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gamergirl929 · 3 months

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The Second Our Eyes Met (I Knew I Wanted You) (Christen Press x Reader)

When Christen Press caught your eyes across the party, she felt an immediate spark, what she didn't expect was to be pinned between you and the bathroom door soon after, her lips slamming against yours.

Anonymous Request: G!P reader x christen press, they hook up in the bathroom at a party, reader has christen stare at herself in the mirror.

Anonymous Request: How about a ‘you can’t get enough of me huh? ;) ’ prompt for the g!p smut you were talking about?

Disclaimer: First of all, this fic is 100% NSFW, so if that isn't your thing, I'd DEFINITELY skip this one considering it's basically porn without plot. Also, this a g!p reader fic, so also avoid if that isn't your thing. Other than that, please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Her eyes had been on you all night, green orbs boring into you from across the room.

Typically, you would have approached her without a second thought, but something about her made her seem unapproachable.

Maybe it was the women around her?

Maybe it was the fact that this event was meant to be formal, and making a pass at a random woman would most likely be frowned upon by the others around you?

However, the more you caught her gaze, the more you found yourself not caring.

You eye her intently, drinking her in your eyes raking down her body, from her green orbs, down her chest, to her muscular calves, until you eventually settle on her high heels.

You didn’t know who she was, you didn’t care in all honesty.

You wanted her, and you wanted her bad, the thought of her fluttering around you as you were buried deep inside her made the appendage between your legs begin to stir.

You clear your throat, downing the last of your glass of whiskey before heading to the open bar, intent on getting another, knowing full well that this was going to be a long night.

************************************************************************

Christen Press didn’t know your name, she knew nothing about you, but she wanted you, wanted you beyond belief, something she’d never experienced with anyone.

Anytime she’d glance your way, she’d find your eyes already on her, the thought of you staring at her making her core flutter.

She’d never felt outright lust for anyone, at all, but currently gazing across the room, she felt a strong desire to drag you into an adjacent room and have her way with you, eager to ride the appendage between your legs, something revealed by the noticeable bulge in your pants.

Your throat visibly bobs as you catch her looking at said bulge, shifting to hide it from view, but now that she’d noticed it, she couldn’t help but stare.

The more she stared, the more you wanted her, the more you wanted to drag her into a secluded room and use the very thing she’d been staring at most of the night.

You sip your whiskey, your throat bobbing as you reluctantly turn away from the woman, brainstorming on how you might get her alone, hoping that the looks she’d been giving you all night meant she wanted you just as much as you wanted her.

You move to your feet, leaving your empty tumbler behind before you make your way towards where you know the restroom is located, hopeful that she won’t be far behind.

************************************************************************

Christen watches as you make your way out of the room, eager to follow behind you, but she knew she had to make an excuse so her teammates wouldn’t come looking for her.

“Can you hold this?” She whispers to Alex Morgan who takes her drink, one of her perfect brows arched in question.

“Restroom.” Christen says simply before making her way out of the room, confident she’d be able to track you down and act on the desire she was feeling, a thrum of excitement pulsing between her legs.

It doesn’t take her long to find the restroom, and when she does, she sees you leaning against the bathroom counter, your eyes darting to her reflection in the full-length mirror covering one of the bathroom’s walls.

“That didn’t take long.” You say suggestively, her breath hitching as you back her up against the ornate door behind her, twisting the lock to avoid any unwanted interruptions.

With no prompting, she grabs the front of your suit jacket and pulls you in, her lips slamming against yours.

You pick her up with ease, carrying her to the sink before placing her on the counter, your tongue sliding into her open mouth, earning a breathy moan from the woman whose name you didn’t even know.

Your hands run down her body before settling on her waist, squeezing her sides as the two of you kiss feverishly.

A beat passes before your jacket is shoved off and your dress shirt is unbuttoned, falling to the bathroom floor, leaving you in nothing but your bra.

Her lips leave yours before finding your pulse point, her tongue running up the column of your neck before sucking a bruise into your tanned skin.

You wrap your fingers around the top of her dress, the brunette pulling back slightly to whisper.

“Careful.” She says as she pants heavily, a smirk stretching across your face.

“Can’t have your friends knowing you came in here to fuck a complete stranger?” You grin cockily, the woman gasping when your hand slides up the hem of her dress, your palm resting on her mound, her panties already soaked through.

In any other situation, she’d be embarrassed at how wet she was, but in this moment, all embarrassment flew out the window, she wanted one thing, and that was to orgasm, an orgasm she wanted you to give her.

“God, you’re soaked for me, aren’t you?” You rasp in her ear, the brunette unable to bite back a moan when you grab her panties, tearing them from her body, the shredded garment falling to the floor.

“Now that, that’s out of the way.” You growl before your fingers slide through her wet lips, the woman moaning when your fingertips brush her clit.

“Right there?” You ask, her lips leaving your neck as you draw small, lazy circles against her clit.

“Faster.” She begs, and you chuckle.

“Like this?” You ask, the brunette using your shoulder to muffle her cry as you begin drawing rapid, relentless circles against her clit.

“You like that?” You whisper, earning a rapid nod when you flatten your palm against her, your fingertips teasing her entrance.

A sudden knock on the door makes you stiffen, your eyes widening as they lock with the woman’s who’s resting on the counter in front of you.

“Christen? Are you in there?” A voice sounds from the other side, and you snigger, using one hand to drag her dress downwards to reveal her breasts.

Christen muffles her cries into your shoulder as you cup her breast, your thumb brushing against erect nipple.

“Ye-Yeah, I’m alright.” She pauses mid-sentence, gasping when your lips wrap around one of the dark buds.

“J-J-Just...” She pauses, her face scrunching up as your hand travels south again, your fingers again finding her clit.

Her mouth hangs wide open as you circle her clit before dipping a finger inside her, her inner walls fluttering around the digit.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to come in?” The voice asks, the woman in your arms doing everything she can to remain quiet as you slip another finger inside her, your fingers curling as they brush against the spot inside her that makes her whimper.

“No! I’m okay, I’ll-I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She gasps, her hands now resting on your back, her nails digging into your skin.

“Okay, well if you need me, just call me, okay?” They say as your fingers slide in and out of her tight heat.

“I will.”

Moments later, footsteps carry the person away from the door, the woman in your arms growling as she hastily undoes your belt.

“Eager?” You tease, Christen moaning as your fingers pound repeatedly into her.

“I want your cock, not your fingers.” She growls, shoving your pants off, the article of clothing falling in a heap around your ankles before you step out of them and kick them across the bathroom floor.

You groan, your fingers stilling when she palms you through your boxers, a raspy growl rumbling in your throat as your lips again meet hers, your tongue sliding into her open mouth.

Her legs wrap around your middle as you pull her closer, her core resting against your stomach as you kiss hungrily.

She gives her hips a roll, groaning as her clit grinds against your abdomen, the woman wanting to be wrapped entirely around you, to have you deep inside her reaching places your fingers couldn’t.

She makes her intentions known when she uses her heels to hook into your boxers and drag them down your body, your erection springing free.

“You want my cock that bad, huh Christen?” You ask, your lips brushing as you whisper, your hand settling on the erect rod between your legs.

You pump it softly, groaning into her mouth as you line yourself up with her entrance.

“Are you ready?” You ask, running your tip through her soaked lips, her core latching onto you with each pass.

Wordlessly, she wraps her legs back around you, pulling you into her, the action making your brows furrow in pleasure as you push yourself up on your tip toes, now fully sheathed inside her.

“Yeahhh.” You moan as she adjusts to the stretch, her core fluttering around you.

You give your hips an experimental thrust upwards, Christen’s breath hitching her nails digging into your back as you start a rhythm.

Your thighs slap together softly, but neither of you care, the two of you overcome with pleasure.

“Faster.” She sighs, your hips snapping upward roughly, causing her to bite your neck to stop herself from crying out.

You pound into her relentlessly, her mouth hanging wide open, her brows furrowed.

She lets out a gasp when you lift her into the air and place her against a nearby wall, her legs wrapped tightly around you as you again start thrusting into her, burying yourself deep inside her.

“Look at yourself, Christen.” You whisper in her ear, your tongue running along the shell of her ear.

Christen’s unable to stop herself from moaning when her eyes lock with her own in the mirror, the woman watching as you thrust rapidly into her, bringing her a sense of pleasure she never felt before.

The thrill of being caught only heightened that pleasure, the fact that a few rooms away was filled with people who could catch the two of you at any moment.

“Look how bad you want me; you can’t get enough of me can you? You can’t get enough of my cock, can you?” You ask, pounding into her, her breath catching in her throat.

It’s when her breath starts to hitch rapidly that you know she's close, the tingling at the base of your cock telling you that you won’t be far behind.

“You want to come baby?” You ask, Christen nodding as she begins slamming down onto your roughly, chasing her release which you know isn’t far off.

Her walls flutter rapidly around you, before she goes stiff in your hold.

She slams her lips against yours, allowing you to swallow her cries as she comes undone, trembling violently in your arms.

You groan into her open mouth, still thrusting hard as your thighs begin to quake, streams of your seed spewing into her as you shudder, burying your face in her neck as you groan.

It isn’t long before the two of you still, both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, both panting loudly as you pull away from one another, before surging back in for one more heated kiss.

You pull back slowly, placing her on the floor, letting her steady herself before you step backwards and retrieve your boxers, pulling them up over your near flaccid cock.

Christen pulls her dress upward, covering her breasts before flattening it out, ridding it of any creases, of any signs that something may have happened in the restroom.

She glances across the bathroom, watching as you button your dress shirt before tugging your jacket on.

Much to her surprise, you make your way back towards her, guiding her back into the wall before your hand slides up the hem of her dress, Christen gasping when you start drawing wild, sloppy circles against her clit.

It isn’t long before her back is arching, and she’s coming for a second time, a lengthy whine sounding into your shoulder.

You smirk, teasingly circling her clit before she grabs your wrist, unable to take more of your teasing caresses.

You lick your lips, your eyes running down her front before the smirk you're wearing splits into a cocky grin.

“Sorry, i just had to see that face again." You smile, eyeing her intently before you take a step back.

"See you around Chris.” You wink, adjusting your outfit before making your way out of the bathroom, still wearing that same smug smile.

Christen pants heavily against the bathroom wall, her pleasure entirely sated.

She makes herself look more presentable before making her way out of the bathroom, her teammates turning her way in confusion.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, sipping her wine as she eyes her fellow forward worriedly.

“Ye-Yeah.” Christen clears her throat, her green orbs darting around the room before settling on you, a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, which you raise to her before downing it with a grin.

“I’m great actually.” She smirks, taking her wine glass from Alex’s hand and taking a sip, her green orbs locking with your Y/E/C’s as she licks her lips.

You shoot her a wink, unbeknownst to the women around her before turning back to your tumbler of whiskey, sipping the amber colored liquid, elated that you’d came to this party in the first place.

#uswnt x reader #christen press x reader #im a bit nervous about this one so do be gentle #please let me know what you think other requests are welcome #i want to hear what y'all think of these kind of fics

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writinginthetwilight · 2 months

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Knock, knock.

Eddie Munson x Neighbour Reader.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Authors note: Thank you for all the love on the last part of this fic. I promise more Eddie is coming. As before all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world I'm making.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.

Part 3- Accusations made in barely lit corridors.

Nobody lives there.

Nobody lives there. But they will send someone around in the morning to check out the scar.

Nobody lives there, but there is very much somebody living there and you aggressively hammered on their door.

At night.

Alone.

Oh god.

The realisation that there could be a murderer living next door and you just swanned up offering yourself on a platter, hits you fast, a sudden wave of nausea making the bitter taste of bile coat the back of your throat.

Rationalising thoughts pitter patter through, few and far between the spiralling dread and self deprecation as you hold your head in your hands.

If they were in hiding they were not being very subtle.

They brought people around.

More likely squatters passing through.

Or a ghost.

Or whatever peers through the bathroom door at you when you're under the cloak of sleep, trapped in your bed and unable to move.

Shit.

Shaking legs take you to the kitchen, the faucet spluttering cold water into the tall frosted glass tumbler and in the back of your mind, a voice says you were meant to get that fixed.

The cold drink makes your chest feel less tight, lets you breathe a little easier as your weight leans against the countertop, you try to concentrate on the feeling of sunlight warming your cheek through the window. But a door slamming shut next door forces you upright.

Adrenaline prickles the ends of your fingers and sends your glass of water skidding over the worktop, you scramble to stabilise it, thoughts tumble quicker than you can collect as you stare at the adjoining wall.

You can hear him moving around and curiosity makes you slowly creep over and press your ear to the wall then, like it so often does, music blares to life on the other side.

A soft curse.

The music lowers.

Footsteps move behind you and your eyes track the sound up and down the room, now sparsely filled with furniture and nicknacks. It's laughable that you thought they would soften his sounds.

The music doesn't have the definition it usually does, it's softer, and you have to strain more than usual to catch what song it is.

You press your ear back to the wall, the music there clearer.

He moved it.

Radio, speakers, whatever. He's moved it further away.

The notion softens your thoughts.

He has a life set up there.

He could be hiding.

Could have found a dry place to call home for a while.

Could just need a break.

You quickly grab your phone, typing out an email back to your landlord.

Tomorrow will be fine, it would have to be early because I have work. I only assumed it was number 5, but realistically it could be from above or outside, maybe number 7?

You chew on your thumb staring at the screen, a silent argument of conflicting thoughts steamrolling you until you finally press send, quickly locking your phone tossing it away.

He starts to sing and the sound accompanies you as the mottled yellow paper rips from your notebook at an angle, to-do lists and numbers you need to call come Monday revealed and quickly forgotten as you push it back into its drawer.

Hey, it's no6.

Still, no way he's getting your name.

Someone's coming around tomorrow morning to take a look at some things in my apartment.

Just a heads up they might need to come round your place, if whatever is wrong crosses over onto your side.

Thanks for keeping the noise down, appreciate it.

It's a white lie, you don't even know if they will need to go around if your email works, but just in case, it gives him a chance to move on without getting in trouble.

Less chance of him thinking you complained and holding a vendetta against you.

Silently staring down at the note, you run your nail down the fold until the crease is crisp, the thickest corner sharp, pressing into the pad of your thumb.

It's broad daylight, this was fine.

You try and open the door as quietly as you can but she's stubborn, the yank needed to open it causes you to stumble and you just catch it from announcing your movements.

The corridor’s empty but doesn't hold the cloying silence that was last present when you approached next door, lazy murmurs of life on a Sunday quietly audible.

You quickly crouch and stuff the note under, your hurried movements scrunch the paper at an angle where it won't slip through and you start to panic, quietly begging it to behave, scrambling quickly away when it finally slips past the threshold.

You latch the chain, the lock clicking behind it and back away slowly, holding your breath as you wait for a sign that he's gotten it.

Nothing comes through, his singing has receded off and you're left with the dulcet tones of.

Metallica?

You laugh gently at yourself.

Jesus christ.

Settling back onto the couch the TV that's long gone into standby winks back to life, and you frown as you try to pick up where you left off.

Password or username is incorrect.

Try again.

He doesn't come round and the rest of the evening and your lives move in tandem, your ex had changed all passwords on your shared accounts Spotify, Netflix anything you shared even though you always paid half.

That petty son of a bitch.

You refuse to speak to him and ask him to give you the login details, that’s what he's hoping. You can manage until you get paid.

So you get out the old stereo, set up some old CDs and it hums away until sleep finally takes you.

You're roused from sleep sometime later, consciousness trickling in as you toss and turn in soft blankets, the bed creaking weakly below you.

Drip.

Stilling, you listen. The sound seems closer than it should like it doesn't drift from its origin, just an empty echo in the air around you.

You look to the bathroom, the doors closed but the bedroom doors ajar, light just beyond it and you let the sheets slip from you as you make your way over.

You wince at the thud the door makes when you try to open it, the sound abnormally loud as it hits against something, a bookshelf blocking the way.

Squeezing yourself out you're faced with an uncomfortably familiar scene of your few belongings now crowded and warped on a backdrop of shadow.

An inhale sticks in your throat as you watch the scar still drip, the small puddle now completely coating the countertop, the carpet around it sodden and inky black.

It ripples as you walk towards it, watching how it inches over the linoleum floor towards the looming black.

The sound of your bathroom door opening behind you is unmistakable and you turn, eyes wide as the darkness hums behind you, the floorboards creak in your bedroom.

Light dances like last time over the wall and you rush over hoping for the relief of consciousness as you push against it only to fall straight through.

Starburst's dance across your vision and you hiss from the ache in your knees as they hit the murky green carpet below.

The small room feels instantly claustrophobic bathed in a light much softer than the glowing wall behind you should emit.

It's crowded, cluttered with belongings, discarded boxes and flyers, bags, shoes and jackets. A sideboard with a lamp and an old record player are all stuffed inside the small space.

A frosted glass door is your only exit and you wipe the dust that coats your hands down your clothes as you quickly move through it. Turning, you wait for any silhouettes to appear but only the light behind it glitters.

Your back hits a refrigerator as you step away, alphabet magnets clattering to the floor below and skittering away into the galley kitchen where you now stand in.

Take-out cartons and empty glass soda bottles litter the side with the makings of meals and dirty dishes, a layer of dust beneath them remains thick and untouched. There's no drip here that you can see but you can still hear the sound, although it's garbled like it's struggling to find you.

The stillness of the room makes you jumpy as you travel down to the end and turn to a small hallway with two doors.

The wall at the end dances with light.

You look back over your shoulder, wondering where the weird corridor of rooms is taking you and hoping that you'll wake up soon.

The doors are ajar and you peek inside, the first’s a bathroom, small and dark, but the second opens to reveal the rose hues of a sunrise that stem from a dark window.

It's a bedroom.

Lived in and yet somehow like it's been untouched for years, the paint peels from the walls and dust kicks up around your footsteps, but the bed's unmade, guitars in the corner catch the light, polished and well kept.

Models sit along the shallow windowsill, and your fingers run against the dents and notches where the gloss is applied too thickly.

“Shit!”

The voice is followed by a crash that has you spinning and exiting the room quickly, the door slamming closed behind you almost of its own accord.

Footsteps fall in tandem with yours as you rush to the end of the hallway, the wall gives way and your legs catch something and you fall. Harder than before, awkwardly and you wheeze as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You can hear them approaching, an outline of a body appears above you pressing against the curtain of light, blood rushes in your ears and you gasp as your body suddenly comes crashing back to earth.

You try to make yourself look as unphased as possible at the fact that there's a complete stranger standing in your home at 7 am.

Your bedroom’s filled with the soft light of early morning and all is quiet.

Charlie, the maintenance guy. As he introduced himself.

He refused your offer of a drink after greeting you and unprompted, spent his first few minutes in your home showing you pictures of his grandkids on his phone.

You remind him of his eldest, he told you with a broad smile and with a clap of his hands he rubbed them together and asked what we were looking at.

You pointed to the ceiling, his eyes trailing up and a low whistle escapes him as he walks below it, hands on hips.

“Rupert said there was a hole but thats-”

“A scar.” you say.

And he gives you an amused smile as he nods.

The small silver ladder clacks as he climbs it and you watch on as he makes non-committal grunts and noises at it.

“Can you do anything?”

He shines a light into the places where the plaster never took, darkness peeking through and then promptly clicks it off, rubbing his chin he climbs back down the ladder.

“You said you've been hearing neighbours through it?”

You stutter a little, “Well yes, I think, I'm not entirely sure where, but like, it echoes sort of as if it's through a vent?”

He hums to himself again, arms crossed, eyes following it down the length of the room.

“Not a whole lot I can do if there's a vent coming through there, but the cavity isn't deep enough to house one I wouldn't think. It shouldn't have been left like that.” he tsks.

“Some cowboys will of charged him arm and a leg.”

He slips on the small glasses that have been hanging around his neck as he jots down notes on a small notepad.

“I'll see what the big man says, can't promise anything though, it's a big job going to be pricey”

He gathers his things and leaves you his card in case you need anything done, because ‘Rupert is useless'.

Alone in the room, you stare up.

You feel like it knows.

“You brought this on yourself” you whisper to it as you collect your belongings.

Walking through the door you pause finding the man who you'd just left hunched over in the doorway of No. 5.

Changing the locks. You frown to yourself as you prepare to say a polite goodbye but the words get caught in your throat.

The doorway opens to a small room, with green carpet, a frosted glass door to the left glittering with the light coming in behind it.

“Hey. Can I take a look?” you don't recognise your own voice, words coming out of their own accord.

He looks up at you and you try to make a face of indifference, he shrugs.

“I guess so, just watch out it's been empty for a while. It'll only be a minute. ”

A horrible sense of deja vu washes over you as you make your way into the kitchen.

It's a snapshot of your dream, but void of all signs of life.

Dust, dirt and debris line the room like you remember but there's a gap where the refrigerator should be, the sink empty. You turn the faucet and it moans spurting murky brown water with a wheeze before clean water runs freely.

The windows are stained with the same sepia tint that you scrubbed from yours.

The corridor looms dark to your right no dancing walls of light only the two doors slightly ajar.

Bathroom. Bedroom.

You creep slowly towards them holding your breath your mind screaming that this isn't right.

But you need to see something different something that doesn't line up with your vivid memory of this place.

Your stomach drops at the sight of the bathroom.

Small and dark.

And as you push open the bedroom door, it makes you feel motion sick, like your brain can't quite take in what it's seeing.

It's the same no bed or posters or guitars. But it's the same room and as you approach the window frame you swallow harshly as your fingers touch the same notches and grooves that you had seen before.

“Done.”

You almost fall to your knees, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” Charlie says chuckling from his place in the doorway.

“No, sorry it's fine.” you brush past him quickly and into the corridor.

He locks the door behind you and you look over it for a moment.

Thoughts finally falling away from the surreal past few minutes.

“I can see him now. Stupid smug bastard”

You hope he finds somewhere better to sleep than there.

Janet's squinting face is suddenly moving as she picks up her phone and moves you along with her.

You'd managed to thoroughly freak yourself out as the day wore on, and due to your lack of familiarity with your coworkers, it meant she was now your escort back to the apartment tonight.

“Jesus, get away from the window.”

“I could let his tires down.”

“I feel like that's slightly extreme.” You laugh but when she doesn't respond, still squinting out her living room window at your ex your tone changes.

“No, property damage.” you hiss quietly looking around at the other passengers on the bus “He changed my login he didn't kill my dog. I'll sort it all when I get paid.”

She hums unconvinced.

You spent more time next door at hers than you did in your own home to the end of your relationship. She was the only one who stood behind your decision to leave. She always hated the guy.

“You spoken to him? ”

“No, blocked him the day I moved, after the 30th missed call.”

Her attention is suddenly back on you, a frown deepening the creases in her brow.

She shakes her head, scowling through the window once more, before your being whisked away with her again “How far are we?”

“Mine's the next stop, thank you again by the way.”

“Don't worry about it darling, it seems I'm your protector from obnoxious men.”

“Janet the protector.” the last syllable is lost to a yawn and you open your eyes to see a tender expression on her face as she looks back at you.

“You okay?”

“I'm just tired, nightmares, it's been a lot.”

“I'm proud of you, you know.”

“Don't.”

“What? I am.”

“You're going to make me cry on the bus”

When you finally arrive at your stop, a sea of black umbrellas and hurried footsteps accompany you as you retell your dream as the rain steadily soaks you.

“It was just so weird. It was the exact layout” you say opening the door to your building.

“Maybe you lived there in a past life? Or was the original floor plan on the website when you were looking?”

“Maybe?”

The entrance is looming as you close the door behind you. You're stuck in place and Janet must catch the look on your face.

“Here we go, you got this.”

You don't feel like you have this.

The elevator rattles to the third floor, the metal gate creaking as you open it up and walk down the corridor to your apartment.

“Nobody's waiting.” You whisper.

“I told you.”

Your steps quicken as you pass his door, fumbling with your keys and pushing harshly, the door slamming into the wall and you quickly shut it behind you.

There's no noise and Janet stares at you as you pause for any signs that he's around.

“We clear?”

“I think so," you say quietly walking to the kitchen and propping her up against a bottle of oil on your counter.

“Good, can I finally get the tour of-” . She pauses frowning at you as you shrug out of your drenched jacket.

“ What are you wearing?”

“ Work clothes?” You say looking down at the rigid clothing you'd put on this morning.

“You look like a bit of a cunt.”

You bark a laugh, grimacing at yourself as she smiles brightly at you.

You're not fully awake.

“Yeah I know.”

But your heart’s pounding in your ears.

Music's blaring from the other room.

You're instantly up, stumbling in the dark through the vague outline of your room, unfocused and pixelating darkness leading you out of your room.

You slap the wall, finally catching the light switch.

The stereo is blaring and you wince at the volume as you walk to it, aggressively turning it off.

The music stops.

On your side.

But the same song continues on the other side of the wall, pacing footsteps echo out behind you.

Back and forth back and forth

No.

You back away from the sounds, stomach-churning, then dropping.

Yellow mottled paper sits at the foot of your front door.

Trembling fingers pick it up, unfold it, it's your own note.

Tacked onto the bottom a reply.

Are you dead?

Next.

#Stranger Prompts #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson angst #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things #my writing #Spotify #SoundCloud

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qqueenofhades · 10 months

Note

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

#anonymous #ask #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #neil gaiman cinematic universe #ineffable husbands #dreamling #dreamling ff #see this is what i mean #when i say i am easily enabled #alas

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writeforfandoms · 8 months

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Armor - pt 1

Find my CoD masterlist

Los Vaqueros borrow a CIA shifter to help them investigate a new drug in the streets of Las Almas. Of course, you can't keep your nose fully out of trouble… Fortunately Rodolfo is willing to help you out.

Welcome to my second offering for Fall4Rudy hosted by @glitterypirateduck - this part used the prompt "You don't know me."

This fic does take place in the same world as Born for Greatness, and ties into that story indirectly. However, you do not have to have read Born for Greatness to understand this one.

Warnings: shifter!reader, brief violence, canon typical violence, non graphic injury, minor character death, forced drug use, drug mention, cartel stuff.

Word count: 2.7k

Rodolfo Parra x f!reader

Technically, you weren't supposed to be in Mexico. You were supposed to be somewhere in Russia.

But Laswell had pulled some strings and called in a favor, so. Here you were. Making your way to introduce yourself to the local alpha.

Because Laswell had not only changed your assignment, but also sent you to deal with a pack.

You were a little bit tempted to wring her neck.

You stopped outside, taking a moment to eye the alpha, as he and his second in command eyed you. They were both good looking, with dark hair and dark eyes.

But there was something about the second in command, hidden depths that intrigued you.

"Alpha Vargas." You tipped your head to him.

"Be welcome on my territory," he greeted, nodding to you. "Laswell said to expect you."

"She also said you'd give me more information on what you need help with." You smiled politely, tipping your chin.

"Come inside." He nodded to the building behind him. "Have a drink with us." He clapped a hand to the other man's shoulder.

"Rodolfo Parra," he introduced himself quietly. "Pack second."

You nodded to him as well. "Pleasure."

"Come," Alpha Vargas reiterated, leading the way inside. You followed quietly, observing the base with keen eyes. The pack here was not huge, only six members, but everyone on base had common shifter courtesy, from what you could see.

The alpha's office was nice, and he waved you into a seat before he brought you a drink. He sat on the edge of his desk, his second sitting on the couch instead.

"We need an unknown to do some surveillance," Vargas told you, tumbler dangling from his fingers. "All of my Vaqueros are known to the cartel here."

You nodded. This wasn't the first time you'd been thrown into a situation to gather intel. "Can do."

He hummed, taking a sip of his drink. "Tomorrow," he decided. "For today, relax. Rudy will show you around."

You blinked, a bit surprised, before you nodded. "Alright." You tossed the rest of your drink back, enjoying the brief burn, before setting your glass down.

"This way." Rodolfo stood and waited for you to follow him. You did, of course, slinking after him with an easy confidence.

Rodolfo was quiet as the two of you walked away from the alpha's office. He walked with the ease of someone not only used to having orders followed, but used to having some level of responsibility. Which made sense, as the pack second.

"Have you been with your alpha long?" You tucked your hands in your pockets, looking around. The general hustle and bustle of a base was normal to hear, and the way nobody even tried to meet your eyes honestly felt nice.

"You could say that." Rodolfo glanced back at you, amusement bright in his scent. "Twenty years."

You whistled lowly. "Damn," you muttered. "Impressive."

“And you?” Rodolfo opened the door to another building, stepping inside and looking back at you.

“Packless,” you informed him, easy as anything. It had been your own choice, after all. You didn’t need a pack. And you did better without yet another person keeping track of your movements.

He nodded and didn’t offer condolences, which was a welcome change. Far too often, other shifters met that with pity, and you hated it.

“This is your room,” he said, opening another door for you. “You are free to explore.”

“Why do you think he’s waiting until tomorrow?” You stepped into the room, taking a quick look to find your bag already sitting at the foot of the bed. The room was even a little decorated, a far cry from the bland, soulless military rooms you were used to.

Rodolfo was silent for a few moments, and when you turned to look at him he was already watching you. “We were advised you were coming from a different time zone,” he answered slowly. “And this is not so time sensitive you must move immediately.”

You huffed but nodded, accepting that. Good enough. Kind of unusual for a colonel to not shove you straight back into the field, but you’d take it for today. “I see. Thank you.”

He nodded once before looking away. “Let one of us know if you need anything.”

You nodded, watching him turn and stride away. You weren’t sure what he shifted into, but you were willing to lay even odds on a canine of some sort. You were curious, of course. You wanted to know. But you weren’t about to ask. That would be rude.

Clearly, a little exploring was in order. So that’s exactly what you did, taking your time surveying the base. It was nice, had personality, different from what you were used to. But in a good way. Nobody met your gaze, instead looking at your chin or forehead, which was just fine with you. (Actually, you were impressed with how easy it was.)

You’d definitely had worse places to stay before.

It was easy to pick out the pack among the rest - the pack all circled up around their alpha at dinner time, chatting and laughing with an ease you were almost envious of.

Rodolfo met your gaze across the distance between you for a moment and raised one eyebrow, looking back to the table. A silent invitation. You smiled gently and shook your head just a little when he looked back at you. You were fine by yourself.

You were always fine by yourself.

The job, when you finally got the details, didn’t sound too bad. The Vaqueros were all too well known to go looking, but you could pose as a tourist and get in places they would be noticed. The local cartel didn’t know to look for you, and you could blend in.

Rodolfo was to be your point of contact. Of course.

“We’ve arranged a room for you,” he said as he walked you back to your room. “In the city, so you will not have to trek back out here. We have communications set up for you.”

“Think the cartel will be that curious?” You weren’t dismissive, simply curious.

“It is difficult to say.” Rodolfo shrugged. “But we are asking you to, hm, poke your nose into their business.”

You surprised yourself with your laugh, head tipping back a little. “That’s not a hardship for me,” you told him with a grin. “I do that all the time on my own.”

He smiled, amused, and shook his head. “I’ll drive you out,” he murmured. “Is thirty minutes enough?”

“Plenty,” you assured him. “Thanks.” You nodded once to him as you stepped inside to gather enough to tide you over a few days. Fortunately you had a few civilian outfits with you.

The drive out of the compound was quiet. It wasn’t until you got closer to town that you gave in to the curiosity clawing at your chest.

“Is your pack really that well known here?”

“Yes.” He shot you an amused look. “This is surprising to you?”

“It is.” You leaned back in your seat, contemplating how best to phrase your thoughts. “My family always kept quiet about it. Old town superstitions, nonsense like that.”

He hummed his understanding, gaze flitting briefly to you again. “No place is perfect.”

Your laugh was soft this time, your lips stretching in a grin to show your teeth. “True enough.” The city grew closer slowly, and you shifted in your seat. You knew he’d drop you off on the outskirts, to avoid raising suspicion. “I’ll try not to contact you in the middle of the night.”

He paused, pulling over so he could twist to look at you head-on. “You contact me any time,” he said, holding your gaze. Not pulling rank, just keeping your attention firmly on him. “For any reason. Si?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Not just by the eye contact, but the intensity. The sincerity in his words was palpable in his scent, too. He really meant it.

“Okay,” you agreed slowly.

He held your gaze for another two long moments before he nodded once and started driving again.

He left you in the arranged drop location, bag slung over your shoulder, sun warm against your skin. You had directions to the hotel memorized, and you set off at an easy walk.

Sure, you were looking for cartel and for their involvement in the city, but you were also looking for anything odd or out of place. Thus, taking your time walking around.

Signs of the cartel were everywhere, as were signs of violence. It was clear to you that something had happened here fairly recently - the cartel people you saw were more vigilant, almost nervous. The civilians were as well, constantly on the lookout.

Good thing you were just a dumb tourist, then.

You didn’t check in until that night, and that first check in was short. You’d arrived, nobody followed you, you’d report back when you had more. Rodolfo wished you luck.

You tried not to be touched by his care.

Two more days brought nothing of use, just dead ends and being sworn at. Nothing new, really. Your curiosity came in handy here, giving you the patience to explore, even if you didn’t always have the wisdom to back off when you should.

Some of your frustration must have leaked through that third night, though.

“Estás bien,” Rodolfo murmured. “Cálmate.”

“I’m calm,” you shot back, a little annoyed. “I’m fine.”

“You do not sound it.”

“You don’t know me.”

That gave him pause, silence sitting between you both for long moments. “Not yet,” he admitted. “But I would like to.”

You blinked, jaw dropping in surprise. “...What?”

“You heard me.”

“You are trying to distract me.”

His chuckle was soft. “Perhaps, but I am also telling the truth.”

“We’re putting a pin in that until I’m done,” you decided after a moment, shaking your head. “After I’m done, we can get food, if you’d like. How’s that?”

“Acceptable.” His smile was clear in his voice. “Keep me updated.”

“WIll do.” You hung up and blew out a breath. He… wanted to get to know you. Even though you were on loan. Even though you were not part of his pack.

Huh. Well. That definitely gave you some food for thought.

It took two more days for you to find trouble.

You poked your nose somewhere it didn’t belong, and ended up finding much more than you anticipated.

Having four guns pointed at you was nothing new. Being tied up while this happened was nothing new. Being threatened with mysterious white powder, however, was new.

You could just hear two of them arguing while the others kept their guns on you. Something about you being a spy (correct), trying to get the formula (incorrect), something something rival production group (so wrong it was laughable), if they wanted to find out so bad they could get a sample off your corpse… Huh. That sounded bad.

You were still trying to twist your hands free when one of the men dumped a little baggy of white powder on you.

Welp. You were dead for sure.

But the burning sensation against your skin was new. Some of the powder got up your nose and the burning intensified, traveling from your nose up to the rest of your head, and down to the rest of your body. You breathed in, pressure building, until you couldn’t hold it in.

You shifted, bones shifting and muscles changing, feeling every agonizing moment. It felt like it lasted forever, but could have only been seconds.

Leaving you on the ground, the chair splintered under you, fur all on end. You shook your head, disoriented, trying to right yourself.

The first gunshot skimmed your shoulder, and you yowled. You didn’t know where you were, and it didn’t matter. You weren’t safe.

The first man fell to your claws, his screams echoing in your head, too loud. And he wasn’t the only threat. Nothing made sense but you knew you needed to defend yourself.

Your jaws and paws were dripping by the time you felt safe, by the time the shouting and shooting had stopped. You turned a quick circle to make sure there were no other threats, but all was quiet. Your chest heaved with your panting, jaws parted, the burning under your skin urging you to move, to get out, to run.

So you did. You left the room and managed to find your way out of the building. Outside was dark but that worked to your advantage, letting you slip away from humanity, taking to rooftops to get out faster. It wasn’t long until the city was behind you, leaving you in more open land.

The burning finally faded from your skin and your mind, leaving you exhausted but yourself again. But you couldn’t shift back. Trying sent a jolt through you, causing you to hiss.

Well. You were definitely late to check in with Rodolfo, but there was nothing you could do about that now. You could hardly waltz back into the city and climb up to your room, not as you were.

Mountain lions weren’t exactly a common sight in Las Almas, after all.

Growling softly to yourself, you finally huffed. You could find a spot to hang out until you could shift and then get back to the hotel. You could try to get back to the base. You could just find somewhere to chill for a while and hope a better idea came to you.

Well. The base wasn’t that far from town. You could make it.

So you started walking, keeping to the side of the road. Just in case. It was dark, but nothing your vision couldn’t handle. Thank goodness for that.

Your tail swished in agitation as you recalled the drug they’d dumped on you. You had assumed something more run of the mill, but that had clearly been something worse. You were far from an expert, but you’d heard rumors of a drug that forced a shift.

Having now experienced it first hand, you could definitely add that it was not pleasant. You’d shifted almost feral, had gone fully feral when shot at. (Not that you felt bad about that - they had been planning to kill you, so you had no sympathy for them.)

If the cartel was making that shit, which it sounded like, you needed to make the Vaqueros aware. That could be very dangerous let loose on the pack.

It had certainly done a number on you.

The sun was just starting to rise when you got to base. You stopped a little ways away and yowled, hoping to attract attention without getting shot at. Again. Fortunately, your wound had stopped bleeding long ago. Unfortunately, you were half-covered in dry or drying blood, and you felt absolutely disgusting.

The commotion of multiple soldiers coming up to the gate was clearly audible to you, and your tail flicked against the ground.

But it wasn’t until you heard Rodolfo that you tried to approach, yowling again, looking for the sergeant major.

He called your name, and you trotted closer, paws silent on the ground. The gate opened and Rodolfo walked out to meet you, crouching down near you.

“Can you shift back?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t touch you, but his gaze caught on all the blood on your fur.

You huffed and settled down to focus. It took a few moments (including one moment of sheer panic) before you shifted back, still bloody and sticky and gross. Remnants of the white powder clung to your skin and hair.

Rodolfo was quick to shuck his jacket, tossing it over your shoulders. “Need to get you back to medical,” he fussed, gaze sweeping over you again.

“I can walk,” you assured him, though you didn’t move away from him. The helping hand at your elbow was, in fact, helping. And soothing.

He shot off orders in Spanish to get the alpha and alert medical, staying close to your side. Your progress to medical was slow as your body protested the drugs and the hard use.

But you got there in the end, near-collapsing onto a bed. Rodolfo hovered, refusing to leave. Which was kind of nice, honestly. You got to hold his hand while you got stitches.

"Thank you," you murmured to him when the nurse stepped out.

"Any time." He squeezed your hand, looking down at you with some emotion you didn't want to identify.

#fall4rudy #rodolfo parra x you #rodolfo parra x reader #f!reader #shifter au

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avastrasposts · 5 months

Text

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice.

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar.

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg.

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf.

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.”

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes.

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage.

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat.

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before.

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.”

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.”

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.”

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-”

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist.

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.”

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up.

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.”

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.”

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging.

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area.

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder.

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull.

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.”

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around.

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar.

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail.

“Just hurry up, Daniels.”

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls.

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger.

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants.

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word.

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.”

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest.

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned.

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.”

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?”

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.”

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.”

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf.

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.”

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.”

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.”

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her.

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again.

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.”

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps.

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them.

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side.

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath.

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command.

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room.

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch.

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her.

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again.

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-”

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room.

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!”

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed.

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled.

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!”

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway.

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan.

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them.

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer.

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.”

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get.

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room.

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily.

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.”

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants.

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.”

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?”

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open.

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt.

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.”

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste.

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder.

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.”

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.”

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight.

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her.

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices.

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails.

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-”

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar.

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed.

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.”

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again.

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square.

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten.

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead.

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly.

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back.

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.”

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason.

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind.

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes.

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette.

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this.

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back.

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…”

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?”

#pickledpena #pickled peña writing challenge #pickled-pena #pickled peña #javier peña fanfic #javier peña #pickled pena #pickledpeña writing challenge

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harlowhockeystick · 20 days

Note

9 and 18 with coach!sid please <3

"without ever touching him, how can i be guilty as sin?" & "i can tell when someone wants me" | poetic prompts | warnings: smut (18+ MDNI, i can redo if you don't want smut with these prompts!)

takes place after this fic.

"girl, quit eye fucking and leave some room for the rest of us. i can tell your fantasizing, but i don't blame you."

"i'm not touching him, so how can i be guilty of anything?" y/n co-workers words snap her out of her daze as she teases back. it was the beginning of an emergency staff meeting, the meaning was unknown and it was causing quite the buzz around the gymnasium. teachers, admin, and athletic staff alike were sitting together asking each other what they'd heard, known, or if they were getting fired. there was a heavy level of anxiety sitting in the room amongst them.

"sorry," y/n mumbled and sitting up straight. her friend chuckled beside her. but she couldn't help but stare, it had been a week since their dinner together, and it was all she could think about. she'd had trouble teaching, would zone out when talking to carter, their scandalous encounter was taking over her life.

"what do you think they're gonna talk about?" the other teacher asked sitting next to her, sipping coffee out of her tumbler and scrolling through emails looking for clues. "i think they're gonna talk about staff relationships."

her words made y/n's stomach drop. did it get out? did someone see her car at his house? did carter say something? did carter find out? it's amazing how many questions can run through the brain in just two seconds.

"i heard that the boys tennis coach, thomas, is having an affair with the girls tennis coach. i think one of the players caught them in the athletic offices but they did something to keep the kid quiet." y/n feels her nerves calm down, but not all that much. her eyes met with sidney's and she felt like he was trying to silently tell her something but she couldn't pick up on it. they weren't that connected.

yet.

moments later the superintendent gets on the mic and announces to faculty that in fact, both the girls and boys tennis coach were let go due to their actions. the boys coach resigned, and the girls coach was fired due to threatening the school district since she didn't do anything wrong and she was a single woman.

she felt a ball coil up inside her stomach as the staff were reminded of the policy: relationships among staff must be brought before the board if they occur within the school year. it was a district policy, to keep drama out of the way, and to keep relationships private to the parties benefit. at least, that was the way it was explained.

that meeting was bullshit. sent 10:45 am

y/n's phone pings signaling a text from sidney. she reads it as her students are taking their test. she feels butterflies and anxiety at the same time. her leg bouncing underneath her desk as she plans a reply.

...but what did he mean? was he against the rule, meaning he wanted a relationship? or was it just a waste of time? yes, it was a waste of time.

i know, it could have just been an email. sent 10:48

he never responds, but she gets too busy with other class periods. she gets lost back in time once more, fantasizing about that night. during lunch break spent in her darkened classroom, a bowl of warmed up soup in front of her as she grades papers until the next class comes through.

but she gets lost, in the deep trance of the memory of him. if she thinks really hard she can still feel his tongue sliding against her slick core, she can feel herself coming undone again at the force of his skilled and talented body.

she can feel his calloused but soft hands sliding down her body, grasping at her breasts while he sucks all of the sweet juice that flows out of her. she remembers her back arching off his wooden dinner table while he lapped at her for at least ten minutes straight, before he slid his thick cock inside of her for another ten.

she's taken out of her daydream by the sound of the school bell. she has three minutes to get herself back in order to teach again. she considers assigning today a reading and catch up day...so she can continue to reminisce.

dinner at my place? sent 1:23 pm

hell yes sent 1:24 pm

"you're bad at hiding your feelings, y/n." sidney stated, flipping over the steak on the grill and setting his wine glass down on the granite countertop. y/n sat on the barstool across from him, drinking a cocktail she made herself.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she took a bigger swig of the alcohol this time, holding eye contact with him as he leaned onto the countertop with his hands, making himself appear bigger in front of her. it worked.

"i can tell when someone wants me. half the women in that school want me, but you're the only one who went for it." she feels like a crook who was caught. "i know you act like last week didn't happen, but it's all i've been thinking about." now he's standing just inches from her on his back patio, the smell of grilled steak and vegetables filling her brain and the firm but agonizing touch making her go weak.

"it's all i can think about too." his thumb glides across her cheek, his whiskey colored eyes staring into her soul, what it feels like for hours. he bites his lip and she thinks she's gonna pass out.

"tell me what you thought about, maybe we'll reenact it after dinner. can't have you eating cold steak, can i?"

#GIF??? HOLY SHIT #j's writing #coach!sidney #coach!sid #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl smut #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #hockey smut

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late-to-the-party-81 · 11 months

Text

Power Play - Chapter 1

AN: And here is Week 5 of HBS and the start of a new multi-chapter fic, this one a Bucky x Reader story, cos I like to give you all some variety. This also strays into Soft!Dark! Territory, cos, you know… Mob! Bucky. Thanks @buckybarnesevents for the inspo.

I’ve chosen the prompt When I first met you... Electricity

Beta’d by @buckysbarne

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and banner by me. Pictures of Seb courtesy of https://sebastian-stan.com/

Master list | Hot Bucky Summer Master list

Summary: Waking up in a mobster’s house the morning after the night before was not how this was supposed to go…

Relationship: Mob! Bucky x Undercover Agent! Reader

WC: 2.3k

CW: Kidnap, Manipulation, Soft!Dark! Bucky, Alcohol consumption, Reader briefly believes Bucky will force her against her will (use of R word once), kissing, Russian Pet names as mangled by Google translate (all variations of sweetheart/darling except Pchelka, which is explained.)

Your head was foggy and your mouth grainy as you opened your eyes, blinking against the harshness of the late morning sun coming through the window.

“Good morning, Pchelka.” Strong fingers gripping your chin and pinching your jaw harshly, brought you out of your stupor, and you looked up at the owner of the gravelly voice.

“Did you sleep well? I slept like a log. I’m going to say that it was because of the connection we made last night.” He chuckled darkly. “Did you feel it, sladkiy? The electricity when I first took your hand in mine? Because I did.” His body shivered at the memory, and you felt a fission of fear travel down your spine.

His eyes were blue - cool and chilling - and you wished you were looking at them under different circumstances. Wished you were here with him under different circumstances, because although he was your enemy, you weren’t blind.

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Revered head of the New York Mob, and so sinfully handsome it was no wonder that men and women swooned at his feet.

“Are you going to answer me, Pchelka?”

His brow was arched, amusement still playing at his lips. Challenging you to defy him.

“I’m not your ‘little bee’. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let your face go with a snort that told you that he knew you were lying. Because you were. How could you not have felt it, when your slim hand had been completely engulfed by his when you’d been introduced? When he’d raised your hand, gently turning it to press a kiss to the fluttering vein in your wrist.

You should have known then that you were fucked. Should have called the whole thing off and got out of there.

But no. You’d decided that you had to stay - had to pull your big girl pants up, get a hold of yourself and prove to everyone else that you were capable of carrying out this mission. You wondered if your colleagues, your fellow agents, were trying to actually rescue you, or were they laughing at your ineptitude?

Barnes crossed to the far side of the room, a classic dark wood office with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather-bound tomes. Turkish wool rugs covered the wooden floor that matched all of the furniture. He picked up a decanter, poured a hefty measure of amber liquid into a matching tumbler and brought it up to his lips. You didn’t even realise that you were watching him that intently until he smirked.

He walked back over to you, power and grace showing with every move of his body. He sank into a crouch before you, dipped his finger into the alcohol and then painted it over your lips. Instinctually you licked it away, and the whisky burned on your tongue.

“They think you’re dead, by the way.” That got your attention, making you halt with your mouth part open, tongue tip still midway through catching the errant drops he’d applied. His finger returned to the glass, then back to your lips once again as you sat, stock still.

A sudden anger burned through you, and you tried to leap to your feet, but you hadn’t counted on the bonds that tied you to the chair. You struggled against them, hands curling into fists and feet ineffectually kicking as you let out a wail of frustration.

“Tsk tsk.” Barnes admonished you for your reaction as he stood and backed up to rest against the edge of his, no doubt antique, desk. “And here I was thinking you’d be more grateful. If you’d continued in that job you’d have died of boredom, milyy. Just think. I’ve actually saved you.” He took another sip of his drink, observing you and you wanted to shrink under his gaze - you had to look a mess.

Your evening gown, which had looked stunning on you when you’d gotten ready for this op, was now torn and filthy. Your nail polish was chipped, a couple of the nails torn, and no doubt your makeup was smeared across your face. Somewhere along the line, you’d lost your shoes, or had they been taken from you? Admittedly a lot of it was a blur and you’d also been unconscious for some time, only waking up once you were here, tied to this chair, a smirking Barnes looking down on you.

Conversely, he looked so put together it should be illegal. Last night he’d smouldered in a dinner suit, but this morning he exuded power and danger. His shirt was black, with two opened buttons, showing off the silver rope chain around his neck. His suit jacket and pants were also black but covered with a wide pinstriped check. He had a large signet ring on the pinky of his left hand, and silver and black onyx ring on the adjacent ring finger, and it was hard to take your eyes off them. His pants were tight across his crotch, leaving little to the imagination, and he’d finished off his outfit with a pair of patent black boots and a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses, perched on his head. In a nutshell, he was sex personified and you needed to get your head back in the game before you did something you’d regret.

“You’re deluded, you know that?”

“Focused, Pchelka. Not deluded. I didn’t get where I am now without knowing what I wanted and taking it. And I want you. I think you want me too.”

It was your turn to snort, and you didn’t bother to hide your derision. “In your dreams!”

He was back in front of you in an instant, his beringed fingers curling into the leather chair back, his face millimetres from your own.

“I don’t think I imagined how you trembled when you were in my arms, lyubimyy. When I led you around the dance floor and you felt as though you were made to fit in my embrace. I don’t think I imagined how you sighed and leaned against me as I spoke soft words in your ears.”

Heat burned your cheeks and you tried for some bravado.

“All an act, I assure you. As you know, you were my mark.”

His mouth broke into a feral grin and, for the first time, you were worried. Worried about what he had in store for you… and worried that you might like it.

“You keep telling yourself that. I don’t think you’ll be able to maintain that lie when you’re screaming my name later.”

“I didn’t know your name was Rapist.”

He moved one hand from the back of the chair to rest at the base of your throat, fingers applying just enough pressure to remind you who was in control here.

“Don’t insult both of us, Pchelka. When I take you, you will welcome it. Want it. You will be begging me to make you mine. And I think it will happen sooner than you think.” His voice was a hypnotic whisper, and you could feel yourself spiralling, enchanted by the power that he exuded from every pore, so when he kissed you, you were unprepared.

Barnes used the thumb of the hand he had around your neck to tip your chin up. His pink, sinful lips demanded entry efficiently and you were powerless to resist. His mouth explored yours, tongues tangling, and when he teasingly broke the kiss you were horrified to find that you were whimpering.

Your captor just continued to smile, animalistic and condescending.

“Electric, as I said. You betray yourself without even meaning too. It’s a good thing that I’m a nice man, and I’m not torturing you for information. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

Feelings of anger, shame and embarrassment rose within you. He was right, god damn it. You weren’t cut out for this work. You knew it. He knew it. The people you worked with knew it. Backroom paper shuffling was where you excelled, but there was no way you could’ve turned down the opportunity for undercover work, because success would have meant a level of recognition and respect that you could never have hoped, to gain otherwise, even if the op was a classic, and somewhat demeaning, honey-trap.

You closed your eyes and willed the tears not to fall.

“Please, Mr Barnes. Just let me go. I don’t know anything. Nothing has happened here that can’t be forgotten.”

“Call me Bucky, lyubimaya. And I don’t want to let you go, or forget you. Stay here with me. Leave those narrow-minded idiots you work for. I would treat you with the respect you deserve. And you wouldn’t just be on my arm and in my bed, you would be by my side. You have useful skills that shouldn’t be wasted.”

Your eyes snapped back open and looked at him in surprise and confusion. “What do you mean?”

Barnes - Bucky - ran the knuckles of his left hand down your cheek, the coldness of his rings a balm to your heated flesh. Tattoos peeked out from under his sleeve, twisting and winding down his skin, and onto his fingers. Vines and flowers and thorns. Letters of the Cyrillic alphabet.

“You think that I would bring you here, to the seat of my power if I didn’t already know every… little… thing… about you? I know what your role was before you started this ill-advised op. I know where you lived. I know what cereal you like for breakfast and what your regular coffee order is. You’re always flitting too and fro, concentrating on work. Busy as a bee.”

You weren’t sure why you weren’t shocked, but you asked him all the same. “There’s a mole inside my unit?”

“Of course, Pchelka. There’s always a mole. Always someone who is more than willing to trade loyalty for power and money, or someone who is so desperate that they can be easily persuaded. Desperate people do desperate things, and tell themselves they aren’t really the bad ones, it’s just their circumstances.”

Both his hands had now settled on your waist, the size of them making you feel smaller than you often thought of yourself. Bucky himself was still on his knees, between your bound, spread legs, his torso virtually pressed against your inner thighs. You absently noticed that the knife you’d placed in a thigh holder was missing. No doubt Bucky or his men had found it almost straight away once you’d been rendered unconscious. You hoped it had been the man in front of you - the idea of being touched in such an intimate place by someone other than him was abhorrent. A part of you wondered why you didn’t think that him touching you was also horrifying.

“And which one do you think I am? Disloyal or desperate?” You arched your brow, trying to ignore the way his fingers were branding you through the satin of your dress.

“You, milyy, are a secret third thing. You are an intelligent woman, who makes decisions based on all the information available. It’s not disloyalty if you’ve been betrayed first. It’s also not desperation that would make you join me if I have no pressure point - no sick aunt, no cousin in debt to a loan shark, that sort of thing. If you joined me it would be because you wanted to. Because you saw the merits of such an action.”

You had to admit, his offer was tempting. You hated your job and you hated your co-workers. It was still a ‘boy’s club’ and all the inclusion and diversity training in the world couldn’t counteract the toxic masculinity that the job attracted. You hated that, despite putting up with this job for so many years, you were still living in a crappy apartment with too long a commute to work.. You hated that, despite the fact you never even got around to taking your PTO, you also weren’t making any decent deposits into your savings account. Okay, you weren’t quite living paycheck to paycheck, but you were by no means where you thought you’d be by now.

The long hours also meant little time to socialise, and the friends you’d once had, had all dropped away one by one as you’d cancelled one social engagement after another. This also meant that your love life was, as the song goes, DOA, and after a while, all the toys in the world failed to satisfy. Which also meant that the feeling of soft, expensive wool, encasing a warm, hard body, rubbing against your inner thighs was upsetting your equilibrium quite a bit.

Then, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, his face dipped closer again, his breath, tinged with whisky, fanning over you.

“Imagine how it would feel, Pchelka. The power. The pleasure. You’d want for nothing. Every need would be met. Every whim indulged.”

It was your turn to shiver and as your eyes fluttered closed again you heard him chuckle.

“You want it, don’t you. You want me and everything I can give you. It’s okay to want those things. I want things as well. I want you, lyubimyy. I’ve waited a long time for a Queen.”

“You don’t know me…” Your denial was whispered, and even you didn’t believe what you’d said.

“But I do. I know exactly what you need...”

His lips captured yours once more, but this time you didn’t even pretend not to respond. You drank him in as though he would quench your thirst and you only remembered your bonds again when your body strained against them. Your knees managed to dig into his waist though, and you felt him smile against your lips.

His hands slid from your waist, to one wrist and then the other, freeing them. You threw your arms around his neck, not even trying to get away. In any case, your ankles were still bound.

Your fingers brushed over the short hair on the sides and back of his head, the strands prickling your skin. His own hands were now cupping your face as he continued to kiss you, and you knew what was going to happen. You were falling under his spell.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel

#hot bucky summer #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky #late writes

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lovelyinconsistentices · 5 months

Text

➴ 𝚂𝙲𝙾𝚃𝚃 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙼

I really want to do some Scott Pilgrim takes off writing requests, but I'm anxious to write so let's try to get rid of such anxiety! Please request as much as you want, I'll make a list of characters I'll write for now as there are some I feel like I wouldn't write well enough or need to read more about to get more of a feel for their character. I write for all genders and I'll write for poc readers as well, any ideas you want for the reader to be like are welcome!

➴ 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴.

⸙ Fluff and Angst, any genres really. I've rarely written angst but want to write it, so I'll try my best!

⸙ Poc readers, do note that I am not poc but I will make sure to do my research before writing. I have a few tumblers I know of that I will use for helping me write poc readers, I'm sure my friend would also be glad to help educate me as well! Criticism and feedback are welcome. ^^

⸙ Readers of all gender, but it depends on the character I'm writing for. If a character is canonically gay please do not request for something romance based with that character if you're the opposite gender as I'm not comfortable with that, an example would be Wallace Wells.

⸙ You can suggest all kinds of things for how you want the reader to be, occupation, hobbies, aesthetics/styles, food taste, personality type, whatever you want and I'll do my best to write it.

⸙ I will write headcannons, prompts and fics!

⸙ I'm more used to writing in third person but I know most reader fics are in second-person, so I'll write a second-person version and third-person version! This is the same for genders, if I really like a fic. I'll write multiple versions for the gender, following the same plot or prompt but with noticable differences.

⸙ This is for anons, if you'd like to claim an emoji or an assortment of such you can just let me know and I'll keep it reserved. Might make an anon page as well!

⸙ I've been thinking about making a Scott Pilgrim OC and writing about them, would you like to read about them? If you do end up liking them I'd love to write x readers with them and stuff, just let me know. (Just something I wanted to mention!)

➴ 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴.

⸙ I will not write nsfw, it's just I don't think I'd be very good at writing it and I'm uncomfortable. Maybe in the future but for now please do not request nsfw from me, there could be mentions of certain things or hints at it. I'm perfectly fine with it, as long as it's subtle.

⸙ No incest, huge ages gaps, or anything of the sort. I don't expect any requests like that but just to be careful!

➴ 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂

ˏˋ ╎𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽

𝚂𝙲𝙾𝚃𝚃 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙼

Not a big fan of Scott, but I'll still write for him. Who knows maybe I'll make a reader who's a Scott hater for shits and giggles, I have Idea's for an oc and If I do write about him you'll see a lot of him taking jabs at Scott and questioning why Ramona even likes him.

𝚁𝙰𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰 𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂

I have a lot of ideas, like perhaps a reader being an evil ex and stuff. I guess that could be spoilers for my oc, since I'm making him an ex! I also want to write a fic with the reader helping Ramona dye her hair and enjoying tea while doing so.

𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻𝚂

I'll definitely write for Wallace and do my best to portray him, as stated I'll only do romance for male and ftm readers. I could make fics with a female reader that are extremely platonic, friends and stuff. Or a sister reader, maybe Wallace having a sister who loves gossiping with Stacy and Wallace!

ˏˋ ╎𝚂𝙴𝚇 𝙱𝙾𝙱-𝙾𝙼𝙱

𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚂

I read something and saw how Stephen ends up getting a boyfriend in the novels, so I don't know if he's gay or bisexual since he dated Julie last time I checked. I've seen comments about him being gay, so male and ftm readers only!

𝙺𝙸𝙼 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙴

Her and Roxy kissing was woah, agh I love them both. I really want to write a drummer reader that could perhaps have some time of rivalry with her, an enemies to lovers fic.

𝚈𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙶 𝙽𝙴𝙸𝙻

I have some cute idea's, I can't wait to write him along with everyone else. I feel like he'd be the type to see someone and fall in love with them instantly, like perhaps reader is in a rival band and they're really good. He's instantly amazed by their skills and finds himself developing a crush on them!

𝙺𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚄

I'd love to write for her, lots of cute fluff and things of the sort. Especially like helping her paint her nails, sleepovers and gossiping, arcade dates and things of the sort!

ˏˋ ╎𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙻 𝙴𝚇𝙴𝚂

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚆 𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙻

Agh, Matthew! I'd love to write for him, I have some idea's. Like reader being an assistant and trying to do their best to help Matthew balance all this work that has now fallen into his hands because he did not think about all the responsibilities to come before he defeated Gideon, ooh also reader who was a band kid and matches Matthews energy!

𝙻𝚄𝙲𝙰𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙴

I'm scared I might not write him good enough, mainly for dialogue. But I do want to write for Lucas, I might only write for him when requested for a bit until I get more of a feel for his dialogue as well character, and once I get confident enough to write him!

𝚃𝙾𝙳𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙼

Our favorite Vegan boy, I'd love to write for him. Maybe, something like Reader helping him after the realization of what happened with Wallace. Having to comfort him and stuff, also could have Reader as a band mate or something!

𝙴𝙽𝚅𝚈 𝙰𝙳𝙰𝙼𝚂

Could we possibly consider her an evil ex? I decided to put her in this category because of that but anyways, but yes I'll write for her! Envy is so muah, had anyone seen that one image with the two girls doing each other's makeup. Envy sitting on top of Reader's and doing their makeup, or the other way around. Agh, I find that just so cute!

𝚁𝙾𝚇𝚈 𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁

Female readers for romance only, but I'd love to write for her and omg can't wait. I'm so excited, I don't have a lot of ideas but I'm sure some will come to me for her.

𝙺𝚈𝙻𝙴 & 𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙺𝙰𝚃𝙰𝚈𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙶𝙸

I want to write for Kyle and Ken so much, sadly we don't get enough screentime for the two but still I'm gonna write as much as I can for the twins. I read something about how the twins don't like doing things separately or being separated after what happened with Ramona so that gave me some Idea's, maybe having a reader they can finally trust.

Definitely will write separate fics for Kyle and Ken where they meet the reader, and after a while come to trust them as well develop feelings. I'll also happily do fics for both of the twins and reader pairing, strictly platonic fluff. Ooh, maybe an older or younger sibling that they're very protective of!

𝙶𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚂

Before he lost everything version. My favorite and I'm sure a lot of others favorite evil mastermind, I have some ideas and would love to write about him. He grew to be my favorite in the show, as for the movie it was Matthew who was my first favorite ex along with Roxy. I've been loving all of the exes even more lately, especially the twins. So I can't wait to write for all of them!

ˏˋ ╎𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂

𝙶𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝚂𝙴

After loosing everything and meeting Julie again. So I have him twice on this list but that's because Gideon ends up using his old name again, leaving the fake alias behind. So I decided to have the version of him before that and after!

𝙹𝚄𝙻𝙸𝙴 𝙿𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂

The anime giving us more of Julie was everything, she's so agh and I'd happily write for her if there's people out there who would want oneshots for her!

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙲𝙴𝚈 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙼

We don't get a lot of Stacey last time I checked, but she's quite lovely. I love the idea of her and reader gossiping, maybe reader being her coworker. Or Reader being a Pilgrim sibling and the two love poking fun at Scott as well gossiping, platonic fluff!

𝙰𝙻𝙻

Oneshots, headcannons and things of the sort for all the characters. I'll also be posting oneshots and things of the sort with the separate groups in the future, like reader hanging out with Sex Bob-omb or The league of evil exes. Things like that.

Please let me know if I'm missing anyone or there's any characters I might not have and you want to request them, I have not read the graphic novels as of now as I don't have the money to buy them but in the future I definitely will when I get the chance! (Also, if there's any spelling errors. My apologies!)

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wndaswife · 1 year

Note

holaaa! for the celebration: 54, 116 and 117 from the smut prompt list? and is it possible to do it with the dom possessive wanda from your teachers pet fic?

wanda maximoff & fem!reader

tags: smut, fluff, jealous and possessive behaviour, praise, cunnilingus, mommy kink, dom!teacher's pet!wanda maximoff, sub!reader

word count: 1662

a/n: messed with the original fic’s timeline a little bit for the sake of this one!

teacher's pet

“Next month’s your last month with us, isn’t it?” Pepper asks, peeling open the top of her cup of yogurt.

You nod after swallowing a mouthful of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich Wanda made for you before you left the house together that morning. Along with the sandwich, she packed you a medley of cut vegetables and fruits that were always decorated in some shape of an animal.

Natasha speaks as she’s leaning back in her seat, chair tipping backwards dangerously, “No way. It’s been, what, just a few months since you started here, right?”

“That’s how long internships usually are. And Y/N came here during the beginning of this semester. We were very lucky,” Maria says.

You flush. You had been the lucky one, truly, to have been able to work at the high school. Through your teacher’s assistant position here, you were able to meet your girlfriend and some of your close friends. “I’ve really enjoyed working here,” you comment, fiddling with a slice of strawberry with your fork.

A hand is suddenly placed on your thigh under the staff room lunch table, and when you turn, Agatha is smiling at you. You hadn’t been able to transfer to Wanda’s classroom to assist her instead of Agatha. Your position under Agatha was always a sensitive topic for Wanda, and she took you away from her at every moment she could. Lunch was always spent with Wanda, whether in her classroom or elsewhere, and you always left as soon as you could once class ended, otherwise Wanda would come and take you with her by force if Agatha had held you back.

“We’ve enjoyed having you here too, Y/N,” Agatha tells you. Fingers squeeze around your upper thigh.

At that very moment, the door to the staff room opens and Wanda walks in, a tumbler of hot coffee and a container of lunch in-hand. Her eyes rake over the women at the table, lingering on Agatha for several moments, before she walks over to you with a smile forming.

You're confused when she sets her lunch down between you and Agatha and you look back to see Wanda pulling a chair out from the table behind and forcing it between you and her. Your arm jerks back to avoid getting hit by the chair. Agatha does the same.

“Wanda,” Pepper greets with a smile as she watches her push Agatha away from you.

Wanda nods at her in polite acknowledgment before turning to you with the first real smile since she’s stepped into the staff room. “Do you like the lunch I made you?” she asks. You nod and she smiles wider, appreciatively.

The end of the day comes quickly after you spend lunch with Wanda. There’s something you love so much about walking down the halls with her, especially when going home. She wraps an arm around your hips or takes your hand with hers while she asks you what you want for dinner or if you want to go out together. You’ve grown to love that kind of domesticity with her.

Agatha’s voice interrupts your daydreaming about your girlfriend while you’re packing your bag, “Come here for a moment, Y/N.” You turn to her, and then Wanda’s classroom across the hall. “Don’t worry. It’ll be quick,” she adds, and you lay your bag down and around the desks to her.

Her body turns to you when you stand by her desk, her fingers tapping absently atop it. “I take it you’ve gone public with Wanda, have you?” she inquires, though it feels more like an interrogation.

Wanda’s rants about Agatha repeat in your mind as you contemplate answering her about your relationship. She had said that Agatha had no place in your relationship, and she was always one to be judgemental about her. They’d been close friends once before, and you wonder if Agatha was genuinely curious about Wanda’s relationship.

You nod finally, hesitantly. When Agatha laughs, goosebumps run up your arms. How could you escape her criticism once it starts? You imagined Wanda reprimanding you on your way home and you sinking into the passenger's seat, apologising profusely. What would you tell her after she’d warned you plenty?

“And how is that going, darling?” Agatha asks after her laughing had ceased enough for her to talk. “She’s treating you well?” You cannot tell if she is mocking you, which makes you all the more desperate to flee.

“She treats me well,” you answer meekly. You will Wanda to come into the classroom and pull you away, hoping she’d hear your thoughts somehow.

What looks like a restrained smirk pulls at Agatha’s lips. It would only be a few more weeks until summer break, then you’d get to spend the next few months with Wanda, and Wanda only. You envision your summer together as you distract yourself from Agatha’s teasing.

“Wanda’s gone through plenty of young girls in her life, Y/N. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re just another one of her toys,” Agatha tells you. The words make your head rise from the foot of her desk to her face.

You protest immediately, “I’m not Wanda’s toy.”

The brunette steps towards you. “Are you certain about that, darling? You know, with me, you’d never have to doubt anything. I’d treat you well, baby.”

Suddenly, your shoulders raise and you step back from Agatha, hostility rising up in you. You tell her sternly, “I don’t like that. I love working here and I love Wanda. I want a professional relationship between the two of us and that’s all.” You don’t realise your voice was raised until the moment you stop speaking and feel a strain in your throat.

“Is there a problem here?” a voice snaps from behind you. You turn around and find Wanda standing at the door. A dozen weights lift from your shoulders and you round the table between Agatha’s desk and the door, taking your bag and joining her side.

“Everything’s alright here, sweetness,” Agatha replies, her voice sickly sweet.

Wanda takes your wrist and pulls you behind her. “Agatha,” she starts, her voice so cold it makes you shiver, “if I ever see you badgering Y/N again, I’m going to send a report for sexual harassment to Rogers and have you fired. Leave Y/N alone.”

She pulls the door away from the adjacent wall and slams it shut, causing you to bury your face against her back. Wanda turns to wrap an arm around your shoulders as the two of you head back to her classroom and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have her bother you,” you say into her side as you squeeze your arms around her waist. Her classroom door shuts behind the two of you quietly. “It’s my fault. I knew what you told me and I still gave into her.”

Without warning, Wanda leans down to kiss you, your back pushed up against her classroom door harshly. The act brings back memories to the first time the two of you kissed all those months ago. “Not your fault, precious angel,” Wanda utters against the crook of your neck. “She’s a bitch. I shouldn’t have left my sensitive little baby alone with her.” Her tongue darts out to run up your warm skin. “I just hope you don’t forget who you belong to, hm?”

“I would never,” you answer her, screwing your eyes shut to restrain your moans. “W-Wanda, please, we’re still at work.”

“You’re the one who got me worked up, so let’s have some fun,” she chuckles in response and sucks at the lobe of your ear gently.

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

“I heard what you were saying before I interrupted,” Wanda says and lifts her head to trail kisses up your cheeks, then to your temples, then down the bridge of your nose to your lips. “You were so sexy defending mommy like that.” Your cheeks flush a light pink and Wanda laughs at the sight.

You stutter for a response and place your hands on Wanda’s hips. She parts from your lips just enough so she can flick the tip of her tongue against them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel really good,” Wanda assures and nips at the tip of your nose teasingly. She places her hands on both sides of your waist and lowers herself down to your knees. The sight of your girlfriend on her knees while she eats you out sends warmth through your chest as you recall the first time the two of you fucked in the very classroom.

Her tongue flicks over the hood of your clit before her lips wrap around your sensitive nub, sucking gently as three fingers pumped in and out of your hole, bringing you to your fourth and final orgasm simply with her tongue and fingers. Your legs are nearly about to give out, to turn into jelly as your body melts on top of her.

Wanda wraps her lips around her fingers and sucks your juices from them. She kissed your lips and wrapped her arms around your hips to hold you up. "You were right before, Y/N," she says. "You're not a toy to me. I love you so much. You'll always be my special baby."

You don’t hesitate even a moment before responding with, “I love you too.”

You help Wanda pack her things before she locks her classroom up and walks down the hallways with you hand-in-hand. She swings your arm forward and back, your shoulders brushing as you walk beside each other.

“What are you thinking for dinner, baby?” Wanda asks you.

After a moment of consideration, you reply, “Balsamic bruschetta?”

“Done. Let’s make a stop at the grocery store before we go home.” She presses a kiss to your cheek when the two of you reach the parking lot and step into her red Buick.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #mommy wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #1k celebration ♪( ´▽｀)

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lvndrlondonfog · 2 months

Note

ok so basically I saw your post asking for prompts and I have been thinking for days about cat good omens . again. let me explain

so a while back I wrote a super fucking long cat omens fic (long for me at least) where they’re stray cats, it’s called strays on the street, almost 60k words. BUT in my head is ANOTHER CAT AU where they are warrior cats ok idk if you’ve ever read those books but there’s hundreds of them and they’re about clans of cats who fight and hunt and fuck and it’s crazy and not child appropriate. I was reading cats get mauled and give birth graphically in 2nd grade but anyway I WANNA READ THEM AS WARIROR CATS OR WRITE IT MAYBE?? Cuz all I’ve written is this snippet from my notes app from weeks ago

/ “I’m sorry,” Serpentfang gurgled, his eyes rolling back in his head, his paws convulsing as he tried to reach for Angelwing. But the white tom stepped back. /

NO CONTETX NOTHING IDK WHAT

but anyway i also need more fanart and fic of crowley with greying hair. same with azi tbh but especially Crowley i want them growing old together in the sense that they don’t have to grow old but they choose to :) ))) also i want an au where crowley becomes Duke of hell post s2 just to send petty notes through heavens administration

SORRY MY ADHD DOES NOT LET ME HAVE A STRAIFHT LINE OF THOUGHT AJSSJDK anyway i am all for new tumblerers and if you have an ao3 or something id love to follow it incase you do write or post anything! <3 random ideas to shoot at ya: sailor aziraphale x siren Crowley, crowley pretending to date furfur post s2 to get supreme archangel aziraphale’s attention, muriel trying to get Crowley and aziraphale back together PARENT TRAP STYLE, orrrr yknow what sweet and fluffy aziraphale reading and drinking tea in south downs cottage while snake Crowley listens to him read aloud and sips from his cup with his silly forked tongue

GO CRAZY (and also be my mutual? 💍)

OH ABSOLUTELY. Warriors cats was my SHIT growing up, and sosososos many ideas I cannot thank you enough: I’ll link one of my fics below and I just started writing so they aren’t AMAZING but decent I think still!!! Ones about Angel Crowley finding inspiration for the entire universe after one (1) passing glance at a specific Angel and the other about Crowley struggling a bit after the fall, past angst but wings and fluff!!!

THOUGH I ABSOLUTELY GET ZERO STRAIGHT LINES OF THOUGH FELLOW ADHDER SO LEMME SEE IF I CAN RESPOND TO ALL OF THESE AKFKRLS

So basically I have also thought about warrior cats au before and BASICALLY

Crowley is a dark forest cat (kicked out like Ashfur) and Aziraphale is a Starclan cat!!!! Remember in the first books when they have to move from the original forest bc it was getting chopped down? Instead of moving, Starclan saw no way out of that and was like “what if they all just die instead than problem solved and we never have to worry about issues ever again?”

Crowley and Aziraphale are obviously like NO THATS A BAD IDEA and after an accidental meeting at the foggy border between Starclan and the dark forest, they are both elected by their respective forces to take over two clan’s medicine cat’s bodies and make sure that the 9 layers of Armageddon that Starclan is sending to wipe out the clans will go through. Instead, they try to thwart things while each dealing with clan life once again, and of course, shenanigans ensue!

Okay growing older I literally love the idea of as they drift further from their respective sides, they lose more and more of their ethereal powers, but it means they can be together and be left alone. While it’s a sacrifice that they’re both willing to make, it does come with some unintended side effects (mostly for Crowley; human bodies don’t tend to handle a million year free-style dives into pits of boiling sulphur too well) but they again find ways. Essentially a lot of fluff post-Armageddon’t and s2 in the South Downs Cottage????

And thirdly what if post S2, Crowley doesn’t really know what to do with himself but he’s PISSED. And there is no more “their” side, only Crowley’s side and he’s not exactly thrilled to be back alone. He has nothing else to do and he wants petty revenge, so he matched Aziraphale’s position as Supreme Archangel as a Duke Of Hell, mainly as an excuse to fuck with Aziraphale and make sure that Aziraphale won’t be able to forget about him any time soon, because Crowley certainly hasn’t thought about him.

AND TWO SPLIT ROUTES ONE ANGST ONE CRACK

1) With nobody left on Earth, Crowley and Aziraphale are out of the loop and before they realize it, the second coming had happened. Earth is dead, and Heaven and Hell are preparing for war once again. Meeting on the battlefields, each full of anger and with nothing left to go back to, what will happen? Either they fight and one accidentally wounds the other before they’re both like OH SHIT WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS IS STUPID MISTAKES HAVE BEEN MADE or one is hurt by the enemy side and found by the other; how do they stick together when no place is safe anymore?

OR NOT HORREDNOUS ANGST

2) Crowley finds out about the second coming, which he doesn’t think Aziraphale knows about, and vice Versa. Cue notes with ridiculous clues and stupid Spelling Things Out with random capitals to send a message, and completely obliviousness on both sides because they’re too desperate to get their own sides across that they don’t even stop to consider that the other may Also be trying to send a message. Cue increasingly grand gestures from both sides before Aziraphale shows up at Crowley’s office holding the Son of God, and they have to figure out how to stop the second coming while finding out ways to acknowledge the emotional damage they both still carry from their last meeting in the bookshop

Sailor x Siren writes itself: maybe shipwrecked Aziraphale finds Very Almost Miraculously Convenient things on this abandonded island that he’s trying to survive on, before one night he finds a certain someone repairing the broken boat little by little. They get scared off before they can talk but Azi leaves an offering back, and cue not-meeting-but-absolutely-communicating until actual meeting than bam! Eventually they both realize that there’s nobody getting him off this island and the ultimate choice for Aziraphale to drown and become a siren too, he takes the offer and is literally just held by siren!Crowley as he takes his last breath and a bit of suspense before BOOM REBORN HAPPY ENDING YIPEE!!

Than dating Furfur to cause jealousy, specifically knowing how similar the two can look, Crowley makes it VERY obvious that he’s complimenting and highlighting all the similar traits of Aziraphale but TO SOMEONE ELSE. Aziraphale refuses to directly confront but cue more and more aggressive signs from the heavens that try to break them apart that Crowley keeps spinning into good things. Aziraphale convinces Muriel child-of-divorce style to miraculously decorate the bookshop that Crowley had been living in to an EXTREME for Valentine’s Day, and Crowley spins it into ‘I did this myself’ for FurFur. Eventually, Aziraphale gets so spun up that he can no longer focus on the planning (or thwarting) of the second coming and gets so pissed with Crowley little shithead antics that he leaves the rambunctious 10 yo son of Christ at the door, with a small note reading something along the lines of ‘Fine, deal with this yourself than; PS this is Jesus!’ And the exact opposite silence, Crowley flailing to win Aziraphale’s good graces and communicate with him, handling Jesus, and dealing with some growing guilt after Furfur genuinely seemed to become attached. Not sure how this would end, but probably Crowley working through everything on his own, separate sides angst, alternating POV chapters, and they ultimately team up again to solve all the issues

Also for Parent trap Au: Muriel and the Bentley power-duo: Crowley’s depressed so Muriel can use the Bentley, and it drives Muriel places and hints at what to do next ect ect while Muriel figures out human stuff, romance, heaven, and after numerous failed attempts- a happy ending for the wonderous Mr.Fell and Mr.Crowley who had taken her in before!

Also Absolutely Dyslexic Crowley having pretended to just really hate books for the longest time, but Aziraphale eventually noticed that Crowley struggles to read menus and other stuff too- just poor eyesight and with knowledge being the root of the original sin, heaven found it quite ironic to block that in more than a few ways for the very demons who perpetuate sin! Confrontation, and eventually Crowley gives in and cue absolute fluff; Aziraphale reads and finds a new side of Crowley, who despite what he had spent many years convincing himself, actually ends up enjoying various things and even asking further questions and speculating and thinking about things (which Aziraphale is more than thrilled about to finally have someone to discuss with!)

Also I am currently on SOS Internet on the drive home, so I can’t risk opening a new webpage lest everything is risked but my Ao3 is LvndrLemonade! Top two fics are what I was talking about earlier and I will absolutely keep you updated on these ideas!!!!!!!!! Thank you for allowing me to yell I love all of tjeese sosososso much oh my god

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable #ineffable idiots #au #good omens au #fanfic #good omens fanfic #ideas #prompts #oh my god I’m so sorry this is so long #though not really sorry #GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK ARE THESE DECENT IDEAS PLEASE

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choicesficwriterscreations · 6 months

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November News!

Hey Fandom! Just wanted to keep you up to date on some things going on at CFWC.

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Prompts and rules for the Holiday Celebration will be posted this weekend to allow you time to prepare your creations! Prize information will also be included, so stay tuned!

For newcomers, this is a link to our 2022 Tumbler Top 3 and Creator's Top 3 masterlists. It's a way for you to look back and highlight our most popular and favorite creations of the past year, then share them with our Choices community. In 2023, this will be open to artists and writers. Information will be posted in early December.

If you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to shoot us an ask!

#choices fic writers creations #playchoices #choices stories you play #blades of light and shadow #crimes of passion #crimes of passion choices #open heart #open heart choices #the royal romance #the royal romance choices #immortal desires #wake the dead #wake the dead choices #perfect match #red carpet diaries #nightbound #nightbound choices #it lives anthology #the elementalists

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deanwinchesterswitch · 3 months

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Forever's a Long Time

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader

Summary: Rick made a mistake. Before he has a chance to fix it, he’s called away on a mission.

Warnings: Flangst; Canon divergence

Word Count: 3,523

Beta: None. I have no idea why I decided to die a warrior writer on this one, but here we are.

Author Notes: A long overdue ask and my first-ever Rick Flag fic. Once I got into the meat of this, I had a lot of fun writing it. Prompts were Rick Flag-Music-Making up

He fucked up big time.

He was supposed to meet you at the concert, but he’d run into some of his old army buddies. They’d persuaded him to join them for a drink at a nearby bar. One drink turned into two, two into three, and before he knew it, almost four hours had passed.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the significance of the day or where he was supposed to be. It was that he had just lost track of time. When he finally makes it to the arena, your seat is empty. He waits for a bit, hoping you’ve simply gone to get a drink or to the bathroom. After several minutes, he admits defeat, stomach muscles rippling with tension, realizing you aren’t coming back.

Breaking every speed limit to race home, he worries that this time might be the proverbial straw and you will leave. He drops his bag at the front door and hurries down the hallway to find you sitting on the end of the bed, crying. The simultaneous hit of relief and guilt makes his heart painfully clench. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims, a lump forming in his throat when you flinch hearing his voice.

“Just… leave me alone.”.

“Babe…”

“Go away!” you shout, turning away from him.

“Please, let me explain,” he begs.

“Go.” Your voice is thick and muffled, your body shaking as you sob.

Rick hesitates, wanting to go to you, fall to his knees, and beg your forgiveness, but the pain and anger in your tone is heartbreakingly clear. Any attempt to get you to listen to him now will only result in him screwing up further. He gently shuts the door behind him, making his way to the small bar in the living room.

He pours a hefty amount of scotch into a tumbler, gulping down half the contents in one go. Seconds after the smoky sweetness hits his taste buds, he turns and hefts the drink into the fireplace. “I’m a goddamn idiot,” he berates as glass shards and amber liquid reign down, sinking into cold ash.

The phone that vibrates in his pocket angers him further. He knows who’s calling before he even looks at the screen. She always has the worst possible timing. Turning to stare into the inky darkness beyond the window behind the bar, he answers the call with a fierce, “What do you want?”

Twenty minutes later, hands gripping the frame, he presses his forehead to the bedroom door …debating. He agreed to go on the mission. Honestly, he never has much of a choice with Waller, but this time, he called in—no, demanded—a favor in return. Even though she owes him, he knows he will end up paying for it in some way, but he doesn’t care if the outcome is what he’s hoping for.

The concern now is you. There are a couple of ways this will go, and he’s afraid of the worst.

While you have every right to be, you’ve never been this angry with him. If he tells you he’s leaving on a mission before things are settled between you, it could cause an even bigger fight. If he doesn’t tell you he’s leaving, the rift it causes could be irreparable.

What he’s hoping for is that by giving you some time and space, he’ll have a better chance of fixing the mess he’s made. Even though he knows that’s a chickenshit excuse he’s trying to convince himself with, he’s out of time. He has to leave.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispers. The sentiment he voices every time he leaves on assignment, except this time, he won’t hear your reply.

After experiencing your first aftermath of a full-fledged mission, you made him promise that no matter what was going on in your relationship at the time, you would always let the other know how much you loved them before he left—an effort to assuage the unspoken fear of him possibly not coming back alive.

A couple of months later, he had to leave again. You weren’t speaking to him then, angry over a stupid comment he’d made. Just as he was ready to walk out the door, you grabbed him, pulling him into a passionate kiss. When you released the death grip on his jacket, lips parting from his, you’d whispered. “Do you know how much I love you? My heart is yours …always.”

He’d stroked your hair, held your face in his hands, kissed your forehead, and said, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Forever’s a long time,” you’d teased back, trying to hide the fear he knew you felt.

Getting caught up in the moment, he’d laughed, “And that’s how long I’ll love you,” but he knew then and there that he’d never said truer words.

After that, the little exchange had become a ritual before he would leave. Today will be the first time those promises won’t be shared.

Pushing off the frame, he steals his heart and closes his mind against the feelings with a deep breath. Grabbing the bag he’d left sitting unpacked in the foyer, he quietly closes the front door, a note left propped against an empty vase on the kitchen island.

Puffy, bloodshot eyes stare back at you, and salty tear tracks stain your cheeks. You’d fallen asleep infuriated but bereft. “How could he forget?” Your dejected reflection has no reply. The only person who can supply that information is him.

After doing your best to clear the remnants of heartbreak from your face, you pull on one of his hoodies and make your way out of the sanctuary of the bedroom. Expecting to find him passed out on the couch or sleeping in the spare bedroom, anxiety hits when you find he’s in neither location.

Finding his note turns the fear to ire, and the vase angrily swept from the counter to shatter like your heart.

After two days of unanswered calls and texts, your emotions running the gamut of rage to heartbreak to fear, then back to anger, you finally settle on remorse. Rick left, with you angry at him. You had each promised that he would never leave without talking first.

You want to continue to be angry with him, furious that he didn’t talk to you before he went out on assignment, but concern for his safety wars with your temper. You had refused to speak to him that night, kicking him out of your shared bedroom. Knowing him the way you do, you assume he felt it best to give you space. It doesn’t make it hurt any less or diminish the fear. If something happens to him during the mission … “NO,” you shout, reprimanding yourself. “He’ll come home safe.”

You know that trying to contact Waller will only increase your frustration—she won’t give you any answers.

Clutching the pillow that still smells like him, you curl into a ball and breathe into the dark silence of the room, “My heart is yours,” crying yourself to sleep for the third night in a row.

With still no word from Rick the following morning, you know you need a distraction, or you will have a nervous breakdown. After calling work to tell them you are taking the week off—you want to be here when he comes home—you decide to clean the house. Having seen the broken glass in the fireplace, you opt to clean that as well, making a thorough mess of yourself and your clothes.

Shutting off the hair dryer, you step out of the bathroom in clean, comfy leggings and one of Rick’s sweatshirts, feeling refreshed and a little less stressed, until the doorbell rings.

As you race to the entryway, your mind immediately latches onto the worst thought. You stop cold, hand hovering over the doorknob, picturing the uniformed men on the other side waiting to deliver that blow to your heart. “No, no, no,” you breathe, “it’s not that. It can’t be that.” You’d know before anyone told you. You would have felt it.

With a deep breath, you turn the knob and yank the door open, startling the person holding a huge arrangement of flowers.

“Oh, hello!” the young man exclaims, handing you the flowers, calling, “Have a good day,” as he rushes back to his delivery van.

Stunned by the size of the bouquet and the swiftness of the whole interaction, your belated “Thank you” is uttered to the rear of the vehicle as it pulls away from the curb.

Luckily, the flowers came in a vase as you’d broken the only one you had large enough to hold them. You shuffle into the kitchen, your nose buried in the fragrant bouquet, smiling as you think about Rick explaining to the florist exactly which flowers to include. Every stem was a species of flower you loved or held a special meaning for the two of you, and each blossom was your favorite color, accented by tiny white petals and greenery.

Setting the arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table, you grab the small envelope nestled in the blooms and sit as you open it. A laugh strangled by a sob catches in your throat at seeing Rick’s handwriting, I’ll love you forever, on the tiny card within.

The relief at knowing he’s alive tamps down the heartache and frustration still simmering within you. Flipping the card between your fingers, you find another message on the back. Pack a bag. A car will arrive in thirty. Glancing at the clock on the stove, you realize you have a little over twenty minutes if you go from the time the flowers arrived.

Jumping up from the chair, you race down the hallway. Yes, the two of you need to talk through what happened the other night, but excitement at seeing him pushes all other emotions aside. Tugging a small suitcase from your closet shelf, you laugh, realizing you have no idea where you’re going or what kind of weather you should pack for.

A peek at the clock on your nightstand tells you that you’re down to fifteen minutes. After quickly changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a top, you toss a few basics into the luggage, hurling curses at the framed picture of him on your dresser for not giving you more time. Shoving your toiletries, passport, and wallet in the bag, you zip it closed and take a look around the room. You’re out of time, so you hope you have what you need, and if not, then you guess you’ll buy it when you get wherever you’re going.

With comfortable footwear in one hand, you roll your bag to the foyer. The doorbell rings just as you drop the shoes to the floor to slip them on. A smartly dressed woman is on the other side, holding a small bouquet of purple calla lilies.

“Hello,” you say, slightly stunned by yet more flowers. Apprehension settles in that he’s trying to compensate for something, hoping to soften a blow not yet delivered.

She greets you with a nod and a smile, “Good morning,” and hands you the flowers as she reaches for your luggage. “Let me get your bag for you.”

“Oh, sure.” You lock the door as she wheels the suitcase toward a large SUV. Asking reveals no destination other than the airport, where upon arrival, you are ushered onto a private plane …alone.

Rick is not aboard, but he seems to have ensured that the crew pampers you, and you wonder how he made this all happen and worry about what it will cost him with Waller. He may have some favors owed to him, but you’re pretty sure nothing of this caliber—another item to add to your growing list of questions.

Your final destination seems to be an off-limits topic. Either the crew genuinely doesn’t know or has been warned not to tell. So you decide to do the only thing you can do—relax and enjoy the luxury, sipping your favorite drink and nibbling on the fresh fruit, cheese, and chocolates from the platter set in front of you.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep and are startled when the flight attendant taps your shoulder to let you know you’ll be landing in twenty. Looking at the time on your phone, you find it’s late afternoon and in a completely different time zone. A peek out the window reveals nothing but clear azure water below. Anticipation and anxiety kick your pulse up. Excitement at finally seeing him mixes with latent anger, so you take a few calming breaths.

Another car awaits you as you exit the plane onto a small landing strip, but still no Rick. You’re heart plummets, and your gut churns. What if this is some elaborate hoax? What if you are being kidnapped and will be held hostage as leverage against Rick? The logical side of your brain knows that the thought is a bit far-fetched, but you dig in your heels anyway.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask the driver waiting for you. “Where’s Rick?”

“I am not at liberty to say, Miss.” You have received the same rehearsed reply from everyone you’ve asked.

Fisting your hands, you widen your stance as Rick taught you, tone demanding as you shout, “I am not going any further until you tell me where I am and where Rick is!”

The man is imposing, a mountain of muscle, so you have to give him credit when he doesn’t laugh, even though a corner of his mouth quirks up. He does stare you down, though, gauging your demeanor for a long moment. “Cute.” With a nod and a wink, he reaches for your suitcase sitting next to you on the tarmac, putting it in the vehicle as he chuckles, “Nice form, though. Flag teach you that?”

Sighing in defeat at the amusement spreading over his features, you unfurl your fists and huff, “At least tell me where we are.”

“Private island.” Opening the front passenger door, he gestures inside. “Now, get in. He’s waiting.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stomp over to the vehicle and climb in. Thankfully, the drive is short as your companion seems to be the strong, silent type—not offering any other information, no matter how annoying you make yourself.

Helping you out of the Jeep, he sets your bag beside you and points to a tree-lined path. “Through there,” are his vague, gruffly given directions before he hops back in the vehicle and speeds off down the road.

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on tipping you,” you yell at the taillights, grumbling as you drag your suitcase behind you, “Gonna file a complaint with customer service is what I’m gonna do.”

Rounding a curve in the path, your eyebrows shoot up as your eyes bulge. “WOW!” Before you is a large stone facade villa. A wood plank veranda seemingly wraps around the entire building, surrounded by palm trees and lush vegetation. Rick still hasn’t made an appearance, and your ire starts to overshadow the peacefulness of your surroundings. Once inside the open-air foyer, you spin in place, taking in the clean lines and understated beauty of the place.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur, staring at the intricately detailed design.

“I agree.”

You spin to face the direction his husky voice came from and drop your gaze from the inlaid teak ceiling to find him leaning against the doorjamb of what appears to be a bedroom. His hair is damp, and a towel slung low on his hips.

“I meant you, by the way.” Pushing himself upright with a shoulder, he smiles. “You’re earlier than I expected, but damn, you’re a sight.” Uncrossing his arms, he opens them wide. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,’ you state, fighting the emotions to keep the tremor from your voice when you catch sight of the large bruise now visible on his left side.

As you get closer, your eyes take stock of his other injuries—the bruised cheek, the cut on his temple almost hidden in his hairline, the split in his bottom lip—reminding you of how dangerous his missions can be. It makes you suspicious of how close you came to losing him this time. “How close?”

He tilts his head with a slight shrug. “Too close,” adding quickly, “but I’m here and only slightly damaged.” He knows better than to try and sugarcoat it because it only makes you angrier, but he still always tries to deflect from the seriousness of any injuries.

Everything you’ve been feeling the past few days converges, driving you to swing your hand up and slap him hard when you’re within reach. Tears immediately well in your eyes, and your chest heaves with each intake of breath.

Rick drops his arms and flexes his jaw. He knows you. He knows how badly he hurt you, how scared you were when you couldn’t reach him, how angry you are for him leaving without talking to you first. His gaze never wavers from yours, but he doesn’t move, seemingly waiting for an onslaught of rage-fueled words or another hit.

But you can’t—the relief of seeing him alive and standing in front of you crests and consumes all other emotions. You bury your face in his chest and wrap your arms around him as you release all your feelings with your tears.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he rasps, cocooning you in his embrace. “So sorry.”

When you’ve calmed enough to look at him, you slip your hands around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, feeling the tension ease from him when you press up on your toes to get closer. When you pull away, he thumbs the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I-”

“No,” you shake your head, letting him know you don’t want to get into it right now. He nods in understanding and gives you a sexy little smirk as he spins the two of you around, backing you into the room.

“So, we have this place to ourselves for the rest of the week.” He grabs something off the small table next to the door, and the room is filled with the low, sultry tune of one of your favorite songs. Next, the lights dim, and candlelit shadows dance on the walls as the sun sinks lower.

“Smooth, Flag.” You gasp when he spins you away from him and giggle when he twirls you back into his embrace. “Very smooth.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he dances the two of you around the room, getting lost in the music, his scent, and the feeling of his skin against yours. Talking can wait until tomorrow. Forgiveness will be found. Tonight, you just want to feel. You’re about to tell him exactly that when he breaks the silence first.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it right now, but-”

“Then shut up.” Your tone is mostly teasing, but he stills, tracing the line of your jaw before gently tilting your head up.

“I want to make it up to you.” He steps back, slipping his hands under your shirt, and you don’t resist when he pushes it up and off your body. Large hands smooth down your sides, fingers deftly undoing your jeans, working them down your legs until you can kick free of them. “Show you how sorry I am.”

“Then show me,” you pout.

He runs a finger under your bra strap before hooking it around the elastic and tugging the fabric off your shoulder. “I think you’re still a little overdressed, darlin’.” He slips the other strap off your shoulder, kissing along your clavicle.

Reaching behind your back, you unclasp the bra and let it fall to the floor. You don’t realize how close you are to the bed until he pushes a thigh between your legs and leans forward, falling with you onto the mattress. He lands on a forearm to keep from crushing you but grips your wrist with his free hand, pushing it above your head.

A salacious smile follows a sweet kiss to your forehead right before he nips your chin. Sliding over your body, he kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your belly button, the scruff on his chin tickling your flesh. Before he can go further, you grip the nape of his neck and tug.

The twinkle in his adoring gaze when he rests his chin on your stomach momentarily steals the words from your lips. Breath hitches as you ghost a finger near the cut at his temple, tears well as the pads of your fingers gently glide over his bruised cheek, lips tremble when your thumb drifts lightly over his damaged lip. He releases your wrist, entwining his fingers with yours, and you find your voice again.

“I’ll love you forever,” you manage to breathe.

He arches a brow, a silent inquiry for stealing his line, but replies with a smile, “Forever’s a long time.”

You smile in return, squeezing his hand. “And that’s how long I’ll love you.”

@princessmisery666

#dw's witch writes #rick flag x female reader #dc universe #021424

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

My Brother’s Keeper

Chapter 4

Summary: Y/N, Sam’s roommate, so far have a pretty good thing going. Both work and function around one another well. What happens when his big brother comes down for the holidays with his mysterious past, mixed with Sam’s own mysterious previous life? Can Y/N and the grumpy older brother find a way to get along? Or will it be a not so happy holidays at the Winchester house?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Sized!Reader x Sam

Word Count: 2k

Prompt: Photographer AU

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Rating: Mature (because of future chapters, this story is 18 + only, and not fit for minor consumption.)

Warnings: It’s getting warmer... Inside at least...

A/N: This is the first Christmas fic I have written in a long time! You guys will get this one real time, and I hope to finish it before New Years! Fingers crossed! Anyways, This fic is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my won! Feedback is golden! My work is 18+ only! No minors! Thanks so much for reading!

Main Masterlist

Your POV:

"Oh my God that's fucking terrible," Sam coughed as he sat the clear glass tumbler down on the well-worn coffee table on front of him and held his hands up in surrender.

"The two of you are fucking nuts, how do you drink that shit?" Sam questions as Dean and Y/N collapse back onto the old, well-worn sectional in a fit of laughter.

"Well, you did make Sammy," Dean chuckled as he sat his own glass of eggnog down next to Sam's.

"Also," Y/N chimed in just after swallowing down the rest of the contents of her glass. "I think it's safe to say I murdered my liver years ago and I'm just living on borrowed time anyway."

"You and me both," Dean's agreement came from the couch behind her as she made her way over to place what she was sure was the last glass ornament on the Christmas tree that now stood proud in front of the bay windows in the living room.

"Well, this has been fun," Sam announced with the sudden clap of his hands on his jean clad thighs, "but I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Oh come on lightweight?" Y/N teased, knowing good and goddamn well Sam could drink her under the table. She just liked to yank his chain.

Dean cackled at what surely was Sam's famous disgruntled puppy expression.

"Tomorrow, me, you, Dean, whiskey poker. I can drink you all into alcohol poisoning," Sam said, making a pointed poke at each warm body in the room before stalking off to his room to retire for the evening.

"Night bitch!" Dean called over his shoulder just as the bedroom door closed, and if she wasn't mistaken, she could have sworn she heard a muffled, "jerk" come from behind the door.

Y/N was suddenly made very aware that she was found, once again, alone with Dean. It only took microseconds for the anxiety that Sam's horrible eggnog had chased away.

"Well, it's after midnight," Dean said as he got up to pour himself a good three fingers of scotch that Sam had left sitting just above the mantel. "So I guess we can't bust his balls too bad until I drink his ass into the ground tomorrow."

Dean turned and smiled at her. It wasn't a great, giant smile; one she was certain would light up the room if he'd done it. It was just a simple smirk, but it sent a warmer feeling flowing through her vain than any whisky she'd ever drank.

"You're not gonna turn in on me are you?" Dean questioned suddenly. "Come on, stay up for a little while with me. We decorated this dn tree, might as well stare at it for a while."

As if to add emphasis to his request, Dean reached next to him and patted the couch where he'd sat, and she was pretty sure the blush on her already Alcohol flushed face was enough to outshine the Christmas tree. All that aside, and completely out of character for her, her feet complied to his request, mostly without her permission.

She generally sat down on the couch, sure to keep a cushion's distance between them because as attracted to him as she was, and as nice as he seemed to be, she still had a lot of unresolved trust issues from her past, and now they were alone.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself Y/N, seeing as Sam decided I didn't even need to know you existed until now," Dean requested, his thick fingers expertly spinning the glass that sat perched on his knee, something that if she was careful of, she might be completely entrapped by, and unable to focus on the conversation, so she blinked, and forced herself to look away; even though she really didn't want too.

"There's not really all that much to tell," she admitted. "I grew up here in Detroit. Went to business school to learn how to be a secretary because I've always liked to keep things somewhat organized. Covid hit, and I ended up here. That's pretty much it. I've never traveled all over like you and Sam, my life has been pretty boring."

"Boring is a matter of perspective," Dean offered with a shrug. "I would have given anything for that kind of stability in my life."

Y/N looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, but there was a look on his face that told her he was telling the truth. A story in the lines and creases and scares there that was beginning to be told, and damn she would love to hear it.

"How much has Sam told you about our family? You know? Life before he came here?" Dean pressed as a heavy silence fell over the room, and Y/N shook her head as her eyes diverted back to the tree in the room.

"Not much really, and I never asked because I never wanted to pry," she admitted.

Dean nodded, his eyes trailing over her face.

"Dad was uhm… let's just say… in extreme pest control for sake of time. We traveled all over the country, helping people get rid of things that shouldn't be there. Anyway, it was always a different school, different town. Sammy hated it, and I hated it for him. I wanted him to have normalcy, and when dad passed, I spiraled a bit, but Sam stuck with me for a while…."

Dean's words trailed away, and Y/N desperately wished she could see the things he was seeing, the pictures and memories his mind were painting for him, but he didn't let the moment linger, instead, he cleared his throat and continued.

"Anyway, traveling isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm glad he has this now, has a friend here with him. It's good for him whether he believes it or not. He calls me bullhead, but he's just as bad sometimes."

"Well, what about you?" She pressed, desperate to learn all she could about the handsome, green eyed man that sat Meer feet from her. The more they talked, the easier it seemed to be. It was strange to her. "What have you been doing since Sam's here now?"

Dean grimaced a little, and she was afraid she'd taken it a step too far in her questions, but to her surprise he answered.

"Now that is a boring answer," he admitted with a chuckle. "I'm a forty-four year old Private Detective that lives alone with a 3 year old rescue dog. I get up, go to work, come home, drink, repeat."

She had never wanted to reach out and hug someone so badly, but she behaved, instead she just got up, and made her way over to pour herself another drink when she heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter behind her, and turned to see Dean's shy smile as he lowered the camera, and placed it back on the small table next to him.

"Oh gosh," she blushed, "don't do that! You will break your camera!"

Dean scoffed as If she'd just said the most preposterous thing, and that surprised her. She had expected him to just laugh at the truth.

"You cut yourself to short sweetheart," he insisted. "I'm just taking advice from someone that gave it to me… taking pictures of things that are beautiful for once."

Dean’s POV:

Dean didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t get enough of seeing Y/N blush. It made his dark little word that much better, just a little bit brighter. He hadn’t felt something like that in so, so long. For years, he’d closed himself off from the world, even Sam. He just thought he’d spiraled when John died, nope. When he’d lost Sarah, the only person he’d ever really let himself fall for, confide in. The only woman who knew everything about him, the good, the bad, and the ugly. He spiraled almost out of control.

The drinking got worse, almost as bad as when he had the mark. The pain was intolerable. It never really went away if he were being honest. Then he met Y/N, and just like that, it didn’t hurt as badly anymore. Just like that, he could breathe again. It should have scared him, but honestly, he’d let himself wallow in this pit long enough, and it was well past time to pull himself up again. Dean wasn’t ever one to give up. Sarah would want him to be happy. Sam needed him to be happy, that much since he’d gotten here had been clear, but more than that HE needed to be happy. Y/N could do that for him, if she were willing, and it was just something he just KNEW.

“You must be one hell of a ladies man, or a damn good liar,” she insisted with a giggle. That’s when he detected it, the little hint of slur in her speech. She wasn’t as sober as he was, and he wasn’t about to take advantage of her, but tomorrow, before the ‘festivities,’ began, he made himself a promise that he’d spend some time getting to know her more, maybe try and wash away some of that self loathing she carried so deeply.

“Just calling it like I see it pretty girl,” he voiced, and she blushed even deeper if that were possible, wrapping her arms around her full breast to try and hide herself from him, and God he wanted to beg her to not hide from him. He wanted to see her, all of her. He’d never been around a woman that captivated him more than her, and it stung that she felt as though she needed to hide herself away from him. He’d never hurt her, he’d die before he hurt her.

“Come on,” he said, standing up suddenly, “you’re a little drunk, and I’m a gentleman, or at least I try to be. Let’s get you to bed, or tomorrow we won't be able to make my brother look like the little bitch he is at Whiskey Poker.”

Unsure, always so unsure, he could tell, but she did it anyway, she stood slowly, lacing her arm around the one he extended.

“Are you seriously about to walk me to my bedroom door?” she questioned with a slightly intoxicated chuckle, and Dean grinned like an idiot. God she was so fucking cute.

“You’re damn right I am sweetheart,” he teased, “you never know what could be lurking in dark corners, besides, like I said, I am a gentleman, what kinda man would I be if I let a lady see herself to bed after keeping her up all night.”

She tossed her head back and laughed at that, and God he wanted to see more of that, NEEDED to see more of that.

“Who said chivalry was dead I guess,” she said as they came to a stop in front of her door, and across from Dean’s, and Dean beamed, inside and out.

“I try,” he agreed, and leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek, mostly because he couldn’t help it, he just had to kiss her, but not on the lips, not tonight. Not while she was a little tipsy. He wasn’t that kinda guy anymore.

She blushed profusely as he backed away, and his own resolve almost wavered as he hovered there. Wanting so badly to kiss her, taste her; but he pulled away, because Dean was going to do this right. He was determined too.

“Goodnight, Dean,” she said after a stunned, somewhat dazed moment.

“Goodnight pretty girl.”

Chapter 5

Forever:

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