, morals, and story you set out to tell might no longer reflect who you want to be as an author when all is said and done. Writing can take years, some of which can be incredibly turbulent and life changing. I wrote the first draft of my first original novel in my freshman year of college. Those characters and that draft are now unrecognizable and has left a world I’ve poured my heart and soul into in limbo.
I’ve slowly creeped up my characters’ ages. My writing has matured dramatically. The themes I wanted to explore in the height of the 2016 election are just demoralizing now. That book was my therapeutic outlet and, as consequence, my characters sometimes reflect some awful moods and mindsets that I was in when writing them. But nothing in that world grows without me tending to it. It’s not alive. Despite all the work I’ve done, there’s still more to be done, maybe even restarting the plot from the ground up. When I think of what no one told me about writing, staring at characters designed by someone I’m not anymore is the hardest reality to accept.
—
If you think I missed something, check out parts 1-3 or toss your own hat into the ring. Give me romance tropes. Mystery, thriller, historical fiction, bildungsromans, memoires, children’s books, whatever you want! Give me stuff you wish you’d known before editing, publishing, marketing, and more.
Also, don’t forget to vote in the dialogue poll!
#writing advice#writing resources#writing tips#writing tools#writing a book#writing#writeblr#fantasy#sci fi#character design
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read 'em and weep #4
you hear some rumors about Eddie.
Chapter 4
Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series
Read Ch. 3 -> Here!
Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, mix of fluff and angst, lots of kisses, reader realizes she may not know as much about Eddie as she thinks she does (but don't worry, they're gonna be fine).
Warnings: some nasty remarks are made about Eddie’s reputation.
Word Count: ~4.6k
I feel bad that all this wait has led to an angstier chapter, but I'm hoping the next part will be written sooner than this one was!
“I disagree.”
“Look, The Shining is really good, I like it! I just don’t think it’s his best book.”
“I’d take more stock in your opinion if you weren’t putting It at the top of your list. Great book, but such a terrible ending.”
Eddie holds a hand up like he’s swearing an oath. “I’ll admit that it isn’t a perfect book, but it’s still some of the best writing Stephen King’s ever done.” Then he grimaces. “The notable exception being that…one scene in the sewer, um…I don’t really think it needed to be in there.”
Your nose wrinkles in distaste, knowing exactly which scene he’s referring to. “I read that ABC is making a TV show out of it — I’m sure they’ll cut that part out.”
He laughs. “I think he was doing a lot of coke back then.”
Eddie is playing for you chauffeur today. Once again, after a late night he coaxed you into staying over at his place — but instead of just dropping you at home the next morning and then leaving, he waited patiently for you in your living room while you got cleaned up and changed, before driving you to work.
“Although, now that I’m thinking about it,” he muses, “maybe The Stand is number one for me.”
You concur. “Oooh, good one!”
“Did you know,” he exclaims, suddenly excited, dark eyes shining, “that Ride the Lightning by Metallica is a reference to a line from The Stand?”
You search for familiarity in the phrase, and don’t find it. “It is?”
“Yeah, there’s a guy on death row who says it when he’s talking about the electric chair. That's why there's a picture of one on the album."
“Huh. Cool.”
Eddie snubs his cigarette out against the library’s exterior brick wall as you fumble with the keys. When the big double-doors are both unlocked, he pulls one open for you, and you kiss him on the cheek as you breeze past. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, okay?” You pause, and reach back to give his hand a final squeeze. “Have a good day!”
Inside, you make it about halfway to the front desk before you realize that the unmistakable sound of Reeboks squeaking against the floor is following you.
You turn around, bewildered and amused. “Can I help you?”
Eddie just shrugs. “This is a public institution. I’m allowed in.”
“I didn’t realize ‘let me drop you off’ meant ‘let me come to work with you.’ Gosh, aren’t you tired of me yet?”
His reply is immediate. “No.”
The incredible thing is, you actually believe him.
You shake your head in awe. “Eddie Munson, you’re really somethin’, you know that?”
He leans in to kiss you one more time, soft and sweet, but you pull away before it can get too heated, keenly aware of the fact that you’re at your place of work, and that making out in full view of the entire — albeit currently empty — library? Probably a bad look.
Just in time, too, as Marissa was apparently not far behind you. You see the doors open again from over Eddie’s shoulder and the older librarian hurries into the building, low heels clacking noisily against the tile. Her face, which is seemingly-always pinched in annoyance, scrunches even further beneath her dark bangs when she realizes you’re not alone.
“Good morning, Marissa,” you greet her politely.
“We’re technically not open yet,” she spits back, staring pointedly at Eddie. “He can’t be in here.”
You open your mouth to reply, but Eddie beats you to it. “My apologies, ma’am. I was just heading back out.” It’s a remarkably respectful response for Eddie, who you’ve learned has a general distaste for authority, and you know that it’s for your sake.
He gives you the tiniest wave as he walks away, and you return it with a smile, though your heart pangs with each step that takes him further away from you.
After clocking in you make your escape to the children’s area. It’s practically its own library, in a way — it takes up the whole back corner of the building and then some. Hundreds of thin, colorful books are jam-packed onto the shelves, which are built at an intentionally low height. The floor is covered in deep green carpeting, in contrast to the elegant, black-and-white tile that lies in the main library; all the flat surfaces are topped with stuffed animals and puppets and other baubles for the kids to admire and play with.
In the center of it all, there’s a wide space that’s been cleared out for Story Times and various other programs, which is headed by the overstuffed armchair that you like to read from. A number of miniature tables and stools line the side of the area, which are dotted with neatly-placed baskets of craft supplies.
You’re pleased with the theme for the day: amongst the books you’ve chosen there are copies of A Bear Called Paddington and Corduroy ready to go. Markers, buttons, googly eyes, and glue have been set out on the tables, so they can make their own little bears for the craft activity. You’ve taken the initiative of cutting out the teddy shapes from heavy cardstock for them already — one less accident with scissors you need to worry about.
You’re nearly finished setting up when someone clears their throat behind you. Startled, you whirl around to see Marissa again.
“Hello,” you greet her in surprise. She usually lets you do your thing on Saturdays without much interruption. Your take in her expression, a little puzzled; the look on her face suddenly makes you feel like you’re in trouble.
She gives you a tight smile, although it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, dear. Everything going okay?”
“Ye-es…” Your answer drags out uncertainly. “Almost ready here.” You gesture unnecessarily around the room, unsure of what she’s getting at.
“Good, good,” she nods distractedly, not bothering to look and verify that you’re actually doing your job. “Listen, when you finish up this morning, come and find me. I want to have a little chat with you, alright?” Seeing the panic split across your face, she quickly adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. It’s not work-related.”
Your head cocks to the side curiously, but she spins on her heel and leaves before you can ask her to elaborate.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur, Marissa’s request lurking in the back of your mind all the while, though you try to focus on your reading. She’s not really the warm and fuzzy type — somehow you doubt she’s interested in having a little girl-chat.
Some odd-two hours later, when the last of the kids have scampered away, you head cautiously back to the front desk where Marissa and another young clerk are speaking to one another in low voices.
Your coworker sees you approaching from over Marissa’s shoulder, and gives her a subtle nod, warning the older woman of your presence. A hush falls over their conversation, and you feel a stab of annoyance, knowing intuitively that whatever they were talking about, it certainly had something to do with you.
She’s already blabbing to your coworkers about whatever this is? Gross.
Marissa turns to face you, pretending to look surprised at your approach.
“You wanted to see me?” you ask her pleasantly.
Another one of those tight-lipped smiles. “Yes, why don’t you come back here with me.” She moves towards her office, waving for you to follow along. “A little more private in here,” she stage-whispers.
When you’re alone in the tiny room, she shuts the door behind you, and takes a seat at her desk. You perch awkwardly on one of the folding chairs opposite her, clasping your hands on your lap — you feel a little bit like a wayward student in the principal’s office.
“Is…everything okay?” She said it wasn’t work-related, so you don’t have a clue what’s up. Surely if it was about Eddie being in the building before open, she would have reprimanded you earlier, when you were the only two people there. And that would be considered work-related anyway, wouldn’t it?
Marissa doesn’t answer immediately, so you try to be proactive. “If this is about my friend being here this morning, I’m so sorry about that. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Not…exactly.” She purses her lips, not giving anything away.
You blink, and try again. “Um, if this is about the oobleck thing again, I promise I was able to get it off the ceiling. You can check, it’s all clean.”
She almost cracks, a rare flash of amusement in her eyes, though it’s snuffed out quickly.
“It’s not that, either. I want to ask you about how things are going, just in general? I know you’re still pretty new to town. Have you been settling in okay these past few months?”
You think of the warm welcome you received from nearly everyone you’ve met. “Yeah, everything’s great. Everyone’s been really nice.”
She nods slowly, and when she speaks again, her tone is off — you can clock the feigned nonchalance right away. “I’ve noticed Eddie Munson has been here quite often this summer.”
You take this as confirmation of what you had already suspected — that Eddie’s frequenting of the library has more to do with you than anything else, and your lips can’t help but turn up into a fond smile.
“He likes to read,” you offer simply.
She’s more direct this time, eyes locking onto yours from behind her thick lenses. “He spends a lot of time talking to you while he’s here.”
Nervous heat starts to creep up your neck and into your cheeks. Is that what this is about? Has the quality of your work declined since Eddie started visiting you here?
You’ve worried about this before. When your friendship began and he started coming in pretty regularly, you made a point that if Eddie was to be there, the distractions had to be kept to a minimum. He was very understanding about it. And in his defense, he did mostly keep out of your way — he sat and read, and chatted with you when you weren’t busy, or if you happened to be hidden away amongst the shelves working, out of Marissa’s sight. He even helped you clean up the mess left behind by your Storytime kids. But you suppose he had been a presence nonetheless.
Waiting for the hammer to fall, you bow your head. Your job is very important to you — as much as you like Eddie, you don’t want to jeopardize your position or your standing with your boss by having her think you’re boy-crazy. Guiltily, your mind scrambles to find the words for an apology, some promise to do better in the future.
But Marissa doesn’t even go there. And what she says instead startles you right out of your self-deprecating spiral.
“Do you know about Eddie Munson?”
Your head pops back up in surprise, and you stare at her blankly, confused. “Know…what about him?”
“Listen, you’re a nice girl,” she simpers. “You’re a stellar employee — I wouldn’t want anyone else leading Family and Youth Services here. I think you have a lot of potential, and I don’t want you to squander it by getting involved with the wrong sort of people.”
Offense rises in your throat like bile. “Excuse me?”
She holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, dear,” she insists. “The Munsons have a reputation in this town — that young man especially —”
“Marissa,” your tone is sharp; she’s treading into dangerous territory.
“He’s a criminal,” she warns. “Jim Hopper is far too soft on him. If he actually got in trouble for every law he broke, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now.”
You gape at her. “What has he done?” you demand.
Marissa sighs, and takes her glasses off, setting them aside while she massages the bridge of her nose tiredly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this” — you note that she doesn’t really sound sorry at all — “but he is a drug dealer, and a Satanist, amongst other things. He sells dope to kids and he all but started a cult when he was in high school. The oldest senior in Indiana, by the way,” she adds derisively.
You’re speechless.
She pushes on. “His father was a deadbeat, and in all the time that Eddie Munson has been living in Hawkins, all he’s done is prove that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, fuming. Her audacity is too appalling for you to have any real reaction to the accusations; and regardless of whether or not those rumors are true, this certainly doesn’t feel like an appropriate way for you to find out about them.
You take a deep breath, and choose your words carefully. “Respectfully, who I choose to associate with outside of work is no one’s business but my own. If you feel like my relationship with him is infringing upon my performance here, then by all means, tell me where I’m lacking, and I’ll improve. But please do not sit here and try to convince me to shun my friend because —” you falter, trying to keep your anger in check, “because of your personal feelings towards him.”
Because you’re a Grade-A bitch who listens to small town gossip.
Marissa settles back in her seat, face impassive. She purses her lips. “Alright. I see your point. But don’t be upset, dear, I’m really only trying to help you.”
“I appreciate your concern,” you lie through gritted teeth.
“But before you make your mind up about him too quickly,” she adds, examining her fingernails casually, “ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.” Her eyes dart slyly up to yours, searching for any hint of recognition at the name.
There isn’t any — you’ve never heard of this person — but there’s an odd swooping sensation in your stomach at the mention of Eddie possibly being involved with another girl. It makes you feel sort of…ill.
But you won’t let your face betray your surprise. You keep your expression neutral, composed. You manage a final nod at Marissa, and rise to leave. She doesn’t say anything to stop you, so you take that as your cue to exit the office, your mind swirling with unanswered questions.
Across town, at the Munson trailer, a Dungeons and Dragons session is set to begin any minute. Dustin Henderson has arrived early with snacks, and is making himself all too comfortable on the squashy sofa.
Hellfire Club had still gone on strong three years after Eddie’s miraculous, long-awaited graduation, due to the combined efforts of the small group of freshmen he recruited in his last year. And it will continue to do so even now that they’re gone, thanks to one Erica Sinclair, who is rumored to be the most brutal Dungeons and Dragons player in the entire Midwest…after Eddie, of course.
Despite the fact that he remained in Hawkins, and that Dustin often begged him to join them, Eddie had respectfully bowed out of any and all Hellfire-related activities after graduating, in an effort to display a modicum of maturity. He didn’t want to be that guy hanging around his old high school because he didn’t have anything better to do.
But as a favor to his favorite kid, Eddie’s DMing their summer campaign as a last hurrah. Just Wheeler, Henderson, Sinclair, and a slightly newer addition — Will Byers, who came after his time, but seems a nice enough kid. It gives the boys a chance to all play together one last time before they part ways.
Eddie hopes they manage to stay friends, despite it all.
“Thanks, Henderson, but I think I’ve got a handle on things,” Eddie says sarcastically.
Dustin gives him an annoyingly-superior look. “I’m just saying, Suzie and I have been in a loving relationship for many years now — if you need any dating advice, I’m your guy.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. “Dude, she’s spent almost all the time you’ve known her across the country in Mormonland.”
Purely defensive. He hates to admit it, but Dustin’s right. He and Suzie’s relationship has lasted for a far, far longer time than any fling Eddie’s ever had. But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna sit down and let the little twerp talk to him like he knows something about something.
Little — Dustin Henderson is college-bound, heading off to some fancy private school on a merit scholarship, leaving Hawkins and grabbing life by the balls. He might still be a shrimpy dork, but Eddie’s secretly mourning the impending loss of his young friend.
“So,” continues Dustin, chomping on a Twizzler, lounging back against the cushions, “when do I get to meet her?”
Eddie chuckles, yanking the candy bag across the couch towards himself. “Uh, I don’t know. Whenever she wants to, I guess.”
Dustin snickers. “Would you be mad if I just showed up at her job and ambushed her?”
Eddie cuts his eyes over to the younger boy, wry smirk on his lips. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t done that already.”
“I haven’t been reading much this summer,” Dustin admits. “Too busy trying to cram in a bunch of stuff before we all…” he trails off, gaze growing distant.
“Yeah,” Eddie mutters back. He’s been there.
Dustin coughs. “Anyway, you should invite her to meet us at Benny’s after this. You said you’re picking her up from work, right?”
Eddie thinks it over for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”
The rickety front door swings open, a trio of laughing teenage boys barging in without bothering to knock. Tall, gangling Mike; Lucas, smiling in his letterman jacket; and Will, hanging back shyly, clutching his player’s handbook.
Eddie can’t help but grin. Dustin cocks an eyebrow at them.
“You assholes ready or what?”
Throughout the entire day, you think about what Marissa told you.
Yes, you’re angry at her for somehow thinking that would be an appropriate conversation for the two of you to have. Yes, you’re upset to hear her say such disparaging things about someone you’ve known to be nothing but sweet and kind. It feels like such an injustice, that Eddie be subjected to such cruel remarks.
But still, there’s a sliver of uncertainty in your heart now, a dark cloud looming in the distance of yours and Eddie’s budding relationship.
When your shift ends, you linger outside by the doors, waiting for Eddie to pick you up. A tiny part of you regrets the decision to let him bring you in to work, but you try and shake the feeling away.
You hate that you’re feeling this way. Internally, you scold yourself for letting Marissa’s words get to you. Why should you listen to what she says, anyway? Don’t you trust that you know him better than she does?
Do you believe Eddie to be a devil-worshipping cult leader? Certainly not. Eddie is a far cry away from what the media makes guys like him out to be. He’s not violent, or practicing any Satanic rituals; he just happens to like scary music and think that fantasy games are cool.
Do you believe Eddie to be a drug dealer? Well, that one, maybe…
Do you believe Eddie to have some sordid past — or, more worryingly, present — with someone named Chrissy Cunningham?
Before you can decide what to think about her, the sound of a wailing guitar drifts through the air, getting louder and louder — finally, a familiar green and white van is turning the corner, Eddie’s dark head, visible through the open windows, bobbing up and down in time with the music.
“Hey!” he shouts with a grin as he approaches the curb, yelling so as to be heard over the noise. With some effort, you smile back. He lowers the tape so it plays at a more bearable volume, as you open the door and climb into the passenger seat.
“Hi,” you greet him.
He leans across the center consol to give you a kiss, one calloused hand cupping your cheek. You can his smell cologne, the sweat beaded on his neck, and a faint smokiness clinging to his curls, you suppose, from his last cigarette; these, combined with how soft and plush his lips feel against yours push the thought of Chrissy Cunningham temporarily from your mind, along with any other thought you may have potentially had in this moment.
Eddie pecks at your lips again and again, then settles back in his seat, letting his hand fall onto your knee. “How was work?”
You squirm uneasily. “It was fine,” you half-lie, not sure what you should tell him.
“Kids behaving?” he asks.
“About as much as I could expect them to,” you sigh.
Eddie gazes at you, his dark eyes curious; you’re normally much more upbeat than this when you see him after a long day. His face brightens when he remembers what he wanted to ask you, thinking that it may cheer you up. “Well, it’s all over with now, right? You’re free. And I had an idea, if you’re up for it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he explains, “I was thinking, I can take you home, or — if you want — you can come get dinner at Benny’s with me and the guys?” He smiles hopefully. “The others are on their way there already. They’re dorks, but they’re good kids, and Dustin has been bugging me to bring you around.”
You think it over. Admittedly, you’ve been dying to see how Eddie acts around his teenage friends. And maybe this is just what you need to dispel your discomfort; a night out with Eddie and his pals, surrounded by people who know and love him.
Eddie senses your hesitation. “We won’t be out too long,” he reassures you, “because I’m working tonight. But still, no pressure if you’re not up for it.”
He leaves the choice up to you, but he’s giving you the puppy dogs. You nod, giving in. “Okay,” you agree. “Sounds like fun.”
Being crammed in a diner booth with five other guys isn’t normally your idea of comfortable, but their raucous laughter and boyish antics make it just that — comfortable. You’re pushed up against the wall, with Eddie pressed into your side, one tatted arm slung over your shoulder. Dustin sits opposite you, with Will and Lucas; Mike occupies the last seat next to Eddie.
The affection between the younger boys is tangible; this is a group of friends who have known each other a long, long time. They all talk at once, interrupting and speaking over one another, unless someone shoots a question at you, in which case, Eddie holds up a hand to silence them all, so your response can be heard.
Eddie interjects every so often, arguing playfully and poking fun at them, but he mostly watches with amusement, letting them carry the bulk of the conversation. It’s funny; he has the air of a cool uncle about him, the one who supervises carefully but also lets you sneak a sip from his can of beer when no one’s looking.
More than once, you notice Eddie glancing sidelong at you, watching your reaction to the spectacle before you. He smiles when you catch him, and squeezes your thigh under the table.
“So you woke up early to take her to work, ran D and D all day, and now you’re going to work a late shift? Are you planning on going to sleep on top of the bar?” Dustin is staring at Eddie in disbelief.
Eddie shrugs. “I sleep all day on Sunday.” He suddenly flicks a french fry at Dustin across the table. “What can I say? I’m extremely devoted to all of you,” he says sarcastically.
“One of us, anyway,” snickers Lucas, nodding his head at you.
“And don’t you forget it,” Eddie replies sternly, tightening the arm he has around you, holding you as closely as the cramped space permits. Without an ounce of shame or embarrassment, he leans in and smacks a wet kiss to your forehead.
A chorus of “oooh”s erupts, along with one “gross!” and you can’t stop the happy smile from unfurling across your face.
In this greasy diner booth surrounded by teenage boys, with Eddie so unabashedly declaring his affection for you, the pressure that’s been weighing on your chest since this morning dissipates almost completely.
“Ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.”
Almost.
The car ride home is quiet. Eddie has foregone his metal tapes, and instead lets the radio softly crackle out a tune from The Cure. Normally he’d switch the station in distaste, but something about it tonight just feels right.
“You’re just like a dream…you’re just like a dream…”
You’re gazing out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He can’t stop sneaking looks at you, at the way your lips are parted, the slight furrow to your brow. He wants to kiss the worry-line away.
“Everything okay?”
Your eyes refocus on him, and you give him a half-smile. “Everything’s okay,” you tell him, looking back down again, twiddling your thumbs.
There’s a hitch in your voice that concerns him. “Tired?” he asks hesitantly, unsure if he should press the issue.
“Yeah, kind of. Things were…a little overwhelming today, I guess.”
Eddie frowns. “They should give you a helper or something. That’s a lot to deal with by yourself, even if it’s only for an hour or two.” He pulls up to the curb in front of your house, engine idling. Then he moves in for another kiss, gentler than any other he’s given you today.
After just a few moments, you’re the one to break it, pulling back ever so slightly and leaving him wanting.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whisper, breath ghosting over his lips. You’re already reaching behind you for the door handle.
Eddie's caught off guard by the speed of your goodbye. “Goodnight,” he replies, dazed, sad to see you wrenching the door open so quickly, without the usual lingering kisses and touches he adores.
You hop out and he watches your retreating back as you tread across the sidewalk towards the house. He leans over the center consol, towards the open passenger window. “Sweetheart?” he calls out.
You turn back to face him. “Yeah?”
He makes a come-hither motion with two ringed fingers. “Come here for a second.”
You double back and make your way around the vehicle, so you’re standing on the other side of Eddie’s door. With your arms propped against the sill of his window, you lean against the van, letting it support your weight.
You look at him expectantly, waiting.
He reaches out and touches your face, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone, savoring the feeling of your skin underneath the rough pads of his fingers.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight. I know I sort of sprung it on you,” he says apologetically.
You smile at him, warm though tinged with a sadness he can’t put his finger on. “I had fun. You’re right — they are nice boys.”
Eddie sighs, still tracing your flesh. “Could I trouble you for one more kiss?” he asks quietly, blushing cheeks dimpling. “For the road?”
To his relief, you seem to melt a little, swaying lightly on your feet as you hold onto the sill and oblige him.
Eddie’s other hand molds to the back of your head, cradling it in his palm as he kisses you one last time, urgency pervading all his senses, as though he might not get another.
When he releases you he's breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, letting your noses rub together. Finally, he relaxes back in the seat.
“Get some sleep, honey,” he says.
thank you for reading!! <3
taglist: @eddiesgirlforever, @eds6ngel, @sheisahauntedhouse, @lokis-tardis-companion19, @teary-eyed-egg, @whenshelanded, @nanaminswhore, @witchwolflea, @kores-mun-son-n-more
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson series#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction
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