#request what you want but here's a long list of things i might be more inclined towards | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shockercoco · 21 days

Text

Necessary Revenge

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, sub!art, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation

Word count - 2111

a/n - yeah this is definitely on the list of the dirtiest things i've written. by popular request, here's part 2 to Cheer Up, but it can also be read by itself. Also tysm for all the love on Cheer Up. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy :)

You hated it when Art teased you, which is exactly why he does it. All you want is a loving boyfriend who listens to you and does what you say, is that too much to ask? Apparently so.

Obviously, the only reasonable solution is to seek revenge. Unfortunately for Art, after being denied an orgasm earlier after a rough day, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Well, maybe not unfortunate since this is most likely what he wants.

You were trying to study and watch playbacks of matches on your laptop to better your skills, but since you’re no longer in the mood, you decide you might as well close it.

After cleaning up your area, you head into the bedroom to see Art leaning against the headboard on his phone, his back propped by pillows. The television is on but on low volume, he always needed some type of background noise. Art glances up from his phone once he notices you walk in and can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. As soon as he looks back down, you shoot him a glare.

“Back for more?” Art asks.

Just you wait.

“Not exactly,” you tell him as you climb next to him on the bed, using the sweetest tone possible. You get yourself situated against the headboard with him, making sure you’re comfortable – you plan on being here a while. “What are you doing?”

“Just texting Patrick, he’s complaining about the match he just lost and how he needs to find a way to improve.”

“Well, he always was a sore loser,” you say. Art hums and nods in agreement as he continues to text his best friend. He doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation, so you decide to begin your revenge plan.

You turn your attention to the tv hanging on the wall as you place your hand on Art’s thigh. He must be too into his phone since he doesn’t notice, so you continue to raise your hand higher along the fabric of his sweatpants.

Art’s body tenses as he feels your hand move up his body, his fingers frozen above the keyboard on his phone. You notice the questioning glance he gives you from the corner of your eye, but you continue to play innocent as you keep your attention forward.

You wait for Art’s focus to go back to his phone before drifting your hand even higher and stopping right over his crotch. You don’t hide the smile that starts to grow on your face as you feel his cock slowly starting to harden over your touch. Art’s breathing begins to shallow out as he tries to maintain his focus and keep his mind straight. Well, that is until you give his crotch a firm squeeze causing him to let out a small moan and his eyes to flutter.

“What are you doing?” he asks you, his voice low.

“What do you mean? I just want to spend some time with you,” you answer in a casual tone, but Art can see right through your facade. He can feel his heartbeat getting faster. You finally turn your head towards him to notice his blue eyes not slightly widened as he stares back at you. You notice the way his chest slowly rises and falls in anticipation as his grip tightens around his phone. “Is something wrong?”

He gulps. “N-No, just a question.”

“I’m pretty sure Patrick is waiting for you to text him back,” you say, nodding towards his screen.

Art continues to stare for a few more seconds before nodding and looking back at his phone, but you don’t take your eyes off of him. You let your hand hover above him as you wait for him to send a few more messages out before beginning to palm him through his sweatpants.

Art bites his lip as he lets a whimper. His cock is at full attention now as your hand continues to move. The grip he has on his phone is faltering, his hands starting to tremble and his face completely flushed. When his hands fall into his lap along with his phone, you stop and raise your eyebrows.

“Pick it back up and continue texting him,” you command, your tone firm. His phone is vibrating non-stop from Patrick’s pettiness.

“Baby-.”

“I said continue,” you tell him.

A look of desperation flashes across his face before he lifts his phone back up and responds to the messages. Your hand starts back up again, and Art lets out a noise, sounding like he wants to start crying.

He’s falling apart with just a touch of your hand.

Art is starting to get annoyed at Patrick’s texts and wishes they would just stop so he could enjoy himself. He knows you’re not too pleased right now, but he doesn’t care. It just feels too good.

You lean your head into his neck for you to kiss just below his ear, his favorite spot and his weakness. “What’s wrong? You were so cocky earlier, where’s that same energy?”

A shiver runs through Art’s body at the feeling of your breath on his neck. He lets out another whine as he closes his eyes for a second before opening them back up. He’s looking at his phone, but given the fact that his head is starting to feel empty, he can’t really make out the words on the screen.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” you taunt as you press down harder on Art’s crotch, causing him to buck up into your hand.

You pull away from his neck to get a good look at his face, which now has a distant look on it. His mouth is ajar as he looks back at you. You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond to you, but all he does is whimper and pant. He’s a complete mess.

You bring him into a kiss by grabbing the back of his neck, which he happily gives in to. The kiss is filled with nothing but need – more on his end than yours. Art drops his phone on the bed next to him so he can grab your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He whimpers into your mouth as you give his hair a quick put firm tug.

He plunges his tongue into your mouth, needing even more from you. You allow it for a moment before pulling back just a little to wrap your lips around his tongue. Art lets his eyes roll into his head at the feeling of you sucking his tongue. He feels his climax coming quickly from the combined pleasure, and you can tell by the fact of him squirming under your touch more and more.

“You’re not going to cum without my permission are you?” you ask after pulling away from his mouth.

Art feels his eyes become heavy as his forehead pressed against yours. “No.”

“Good boy,” you smile, and that brings Art even closer to the edge. He removes his hand from your waist to grab a hold of the cover beneath him.

“Can I cum?” he pleads as he throws his head back against the headboard, your hand still on the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

“Baby please,”he pleads again, his breathing speeding up.

“No,” you tell him, wanting to torture him.

“Baby I can’t. I-I can’t,” he stutters, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him. You feel his hips stutter under your touch making it known that he’s about to cum anyways. You already knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer.

Art lets out a cry as his orgasm floods through his body and shoots out of him. A wet patch begins to appear through his sweatpants as you keep on pressing against him. He continues to roll his hips into your hand as he rides his orgasm out, a string of gasps falling out of his mouth.

“Oh no,” you fake pout, “Looks like you didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” he pants as he opens, looking down at the stain on his pants before making eye contact with you. A look of embarrassment falls on his face.

He’s so cute.

You move your hand away from him. “What a shame,” you shake your head in fake disappointment. There’s a moment of silence before you say, “pull your pants down.”

“What?” Art asks, confused. He thought you were done, but he was so wrong.

“You heard me,” you say in a plain tone.

Art hesitates before shimmying his pants down his legs to his knees, along with his underwear. You look down to see a mess of his cum covering his shaft, and as you take a look at his underwear, you see some sticking to the fabric. His cock is red and starting to soften, but that’s going to change.

Art gives you a look of realization as he lifts his head from the headboard once it registers in his mind what you’re about to do. “Please don’t.”

You ignore his request as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He jumps at the feeling of your cold hand around him, still sensitive from his orgasm. You stare into his eyes as you begin moving your hand up and down. Art lets out a pathetic whine as his body jerks, trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t work.

“You know, you’re just so easy,” you tease.

“Baby, please-,” Art cuts himself off with a whimper, his hips starting to writhe against the cover.

“Please what? You should be thankful that I’m doing this, unlike how you denied me my orgasm earlier,” you tell him. “I’m letting you cum as many times as you want.”

“Oh my god,” he says as he drops his head. His voice strangled as his second orgasm unexpectedly arrives. You watch as his cum lands on your hands and the bottom of his white shirt.

A sticky and wet sound echoes through the room as your hand speeds up around him. Art’s mouth falls open as his breathing picks up once again. He looks at you, silently begging, but you ignore him once again. You remove the hand from behind his neck and place it on one of his legs to help keep his body still.

“Say you’re sorry,” you tell him as you run your thumb over his tip a few times..

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his grip on the cover tightening. He feels like his hands might be stuck in fists by the time this is over.

You pretend to think in your head before saying, “I don’t think you mean it.”

His voice is high and whiny as he throws his head back once again and says, “I am. I promise.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Make me believe it.”

Art begins to rethink his choices and starts to regret messing with you. “I’m so, so, so sorry, baby. I swear. It was wrong of me to do that to you.”

“Hmm.”

“Baby.”

You smirk at his desperation. “I forgive you.”

“Oh, no, I think I’m going to cum again,” he cries, his eyes rolling back once again as his body tenses.

“Go ahead,” you tell him.

Art’s third orgasm hits him harder than his previous two. He trembles as his back arches away from the headboard while watered down cum spurts out of him. Drool spills out the side of his mouth as you continue the motions of your hand.

He uses a hand and reaches down to pull yours away from his cock, but you slap it away. Art gasps as he continues to twitch in your hand, feeling like he can’t stop as cum flows out of him. You finally move your hand away, but his cock continues to spasm with your touch.

Wanting to torture him one last time, you lean down to wrap your mouth him, sucking and cleaning. Art’s body jerks as he curls forward and grabs your head. You laugh as you pull away.

You lean back against the headboard, pulling his head into the side of your neck to help him calm down. His breath tickles you as he tries to slow his heart down. You glance down at his spent cock with a smile as you gently rub his back.

After a long moment of silence, Art’s phone vibrates from its place on the bed beside him.

You shake your head as you ask, “Are you going to answer that?”

“Patrick can fucking wait,” he breathes out.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson imagine #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist smut #challengers #smut

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 10 months

Note

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy.

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead.

"Just go home," he says.

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of."

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed.

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason.

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure.

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward.

"Y/N?"

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be.

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question.

"Yeah?" you ask.

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away.

"My office," he says.

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says.

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk.

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks.

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?"

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse.

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there.

"From me?"

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself."

"I'm fine."

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick."

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world."

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk.

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously.

"I'm taking you home, honey."

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine."

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home."

"Hotch–"

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'."

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort.

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad."

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow.

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right.

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then."

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend."

"What did he tell you?" you murmur.

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds."

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm.

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament.

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home."

"Oblige you?" you ask.

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead."

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head.

"This is inappropriate," you mumble.

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home."

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then.

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

5K notes · View notes

moonydustx · 1 month

Note

how they would react to F!Reader saying she's pregnant but with Shanks, Rayleigh and Law?

Oi oi! Turu bem? Vou deixar até o comecinho da resposta em português porque sim hahahahah primeiro, obrigada pelo pedido e segundo, eu acho que me empolguei escrevendo de novo, sou inimiga do resumo. O do Ray acho que pode ter ficado um pouco confuso porque tentei usar as duas eras (como pode ele ser tãão saborosíssimo toda vez que aparece, af). Mas é isso, obrigadão e espero que goste <3

And here’s the translation of the day: Hey Hey! How are you? I'll even leave the beginning of the answer in portuguese because yes hahahahah (for those who don't understand PT-BR, I discovered that the requester is brazilian like me) firstly, thank you for the request and secondly, I think I got carried away writing again. I think Ray's might have been a little confusing because I tried to use both eras (how can he be so delicious every time he appears, haha). But that's it, thank you and I hope you like it <3

Oh, and hello @badlandsx! I'm tagging you here because I saw your request about Law, but don't worry, I'll soon write the other part that you also requested. Thank you <3

requests open | one piece masterlist (other pregnancy stories are here)

Warnings are place individually in each story.

Rayleigh

Warnings: mentions of new and old Ray, like I said I love them both. Buggy and Shanks kids are one of my favorite things about Roger's era, so we have them here. Mention to F!Reader being an herbalist. Brief not-so-canonical mention of Sabaody's arc.

Acid temperament, answers on the tip of the tongue, a captivating smile. Rayleigh didn't have much of an option but to fall in love at first sight when you two bumped into each other in a random bar on a random island. It didn't matter anymore when he managed to convince you to be part of the crew. Your knowledge of herbs and medicines was just an excuse he used to get the captain to accept - and Roger knew Silvers Rayleigh enough to know it was just a pretext for you to get on board.

It didn't take long for the glances exchanged and toasts proposed to turn into hidden moments at Oro Jackson, kisses stolen when others weren't looking, that turned into a golden ring around your finger. Now, such moments had turned into a new life being generated in you.

"You should stay less agitated for now, please." Crocus asked. You had come up with a lame excuse for him to stay on the ship with you while the others had disembarked. "By my reckoning, these are still the first few months, it's the most sensitive period. Any more aggressive activity can bring risks."

"You will die?" Buggy's squeaky voice caught the two of you's attention. When you found the spot where the boy was hiding, you saw Shanks cover his companion's mouth.

"Nothing like that, come here." you leaned on the counter, calling out to the two who soon stopped in front of you. "How much of our conversation did you hear?"

"That you don't really know what to do, and that you need to be less agitated and that you're sensitive." Shanks took the lead, listing, Buggy came further behind, eyes attentive to your every movement.

The two boys already saw you almost as a motherly figure, always trying to hide and lean on you whenever they got into trouble, of course they would be scared to hear such loose information.

"I'll trust you two, but I want you both to keep your mouth shut." you bent down to his level. "I'm pregnant, but it's too early for anyone to know, okay?"

"Pregnant?" they both screamed and you covered their mouths. Further behind you, Crocus was deliberately laughing at the two boys' reactions. "Does that mean it's the baby that's hurting you?" Buggy completed.

"No one was hurt." the doctor took the lead, explaining to both of them. "A pregnant woman requires more care and is also more sensitive. Well, you knowing this can be of great help."

"What do you mean by that?" Just like you, the boys seemed to have doubt written all over their faces.

"Someone here loves to get into trouble, until Rayleigh finds out and can keep an eye on you, you two are responsible for it. No fights, no crazy adventures, no almost anything." the man laughed when he saw your indignant expression.

"I promise to keep her and the baby safe." Shanks puffed out his chest, taking pride in what he had said.

"What? I promise more than him." Buggy grumbled.

"As long as you both promise to keep quiet, that's fine with me."

When the two youngest saluted, you knew you were screwed.

It was difficult to disguise such a situation when in the following days the two of them became your shadow. The only time you could see yourself alone was going to the bathroom. If you went to your little corner to work, one of the two would be sitting next to you, following everything you explained to them - since they were there, they would learn something. In day-to-day tasks, one of them always set out to do his part. Rayleigh was already finding their little movement strange, but he knew how attached you were to both of them, so it wasn't something that bothered him.

"I'm going to take advantage of the fact that it's our last day here and I'm going to go down to the village, I need to get some materials." you announced. "Does anyone need anything?"

"Everything's fine here." Gaban warned and one by one, the other companions agreed.

"Wait!" a panting Buggy ran across the boat. "I'll go with you."

"Get out you fool, I'll go." Shanks shouted from the other side.

"Come on, the three of you, what do you think?" you suggested, before his little fight escalated.

"You two don't think you're stealing much of my wife's attention, do you?" Rayleigh proposed, seeing the two swallow hard and deny it. "Alright, enjoy the little walk."

It was supposed to be a quick visit to the island, if the boys didn't decide to start trouble with one of the sellers, you got in the middle and now you were lying on your ass on the floor - in the pushing and shoving, there ended up being a push for you while arguing with the seller . Before you could calm the boys down, you saw them running towards the ship, shit.

Rayleigh's attention was stolen when he saw the two crew members rushing into the Oro Jackson. Buggy burst into tears and insults directed at his friend, while Shanks seemed to be looking for someone specific. You, however, were not with them. It didn't take much to connect the facts.

"Where is she?" He approached the kids, completely ignoring them. "What happened?"

"A tragedy." Buggy, dramatically, started crying even more.

"You idiot! We can't tell them anything." Shanks poked Buggy, who immediately retaliated with a push.

"Crocus said we should keep an eye on her and now she's fallen and is going to die!"

"She fell?" Rayleigh was already impatient with their drama, unable to find any connection in their grumbling. "Explain this properly."

"It was just a fall, nothing big." the redhead tried to alleviate the situation.

"Boys, it was just a fall, she's definitely gotten herself into bigger trouble." Roger laughed, watching the two boys pushing each other.

"I don't want to know. Where's Crocus?" Buggy grumbled, ignoring the captain's own laughter and his friend's false calm temperament.

"What kind of fall was that for you two to be so worried about?" Rayleigh held out his hands, pushing the two boys apart by their foreheads.

"This idiot went looking for a fight." Shanks tried to reach the clown, stopped by the first mate's hand.

"And this idiot who doesn't know how to keep his tongue in his mouth." Buggy fought back, only hitting the air.

"First she said we were supposed to be quiet."

"You knock down a pregnant woman and I'm the one who has to stay quiet!" The words that came out of Buggy were able to provoke silence among the other pirates. "Shit!"

"She's going to kill us man."

"Where is she?" Crocus appeared, stopping in front of the boys and an astonished Rayleigh. "How did she fall? What's all that crying, Buggy?"

"Is she the pregnant woman?" Rayleigh asked in a much calmer tone than usual.

The hands were now no longer used to separate the boys, they just hung beside his body. Seeing the two kids swallow hard and look at each other, Rayleigh no longer needed any more answers.

"Rayleigh, Crocus go to her, now." Even with Roger's orders, Rayleigh was already heading in the direction of leaving the boat, not worrying about who would follow him.

Upon entering the village, it didn't take many steps for them to find you - only then did Rayleigh notice the doctor's presence. What was strange was finding you still lying on the floor, your elbows propped up to keep your face up while you were still arguing with the man in front of you. You didn't look hurt, you just looked mad at the man.

"It was just some herbs!" you shouted, excited.

"You idiot! If it was just some herbs, you should pay." the man shouted back.

Before you could respond, a body appeared in front of you and you didn't need much to recognize that it was your husband.

"What is happening?" his patient voice asked, looking at you over his shoulder. "I see that you seem to have problems with my wife."

"You see, she allowed two boys to steal herbs from my store."

"That is true?" he turned to you, finding a wry smile. Your permissiveness with the boys would still kill him. "How much does she owe you?"

The man spoke and almost as if predicting the problem, Crocus threw some coins to Rayleigh, who handed them to the man. A few seconds later, they were both around you.

"Did you get hurt?" the doctor asked, seeing your eyes dart from his to your husband's. "Buggy accidentally told him that little secret."

"Shit." your grumble was low, in a way you avoided looking at Rayleigh. "Maybe I spent my money buying some sweets for the three of us, but I needed those herbs too." you list, feeling your face burn with guilt and shame.

"Do you feel any pain?" Rayleigh asked, his voice almost forcing you to face him. Without finding words, you just denied it. "Great. Let's go back to the ship."

Crocus supported you by the waist and as soon as you stood up, you bitterly regretted having denied the question your husband had asked. The excruciating pain that shot up from your foot made you scream and fall forward, being held by Rayleigh.

"I was wrong, so wrong, what the hell." you grumbled, taking your aching foot off the ground. "It fucking hurts, it really hurts, Ray, do something." your teary eyes searched for his, who looked attentively in your direction.

"First I need you to calm down, sweetheart." he asked, wrapping his arm around you and providing even more support. "Crocus, what do we have?"

"Let me see." he bent down again, finding a swollen ankle. "It could just be a sprain or it could be broken, let's go back and that way I can see calmly."

"Go ahead, I'll take her."

The doctor took a few steps away and the two of you remained there for a few seconds, until Rayleigh took you in his arms and took you back to the ship. You knew he wanted to tell you something, but you also knew that that wasn't the appropriate place.

Before you could receive the necessary medical attention, you needed to calm both boys down. Maybe the explanation you and Crocus gave the two of them earlier had been too much for them to think that a little fight would bring you down. Rayleigh ushered them both out and closed the door behind him.

"When were you thinking of telling me?" he asked, still distant.

"To be honest, I still don't know." a light laugh escaped your lips. "They both found out by accident, hearing me talk to Crocus."

"I still can't believe those little idiots found out before me." his expression softened as he approached you.

"Are you mad at me?" His hands circled your waist, pulling you to the middle of the bed.

He gently created space for himself between your legs, taking care to place your bandaged ankle to the side. The fierce kisses this time were replaced by some caresses along your lap, some quick kisses on your lips.

"Furious?" His smile floated to your forehead, turning into a small kiss. "I just found out that the woman I love most is about to bear me a child. How can I be furious with such good news?"

His mouth once again met yours and despite the softness in which your tongues tangled, the gentle touch of his hand sliding down your side - curious fingers floating over the fabric on your belly - before your dress found a different path than your body, a small external noise caught the attention of both of you.

"Sure." Rayleigh pulled away just enough, allowing you to still feel his breath against yours. "You know it's Roger who's waiting, don't you?"

"Yeah." you laughed, seeing him groan as he let go of you.

"And that he's about to come out screaming with joy" he asked again and you nodded, trying to adjust yourself in bed and hide any evidence of what was about to happen.

Rayleigh barely opened the wooden door and Roger followed by other companions entered, a smile from ear to ear.

"A child!" He pulled you from the bed, hugging you tightly. "Another crewmate for us! This is incredible, get ready today we're going to drink, we're going to celebrate."

"Oi! She can't drink." Rayleigh pointed out and saw Roger let go of you a little and then hug you tightly again.

"Then let's eat, eat a lot. I'm going to order an incredible feast!"

If before your concern was to escape the needy and attentive claws of Buggy and Shanks, now the two boys seemed to have found company. Your other companions - being practically led by Rayleigh made you feel adorable all the time. Even with your hormones screaming at the top of your skin, even with all the strange desires and the constant need to be attached to your husband, everyone seemed to be ready and happy to see you pregnant. Rayleigh felt proud and a little overprotective of you, no wonder, since you had already returned to the boat covered in blood that didn't belong to you just because someone had tried to rob you or when you almost convinced Roger to loot a village because you wanted cakes from a bakery that was closed when you docked. You still preferred to stick to your herbs, but that didn't mean you were harmless.

Little Arthur came into the world calmly and quickly, as if everything was meticulously planned for him to arrive on that peaceful afternoon. Even though you were still uncomfortable and tired after giving birth, you couldn't contain your laughter when you saw the two youngest members of the crew fighting over who would pick up the little one first. Knowing the affection and care attached to you, you proudly allowed the two of you to carry the title of little Arth's uncles - provoking yet another argument over who was the favorite.

The bonds between you and Rayleigh became even tighter after the birth of Arth and, shortly after, little Dalia. A few years after the gang broke up and Roger was executed and on that day, you and your husband stepped back from the role of parents and allowed yourselves to cry on each other's shoulders. The tears of pain at the loss of Roger soon turned to missing your eldest son, a fruit doesn't fall far from the tree and of course, Arth never let you two tell him everything you knew, he would find a crew so that together they could find the One Piece.

The door to your house opened and you saw a familiar face enter. A mother knows very well what each child's traits could bring and when you saw an almost identical copy of Rayleigh rush through the door, you knew it was your boy back. He had finally found a crew - one that carried a straw hat familiar to the one you knew.

"What?" the voice of his companions shouted in unison as Rayleigh properly introduced the two of you.

"You mean you know everything?" Usopp turned to Arth, who just shook his head. "Oh, that's a lot of information at once."

"We never told him anything." you explained, holding your third child in your arms, a girl who had just turned four years old.

"You said your parents were pirates, but you never specified which ones." Luffy pointed out, his mouth full of food.

"My parents already had their time, now they have other priorities." Arth took little Lure from you, the girl's laugh echoed throughout the room. "Just like this little one here."

"You only have these two children?" Nami asked, interested in the difference between you and Rayleigh to the white-haired child.

"In fact, only Dalia and Arth were born to me. Ray saved our little Lure from being sold to those damn nobles. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to save her family, but we took it upon ourselves to take care of her."

"And Dalia is also a pirate?"

"Not for now, but she's on an island with some of our friends, training." you simply informed, seeing that Arth had understood the message.

That same day, you saw your son disappear before your eyes, into the hands of the tyrant Kuma. Luffy looked desolate and you followed suit, both screams echoing through the damp Sabaody forest. Only when Rayleigh managed to drag you back home did you understand that your boy would be far away, safer and according to Kuma himself, with someone you both would trust with your eyes closed.

Almost two years have passed since Rayleigh took on a mission and left you alone on the island, taking care of what was left behind.

"Father?" Lure's voice caught your attention. At the door, Rayleigh crouched down, waiting for the white-haired girl to jump towards him.

"My sweetie you are so huge!" he let the girl hang onto him, filling the top of her head with kisses. "If I took a little longer, you'd be bigger than me."

"I missed you so much." she clung to Rayleigh, who was walking towards you. "Mommy too."

"I bet she felt it too." With one of his free hands, he circled your waist, lightly kissing your lips. "I hope two of my favorite girls are okay."

"Dad, did you know that Uncle Duval asked Mom to stay with him?" The girl laughed at the little gossip told, earning a reprimanding look from you, even if it was a joke.

"Uncle Duval, hm? I'll have a little talk with him." Rayleigh placed her on the floor, yet the girl remained there beside you, paying attention to everything.

"Just a friend of the Straw Hats, we took care of Sunny while you were gone. I even tried to start the plating, but I'd rather focus on my teas." You explained, allowing yourself to hug him completely. "How are things over there?"

"By things, do you talk about our Dalia?"

"Perhaps." the passive tone in your voice became even calmer when your face was buried in his chest. "I miss my little girl."

"She promised to come soon and she's doing great, she's been one of Kikyo's right-hand men. She's so strong, you'll be proud." he felt you nod against his skin, the distance of two years seemed too far for a quick hug to satisfy. "Want to know about Arth?"

"Have you heard from him?"

"Is little brother Arth coming?" Lure clung to Rayleigh's leg, watching her father. Even without the blood connection, the black king found it comical to say the least how similar you two had become.

"Not yet, my dear. And I haven't heard from him exactly, but rather where he is." Rayleigh began to explain, meeting your curious eyes. "I only received a small note."

He took it out and handed you the small crumpled paper. The tranquility that had been missing for two years invaded you as you read each word.

I hope this reaches you and your wife, Rayleigh-san. Knowing her, I believe she is distraught over Arth's disappearance. He has been training with me and I promise that I will keep that old promise to keep him safe. No clumsy clowns this time.

Shanks.

Shanks

warnings: F!Reader and Shanks don't have a fixed relationship at the beginning of the story, F!Reader has a restaurant. Maybe wrong use of haki, brief spicier section and brief mentions of childbirth. Shanks is an adorable girl dad here. Emony, in some language that I don't remember, is a name related to treasure.

"When are you going to go to sea with me?"

That question had already been repeated countless times every day that Shanks decided to stop at your restaurant. He always made up a little excuse that his crew was hungry and that no other place in that city would be able to fulfill his orders. He repeated every time you served dishes wearing the apron he said made you look amazing, every time he convinced you to stop working for a bit and share a dish with him, every time he was on top of you. you on the bed, as you asked for more and more.

However, every time the answer was the same.

"Give me a good reason red-haired, one other than me ending up in your bed, and I will."

You had already lost track of the times he did this, that he asked and you refused, that you shared hours together and the next morning he left you to return a few months later. This time however, it was difficult to lose track of time, as with each passing day, you discovered a change in your body. It started with irritability, then the aching body, nausea and finally, the positive test on your hand and your shocked family right behind you.

The whole city already knew that you were the redhead's favorite person and at that point, no one dared to mess with you or insinuate anything. Knowing how quickly rumors could spread, you chose to keep it a secret until it became impossible. The secret only lasted four months before his jolly roger appears on the horizon. Already knowing the routine he used to have on the island, you prepared yourself to soon find him entering the door.

"Finally, my favorite cook." his voice hit you before you even saw him. "Long time no see you."

"Yeah, it's been a while." out of habit, you allowed his hand to hug your waist, but you tried not to tighten yourself too much in his embrace.

"Everything is fine?" he asked, noticing your more distant behavior.

"Yeah, it's just been a busy day. What can I get you guys?"

"What's good on the menu today?" Lucky Roux asked, his typical piece of meat at hand had already reached its end.

"A fish stew, we also have some pies. Did you bring any new recipes for me?" You reached out to him.

Since the first time you met the red-haired pirates, you and him had gotten along well and the little deal was that he would always bring new recipes and in return, he was the only one who didn't pay at your family's restaurant.

"Spicy noodles and oysters with honey." he stretched out the two papers in his hand. "Two recipes, two dishes."

"Okay, you win. Anyone else want some stew?" the men piled in, affirming yes. Before you could leave, you felt Shanks' hand grab yours.

"Wait a second." a chill passed through your body as his eyes analyzed you. "You look different, I don't know. It's like you're even more beautiful."

"Don't give me those cheap lines, redhead." you warned in your playful tone. "A stew for you too?"

"The day I deny this could rip my other arm off."

Like the other times they appeared there, Shanks and the others stayed almost the entire day. Much of the food at that point had already been replaced by drinks, which forced you to practically dodge the glasses that were offered to you.

The restaurant was already empty, even your brothers who used to help you had already left, leaving you alone with the leftover dishes and tables to organize for the next day.

"It doesn't seem very gentlemanly to me to leave a lady alone." Again, just like that afternoon, you saw Shanks enter the door, ignoring the "closed" sign.

"You don't need to worry about me, I'll sort it out in a few minutes." You gave your best smile, seeing that he wasn't convinced.

"Then I can help you solve something else."

Not giving you much room to deny it or to at least try to address the issue that was hovering between the two of you, Shanks revoked his right over your mouth. Amidst the scattered tables and trying to turn off the light in the room so as not to attract so much attention, you went unnoticed by his hands taking off your apron and immediately undoing the buttons on your t-shirt. When the piece became a small puddle of fabric on the floor next to your apron and Shanks slid his hand down your torso, you realized that he had indeed noticed.

"What is that?" his voice was low, even though there were just the two of you there.

"I think you're smarter than that, redhead." you tried to alleviate the situation, seeing that it had been in vain.

"It's mine?" His eyes met yours, his serious expression made chills run up your body. Shanks was adorable, one of the kindest people you'd ever served at your restaurant, but he was still a pirate. "Hey, look at me, is it mine?"

"What do you think?" you responded immediately, seeing him take a few steps back. "I found out a few weeks after you left here last time, so far it's been easy to hide with dresses and aprons, but it looks like it won't last long."

"So it's mine?" he insisted, making you huff in frustration.

"The last time you came here, I remember you making me scream a few times that I was yours. I am a woman of my word, there is no one else who is the father of this baby but you."

His expression soon contorted from something serious to a slight smile that turned into a loud laugh. His hand found your face, stroking it with some delicacy.

"You told me you needed a good reason to leave with me." he started, seeing you already look disbelieved. "And no, I don't want you just in my bed. I want you by my side, forever. I want you to leave with me so I can make you my wife. To make you the mother of all my children." his hand reached down and caressed the bump on your belly. "This explains so much."

"So much, tomato head?" You let your hand rest on top of his, enjoying the affection.

"Your bad mood when you saw my face or you refusing to drink with me." He approached, pressing his face to yours. "You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you."

"Shanks…"

"Please say yes."

He used that entire night to convince you to go on board with him and the next morning to help you pack your bags and head to his ship. When the other companions saw your face, they were in disbelief for a while until the true reason for your presence was explained, to everyone's delight.

For a moment, it was too much information for your head, learning a little about the life of a pirate, understanding what Shanks was like as a captain and the changes in your body seemed too much for you. It wasn't surprising that you had practically hijacked the ship's kitchen all to yourself and it was very common to find you in the early hours of the morning, up to something.

"What's the recipe for today, mummy?" Shanks appeared, his face still crumpled indicating that he had just woken up from a good sleep.

"A cake, that's all." you just responded, feeling him press himself behind you and slide his hand over your big eight-month-old belly.

"And what's the name of the cake?" He leaned over your shoulder, still caressing you. "Is it "I'm worried about my baby's future." or "The baby woke me up by kicking me in the ribs"?

"How do you know that?" you laughed, taking some of the still raw dough for him to taste.

"Delicious." he muttered before he could follow up on any thoughts. "Daddy's Haki. I always know what's going on with my baby."

"Oh, of course." you laughed and immediately felt the same pain that had gotten you out of bed a few hours ago and had been recurring in the last few moments. You knew what it was, you just wanted to enjoy the time you still had with your baby inside.

"Honey?" Shanks asked as he saw you lean your body against his and groan in pain. "My love, what is it?"

"Didn't daddy's haki help you this time?" you tried to laugh but the pain hit you again. Before you could continue your sequence of laments, you felt your dress and as a result of the proximity, Shanks got wet.

"No, it didn't help, it's happening now, isn't it? Hongo!" he started screaming, trying to pick you up.

"Shanks, what if…" your eyes moistened with anxiety and accumulated tears. "What if I'm a terrible mother? What if nothing works? What if I can't bring our baby into the world?"

"There's no what if." he pointed out, gently pulling your chin. "Look at me, we're going to bring our first child into the world and everything will be fine. Come on, it's time to meet our baby."

Emony was born after long hours of labor. The small tuft of red hair was identical to Shanks's and her cry was celebrated by the entire ship who had woken up with your screams of pain and with Shanks running back and forth behind Hongo.

The girl was a little copy of her father, from her red hair to her attitude, which made you constantly laugh - after all, at the age of five she had already declared that she was going after One Piece alone when you two gave her a little scolding for her coming out of hiding during a fight you were involved in. You should also anticipate that the girl's strength would be derived from her father and not hers. A break on an island meant having the two of you spotted by enemy pirates while you were taking a walk with little Emony. After trying to escape and fight, you both ended up surrendering, you were on your knees, a gun against your head and little Emony was lifted by the collar of her dress.

"My daddy is going to finish you off, your shit" she declared, trying to kick the man, completely in vain.

"Will he really do that?" the man teased her, seeing the girl become even more nervous. "I'll be waiting for."

"You know this is his territory, what do you want on this island?" you asked and felt the gun being pressed even more against your head.

"Take it away from my mommy!!" Emony screamed and you felt something different in the air.

The man who was pointing the gun at you fell, fainted, as did the other men who accompanied the pirate. Their captain let out a loud laugh, pressing his hand even tighter against Emony's dress.

"Haki? At such a young age?"

"Mommy!" the girl jolted towards you, seeing you get up and walk towards her.

"I suggest you take your rotten hands off my daughter." Shanks' voice came from behind the man.

By dodging a little, you can see the crew approaching. Benn was already pointing a gun, almost glued to the head of the tyrant who had his hands on your little Emony.

"This here?" he shook the girl dismissively, turning to face Shanks. "You know, lately the navy has been investing a lot of money in Yonko's children." the man threatened, a stupid smile adorning his lips. "What's your offer for the brat?"

"Lucky, Yassop?" Shanks just signed. "You guys take my girls inside."

Without waiting for the man to respond, the redhead punched him in the face and before Emony could reach the ground, Lucky caught her. The two of you were taken inside a small store, where some vendors offered water and a place to calm down.

"Where are my girls?" Shanks' voice reached the two of you, but your daughter ran to him, hugging her father's legs, who picked her up. "Are you hurt, my little one?"

"No daddy." she smiled, victoriously. "You see, I'm ready to be a pirate." the joy in her voice brought some peace of mind to both of you.

"I thought you were already a pirate." Benn, who accompanied Shanks, commented and got the girl's response by sticking her tongue out at him.

"I'm going to be the greatest pirate! Just like dad." she replied, shaking herself off Shanks' lap. "Come on Uncle Benn, I bet I beat you."

"Bet? Let's see." The first mate let the girl hit him a few times, laughing at her effort.

"And you, love, were you hurt?" Shanks stood next to you, holding your shaking hand.

"I just got scared. Shanks, she…"

"I felt it. That's how I knew she was in danger." he replied before the question even left your thoughts. "She's barely trained and can already do this? She's really going to be a great pirate."

"Babe…" your warning tone made it clear that this was not the time for him to encourage such ideas.

"Imagine, she's a captain? Our daughter has a big future. In fact, we know who she takes after." the man boasted, earning a shove in response. "I think she needs companions."

"She can arrange it over time."

"Or we can help." the mischievous tone was already almost inert to the way he spoke to you. "Just a few more babies, a first mate, a cook." He started to list, seeing you deny it. "But you look so beautiful pregnant."

"Forget it Shanks."

"Daddy, mummy!" Emony's voice drew you both in. You watched the girl pose as victorious, on top of a Benn Beckman, Lucky, Yasopp and Limejuice piled on the floor, pretending to be defeated. "I won!"

"Now I challenge you, my little fire hair." Shanks joined in the game, going over to the girl.

Maybe some brothers for Emony would be nice - and maybe Shanks would have given you a good reason to accompany him every time you saw him love your little daughter.

Law

Part 2 here

warnings: angst, more angst, arguments with a fluff and happy ending. I mean, do I really need to inform you that our boy is going to freak out about the possibility of amber lead in his baby? Perhaps not very common uses of his DF, Law freaks out for a while, but then becomes the best dad in the world (we saw so little of Law with Lammy, but I bet he was an amazing brother and that he would be such a great girl's dad). And of course, Rosi comes from Rosinante. This text here is huge, sorry.

Being subordinate and companion to a captain who happened to be a doctor was one of the most practical things in your life. Did you catch the flu? He would solve it. Were you injured in battle? Just call the captain.

This meant not having any problems, especially after you decided to start dating. Law became even more attentive to every detail of your health, which made you realize that you didn't have much time to deal with the situation in your hands - more precisely, the situation in your womb.

The tests remained hidden in Ikkaku's drawer, with her being his only confidant at that moment. You wanted to know how many months it was, to be able to share such news, but you knew that as soon as Law found out, he would freak out and that's why you were avoiding him.

Avoiding, in the past verb, after all, he had already noticed something wrong between the two of you. Two knocks on your bedroom door startled you and your roommate.

"Hey." he looked dejected when the door opened, his attention automatically turned to Ikkaku. "Mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?"

"Of course captain." a pious look came from her towards you, before the woman disappeared from your field of vision.

Law, not knowing what to say, sat next to you. As you tried to grab his hand, you felt him move away. Damn it.

"How long have you known?" his cold tone dictated that he was probably not happy at all with the news.

"How do you know?" you answered his question with another, trying to buy time before the approaching storm.

"Today marks two months since you haven't asked me for help with any colic or complained about being sinking in a red river." he laughed, even though he didn't look happy. "By my reckoning, it's also been two months since that day in the kitchen."

Of course, the day in the kitchen. You and Law were always careful, even if you already used your contraceptive method, you preferred to use other types of protection. Except when you arrived at Polar Tang drunk and alone, which resulted in a unprotected sex session on the shared kitchen table.

"Quite a recipe we made." You tried to make fun of him.

"What do we do?" For the first time at that moment, you saw Law's eyes actually find you, worried and afraid.

"What do we do?" you repeated. "I'm pregnant Law, I don't know if there's much to do other than wait for the baby to be born."

"You know what worries me." his harsh response cut through any kind of excitement you held back. "You know very well what will happen to this child."

"What can happen." you corrected him.

"Would you rather risk waiting the nine months, giving birth and seeing your child die some time later? Sounds like a great idea to me." Cynicism echoed in his words just as your two voices were already much louder, taking your hatred to levels you didn't yet know.

"Would you rather I have an abortion and then spend the rest of my life wondering what if my baby had been born healthy?" his silence was the answer you needed at that moment. "You know what? Leave me on the next island, I'd rather take a risk and have my baby happy than have to abort it or even worse, my baby has to live with a parent who hates its existence."

"You don't understand what this could entail." He stood up too, trying to put something that looked like sense into your head. "You stay here until this is resolved."

"This has already been resolved and you don't need to have any involvement in my baby's life." you were sure the entire submarine was already listening to that argument between the two of you. "Get out of here, Law."

"But…"

"Get out of here!" you screamed even louder, seeing the man give up and leave. It only took a few seconds for Ikkaku to appear and allow you to cry for hours on her shoulder.

Anyone looking from the outside could see that you two were in pain. Law had become a shadow of the captain he was, only having small appearances to issue orders or to follow you - even without saying many words - every time you approached an island, fearing that you would leave the crew. Even though the two of you didn't talk anymore, you knew that his disappearance was related to studying everything he could about the disease that ravaged his country and was also present in him.

In the two months that had passed, Law had stopped being your boyfriend and practically become your doctor. Without exchanging many words, you only met when he decided to do some examination on you. To break the mood, you always took one of your friends along. The little information you had about Law came from Bepo, Shachi or Penguin, the only ones who were still able to invade his room and talk to him. Like that afternoon, when they insisted that you convince him to leave the room and have dinner with all his companions.

"Law?" two knocks on the door accompanied your voice. His tired look hit you immediately.

"How can I help you?"

"I wanted you to come have dinner with us." you tried to appeal to what you want. Many times, before pregnancy, that had worked.

"I am a little busy."

"I can bring something here." You suggested, approaching him. On the table, you saw accumulated papers, the vast majority of which titles were not related to Amber Lead.

"No need to worry, I'm fine." he simply replied, seeing that you were reading the papers on his desk. "I found some new studies."

"Law, I told you that you don't need to worry about that right now, we don't know yet…"

"When would you rather I worry?" the cynicism was once again there in his voice and he knew how much you hated it. "When you die on the table because for some reason this shit got to you? Or when I watch our baby die?"

"Now is he our baby?" you used the same resource as him. "From what I remember, I had made it very clear that I didn't want you to be involved in this."

"But it's my obligation."

"Your obligation as a father? I think you lost that right when you made it very clear that I had to take my baby away." you started to walk away from his desk. "Or your obligation as captain? As a boyfriend that isn't, I don't know what it's like to have a boyfriend for a good few months."

"I was busy, trying to find a cure for you two."

"We're both not sick." you sounded offended by what he had proposed. "But keep it up, sink into your books, don't worry when I disappear from this fucking submarine."

You left slamming the door, stressed. The looks that reached you seemed full of pity and concern. You only managed to get as far as the kitchen before a pang hit your head and stomach. Being supported by your colleagues, the only request you made was that no one tell Law about it. You wouldn't give him reason in his incessant search for something he didn't yet know.

Alleviating your worries, the diagnosis arrived quickly: just a spike in high blood pressure. A few hours of rest and an IV should do the trick. When you saw Bepo murmur an apology, you knew exactly what he was going to do and so did your friends, as little by little they left you alone. You remained turned away, even though you heard the door open. Something in the air had changed, it was as if you immediately felt more tense and prepared for another argument.

"Babe, can we talk?" Law's voice sounded much lower than normal, definitely attracting your attention. His affectionate way of calling you was an easy way to make you fall for his words. You turned around, facing him and started to adjust yourself to sit on the stretcher. "No, please, stay still there."

"I'm just going to sit down." You did so, your movement being followed to the millimeter by his eyes. "Just to be clear, I don't want to fight."

"I didn't come here for that reason." he approached, hesitating with every step he took. "Actually, I know you didn't want me to come here for any reason."

"I just don't want to have to hear from my doctor that I'd better have given up on the idea." you turned around, allowing your legs to dangle. "I understand your concerns Law and I would be lying if I said I haven't been terrified of the idea since I saw the first positive test."

"I know." He finally stopped a short distance away, but he still didn't touch you. "I… I-I, damn, why is it so hard?"

"Just let the words come, don't think about them." you suggested, figuring it was just pride keeping you from apologizing for all the previous argument.

"I-I feel like shit." a sigh came out along with the words. "You're right, as a boyfriend I've been terrible, as a doctor then, just look at the fact that you're in a hospital bed and the last person to be informed is me." his fists clenched and then loosened, his tattooed hands rubbed against his face, perhaps in an attempt to get the words out of him.

"Law?" your heart broke when you heard a sniffle come from him, it was the last gesture you expected after everything, it was difficult to connect the information like this.

"I can't lose you and I know it doesn't seem like it, I know I've been a terrible person, but I love this child. I can't lose this too." For the first time after so long together, you saw tears run down your loved one's face. His hands stuck to his hat, pulling in a failed attempt to hide his face. "I can't stop regretting saying that to you, what if our baby hates me for it? What if our baby knows that for a moment, even a small moment, I didn't want him or her to exist."

"My love?" You extended your hand, being accepted by him. Law fit between your legs and buried his face in your neck, even with the muffled sound, you only heard his murmurs and sobs.

"I'm sorry, please. For yelling and being an idiot." he asked, still not letting go of you. "I just can't deal with the thought of losing either of you."

"My dear, look at me." his irises remained almost hidden by the tears that accumulated at his waterline. Your hands dried his face and you didn't know how you weren't crying together. "We still don't know if our child will have amber lead disease, we don't know the scope of your fruit in the cure."

"What should we do in the meantime?"

"As I told you, wait. Make the best of this little time we have until the baby is born." you suggested while your hands traced caresses on his face. "And I just want, I need, my boyfriend back. I don't know how far I can go without you by my side."

"I promise to get better, I promise to take care of you." he replied, taking a deep breath and composing himself. With his hands rubbing his face, Law looked much more centered. "What happened today? When Bepo called me, he just told me it was a blood pressure problem and that you were resting."

"I said I want my boyfriend." you insisted with a smile on your face and saw a small ghost of what would be a smile on Law too.

Law first checked the serum that was being applied to you and then took off the hat he was wearing, placing it on your hair. With his face millimeters away from yours, he placed a quick kiss on your lips, followed by one more and another, until finally you gave way to him. The skin of his face was still damp against your face and your fingers caressed his scalp, the gesture he loved so much and god, how he had missed it. When Law pulled away, you almost pulled him back. Two months were too long apart - even under the same roof.

"I missed you so much." You confessed, not wanting to let go of his hand.

"I missed you too my love, I'm sorry for being such an idiot for so long." He sank against your skin again, this time stealing a few kisses along the way. "What do you think we make up for lost time?"

"That sounds interesting to me."

"No, no sex." he cut you off as soon as he saw you smile mischievously. "Room."

You were back in his room, now lying on the soft bed with gray sheets. Along with the two of you, only the serum and support tied to your skin had come. Law adjusted himself, sitting with his back against the wall and adjusting your body to be against his skin. You saw from the corner of your eye his hand go towards you and retreat, ignoring any complaint he would make, you pulled it back and placed it flat against your belly.

"I don't think you can feel it yet, but I've already started to feel some small movements. In fact, I thought I had stomach gas, until Ikkaku and I found a book explaining that it was the baby." You explained and looking over your shoulder, you could see bright gray eyes staring at you. "Right now, from what I feel, the baby is here." you slid his hand away, stopping next to your side.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, using his other arm to hug you even tighter. You nodded and saw him smile at the likely thought that crossed his mind before the words came out. "The other day, I accidentally spied on you in your room. I think you had just gotten out of the shower and were in front of the mirror."

"Oh no Law, I don't believe it." you laughed, already knowing what day it was.

"I think you spent about fifteen minutes posing in front of the mirror, caressing our child in your womb. God, you looked so beautiful, so radiant." he allowed himself to almost melt against the wall behind him. "I'm sorry I wasted so much time, so much stuff."

"Can I tell you something too? I actually need to update you on a few things." you asked and felt his face move against your skin, nodding. "Did you know that our baby is already just like you? I can't even see a piece of bread before I'm ready to spill my stomach."

That night, the two of you spent a lot of time there. You telling him about the little news that Law had missed in the time you didn't talk and him explaining little curiosities to you, things that seemed incredible to him because they were happening in the body of the woman he loved and he didn't have the courage to tell you before.

In the fifth month - now with a new version of Law, one much more adept at the idea of being a father and much more attached to you. You were dragged by him to a small room, finding Ikkaku, Shachi and Penguin sitting at the table waiting for you.

"What is that?" You sat down in the chair that Law arranged for you, he soon took the place next to you.

"You said you didn't want me as a doctor, so if you want and you have time to think about it, they will be your doctor."

"And you?" your voice was almost cornered, trying to connect the pieces of the situation that was presented. "Aren't you going to be at the birth?"

"I'll be there all the time and any problem, I'll take care of it. But I want to be there for you, for our baby. Instead of scalpels and speculums, I just want to hold your hand." Law chuckled as he saw your little pout that you made start to tremble. "Sound like a good idea to you?"

"T-This is in-amazing." despite Law seeing you get emotional, the loudest crying came from the other side of the table.

"Man, that was beautiful." Shachi was struggling, leaning on Penguin.

"It's so good that you guys are back."

"Idiots." the woman commented, turning to you. "Come on, tell me everything you expect from the birth of our little baby."

After spending the remaining months buried in books next to him, this time looking for good information and not just a cure for an illness, you learned that the stretcher was not a good place to give birth and that sensations were an important part of the process, in other words, goodbye Ope Ope no Mi's anesthesia powers. Law seemed to want to make up for the distance by always staying close to you and always reminding you how special you were to him, like when you looked adorable when the jumpsuit stopped fitting around your belly or when you and Bepo joined in complaining about the heat.

With the help of your own nature, the chosen doctors and Law behind you in that hot tub, your girl arrived into the world quickly and much less painfully than you thought. In the first few hours, little Rosi didn't let go of you and only when the water around the bathtub became cold did Law manage to take his focus off the little baby to take you two to a more cozy place.

In the early days, Law's hands seemed tied to Rosi. When the girl with eyes as gray as her father's wasn't on his lap, Law was following you like a shadow to ensure the health of both of you. Sometimes looking sideways, you could see Law observing every inch of the girl, in a constant search for signs of the cursed disease that had once taken his family from him. He would never allow that to happen to his little girl.

The worry lasted for years and there was never a sign of the disease or any other illness. Before, if everyone at Polar Tang had a strict health care schedule, with the arrival of the girl, attention redoubled.

Rosi was like seeing a mini-version of Law walking around, especially because of the copy of his hat that he had gotten for her. All the love that Law took to give you and her, when it was just a fetus inside you, the doctor seemed to make up for it with the girl, there wasn't something she wanted or asked for that he wasn't ready to do.

Rosi seemed to love accompanying her father in laboratories and studies, this seemed to change when she was once injured in an attack, in fact Rosi lost her balance with the Polar Tang speeding into the sea and ended up getting a cut on her forehead, patched by Ikkaku since Law was busy fending off enemies. That had been enough trauma for little Rosi to not want to know more about medical things.

"Please, my sweetie, it's just a small remedy." you tried to pull the girl out of the closet.

"No, no, no." she grumbled. The little gray eyes full of water. "It's going to hurt a lot."

"It won't hurt, my love." you insisted, seeing her deny it.

"My princess?" Law bent down, reaching her height. "Come on, this is to make you okay."

"Daddy, it's going to hurt a lot, I don't want it." she grumbled even more, knowing that Law was much easier to convince.

"Doesn't your throat hurt too?" he asked and the little girl nodded. "I promise it won't hurt anymore."

"But what about the injection?"

"Daddy also promises it won't hurt at all." he reaffirmed and saw the girl come out of hiding, heading straight into his arms. "Babe, she's a little feverish." he murmured to you, almost despair forming on his face.

"Law, it's just a cold." you warned him, following him as your daughter rested against his shoulder. You knew that when it came to Rosi's health, Law was the most concerned of all.

"Daddy, it's because I was lying on the ice with Bepo." the girl confessed the information, adjusting herself to reach Law's field of vision. "I'm just a little sick, that's it." she created a small space between her fingers.

"That's great, my love." He placed the girl sitting on the stretcher. "It means it'll only take that long for you to get better." he repeated the gesture she had made with her fingers. "Ready?" he saw her deny it, laughing. "Do you want mommy to hold your hand?"

"Yes!" She reached out her little hand to you. "Mommy, what is this?"

"It's dad's way of taking care of us." You tried to sum it up the best way. Maybe she was too young to understand how akuma no mis works.

"Ready? First take a deep breath…" Law imitated, holding the air for a while and making her laugh when she saw him puffed up. "And now…" he applied the injection to her arm. He knew it hadn't hurt at all, but the girl automatically started to pout. "My little princess, what happened? Did it hurt?"

"No." she said, her voice breaking. You both had to laugh when you saw her asking you to hold her without even moving the arm that Law had given the injection to.

"My love, what do you think…" Law bent down to look into her eyes as he spoke. "We can go to the kitchen and steal…"

"Bepo!" the girl stretched her arm towards the bear that appeared in the field of vision. "I want to be with Bepo."

"With Bepo?" Law pretended to be frustrated.

"He's warm and I'm cold." you passed the girl to Bepo, who was her favorite company. Law insisted that it was because the mental age was identical, but you always laughed at the accusations while the bear grumbled.

"What do you say we read a little?" Bepo suggested, letting Rosi climb onto his shoulder.

The two of you accompanied him to the living room, giving Bepo information about the girl being feverish. It only took a few words from the bear who started reading one of her favorite stories for Rosi to fall asleep. Law carefully took his daughter from him and started walking alongside you to the girl's room.

"I can't believe she chose to go with him."

"Well, you had just given her an injection, she harbored some resentment." you joked and saw him frown. "Maybe the next one will like us more than a huge, cuddly bear."

"Next, huh?" he spoke in a low tone, not wanting to wake the girl in his arms.

"Exactly. Or have you forgotten about the ten minutes hiding in your living room when Ikkaku was having a girls' night out with Rosi?" You saw his expression light up, a smile that you hadn't seen the first time you had this kind of conversation and that was one of your favorite things in the world.

"How long, is a month half?" he tried to hold back his louder, surprised voice.

"Yes, I took the test last week." you watched him open the door and place little Rosi on the pink bed. Before you could return to the subject, you felt him take you in his arms and lift you up, filling your face with kisses.

"I love you so much, I love you both." he put you down. "To be more exact, the three of you."

530 notes · View notes

andreafmn · 1 year

Note

Hello I see your taking request again ! I’m so happy It’s been sooo long hope your doing well !?!

Can you write a reader x jasper

Reader is a vampire she has been with the cullens for ever like before Alice and jasper got there !

She’s as cool as a cucumber like no one has ever seen her mad

Well once edwards started seeing Bella and being a diva he makes a comment about jasper and reader loses it like full on throws him through a wall lol

Everyone is super shocked because they’ve never seen her like that and emmitts booming voice in the back round saying well never talk shit about jasper in front of reader again

everyone nods in agreement and jasper just looks at reader and says I love when your defending me love but let’s not put anymore people through a wall and everyone laughs

Word Count: 3K

Story Description: (Y/N) Cullen might be even-tempered and calm by nature. But when it came to her partner, no one gets by unscathed. Not even her own family.

A/N: I know I took forever to post this request, but I always take forever for everything 😅 though I hope you enjoy and that I did your request honor, anon. My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing🥺👉👈. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST

If you’d like to be tagged in any story or make a request: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post! Tagging apparently has reached its limits for Twilight stories. It won't allow me to post with the list I have right now, so turning on notifications will allow you to know whenever I post anything new.

Karmic Retribution

There were certain unspoken rules to being a Cullen.

One of the worst ones, the oldest made all the decisions. This meant that, more often than not, Carlisle and Edward were the ones to determine the outcome for the family. And to that point, it had been fine. There was never anything truly holding them down to any place in particular, and they could travel any time they wanted.

(Y/N) was fine with that to an extent. She was on the same level as Edward in terms of age, and sometimes she felt she should have more leverage in family decisions than she had. But she had always been quiet, keeping her anger always at bay. And it helped that she had Jasper by her side.

Their connection was almost instantaneous.

When the messy bundle of blond curls walked into their home in Calgary, she knew he’d turn her whole life around. They grew close quickly. Spending almost every moment by each other’s side. (Y/N) could not remember her life before she met Jasper Whitlock. As time passed, the memory of her time without him seemed more and more like a dream rather than her past. To her, he had been there forever.

Though she did not have any special abilities, everything about her was extraordinary to Jasper. She became his lifeline, the only thing to keep him afloat when he felt like drowning. Because most days he felt his head was always just barely above water. Treading on the line between fighting his animalistic instincts and his new family’s peculiar lifestyle.

(Y/N) could do to him what he was able to do for everyone else. She could read his emotions before he had a chance to name them, and she somehow found a way to make him calm and tranquil. She was everything he did not know he needed.

He had been afraid to tell her of his past. How he’d fought for the confederacy and had built and led an army of newborns in the south. He was ashamed of the lives he had taken, the people he had turned and promised eternity to in exchange for their loyalty, only to dispose of them one year later. All for what he thought was love. Jasper was frightened that the second he confessed to the sins of his past, (Y/N) would forsake him and push him aside.

Instead, he was met with a wave of compassion that washed over him. As his eyes stung from dry tears, (Y/N) provided him with a smile that he was sure could warm his frozen body. She placed a comforting hand on his cheek and gave his lips a soft kiss.

“Our pasts do not define the people we are today,” she had told him, nothing but love in her eyes. “The reason we are who we are now is because we have moved forward from what we did yesterday. You don’t need my forgiveness, my love. For the man I know now will never be the same as the man that was. What you need is to forgive yourself.”

At that moment, Jasper knew that his search was finally over. Though he still struggled with his hunger and considered himself a dangerous man, he’d found the person that could love him completely. A woman that had taken one look at the scars of his past — literally and figuratively — and, instead of recoiling in fear and disgust, had placed a kiss upon them and filled them with love and compassion.

“Do you know how lucky I am, darling?” Jasper had told her one day as they lay in a clearing somewhere in the snowy surroundings of Alaska.

“Is that so?” (Y/N) chuckled. Her fingers traced the stitching of the vest he wore, her head pressed against his chest wondering what his heartbeat could have sounded like. “I’d like to think I’m the one that is lucky. How many years did I spend on my own, waiting on my forever? Then you show up, with Alice in tow, and you change our family for the better. And now, I have someone to walk through life until the end of time.”

“Life is funny that way, huh,” he smiled. “And that is precisely what I wanted to speak to you about. I know our journey is seemingly endless and certain mundane things don’t particularly mean as much as eternity. But there is something that I want more than anything — mostly as a symbol of how much I love you. Because in this life and the next I want nothing more than to spend it by your side. So I ask you, (Y/N), would you do me the absolute honor of allowing me to be your husband?”

“For as long as love lives between us, yes. A thousand times yes.”

A wedding was such a monumental event for humans. For beings that stood the trials of time, it was a symbol of commitment. A way to bind their lives with something other than words. A simple promise made in the presence of the people they valued above everything else. That they were making the choice to intertwine their lives in all ways, regardless of any circumstances.

The event had been small, much to Alice’s dismay. The pair simply wanted their family and a few friends in attendance. Their love needed no impressive show, it simply was, and that’s how they wanted it.

In the family, they kept their heads low and out of the way. It was futile to insist on having more of a voice when it came to the decisions of the family. To that point, they had no quarrels with the choices the patriarch had determined for the clan.

Keeping to themselves allowed (Y/N) and Jasper to form a bond like no other. They didn’t need Edward’s mind reading to be able to hear the other’s thoughts; didn’t need Alice’s foretelling to know their life would be live and full of life. The couple had created the perfect balance between themselves and orbited around the family. Still, it was them against the world.

Jasper being the youngest — at least considered that way for being the last to join the family — was often the target for many quips in the family. From his stoic stare to his short fuse when it came to human blood, the blond would often be the butt of the joke. And it never seemed to anger him. He’d chuckle from time to time or roll his eyes at any lines that went just a little too far. But he never defended himself or asked them to stop.

His efforts were centered on keeping (Y/N)’s anger toward the family at bay. Though she was calm by nature, she despised the way their adoptive brothers picked Jasper apart. How they would jokingly criticize something the man could not control. It was often a topic of discussion when the pair enjoyed a rare moment of privacy.

“I’m going to squash them,” she huffed. “Are they not tired of the same jokes? Is there even an original thought in their heads?”

“There’s no need to worry your pretty little head over them, darling,” Jasper chuckled, placing a comforting kiss on her head. “I’m used to it by now.”

“But you shouldn’t be! Every day you work your hardest to control yourself around humans and I know how painful it can be for you. Then Tangina and Schwarzenegger come in and tell the same stupid jokes over and over again,” she exclaimed. (Y/N)’s arms flew up in frustration earning a chuckle from the man as he stared at her from where he lay. “It’s not funny, Jasper. One of these days I’m gonna blow and you’re not gonna be able to calm me down.”

“As much as I would love to see you say your piece to Edward and Emmett, I assure you I do not mind.” He took her hands in his, kissing the knuckles gingerly. “Their words do not affect me, darling. The only person whose approval I care for is yours.”

“And that you will have until the end of time.”

And that was the case for the next couple of years. Whenever they’d reach a new town the other two Cullen teens would joke about how Jasper could snap at any moment, and he’d wreak havoc in the city. They would say pick on him and laugh at him. The worst part, he simply took it, much to (Y/N)’s dismay.

She would grow angry, he would temper her emotions, she would complain about their brothers’ treatment behind their backs, and he would say it was fine. But it shouldn’t have been fine. He should never have gotten used to the unnecessary mean jokes from the older boys.

When they settled in Forks, (Y/N) already knew the cycle. New town, same jokes. The only difference this time, Edward grew obsessed with a particular human.

The day he’d come home from school muttering how he needed to leave for some time and hole himself up in Alaska, (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. There was Mr. Jasper-can’t-control-himself at the end of a downpour of blood frenzy. Everything he had jabbed at her partner with had come back to bite him.

She had laughed with Jasper that night, the jokes laced with actual worry that Edward would be the one to snap and attack a human. But the karmic retaliation had been far too exquisite for her to remain concerned. Revenge was always a very tasty treat.

But her small victory had not lasted long.

Only a week later, Edward had come back home with a recharged confidence. His woes about hurting Isabella Swan had died in a matter of seven days and he was ready to throw a hundred and ten percent toward forming a connection with the frail human.

And with Edward’s presence coming back, so did the overused jokes.

It had been a sunny afternoon in Washington and all the Cullens were stuck inside the house. Most of the morning had been uneventful, each of the family members reclused in their own rooms. The house was quiet and tranquil, peaceful. But that never lasted long. Especially when they were all home.

“So, Edward, this Bella chick is kind of… different, huh?” Emmett commented, his typical goofy grin spreading across his face. “But don’t you think it’s kinda dumb to get involved with a human?”

“Yeah, it might be,” he chuckled. “But it would be dumb of me to not even try. There’s just something about her that’s… intoxicating.”

“Yeah, it’s called human blood,” Rosalie spat. “Because she’s a human, Edward. The worst thing you could do is get involved with her. It could put her in danger. It can put all of us in danger.”

“There’s nothing wrong with testing the waters though,” he debated. “There’s truly something about her that calls to me. I need to see what it is.”

Anger had started sprouting inside (Y/N) as she listened to her family discuss the sudden apparition of Bella in their lives thanks to their adoptive brother. The cold that ran through her veins suddenly started growing warm, consuming her from the inside out. Not even the hand that Jasper had placed lovingly on the low of her back was enough to dissuade the ire that was taking over her.

“We’ve pretended to be humans for decades; I think I can do it for a couple of months with Bella. I just… I need to get to know her,” Edward continued. “I need to at least try.”

“And what will you do when she starts asking questions?” (Y/N) interjected. “How will you explain the cold skin? The fact that you don’t eat? The fact that you turn into a disco ball under the sun? How will you refrain from telling her you are a vampire?”

“I simply won’t tell her, (Y/N),” he chuckled. “It’s not that hard to not mention the fact that my family and I are a bunch of supernatural vampires.”

“You can’t even read her mind, Ed. How will you know she’s not coming up with conclusions on her own?”

“God, we can sit here a debate all night long on why it’s a bad idea for me to get in any way, shape, or form to get involved with Bella,” he retorted. “But it’s not really a family decision. I’m gonna see where things go with her, regardless of what any of you think.”

“So, you’re willing to put our family – our whole species – in danger, for a seventeen-year-old you met a couple of weeks ago?” (Y/N) questioned. Jasper was failing to calm her down. He could feel the angry red monster taking over her mind as she debated with Edward. Her emotions were taking over her reason and he could do nothing to help her. “I can’t believe you could be that reckless and selfish. Our entire existence depends on us being careful and guarding our secrets with our lives, especially in this town. If the Volturi don’t get you, I’m sure the wolves would be more than ready to put you in your place for breaking the treaty.”

“Oh, come on, (Y/N),” he laughed dryly. Everyone could tell he wasn’t taking the dangers seriously, he was not taking her seriously. To the older boy, it was merely a conversation. “If there’s anyone we should worry about recklessly exposing our secret is mister short fuse over there.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That it only takes something as little as a prick on a finger and fidgety Jasper will be pouncing on a human. The safest way for any of us to keep the secret is for you to keep a short leash on your husband.”

Edward had once vowed to not use his ability on his family unless absolutely necessary, and he had always kept that promise. That afternoon, he regretted it.

As everyone laughed at his taunting joke, (Y/N)’s emotions reached their peak. Her eyes had grown darker, and her hands had balled into fists. She couldn’t resist the wrath that had taken over her. All she could see was red.

One second, the family was enjoying the gag against the Cullen. The next, (Y/N) had pushed Edward hard enough to go through a wall in their picturesque living room. Dust filled the area, fragments of the wall thudding against the wall, falling around the boy. A mix of glass, wood, and gypsum board had scattered around Edward’s body, his body coated in a fine layer of dust.

The same expression of shock washed over each of the family members, astonished at the sight in front of them. Calm-mannered and good-natured (Y/N) had finally reached her boiling point. For centuries, she had always been able to keep herself emotionally balanced, even without Jasper. None of them thought there would come a day when they would see her temperament break.

Her chest was heaving, her nostrils flared, and her hands still stretched in front of her. She wasn’t breathing, instead, she was letting out every ounce of fury that still burned inside her. In a split second, she regained her composure. (Y/N) smoothed down her clothes and her usual smile spread across her face.

Silence spread across the room, the kind that was enough to deafen ear drums. It was tense and uncomfortable, filled with a type of discord they had never witnessed between them before.

“I think we can all agree that all jokes about Jasper’s, uh, condition shall only be done in private or inside our heads,” Emmett’s voice sliced through the silence, his voice booming and reverberating against the walls. “That was… unexpected.”

“But we can all say it’s a long time coming,” Jasper grinned, turning his attention to the woman he proudly called his wife. “And, darling, as much as I love that you’re defending me, I think it’s best we don’t put more people through walls. Alright, love?”

“I guess that’s doable,” she smiled.

The rest of the siblings broke into laughter. All but Edward that wore a scowl on his face as he wiped away the white dust from his face. (Y/N) couldn’t help the pride that swelled in her chest. After years of biting her tongue and holding back her feelings, it felt exceptional to finally shut Edward up.

“Well, Edward, it seems you and Emmett will have to set aside some time to fix that wall,” Carlisle grinned. “Can’t have your new girlfriend coming over and seeing a person-shaped hole in our new living room.”

“Why do I have to do it? (Y/N)’s the one that pushed me!”

“Let’s call it your apology for taunting Jasper for the past few decades,” Esme responded before joining her retreating husband. “Now get to it, boys.”

“How is that fair?”

“What can I say, Eddie boy?” (Y/N) grinned. “Karma’s a bitch.”

Jasper and (Y/N) promptly sped outside, needing a moment to themselves after the chaotic scene that unfolded. When they reached the clearing they often sneaked out to, the blond wrapped his wife in his arms and placed a passionate kiss on her lips.

“I can’t thank you enough for defending my honor,” he smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “Though I can’t say Edward didn’t deserve it, maybe next time we can try to use our words rather than our hands.”

“I’m offended, Major. It was a calculated reaction after years of bullying.”

“(Y/N),” he lovingly reprimanded. “You know better than that.”

“Alright, love. I promise I won’t throw Edward into a wall ever again,” she smiled, pecking his lips. “But I can’t promise I won’t find other ways to get even.”

“I would never expect less.”

At that moment, everything was perfect. Nothing and no one could ever have predicted that in less than a year Bella Swan would infiltrate their family, that all the quips against Jasper would accidentally turn into reality, and that life as the Cullens knew it would drastically be altered.

Taglist: @agent-anna @banterbanner @alitav99 @daniallh @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @imaginetwilight2704 @mauvette268 @beefwhobarksandisalilmadalot @abelbai000 @ridiculous-creature @mikariell95 @gryffi-ndor @jules-bea2308 @comic-book-overload @winter-soldier-101 @jessicasunderground @mxyee @hey-you-therexo @witchy-obeyme-freak @xcastawayherosx @kortniec696 @slutforsainz @Blackbluerose666 @DyslexicCatterpillar @sunflowerleii @gypsymusiclover @byelannie @a-sifu-hotman @zheezs14 @minhaimaginacao @bluebirbnamedJay @sirenheadenby @mushroomelephant @swidkid @skyesthebomb @user0ur0mom @nogitsune-the

@cometstail @volturiwolf @locokoca @esposadomd @this-is-a-bad-idea @nocturnalherb16 @rosalie-whitlock @nyctophilia710 @blueshoelaces @ems-alexandra @then-worship-at-my-altar @six-call @witchofhawkins @lovel-blog @sugajar @goodpeoplegotohellanyway @yuki254 @avis15 @honeylovemoon @wonieeee @baebeepeach @catgirlpwr @krazyk99 @klf1999 @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @cinffy23 @toomanythoughts33 @sugasthreedollarkookie @laylaskywalker @fandomonetwo @fruitylilfuck @a-slut-for-Loki-Bucky @honeywxter @haroldpotterson @revnamjinn @justamessandahalf @come-on-darling-honey @dove-chan32931

3K notes · View notes

wxshing-aep · 1 year

Text

The Prom Committee (pt 1)

Ethan Morales x fem!reader

based on this request:

"how about one where y/n runs an after school club so Ethan keeps getting detention on purpose to see her because he thinks “clubs are for dorks” to quote Paxton and so his reputation as the bad boy isn’t ruined"

Warnings: swearing, banter, the word boobs

AN: decided to make it a 2 parter cause it was getting long while I was writing it and wanted to give Ethan more depth of character than the actually show so part 2 coming tmrw probs!

When his assignment was handed back by Señora Diaz upside down, Ethan wasn't surprised by the big F glaring back at him in red ink when he turned the page over.

“Stupid bitch” he muttered under his breath.

“In Español, Ethan” Señora Diaz paused on her way back to the blackboard, unsure of what he said but certain that it wasn't in Spanish.

“Sorry" he retorted and she continued her route back to the front of the classroom.

"perra estúpida”

“ethan!”

That’s how Ethan ended up in detention for the umpteenth time in his academic career, tapping his pen on the desk in the nearly empty classroom with Mr. Shapiro's happy go-lucky self staring back at him.

"Well, happy to have you here Ethan!" Mr. Shapiro greets picking up a clipboard from his desk. "Not happy to be here" Ethan deadpanned. "Sorry to hear that. Not sure how you managed to get detention during the first week of school, but hey I think that might be a new Sherman Oaks record! Congrats buddy!" Mr. Shapiro cheers before realizing the younger boy is not the slightest bit amused. "Alright, tough crowd."

"Moving right along then," Mr. Shapiro clicks a pen in his hand "time to take roll!" which causes Ethan to look around the empty classroom.

"...I'm literally the only one here"

"I know, I just love checking things off lists," Mr. Shapiro clears his throats " so do I have a Morales comma Ethan?"

"seriously dude?"

"Second call for Ethan Morales"

"you're gonna keep going til I say here, aren't you?"

"You betcha!"

"Here."

"Awesome!" Mr. Shapiro marks a giant check by the one name on his attendance sheet. "god I love doing that- Alright so unfortunately I've gotta skidaddle to help out with the faculty potluck but lucky for you sir we're implementing more of a reformative detention style this year!"

"What the hell does that mean" Ethan asked.

"It means, that instead of sitting here for the next few hours, you my friend, get to offer your help to one of the after school clubs or committees that are a bit low on helping hands" Shapiro responds with finger guns. "so guess who's today's newest member of the prom committee!"

"yea, no. I'm not joining some stupid after school club. clubs are for dorks, losers, and ugly people" Ethan responds grabbing his backpack out of the chair next to him to get up and leave.

"well actually it's a committee"

"even worse"

"Alrighty well I can see what the other options-" is all Mr Shapiro gets out before he is interrupted by your voice from the doorway.

"Oh- hey! Mr. Shapiro, did you find anyone to help with the prom posters? Eric said he'd help me out but then canceled cause he said he had to train with the assistant swim coach to quote make Michael Phelps my bitch end quote. Whatever that means, so I'm kinda flying solo here" You say, drawing Ethan's attention towards you as well.

hot damn. okay maybe after school activities are not only for ugly people. He thinks you might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen and definitely takes a mental note of your outfit that's hugging you in all the right places. He quickly realizes that he doesn't know your name and has no idea how he's never been informed of your existence prior to this moment. He's snapped back to reality by Mr. Shapiro responding to your question. "Ah- I'm sorry but Ethan is-"

"super excited to help decorate for prom" Ethan finds himself blurting out before Mr. Shapiro could finish his sentence.

"Oh- well that's great! Uh Ethan just report back by 6 so I can log your hours! I'm gonna get going, you kids have fun decorating. Go crickets!" Mr. Shapiro says, making his exit as you watch him almost skip down the hall.

"Sup, I'm Ethan" Your attention is brought back to the brown eyed curly haired boy who's suddenly standing in front of you (how the hell did he cross the room that fast, you wonder) with an outstretched hand. He never really shakes hands, he just wanted an excuse to touch you. He's cute, you note mentally. You accept the offer and shake his hand. "and you are?" he continues.

"I'm-" you pause noticing those not so innocent brown eyes are directed elsewhere, "acutely aware of the fact that you're staring at my boobs".

Ethan thinks his brain might've just short circuited cause he was definitely just caught red handed. He'd recently grown a lot more confident with girls since his summer growth spurt and subsequent glow up had dramatically increased the number of girls interested in him, but there was something about you and how you so deliberately called him out that had definitely thrown him off his game.

"Sorry- I uh- I was actually looking at your shirt. They're- It's nice" he wants to die he thinks.

You chuckle at his sudden change in demeanor. "Hmm. Yea, I know they are" you respond, turning on a heel and heading toward the auditorium.

"You comin or what?"

For one person, you had made pretty okay progress in a week. The current task at hand was making posters to get people excited for the theme reveal. The ground was littered with several half finished or barely started posters.

"Can you draw?" You asked Ethan.

"I'm not much of an artist"

"Really? the graffiti on the side of the school says otherwise. Your handwriting definitely sucks though so I'll do that, but the art's good and if you can do it with a spray can, you can definitely do it with some paint and markers" your unsolicited review of his graffiti made him crack a smile. His latest act of defiance had been a giant snake comically eating a cricket accompanied with the words "get fucked" on the side of the school building.

"You can't prove that was me" he challenges.

"Maybe not, but Mr. Shapiro had mentioned that I might have a detention helper today thanks to Señora Diaz and I happened to notice the words 'stupid bitch' spray painted on her car containing the same weird ass t's as the graffiti on the side of the school and here you are, Ethan."

"Damn, you're good" he pauses realizing he can't throw your name back at you because he still doesn't know it.

"Y/n" you say quietly.

"Huh?"

"My name's y/n"

Pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought.

"Alright y/n. I'll draw as long as I don't have to to touch any glitter. that shit's impossible to get off"

"deal"

"and I don't write my t's weird"

"you write your t's like a crazy person"

Time was pretty much flying by. Together you'd gotten nearly twenty posters done and were slowly finding out more information about each other. You were informed about some of Ethan's tattoos and how he'd actually drawn the designs for all of them himself. Not an artist, my ass, you thought. Ethan learned that he hadn't met you before because you'd previously been homeschooled and had all but begged your parents to be able to go to school with other kids for your senior year until they finally cracked and agreed to enroll you at Sherman Oaks.

"Ah I see, you're a total secret weirdo. That explains your freaky detective skills" he teases.

"I am not a secret weirdo. I just like criminal minds and puzzles"

"You were homeschooled. All homeschooled kids are a little weird"

"That's an unfair stereotype"

"Whatever you say, y/n"

"If anything you're the secret weirdo. or at least an undercover art nerd"

"I'm not an undercover art nerd"

"Yea you are. Something tells me this whole" you gestured largely to him sitting a couple feet away from you, "tortured angsty hot skater boy thing you've got going on is a pretty recent development" you comment absent-mindedly. You looked back up from your poster when he didn't respond to see him sitting there, arms crossed with a smug grin on his face.

"What?" you prodded.

"You totally just called me hot"

You're now very aware that he's a bit closer to you than he was before.

"mm don't think so"

"oh you definitely did"

"did not"

"did too"

"did not" that one came out much less confidently considering his hand had made its way to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. damn, he's good.

"whatever you say, y/n" he almost whispers. have his eyes been that sparkly this whole time? He's leaning in and you're definitely not backing away. You're maybe a centimeter away from his lips until the alarm blaring from your phone, which seemed like much better idea hours ago, sent you flying back from him and scared the shit out of both you.

"shit- I- god that scared me, I uh set an alarm for 6 so you'd remember to check in with Mr. Shapiro cause, ya know, I thought we'd both probably be busy. Um- busy making posters, i mean. Obviously I mean making posters cause we definitely wouldn't be busy doing anything else so-" you ramble.

The smug little smirk has made its way back onto Ethan's face as he is quite enjoying this role reversal from your first interaction of the day.

"shut up" you say to him.

"I didn't even say anything" he responded, hands in the air in surrender.

"I've gotta head home, but thanks for helping out even though you basically had to be here. If you ever find yourself in detention again this semester, feel free to help out. Hopefully the committee is more than just me by then" you say, starting to gather your belongings. Ethan secretly hopes it isn't, he likes the idea of hanging out with just you.

"I probably will find myself in detention again. It's kinda part of this whole tortured angsty hot skater boy thing I've got going on" he says throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"not what I said" you still attempt to deny.

"sure it wasn't"

"bye ethan"

"bye y/n"

Yea, he'll definitely be finding himself in detention again.

Read Part 2 here

#never have i ever #never have i ever s4 #nhie #nhie s4 #ethan morales #ethan morales x reader #michael cimino #michael cimino x reader

2K notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 6 months

Text

mary being an ass girl <3

based on this request here and many many more warnings for suggestive language! minors dmi.

you'd known from the very first moment you met mary exactly where her focus was, though maybe not quite in the way she'd wanted things to begin.

you were out grocery shopping on a friday night, exhausted after a grueling week of work and practically dragging yourself from aisle to aisle. thank god you had your list you'd already written this morning, your brain all but mush and body screaming out for your sofa and some trashy mind numbing reality tv.

your hood was drawn over your head and you were hardly dressed to impress, donned in an old pair of tights and your favorite baby blue nike hoodie, a pair of beat up converse covering your aching feet. not that a tesco on a friday night was where the manchester crowds all flocked to.

you were completely in your own world, zoned out and staring a little too long at a box of frozen dumplings in the freezer section when it happened.

"maya man you're killin me here. tooneys waiting in the car and i'm fucking starving hurry up!"

you tensed up at the feeling of someones hand connecting sharply with your ass, dropping the basket in your hands you spun around within seconds and suddenly a loud clap echoed as your own hand smacked across their face, your instincts kicking in before you could give it another thought.

"jesus christ i am so sorry!" you apologized with wide eyes, covering your mouth with your hand at your unexpected aggression. you weren't sure who you expected to greet you as the culprit but it was not the tall gorgeous brunette stood in front of you clutching her bright red cheek.

"fuck no i'm so sorry. you've got the same hoodie on as my mate and i thought-oh god you must think i'm some sort of predator. i'm so so sorry!" the woman rambled out an apology, her eyes just as wide as yours as you stared at one another.

"mary whats going-" another girl appeared with a confused frown, but seeing your guilt stricken face and the bright red mark on marys cheek her eyes narrowed. "did you just hit her?" she advanced on you with a thunderous glare as you immediately backed up, running into the freezer section behind you as the taller girl you'd hit leapt into action.

"hey no no i smacked her on the ass thinking she was you and well, i earned the slap back." the girl stood in front of you protectively as her friends face instantly flashed with regret.

"mary! you fucking idiot what have i said about smacking everyone on the ass? see now look karma's come and gone and smacked you back!" the friends shoved at the taller girls chest with a glare who stayed quiet but didn't move her body from shielding yours.

"i am so sorry about her i assure you she will hear about this for a long time and i will make it my personal mission to make sure it doesn't happen again." the shorter of the two warned sternly as the other girl nodded furiously, spinning back around to face you.

"can i pay for your stuff? please! it's the least i can do as an apology." she almost begged, clasping her hands together and giving you potentially the most irresistible puppy dog eyes you'd ever seen.

"no no you really don't need to christ i just slapped you into next week i should be the one apologizing!" you breathed out with a shake of your head, yanking your hood off properly feeling quite hot and flushed in the face.

mary was rendered speechless as she took you in properly, now feeling if possible even worse about her actions and how they might have made you feel, your beauty leaving her feeling winded as if she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"no it's definitely her who needs to apologise and learn a lesson. come on mearps time to pay for the poor girls groceries!" with that the shorter of the two had grabbed your basket and sauntered off.

"maya! she might not be done shopping yet!" the taller girl groaned, flashing you a dazzlingly apologetic smile and holding up a finger before dashing off, returning a few short moments later with your basket in hand.

"i was done, really." you lied with a smile, the girl raising an eyebrow curiously, pointing to the list in your hand which was very clearly not fully ticked off. "look i promise you really don't need to-" you again tried to dismiss her, reaching for your basket as she held it away from you.

"i do. please i'm so embarrassed like i said it is the least i can do as an apology!" she blushed bright red once again and you couldn't help but find her quite cute despite the way in which you'd come to be acquainted.

"you should probably..." you started, opening the freezer section and grabbing out a bag of peas, placing them gently against her cheek where you'd slapped her. "oh thank you." she smiled softly and you found your breath catching in your throat.

and from then on, it was history.

the way in which you two met was something you'd often rile up your now girlfriend for, shaking your head and making teasing comments along the line of it all just being some elaborate way of picking you up.

enjoying the way she'd always go bright red and whine and promise it wasn't, burying her face in your neck with a groan, making you laugh as seconds later she'd be blowing raspberries against the skin as you'd try to push her off and she'd just cling on tighter

but intentional or not you should have almost taken that first chance encounter as a warning, a warning about exactly what sort of girl mary really was.

because mary alexandra earps was an ass girl, through and through.

it took her a few weeks of the honeymoon phase before you really learned just how much she appreciated yours in particular. but nowadays more than comfortable and hopelessly head over heels for you, there wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her actions.

whenever she'd return home after a particularly painful training session and you'd wrap her in a tight hug hello, her hands would start on the small of your back. then gradually they'd slip lower and lower until they rested right on your ass.

sometimes if she was feeling up to it there might be an affectionate squeeze or a gentle pat, but most of the time when she was tired and sore she was perfectly content to just rest her hands there, making you smile and shake your head as her own buried into your shoulder.

most other times, especially of a morning if you were up before her which on her days off you always were, you'd be greeted with a sharp slap to one of your cheeks.

a cheeky grin and plump rosy pair of lips shutting you up with a searing kiss before you could tell her off, a good morning mumbled into your mouth as of course she'd grab your ass as she did so.

her obvious fondness of your behind didn't just extend to the four walls of your home, cradled in privacy without wandering eyes.

no no, one of marys favourite pre game routines was to wrap you in a bear hug, hands gliding down and firmly squeezing your ass in them, smacking it much like you might high five a team mate. she'd then run off like a naughty kid before you could scold her, your face bright red as you were well aware you had an audience.

if her team mates were around after a game it only seemed to spur her on further, their teasing remarks only fueling her ego as she'd grope and grab you shamelessly, patting your bum like someone might pat your back with a wolfish grin.

mary loved nothing more than how much it clearly riled you up as much as it might brush it off as embarrassment, kissing your bright red cheeks and mumbling all the dirty things she planned to do to you once the two of you were alone, causing them to blush an even deeper shade of crimson.

all bets were off the moment you stepped over the threshold of your shared home, her hands hooking under your thighs and hoisting your body up, legs wrapping around her waist as she sat you down on the kitchen counter or slammed you into the nearest wall.

her hands would grab and grope at your ass, fingers digging in tight enough at the flesh that you knew there would be new bruises covering the almost faded ones that already existed there.

alongside the occasional bright red hand shaped welt which would cover one cheek if you'd felt particularly bold in the days before, your girlfriend rarely needing much convincing to dish out a spanking or two if she felt it was needed.

for her thirtieth birthday as part of her gift you'd bought her a polaroid camera, knowing how much memories meant to her you'd intended it to help her capture them.

but no, in true mary fashion her very favourite muse to take photos of was of course, your ass.

"oh my god baby!" you'd jumped in surprise as she shot up suddenly from the lounge one rainy afternoon, staring at her in surprise with a raised eyebrow.

"what?" you frowned when she didn't say anything. "hold on just a second my girl." she pecked your lips sweetly, of course cheekily squeezing your ass in one large hand before darting off upstairs.

"she's so weird." you mumbled to yourself with a small smile and a sigh, resuming folding the clean washing dumped out all over the coffee table, half paying attention to the football game playing on the television.

"right!" you again jumped as she re-appeared, her polaroid slung around her neck and a pair of sunglasses resting on her nose. "stop doing that! god im gonna get you a bell to wear around your neck like a cat." you huffed with a glare.

"what are you doing?" you sighed now properly taking her in. "i've had a sudden burst of inspiration my love." mary clapped happily, walzting on over toward you with a grin. "babe why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?" you questioned clueless, almost afraid of what you might get as an answer.

"enough talking! the artist needs quiet to work." mary again clapped, strolling on past you and muting the tv, yelling at google to play her cleaning playlist as your confusion only worsened.

"oh yeah! thats the mood." mary bopped her head along to the familiar song which played from the speaker, moving her hips side to side and biting her bottom lip as you couldn't help but grin.

"baby. you're so weird!" you laughed, hands on your hips and staring her down as she danced her way over to you. "as i was saying beautiful i have had a burst of inspiration!" she grabbed your face suddenly in her hands, kissing your lips and pulling away with a loud mwah, dipping your body down and kissing all over your face before pulling you back to stand up.

"and pray tell what has inspired you love?" you grinned as she laid down on the floor, wiggling for a moment to get comfortable as she smirked up at you and grabbed her camera in her hands.

"why your bum in those jeans my lovely girl, obviously."

with that she started to order you to pose, moving around on the floor and snapping polaroid after polaroid of you as you threw your head back with a laugh. "mary!" you whined, unable to keep the smile off your face at her ridiculous behaviour.

"thats mazza e to you thanks, up and coming fashion photographer." she clicked her tongue at you and pulled her sunglasses down, sending you a wink and pushing them back up her nose.

"now just feel the music baby, gimme a bit of a shake and a wiggle. i wanna see that thing move!" she whooped loudly as again you were unable to hold back your laughter.

"you are fucking ridiculous. you know that right?" you accused as she brushed you off, again ordering you around as you rolled your eyes playfully.

dropping the washing in your hands you gave in and started to dance, cheered on by mary who moved around on the floor, taking photo after photo as the pile of polaroids on the table grew.

"yes! this is brilliant, gorgeous, sexy, sultry. you're beautiful baby you're beautiful!" the goalkeeper yelled in a goofy accent, tossing her polaroid onto the sofa once she'd run out of film and sitting up, grabbing your hands suddenly and yanking you down onto the floor on top of her.

"mary!" you squealed, both of you groaning suddenly as she tried to sit up and kiss you, knocking her forehead into yours as your body melted into hers, vibrating with laughter as you buried your face in her neck.

"god i love your bum baby." mary sighed out once the two of you had settled from your laughter, hands coming to rest on it and massaging it expertly in her large hands.

"i know, you said hello to it before you even said hello to me." "for the one millionth time i did not mean to smack it as a pick up tactic!"

#mary earps x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #mary earps #woso blurbs #woso imagine #engwnt

841 notes · View notes

majinbangus · 3 months

Text

Things I think Captain MacTavish would say to you in a relationship <3

[This could also be used as a prompt list (preferably w Soap in mind), just tag me if you use, I'd love to read

you can request a prompt from this list (for either Captain MacTavish or Sergeant MacTavish). I'll write a mini drabble, prolly 500 words or less (open to fluff, angst, smut) though I might use this list for practice even if I don't get requests. we'll see how I'm feeling]

- 'pretty' 'doll' 'darling' 'dove' used and last bullet point mentions 'girl' but can skip it/not read last point -

He says with (affection):

"You're mine. Say it, love. Or I'll make you say it. Say you're mine and no one else's."

"You're my pretty bird. I'm a lucky bastard, aren't I?"

"I'll be the death of you, but is it so selfish of me to want the life you bring to me?"

"I always take care of my things, and that includes you. Especially you. Never doubt that."

"I know you need me. No point in denying it. I know what a lost puppy you are without me. S'okay, I'll keep you, even though I'm more of a cat man."

"No one's gonna take you from me. No one will be able to take you from me."

"Stop cryin' already, I'm here. I'll always come when you need me. You know that."

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Don't offend me by thinking otherwise."

"You'll listen to me, yeah? You're good for me like that."

"My precious doll. My darling pet. My sweet dove."

"Don't try to hide yourself, I know you love my attention."

"You'd let me do anything I'd want with you. And I'd do anything you want from me."

"I won't let go of you as long as you hold on to me."

"I'm yours too. Every part of me belongs to you. Don't you dare forget it."

"You know what I mean when I say I'll always come back to you. I know what you mean when you say you'll never leave me."

Bonus:

"No, I will not 'draw you like one of my French girls.' Stop asking, muppet."

He does.

#soapy thoughts :]#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #captain mactavish x reader

222 notes · View notes

dancinglikebutterflywings · 3 months

Text

11:37pm | Hwang Hyunjin

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader

Request: No.

Synopsis: Hyunjin wants to spend the last thirty minutes of his birthday with his love.

Warnings: Established relationship.

Word Count: 754 - this turned out longer than I expected.

Stray Kids Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

©️ No one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my fics on here or any other site. Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated.

Hyunjin rushed straight from his birthday live to Y/N's apartment, eager to spend the last thirty minutes of his special day with his beloved. Despite exchanging texts and calls throughout the day, it simply wasn't enough for him. Their plans for tomorrow didn't suffice either. He longed to see her, to be in her presence. Due to their hectic work schedules, it had been a whole week since they last met in person. All he wanted for his birthday was to be with her. He made sure to arrive at her apartment by 11:30pm. He would have come sooner, but cutting his birthday live short would have caused some trouble.

The moment he stepped inside, Y/N found herself enveloped in his arms, causing her to almost drop the small cake and flowers she held in her hands.

"Happy Birthday!" she exclaimed with excitement as he released her. "I know you've probably had enough cake, but I wanted to get a small one just for you," she rambled on. "I also got you some flo-"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Hyunjin lips clashed against hers.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice brimming with gratitude as he pulled away from the kiss. "But you didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to do something special for you," she replied, beaming from ear to ear.

"Being with you right now, is all I need,” he says and takes the cake and flowers from her.

Placing the cake and flowers on the table, he notices a large canvas facing backwards leaning against the wall. Curiosity piqued his interest. He takes a step towards the other end of the table. "What's this?"

"Nothing!" Y/N exclaims, a hint of panic in her voice. She hurriedly rushes towards the canvas, snatching it from the table before he can get a hold of it. "It's nothing. You don't want to see it."

"Did you paint something for me, baby?" he asks, his heart swelling with joy at the thought of her creating something special for him. She has always been incredibly supportive and interested in his artwork. She never gets upset when he immerses himself in his makeshift art studio (her spare bedroom) to draw and paint. She encourages him in every way possible, and that's one of the many things he adores about her.

"Define painting something," she cringes, glancing at the painting in her hands.

"I really want to see it," he insists, reaching out for the canvas, only for her to step back, shaking her head.

"Trust me, you don't want to."

He can see the conflict between wanting to show her painting to him and the fear of what his reaction might be. He takes a step closer, gently placing a hand on her arm, trying to reassure her.

"Y/N, you know I love everything you do. From cooking me food to how you paint my nails and everything in between" he pleads, his voice filled with genuine curiosity. “You did it for me right? Please let me see it.”

She hesitates for a moment, her grip on the canvas tightening. Finally, she takes a deep breath, and nods letting him know she did paint it for him. Slowly, she turns the painting around, revealing it to him.

As his eyes fall upon the artwork, his face lights up. She’s unsure why. On the canvas is a mess of colours, some blended together to make other colours. In the center is a giant outline of a heart in black. In the middle of the heart is their initials ‘H.H + L/N Y/N’.

“You did this for me?” he asks, once again. “Baby, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten!”

“I doubt it’s better than the gifts you got from Versace,” she mutters more to herself. “I could have done better.”

“What are you talking about?” Hyunjin says letting her know that he heard what she said. “This is perfect and so much better than the gifts I got from Versace. You painted this with your own hands. You made it with love. It is by far the best gift I’ve ever gotten. As soon as I get back to the dorms, it’s going on my wall.”

He places the painting back on the table, the canvas facing the right way, so the painting is on display. He pulls Y/N back into his arms and presses another kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replies, kissing him back. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups - @americanoopiee - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie - @laylasbunbunny - @skz1-4-3

GREEN means I wasn't able to tag you. Please check your visibility settings. How to change visibility settings on phone | Why others can't tag your blog

243 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Note

Might I request an enemies to friends to lovers with Astarion?

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUICK LITTLE DRABBLE. IT IS ALMOST 4K WORDS. It also became a songfic. The song is "Your Stupid Face" by Kaden MacKay

Also it is 11:20. I am so tired. I do not have the energy to proofread this rn. So it's as good as it's gonna get

Warnings: self-doubt, bickering

Word Count: 3,957

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

I just really hate your face

Though I know that won't surprise you

But, to me, your skin is one giant wart

And your laugh's one big snort

And you stink, so in short

I despise you

You disgrace the human race

'Cause you're more of a mosquito

I would rather have the dentist and drill

Then this swine in the swill

And if you were a bill, I would veto

And if the world was perfect, you would be gone without a trace

But since the world could never be that great

I'll just hate your stupid face

Astarion sighed just behind you. You glared over your shoulder at him. Did he really have to be so annoying when you were trying to help? What did he have against doing the right thing?! Or were all high elves as up their asses as him?

The little girl glanced nervously between you, her hands fiddling anxiously with each other. “I-Is that alright?”

You turned back to her with a big smile, though Astarion could see the strain behind it. “Of course! It’s no problem. We’ll find your toy and bring it back before nightfall, how’s that sound?”

“Really?!” Her eyes became wide and excited, bouncing on her feet like there were hot coals beneath it. “Thank you so much!”

You watched as she ran off back to her mother, jumping as she grabbed the woman’s arm and pointed at you. You smiled, genuine this time, and waved to them both. Then, you turned to go back into the woods.

The joy didn’t last long.

“I thought being an adventurer meant slaying dragons, learning powerful spells, gaining power - that sort of thing.” Astarion sighed again, long and dramatic, as he stepped over a branch. “But, no, here we are, armed to the teeth, tadpoles crawling into our minds, looking for a stuffed animal.”

You grit your teeth together and tried to ignore him. The sooner you found the girl’s stuffed bear, the sooner you could stop listening to his whining. “She said she lost it over here, somewhere, but something could have taken it or moved it by now. If we split up, we can cover more ground.”

You could almost feel the way he rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. If I find it, I’m not telling you. And I’m certainly not going to touch it. Gods only know what’s on it.”

“You’re such a child!”

He lays a hand over his chest, looking down his nose at you. “I’m so sorry that I have some dignity left.”

How did you get stuck with such an annoying, self-entitled, brat?

“Fine! Then I’ll look, and you can follow me around like a lost puppy.” You smiled sickeningly sweet up at him, your whole expression filled with sarcasm and annoyance. “Happy?”

He scowled. “And I have to follow you because…? If you’re so eager for my company, you should just say so, darling.”

You shook your head, facade falling. “You’re impossible.” You stomped off. He could follow you or wait around, you didn’t have the energy left to care.

—

Oh, no

I just really like your face

You don't have to look so happy

I'm not really into love that you flaunt

In some glittery font

But if that's what you want

Make it snappy

I just feel so out of place

Well, except for when you're near me

When you're gone, I'm like a plant with no root

Or a song that's on mute

Don't you dare call it cute!

You should fear me!

And if the world was perfect, you would've never invaded my space

But since the world's obsessed with saying, "psych!"

Now I like your stupid face

You tilted your head, watching as Astarion held up a mirror. The tadpole kept him from burning in the sun, but it did nothing to bring back his reflection.

“Looking at something?” His voice catches you off guard. It was odd to have someone talking to you with their back turned, even more so when he could see your reflection and you couldn’t see his.

“Just looking,” you tell him. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, forlorn. “I’m looking, too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction.”

“Do you miss it?”

He stands and turns while he speaks, finally meeting you face-to-face. “Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?” He sighs again. His face looks so droopy and sad, like a puppy left out in the rain. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

You look at his eyes, really look. It was hard to picture him with any other color. It was a side-effect of his vampirism, but you could go your whole life believing they always were and always had been red. “What color were they before?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past.” His face scrunches up in rage as he throws the mirror on the ground. You step back to avoid the shards that break from it. “Another thing I’ve lost.”

You can’t imagine forgetting your face. It’s a rather big portion of who you are, after all. Thinking about looking in a mirror and seeing nothing stirs your stomach like a witch’s brew. You study his face, eyes tracing over every curve and sharp edge and wrinkle. You tried to imagine being him, no longer able to see what you looked like.

Astarion frowns at you. “What?”

“I’ll be your mirror.” The words are out before you can even think them, but a spark of hope flickers in his eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to back out of it now. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me.” He pauses. His voice gets soft, lacking its usual bravado. “What you see.”

He waits as you look at him. You try to figure out what the world sees, versus what you see. The world may see his eyes, sharp and red and keen. The world would see his dangerous smile, full of pretty teeth and sharp fangs, threatening to bite.

But it’s not what you see. You see his hair, paler than freshly fallen snow. You see the way it curls around his ears, how there’s always one stubborn strand hanging by his forehead. You see the wrinkles that crease his face when he smiles, surrounding his mouth and crowding in the corners of his eyes. And you’re startled, trying to figure out how long ago you’d noticed these things about him.

“I see… the creases when you laugh.”

He sneers, placing a hand over his chest. He takes it as an insult when you mean it in the kindest way possible. Without his wrinkles, he wouldn’t be Astarion. “Excuse me? I’m an eternally young vampire, not your doting grandmother.” He huffs. He looks like he wants to stop - never mind what he looks like, he doesn’t want to hear what else you could possibly say. But he continues, “You can do better. What else?” The curiosity wins out.

You wonder if you should tell him the easy answer. Tell him what the world sees. What everyone else sees. But to do so feels like a huge disservice. You inhale, prepared to be scolded once more. “I see the way your hair curls around your ears.”

“This is meant to be flattery, not poetry.” He sighs, creases forming between his brows as he frowns, annoyed. “Just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day.”

“Is that all you want?” You don’t mean to sound as angry as you do. “Shallow praise?”

He scoffs. “Hardly.” He begins ticking off fingers. “There’s also gold, sex, revenge - quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.”

You shake your head. “What I see isn’t good enough for you then? The seductive, charming face you put on for everyone else - that’s what you want to know about?” He sneers. He hates how easily you’ve read him. And you hate how much it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s because your words mean nothing, or because he can’t even allow himself a single, beautiful flaw. “The world sees your eyes. They’re strong and piercing. And your smile: Dangerous. They see you for the monster you are. Are you satisfied now?”

You leave before he can answer you. Anger trembles in your fingers, but they’re weighed down with sadness. A conflicting bundle of emotions twists in your chest. You shouldn’t care if all he wants is to be called pretty and move on. You shouldn’t! And you don’t!

But you do…

—

I just really miss your face

Though, by now, I must disgust you

I had tried to be the stubbornest mule

'Cause I knew life was cruel

So I guess I was foolish to trust you

But I wait here just in case

Though I know I'm being senseless

How could I have ever been so naive

And wear my heart on my sleeve

When I knew it would leave me defenseless?

And if the world was perfect, you would be here in my embrace

But since the world denied me one last kiss

I'll just miss your stupid face

The sun burned. Truly, honest to gods burned. And he ran. What else was he supposed to do? Bake in the sunlight while everyone else said their teary goodbyes, “We’ll see you down the road”, yadda yadda?

But, he can admit when he messed up.

He should have stayed longer. By the docks. The sun was just beginning to rise, he had plenty of time to slip from one shadow to the next before it was high in the sky. He could have said his goodbyes. He should have.

Already he missed Karlach. He fondly remembers when she hauled him over her shoulder, jostling him about as she ran. He certainly wasn’t too pleased at the time, but now… And he missed her nickname for him. And the banter, and teasing, and… everything.

Everyone had their charms, he supposed. Gale was, well, Gale, but even he wasn’t too bad. And you.

It was hard to admit. He could say he missed the others all day, but you? You who dragged him into the woods to find a stuffed animal for a kid? Who begrudgingly let him have a sip that night he revealed himself? Who yelled at him when he couldn’t bear hearing anything other than he wanted to when you offered to be his mirror? Who hugged him after he killed Cazador? Who helped him save his brothers and sisters and all the other souls whose lives he ruined? Who smiled so sweetly at him?

He couldn’t say it.

After he ran away, cursing and damning the gods for confining him to the shadows again, he disappeared to the Underdark. You’d mentioned how they needed a leader, guidance. And, well, he had nowhere else to go.

He never got to see you run in the direction he left after saying your goodbyes, smiling and excited. Or watch as you search and search for him. How you shout his name. How tears well in your eyes as you realize he’s gone.

And maybe it’s better that way.

—

What are you doing here?

I didn't run away!

It was... it was a strategic retreat

What is there to talk about? It's over—I ruined it

Well, yeah of course I'm sorry, but

No, no, don't forgive me!

Why do you do that?

Why—why give me another chance to mess things up?

Because you—what?

Those three little words

Out of the blue

Completely uncalled for

Especially from you

Why don't you hate me?

Why do you care?

Can't you berate me? Isn't that fair?

Where is your glare?

Don't you dare leave our problems and pain on the shelf!

Because if you don't hate me, I can't hate myself

But that's why I need you

You shatter my fear

'Cause despite my misdeed, you are still right here

Though it's stupid to date me

You're willing to try

And if you don't hate me, then why should I?

Are you sure you don't want to give up on me?

You're a moron

The last thing Astarion anticipates is you barging into his home, stomping and angry. The next last thing he expects is for you to throw a cloak in his face. He backs up as fast as you approach, tripping and falling backward over an armchair. It tips back with him and he lands with a thud. When he pulls the cloak off his face, you’re standing over him, still just as pissed as before.

“Ah.” He grins sheepishly. “Hello?”

“You ran away!”

“Yes, yes, I know-”

“You ran away! I went chasing after you and you were gone!”

“The sun! I couldn’t-”

“I know! That’s why I went and got you that damn cloak! And I was going to give it to you on the docks, but you ran away!”

He struggles to get up, grunting as he tries to push the armchair off so he’s not bent in half. You huff and sit the chair upright. Then, you offer him a hand. He’s not sure if he should take it. He’s half-certain you’ll flip him over and crack the floor with his body. But you wave your hand, insistent, and he does not want to piss you off any more, so he takes it. You haul him to his feet.

He holds the cloak out in front of him, studying it with a frown. “Darling, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but clothes don’t actually protect us from the sun.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” You sigh, hands on your hips, but you seem to have cooled off some. “It’s the Cloak of Dragomir. Gale helped me find where it was hidden. I figured, if the tadpole is the only thing keeping you safe in the sun, then after it’s all over, you’d need something else to protect you. So.” You gestured at the cloak.

He was speechless, and perhaps a bit skeptical. It had already been several weeks since the docks, and every day he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. Basking in the sun. Lounging in her warmth like a cat as he sleepily flipped through a book. It sounded too good to be true - a simple piece of fabric that could prevent him from turning to ash?

“Are you sure it works?”

You laughed, airily and annoyed. “No, I had a shortage of vampires to test it on at the time. I was going to find out when you tried it on. If it didn’t work, well…” You let out a long breath. You refused to take your eyes away from the cloak. Like looking at him again would bring all the rage and frustration back. “I’m still in touch with Gale. He can help me look for something.”

He spun it around to look at the back. It was a deep purple, with the only remarkable feature being a sort of fur around the neck and shoulders. He could almost imagine it hanging up in a shop.

You cleared your throat. “Put it on.”

“Hardly the best place to test it. The sun doesn’t exactly reach down here.” Still, he unclasped it and swung it over his shoulders.

It was light and breezy, allowing air to move through, but warm enough it kept away any chill - not very concerning for a vampire, but still a nice feature. It reached mid-thigh. He shifted around in it, testing its movement and fit. He bristled when he felt something brush against his arm.

He lifted up the edge of the cloak where he felt it, and his undead heart stopped all over again. There, messily embroidered on the lining in gold thread. Little Star. A poor imitation of embroidered stars surrounded it, forming a sort of faux night sky.

“I did that.” You clear your throat and scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes everywhere you looked. Every time you glanced back at him and his dumbfounded face, your cheeks heated up. “I know it’s not as good as yours, but, you know, I thought it was the best way to get a message across.”

His chest was full of emotion. He still had a hard time deciphering it all, even after so long of you carefully teasing them out. But through it all was one resounding question.

“Why?”

You finally made eye contact with him. You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this can’t have been easy to get your hands on. You could have sold it when I ran away, but you embroidered it, sought me out… Why? Let’s be honest, dear, we’re not exactly friends.”

“We’re not exactly at each other’s throats either.” It came out harsher than you meant. You took a breath to calm your nerves. “I know we didn’t really get along when we first met - hells, we still argued about everything under the sun with the slightest prompting, but I do care for you.”

His lips quick up slightly. “An unfortunate choice. I’m not exactly the easiest person to care for.”

“No.” You smile, soft and patient. It was hard to look at you now and connect you to the person who barged into his room moments ago. “But I want to. You’re worth the effort.”

—

So you think that we could work?

Here I thought I'd been the dumb one—what?

You're forgiving me for all I did wrong

You're unmuting the song

And, again, I belong to someone

No! You can drop the stupid smirk

Though by now I guess you've earned that

'Cause no matter how intensely I pout

Your stupid face will win out

And I guess it's about time I learned that

And though we go together like a Chanel Nº 5 and mace

At least it's not as dull as fitting like a glove

'Cause you're a nightmare that I've not been dreaming of

But I suppose that when push comes to shove

Fine!

I love your stupid face

You tugged Astarion through the city, releasing short apologies left and right to any early-risers you bumped into. He’d tried asking multiple times where in the hells you were taking him, but you never answered. You just shot him a bright smile over your shoulder and kept on running.

Before he knew it, you were at the docks. A light orange hue lined the edge of the ocean, signaling the sun’s appearance. He frowned. “You dragged me all the way out here to watch the sunrise?”

“Yes.” You squeezed his hand. Your eyes were wide and bright and filled with overwhelming glee. “You never got to see it last time you were here. But now you can!”

He scoffed, a grin teasing at his lips. “Darling, we could watch the sunrise from anywhere. We don’t need to be exactly here to do so.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, no, but it’s more about the principle of the thing. You didn’t get to see that sunrise and say goodbye, but now you can.”

Red eyes scanned the horizon. Oranges and yellows flooded from the ocean-line, chasing away the dark blue of night. He couldn’t deny it was beautiful, but…

He swallowed, frowning out at the sea. He couldn’t look at your face as he asked, quietly, too afraid to actually put the words out there, “So this is goodbye?”

The edge of the star poked her head out. He’d enjoyed watching the sunrises and sunsets during your adventure. He would welcome her touch onto his skin every day, grateful for even just a brief moment to be able to feel her warmth again after 200 years. And every night he would mourn her loss, a seed of fear planted deep within that any sunset could be his last, before he would be contained to the shadows forever. He never got to savor the last one. The one time he wasn’t prepared to go gracefully into that night.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you whisper back. If you hear the shuddering breath he lets out, you don’t say anything. If you see the tears building at the corners of his eyes as he turns to look at you, you don’t point it out. “I can stay. With you. If you want.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.” But I wish I could. He wants nothing more than to be selfish. To take every single scrap you offer him and give nothing back.

You release his hand only to better tangle your fingers together. Your thumb runs along his palm. “You wouldn’t have to.”

“You’d be living in the shadows most of your life, even with this,” he lifts the edge of the cloak to make a point.

“Okay.”

“You wouldn’t be able to go on adventures. You wouldn’t be able to find someone else, have a family, live your life.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so willing to give up everything for me?”

You raise your free hand to his cheek. It’s haloed by the red-orange light of the sun. He hates the way he leans into it without a second’s hesitation.

“Is it so hard to believe that I’d stay because I want to be with you?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and tries to find the words. Strained, he chokes out, “Yes.”

“My lovely little star, even without the cloak, I’d stay in the shadows with you for eons. Adventure would be empty without you by my side. There is no one else I could bear to put up with besides you.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes. It’s hard for the words to sink in, but he urges them to. Staying with him would not be a burden. He is not a burden. He holds your hand to his cheek, pressing it tighter against his skin. By the time he opens his eyes again, the sun is halfway risen.

“I’m not good at… this. Whatever this is. I have no idea how to do anything more than what I had to do. I have no idea what will happen.”

You smile. “Now that sounds like an adventure.”

He chuckles. The knot in his heart loosens. When had you turned from an annoying thorn in his side to this? How long ago had you wormed your way into his soul? What would he do without you?

He feels like he’s just been thrown downstream - caught in the current and waiting for it to burn. He’s uncertain as he leans forward slightly, experimentally. You let him come to you; you wait patiently and smile at him encouragingly until he rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

The sun warms his skin as he lets go of the guilt holding him back. He’s a mess. He’s still working through his emotions with Cazador, trying to find footing amongst the spawn in the Underdark, trying to be good enough. And here you are saying he already is.

He catches your lips and allows himself to forget for the briefest moments that this is a terrible idea. How can he possibly think this is wrong when you sigh into his mouth and pull him closer? How can this possibly be wrong?

The reds, oranges, and yellows fade from the sky. Bright blue dominates the sky. And everything is okay.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @chesb0red

522 notes · View notes

lyingindecay · 1 month

Note

Idk if you’re making anymore Norman maclean fics recently but if you are could you use this prompt

“Is this ok?” As they stare up at you from in between your legs.

IM BARKING AT THIS REQUEST !!!! I'm working on a couple different long fics atm but this truly speaks to me, so I wanted to whip something up for you real quick!

Summary: Norman finds himself between your legs. Being inexperienced, he also finds himself questioning how he's doing. Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, Oral (f! receiving), PWP, slight hair pulling. A/N: From this prompt list! Also, with AFAB!Reader, if y'all want an AMAB!Reader, let me know! Will definitely be expanding on this fic/writing more for him, because I have Ideas for a Norm/Reader where reader is from the surface...

Norm's hands grip your thighs, his mouth doing all the work. You're lying on his bed whining and covering your mouth. Your thighs tense and Norman's nimble hands gently keep your legs pulled apart.

"Norman-" You suck in air through your teeth, eyes screwed shut. "That feels- Ngh-" You're cut off by your own moan.

Norm, on his knees and in front of you, stops momentarily. You look down at him and find him staring at you. His chin slick. Your stomach flips. You're sure your eyes turn wild, because suddenly Norman seems apprehensive.

"Is this okay?" He asks, his head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

You cannot answer fast enough. "Yes!" You are nodding violently. "Please continue, I need it!"

Norman smiles at you and your heart jumps into your throat. "Ok," He doesn't hesitate to dive back in. His 'ok' sounded more enthusiastic than you had ever heard before, causing you to feel ever stronger about him.

Norman's tongue sloppily licks a stripe up your pussy, and his nose bumps your clit. Your head lulls back and one of your hands grips his hair. Your hips rock upwards as Norm moves back to breathe. You are chasing after him. He smiles, placing a soft kiss to your thigh. You begin to beg.

"Please, I'm close- So close!"

Norman can't leave you hanging. So, he obliges. He messily eats you out, continuing to do the things that seem to elicit a good reaction from you. Suddenly, a scorching heat is building inside of you. Your core burns and your toes are curling. You pull at his hair and Norman moans. You let out a loud, sharp cry. Norm's name falling from your lips, the only thing you can say.

Your legs tense around him and Norman doesn't slow down. He continues as you ride out your orgasm. Your hips bucking into his mouth and then rocking back.

Your legs release him, and Norman lies his head on your thigh, looking up at you until you open your eyes and look back at him.

"Was that okay?" Norman hums.

You let out a soft laugh, "That was... Amazing! I don't think- I don't think I wanna leave this room for a while..."

"I don't think they expect to," Norm shrugs. "Might as well enjoy each other's company until they actually need us."

"Sounds perfect," You inhale slowly, still coming down. "I could- Uh, I could return the favor now?" You sit up and bite your bottom lip. "I mean, you didn't stop 'til I came, and I'd hate to be the only one feeling good..."

Norman blinks at you, registering what you're saying. "You sure?" His hand traces your hip. "I think I could sit here all day if it means getting to taste you."

You face scrunches, "I mean if you insist," You laugh.

You initially weren't sure about your new vault life, but now? You don't think you'll ever leave.

#fallout smut #fallout #norm maclean #norman maclean #norm maclean x reader #norm maclean smut #fallout x reader #fallout imagine #fallout prime #fallout 2024 #fallout tv series #x reader

243 notes · View notes

burntheedges · 20 days

Text

Maintenance Request Chapter 23

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 2.7k

chapter summary: the end of the semester has arrived, so where does that leave our favorite couple? 💕

a/n: y'all, this is the last chapter. I honestly can't believe it. please send me an ask for the celebration of the end of the fic if you haven't, I would love to answer them -- I'm going to start posting those next week and after as we get to the epilogue. but send me as many as you'd like!

thank you to everyone who has read any part of this fic. if I think about this too much I get really emotional. I can't believe so many of you have stuck around all these week. thank you so much 🧡 and if you're finding this later, please tell me what you think. I will always want to know!

one more big thank you to @katareyoudrilling, who is an amazing beta and who helped make this fic so much better than the draft she saw the first time she read it. 🧡

chapter tags/warnings: construction noises (lol), HCG, reader can wink (author cannot), poetry, cuddling, pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, honey, baby), kissing, grinding, p-in-v sex, semi-public sex, so much fluff

Chapter 23

Friday, December 6 Last day of classes

You were walking back to your office from your last class of the semester, feeling the relief start to seep through you, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a jackhammer.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

Turning abruptly, you headed towards the source of the noise. You had a pretty good feeling you knew who might be overseeing whatever work was going on.

Sure enough, as you turned the corner to the future location of the new library, you caught sight of a familiar set of shoulders (and a familiar cocked hip). Joel had his back to you, arms crossed, and was dressed up in his Hot Construction Guy outfit. You grinned.

When you were about 10 feet behind him, you called out, “excuse me, how long will this noise go on for? Don’t you know classes are in session?” You tried to sound annoyed and tamp down on your grin as he spun to face you. You wanted to pretend to look serious, but he was already smiling at you. You smiled back.

“I thought classes ended fifteen minutes ago, darlin’.” He raised an eyebrow at you, grinning.

“Maybe so. You should really tell your boss to schedule these things better, you know.” You winked at him and he laughed.

“You reckon? You know, you aren’t the first person to say so.” Joel stepped closer to you and tucked his arm around your waist.

“No?” You smiled as he pulled you in.

He nodded, unable to hold back a laugh. “Some gorgeous professor who really hates me told me the same thing.”

You raised your hands to his shoulders. “She sounds like a real piece of work.”

He laughed and ducked down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You smiled into it and felt the stress of the last week of classes start to fall away from your shoulders. It was soft and comforting and warm, but it didn’t last long — a sharp whistle from the construction site interrupted you. As you broke apart you realized the jackhammer noise had stopped.

You looked up and were met with the eyes of the entire crew there at your end of the site. All of them were grinning at you. You felt your cheeks start to get warm.

“Slacking off again, boss?” One of them called, clearly teasing. The others laughed, and one made his way over to you as they got back to work.

“You must be the reason Miller here’s been in such a good mood lately.” The man was tall and dressed similarly to Joel. He nodded at you. “Jesse. Nice to meet you.”

You laughed a little and patted Joel on the shoulder as you introduced yourself. “Was he that much of a grump before?”

Joel groaned and rolled his eyes. Both of you grinned at him.

“Well, he definitely never got out of the office this much, before. He’s all over campus lately. For a while we thought he was checking on our work, hovering and sticking his nose in, until we figured out the real reason.” He winked at you. “And I caught him humming yesterday while he was doing paperwork.” Joel ran a hand over his eyes and sighed.

You laughed again. “You know I had no idea he was the boss, for a while.”

Jesse’s eyes lit up. “Seriously, Miller? You didn’t tell her?” He looked at Joel, starting to grin. “What, you didn’t want to brag or something?”

Joel sighed. “Look—“

You elbowed him and he grabbed your hand. “He thought I knew, but he was also afraid I’d find out and blame all the noise problems on him.”

Jesse laughed and Joel shook his head.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you. I’ve got to head back to my office and finish up some stuff. Joel, I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded. “I’ll meet you there before we leave.”

You smiled – you were having dinner at his place tonight, and Sarah had planned something special to celebrate the end of the semester. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “See you then. Bye, y’all!” You called your farewell to the crew and they all waved.

“Nice to meet you!” Jesse called back, and as you walked away you heard him tease Joel, “how’d you get so lucky, man?”

Joel’s gruff voice answered, “don’t know. Been thankin’ my lucky stars for it every damn day, though.” You smiled and decided you’d tell him later that you felt the exact same way.

…

Later that night, after you’d had the amazing dinner Sarah had come up with (with Tommy’s help), and after you’d spent some time just chatting with them around the table, she headed out for a sleepover and Tommy left to drop Sarah off and then meet a woman. (That’s all you knew about her. He was being oddly secretive, and Joel had been complaining about it for days. You didn’t even know her name.)

As twilight set in, you found yourself relaxing side by side with Joel on a padded lounge chair in his back garden. He’d finally given you a tour a few weeks back and you were starting to wish you could spend more time here. It was beautiful, and peaceful, and full of clever little nooks like this one to relax in. The paths were lined by tall bushes and wound around before opening up into a shady area at the very back. You were certain you still hadn’t seen all of it.

Joel had also finally admitted that he did used to have some of the plants that made you sneeze, but he’d uprooted them as best he could to gift them to a neighbor down the street. It sounded like it had gone pretty well, all things considered.

Technically the lounge chair was probably meant for one person, even though it was wider than most, but you’d squeezed in together. Joel was sprawled out and you were tucked into his right side with your arm across his chest, a light blanket thrown over both of you.

The semester was over and you were almost free, except for some grading. You were enjoying the quiet moment with him, enjoying the beauty of the work of his hands all around you, when he suddenly tensed.

“Joel? What is it?” You tilted your head to up to catch his eye and found him with a worried look on his face. You bit your lip.

He sighed. “I have a surprise for you.”

You sat up, leaving your hand on his chest. “A surprise? Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you askance. “Well, let me just show you.” He sat up a bit and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. You watched as he unfolded it slowly and carefully but didn’t catch a glimpse of any of the writing on it. You turned so you were sitting facing him and tucked the blanket around your shoulders.

Once you were settled he nodded to himself and reached out to take your hand. “Ok.” He took a visibly deep breath, and then he started reading, voice deep and warm.

“…you are a concordance of person, number, voice, and place, strawberries spread through your name as if it were budding shrubs,”

At the first line he recited, you gasped and tightened your grip on his hand. You knew this poem. You’d read it before. He’d started somewhere in the middle, but you knew it, still. You felt your eyes start to tear up.

“how you remind me of some spring, the waters as cool and clear (late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind), which is where you occur in grassy moonlight: and you are a lily, an aster, white trillium or viburnum, by all rights mine, white star in the meadow sky,”

You hadn’t memorized it, like Joel clearly had – he’d barely glanced at the paper in his hand, even closing his eyes after the first few lines. But he didn’t rush. His pace was slow and steady and sure. You watched his mouth form the shape of these beautiful words and you felt them wash over you and tug at something in the center of your chest.

“the snow still arriving from its earthwards journeys, here where there is no snow (I dreamed the snow was you, when there was snow), you are my right, have come to be my night (your body takes on the dimensions of sleep, the shape of sleep becomes you): and you fall from the sky with several flowers, words spill from your mouth in waves, your lips taste like the sea, salt-sweet (trees and seas have flown away, I call it loving you):”

You sucked in a sharp breath at that line as it sent a shiver down your spine. You remembered the ending and felt a tear slip down your face as you started to smile, helplessly.

“home is nowhere, therefore you, a kind of dwell and welcome, song after all, and free of any eden we can name”

When he finished, you squeezed his hand hard and his eyes flew open. He looked so nervous you could barely stand it.

“Joel!” You said his name forcefully, and he blinked. His hand came up to cup your cheek and he brushed his thumb gently under your eye.

“Shit, darlin’, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Was it bad?”

“Bad?!” You reached up to hold his hand against your face and turned to kiss his palm once, twice, three times in quick succession. “Joel, that was beautiful. I— I had no idea you—“ you trailed off, tongue-tied. “I loved it.” You felt him thumb away another tear gently and smiled. “I loved it so much. Where did you read it?”

He was smiling at you now, clearly relieved. “In that book you loaned Sarah. She helped me. I’ll be honest, at first I just said I wanted a love poem and we found it because of the flowers.”

You grinned at him. “That’s a great way to find a poem, Joel. Through what you love.”

He nodded, looking sheepish. “Well, the first time I read it, I knew it was true. About you.” You tilted your head, wondering which part he meant. “You are those things, to me. Moonlight, and flowers, and everything else. And a home.”

You felt your tears start to well again as you nodded. “Joel, that’s beautiful. I love that poem. And I loved hearing you say it. I–” You closed your mouth abruptly. You’d almost continued I love you, but you were somehow still afraid. Maybe it was too soon. Even if you felt it, so much, more than ever in this moment.

He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone and smiled at you. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He pulled you forward and you fell into a kiss, crawling into his lap. You wanted to be close, as close to him as possible. He welcomed you and wrapped his arms around you.

You broke the kiss to press your forehead against his. You closed your eyes and spoke, unable to hold it in any longer. “Love is a place. A home. I’ve always believed that home can be a person, and love the home you make with them.”

You heard him whisper your name and smiled. You leaned back slightly to meet his eyes, and saw he had tears in his, too. You frowned. “Joel, are you–”

“I love you.” He interrupted you. His voice was deep and firm and it stole your breath away.

“Joel,” you breathed his name, eyes wide.

“I know it’s too early, sweetheart, but I do. I love you and I need you to know it. I want that with you. To build a home. To be each other’s home.” He lifted his right hand to cup your face again and your next intake of breath felt like a sob. “I want everything with you.”

You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest and searched for your words. “Joel, I love you, too. So freaking much.” You watched as his expression was transformed from nervous to delighted.

He grinned. “Say it again, honey.”

“I love you, Joel Miller.”

“And I love you.”

You cut him off before he could say your name, pushing forward into a hard kiss. He wrapped his arms around you again to pull you tight against him.

“How’d I get this lucky,” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled. “I heard you say that earlier. I think I’m the lucky one, you know.”

He shook his head. “No way, darlin’.”

You laughed and he buried his face in your shoulder. “Well, we can just be lucky together.”

He smiled against your neck and you felt him start to worry a new mark into your collarbone. You sighed and tangled your fingers through his hair.

“As long as we’re doin’ it together, honey, we can be whatever you like.” He nipped lightly at your neck and you shivered.

Joel leaned back and pulled you into another kiss. His hands slid down your back and grasped your hips. You gasped as he pulled you forward, grinding against you. You could feel his cock through both of your pants and you tried to widen your legs around his hips, tried to feel him where you wanted him most.

“Ever had sex out here?” Your voice was breathy as you asked and he hummed.

“Never.” His hands slipped forward around your waist and undid the button of your pants. “Was waitin’ for you.”

You laughed a little, charmed by the absurd idea. “You didn’t even know I existed when you grew this garden, Joel.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, pushing your pants down over your hips. You shimmied out of them and came back to rest your naked pussy over his still-clothed cock, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You rocked forward and sighed happily when he spoke. “I was still missin’ you, baby. Was lookin’ for you. Just didn’t know it yet.”

Your heart swelled and you swallowed against the sudden tightness in your throat. “I was looking for you too, Joel.” You reached down to undo his pants and quickly pulled his cock free. He was devastatingly hard.

“‘M so happy I found you, sweetheart.” He tugged your hips forward and up, notching the tip of his cock right at your entrance. “I love you.” He murmured it right against your lips as he pulled you downwards, as you sank down steadily on his cock.

You moaned as you came to rest against his hips. The way he filled you was perfect, every single time.

“I love you so much, Joel Miller,” you almost sobbed his name as he urged you with his hands to begin moving. You rocked your hips against his and he leaned forward to rest your foreheads together. You could feel his breath against your lips and it was suddenly the most intimate thing you’d ever done, moving together like that, so close, so connected. It felt like every part of you was touching every part of him, like something inside of you had reached out and latched onto him and wouldn’t let go.

He whispered your name again and you shivered. “I love having you here.”

“Here?” You smirked and twisted your hips and reveled in his moan.

“Here in my lap – yes. Always.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You look so good sitting on this cock, honey. Was made for you.”

You moaned at his words and rocked your hips forward.

“Goddamn,” he breathed. “Yes. But I meant, I want you here all the time, honey. I was going to wait, shit–” he cut off abruptly when you ground your hips downward against him. “But please, baby, say you’ll move in. Come live with us.” You gasped. “Make this your home.”

There was a feeling rising up in you that was so huge, so overwhelming, you didn’t know what would happen when it spilled out. It felt like happiness and love and everything you felt every time you locked eyes with this man, every time he looked at you.

“Yes, Joel.” He shuddered. “Not today,” you laughed and he joined you, rueful. “But yes. I want to make a home with you.”

He groaned as he thrust into you again, and you wrapped yourself around him and let the joy take over.

...

a/n: 😭 please let me know what you think. I love all of you and I'll see you next week for the epilogue. in the meantime please send me as many celebration asks as you'd like.

The poem featured in part in this chapter is "You, Therefore," written by Reginald Shepherd for his partner, Robert Philen. Please go read it. Shepherd wrote it knowing he was dying and that his partner would outlive him (and Philen did, in fact) and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.

prev | next

tag list: @harriedandharassed @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin

@myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123

@joelalorian @untamedheart81 @ashleyfilm @jessthebaker @jeewrites

@fluffygoffpanda @paleidiot @mithicakurogo @theclairvoyage @lizzie-cakes

@islacharlotte @syd-djarin @copperhalfcent @vabeachazn @spacedoutdaydreamer

@littlevenicebitch69 @secretelephanttattoo @pigeonmama @vickie5446

@glizzymcguirex @verymiraclemiracle @friskispunk

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fic #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM #x reader

158 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 6 months

Note

do you think you could write something where the reader is taking a shower and captain boomerang steals their panties and jerks off in them and the reader catches him and thinks its hot?

Violations

General!Boomer x GN!Reader, word count: 1k hello yes please are you kidding me this is literally? a dream come true for me lmao i want him to gross up my everything ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: privacy invasion, panty theft, cum, voyeurism, he pisses but not in a kinky way to anyone but me lmaooo

With Digger, there was a complete disregard for your personal space that you found foul, annoying, and, annoyingly so, deeply romantic. It was like he had a need to be near you, constantly at your heels, arms always around you, hands forever touching and grabbing and groping. It could be endearing, sometimes. You wondered how much of it was loneliness, the kind that he would deem too emotional and vulnerable to bother discussing. Most of it, though, you assumed was down to his incessant need for anything physical. And still, some of it, was likely down to how much he liked you, how much he enjoyed your presence and company, and though he wouldn't admit it, how much he might even love you.

Even so, there were plenty of times when a bit of privacy really would have been preferable, in fact, expected. For example, when you were taking a shower, and the last thing you wanted to hear was George Harkness, sighing in relief as a strong, steady stream of piss splashing into the toilet.

"Aaaaaaah!"

"George!"

"Yeah, babe! Just me!"

You tutted to yourself, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear it over the sound of the shower running. Standing at the toilet, admiring himself in the mirror, Digger shook off his cock and pulled up his grey sweatpants before making his way to the shower.

"I know it's you, idiot! Why are you in here?"

He pulled back the shower curtain quickly, taking a long look at you, his piercing green eyes taking you in from top to bottom and back again before he spoke.

"I had to piss. Problem with that?"

As he let his lascivious gaze fall back over your body, you looked to the hand that held the curtain.

"Can you really not be without me for more than ten minutes?"

He grinned wide, eyes glinting as he silently adored you, not quite willing to admit how much he enjoyed just having you nearby.

"And did you even wash your hands?"

George let go of the shower curtain, holding it aside with his shoulder as he brought his hands to his face and sniffed them. He grimaced a little, then shrugged with a nonchalant pout.

"It'll be fine!"

Something seemed to catch his attention as he brushed you off, and before you knew it he was retreating behind the curtain and rushing out of the room.

"Take your time, babe! I'll be fine without you for a bit longer. Have a luxurious wash, I'll dirty you up again once you're done."

You couldn't see him, but you could almost feel his wink as the bathroom door closed. Your thoughts quickly returned to the shower, only briefly wondering what he could be up to before realising that pondering over the many and varied options opened you up to the opposite of relaxation. And back in the bedroom, Digger was definitely getting up to something he thought you might disapprove of.

From the floor of the bathroom, he'd snatched up a pair of your panties from the pile of dirty clothes you'd shed before starting to wash. He brought them to his large, crooked nose, burying his face in them as he inhaled deeply, allowing himself to fall back onto the mattress with them still held to his face by his palms.

Lifting his shirt up, he ran his fingers through the thick body hair that covered his chest and stomach, allowing his fingers to graze softly over his stiff nipples, only stopping when he realised his mischievous giggle might be overheard by you in the shower even over the running water.

Shifting down the front of his sweatpants, Digger let his cock bounce free, clenching and tensing his muscles to watch it twitch, hissing at his arousal at his own erection. With the front of the underwear against the flat of his palm, he gripped his length and began stroking. The soft fabric felt pleasant against his shaft, making him shiver as it skimmed over his sensitive, flushed head.

He teased himself, closer to the edge as he delighted in this slightly filthy act. Stealing your underwear. Using it to get himself off. Maybe he wouldn't just toss them in the laundry when he was done. Maybe he could put them back in the pile on the floor, let you discover what he'd left in them on your own. Or maybe he could hold them up as you entered the bedroom. Watch you slip them on, wearing just them on your otherwise naked body, dripping, hot, his cum sticky, slightly cool against your freshly clean lips as you pulled the underwer up against you.

The thought of your body, tainted by him, watching you squirm as you got used to the feeling of his slick against yours, got him to the edge, muttering and moaning as he felt himself reaching the climax.

"Fuck yeah... dirty... little cunt... you like that... fuck..."

"George!"

Eyes wide he looked up to you, before they closed involuntarily as he felt his body tense, his cock erupting as hot, white ropes of his cum spilled onto his hand and his abdomen. When he'd finally finished, gasping or air, a lopsided, but self-satisfied grin spreading across his lips, he looked back over at you.

"You good, babe?"

Taking in the view, you noted your underwear, still in his hand, his fingers curled around them, digits and fabric coated in his seed. Your stomach flipped, hard to define whether it was excitement and arousal or disgust at yourself for what you were about to say.

"Toss those over, I need something to wear."

Throwing his head back into the pillow, he let out a deep chuckle and threw the underwear towards you. You could feel the damp in your hand, smell his scent as you brought them closer to you. As clean as you were, you wanted to feel dirty, wanted to feel him on you, keep him with you all day. The perfect accessory.

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #captain boomerang x reader #captain boomer x you #captain boomerang fanfic #finnie writes

311 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 4 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

229 notes · View notes