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the-hinky-panda · 9 days
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Also… apparently Crush counts as historical fiction because it’s set in the 90s. Just in case anyone else wants to feel old today. 😂
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the-hinky-panda · 10 days
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The Drowning Kind: Part III
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Sean rarely sleeps. His secrets, his plans, always keep his mind in constant motion. Examining all sides of the task at hand, making uneasy alliances with untrustworthy people makes sleeping a luxury. Closing his eyes, being vulnerable, have given him multiple nights of insomnia. 
But not with you. 
The first time the two of you spent the night together, curled up together on the river bank, under a blanket he stashed in the kayak, he was shocked to discover that he had fallen asleep. The stars that he had been staring up at had mostly disappeared, fading away in the early morning light. You, however, were still curled against him, head on his chest, still sleeping soundly. Your ribcage moved under his hand with each breath you took and he realized immediately that he loved you. He would do anything to keep you safe, keep you near him, this little slice of peace and authenticity. 
That was two weeks ago. 
He’s only missed seeing you three nights during that time. He hates to admit this but he’s getting used to sleeping a few hours each night now and finding it harder and harder to do so when you’re not in his arms. Last night was no different, in fact, even more so now that you fixed up this fishing shack and dragged a futon in here. It’s the first time the two of you have slept in anything resembling a bed and even though he can still feel the steel bars digging into his back, he doesn’t want to move a muscle. 
He feels you start to wake up, little shifting movements in an effort to squeeze yourself closer to him. He does move this time, turning slightly so he can run both his hands over your bare skin and bury his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. He can feel you smile, your cheek pressing against his ear as you run your fingers through his hair. 
“Good morning.” 
He hums in response, pressing kisses along the column of your neck. The scent of jasmine and eucalyptus, your scent, fills his nose and he wants nothing more than to carry it with him for the rest of the day. He’s used to keeping secrets but he’s growing tired of keeping this one. The world he sees is nothing but violence and bloodshed. This love has to be hidden and every day that passes, the more that secrecy feels like the real crime. 
Your back arches when he draws one of your nipples into his mouth. Your blunt fingernails dig into his scalp when he drags his tongue over the hardening nub. A moan is ripped from your throat when his teeth graze over it. 
“Fuck, Sean.” 
He slips a hand between your legs and finds you already soaking wet, his fingers sliding easily inside of you. He wonders if he’ll ever get tired of this, of you. His track record has always been spotty at best. Relationships pursued to kill time, boredom, or to create alliances. But then you walked into his life and turned everything on its head. He’s felt a want, a need, that he’s never felt before. You can’t go a day without the water, and he can’t go a day without you. It should put the fear of God into him, having something with such power over him, but it doesn’t. There’s an odd comfort in it actually. 
Your hand wraps around his already hard cock, a steady pressure and stroke. Now it’s his turn to moan. 
“Please, Sean.” 
As if he could deny you anything. He slides his fingers out of you, pulling your leg over his hip. He captures your mouth with his as he enters you, swallowing down your moan. The noises you make, the intensity of your hold on his shoulders, arms, and back lead him to believe that no one ever loved you like this. That this is just as new a sensation to you as it is to him. This is the moment that he realizes you love him. The realization is enough to halt his movements, to stop time long enough for you to release your grip on his shoulders. You end up holding his face gently in his hands, your pupils still wide and black. 
“What’s wrong?” Your voice is breathy, desire drenched but there’s concern bleeding through. Color starts to seep back into your eyes and worry creases your forehead. “Sean?” 
“I love you.” He chokes on the words, this barbed-wire secret that feels like it rips his throat when he speaks it outloud. It’s admitting his greatest weakness and he’s never been comfortable with that. But it’s out there now, handing in the air between you and it seems far more intimate than being buried inside you. He’s shown you his heart. 
Your smile is relieved, beautiful. “I love you, too.” 
And that is Sean Renard’s biggest, most damaging secret he has: he’s fallen in love. 
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the-hinky-panda · 11 days
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I was told not to love him
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You’d been warned about getting involved with Meisner. He’s mission oriented, dedicated to the cause, focused. There’s no room for anything else, for anybody else.
“You scratch an itch.” Sebastian had told you late one night when you were collating the intelligence reports. “He’ll never he able to love you.”
He’s right, you know he is because the name that Meisner calls when he’s fucking you it isn’t yours. It’s hers. The woman he’s fighting for, the one he’s mourning.
It’s why he slips from your sheets in the aftermath, why he won’t look at you, speak to you.
“You don’t realise how much you look like her.” Sebastian says as he drops down into the seat beside you and opens his wallet. The picture he pulls out is creased and faded, it comes from an old polaroid camera. It’s an image of the three of them, Sebastian, Meisner and her, Lyra, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry. “My sister was the love of his life, I’m sorry but he’s never gotten over her death.”
The two of you are similar, the eyes, the lips, the hair…
Yours is a little longer but the colouring is the same. He likes to run his fingers through it as he kisses you, tug it just a little at the height of climax because it makes you moan like a whore.
Now you know it’s not just something you like, she must have liked it as well.
His Lyra, the woman you can never replace.
You leave that night, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as you slip the note underneath his door.
I’m sorry but I can’t be who you want me to be.
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the-hinky-panda · 19 days
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So, FYI you guys, sometimes if you go to your favorite writers and flail at them a lot about how much you love their fics with lots of specific examples, they will let you read thousands of words of their unpublished WIPs and you can flail even more. Also sometimes after that you get to be friends, too, and help them come up with ideas. And vice versa! This is pretty much the best thing in the world and it is called fandom.
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the-hinky-panda · 25 days
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The Drowning Kind Series
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Title: The Drowning Kind
Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.
Part I
Part II
Part III
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the-hinky-panda · 25 days
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The Drowning Kind: Part II
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Title: The Drowning Kind
Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.
There are two things that naiads are experts in: swimming and secrets. 
When you first met Sean Renard, you immediately recognized a fellow secret keeper. Words were used sparsely and with the craft of saying enough but providing no actual information. It was a language that you spoke fluently and his presence soon became the closest thing you ever felt to being home. You didn’t think he felt the same way until you saw the red kayak on the river at ten o’clock at night two days after the close of the case you had offered assistance. 
The late night rendezvous continued for the next two weeks, you floating alongside the boat while conversation flowed, still guarded but slowly unfurling tiny bits of information. You moved from Vancouver for a fresh start. His ancestry was old, traced back hundreds of years from Europe. You were living in a broken down house along the river because that was all you could afford. He was living in a penthouse in Portland. You had taught yourself how to read and write, your village not strong believers in their women being educated. He spoke five languages and had the best education money could buy. 
Slowly, more valuable pieces started to become revealed. His hybrid heritage. Your disfigured hands and feet. His tiring game of playing both ends against the middle to protect the Portland Grimm. Your deep scars of a betrayal from someone you had trusted. He was searching for balance between the two worlds he represented. You were searching for the girl who had dreams and once believed that love was real. 
So you found each other. 
Due to the situation he found himself in, along with a diabolical brother who searched for leverage in every aspect of his life, you understood why this needed to stay a secret. For your protection and everyone else around you, no one could know that you had regained that tiny spark of hope that maybe love wasn’t a myth. You still weren’t convinced of what this was between you two but it was precious enough to protect. And you did, for the first time in a long time, feel truly protected. So you kept the secret. 
“Where are we going?” 
You glance over your shoulder. “What’s the matter, Sean? Don’t you trust me?” 
The smile he gives you is sly, a subtle twist to the side of his mouth. “All I asked is what did you do today. Now you have me on one of the uninhabited islands in the middle of the river. I’m sure you can understand my unease.” 
“I do,” you respond. Trust is hard for both of you after the lives you’ve lived. “It’s worth it, I promise.” 
You found the abandoned fishing shack the same way you find everything, by accident. Growing up along riverbanks and on the edges of lakes in Vancouver, you had more of a need to know the flow of the water and the islands that got in the way of it. You were spending much of your free time learning the same thing here in Portland. That knowledge is what crossed your path with Detectives Burkhart and Griffin. 
A group of college kids who had too much to drink had gone missing after an afternoon of tubing on the river. They unknowingly became prey for some rowdy wendigo and needed to be found ASAP. Burkhart had reached out to the naiad community in the harbor and you had wanted to show your worth to your new community. You didn’t expect to be the one to find them but you did, only one out of the group of seven fell victim to the wendigo. Now, you were the riverway consultant for the Portland PD. 
After your maiming, you were still able to be useful. 
The shack was falling down, abandoned for years. It didn’t take much to patch the small roof or replace the broken board walls. It was meant to be a shelter from the elements, nothing longstanding. There’s no electricity that runs into it so you have to get creative in how to fix it up. Abel and his daughters helped you out by using their fishing boat to bring a futon, small armchair, and a desk. You brought some of your books and candles. You pitched it to them as your retreat but your true intention is to share it with only one other person. 
He takes in the ramshackle little hut with cautious curiosity. “Did you build this?” 
“No, I’m not that talented.” 
You push the door open hesitantly. You had already lit some of the candles, the soft glow flickering off the wooden walls and furniture. It actually looked more inviting than you thought it would. But then you remember the one time you visited his apartment in Portland. The large windows overlooking the city and river. The polished granite counters in the kitchen, the artwork that hung on the walls, and the bottle of wine he was there to pick up. All of it was worth more than anything you had ever seen before in your life. What were you thinking trying to pass this off as something special? 
“I think it’s lovely.” 
You feel heat rise to your cheeks. He’s patronizing you. Making the simple, little naiad believe she had done something magnificent when really he was laughing at you. Words are failing you and you silently stare at your feet until he nudges your shoulder playfully. 
“You going to let me in? Because I really want to investigate something in there.” 
You look around the space wondering what he could be talking about when he picks you up, your arms looping around his neck and your legs wrapping around his waist. You start to ask what it was he wanted to investigate when he takes the opportunity to kiss you. After a long day of not seeing each other, you easily give in to the familiar press of his lips against yours. You hear the door being kicked shut and feel yourself in freefall, stopped when you land on the futon. 
“So,” you ask him from your sprawled position on the blankets, “what exactly did you want to investigate?” 
He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. “I want to see if that futon can hold the both of us.” 
You reach behind your back and untie the crocheted bikini top, tossing it on top of his discarded shirt. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare breasts and suddenly this rehabbed fishing hut doesn’t seem like such a silly secret after all. 
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the-hinky-panda · 25 days
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The Drowning Kind : Part 1
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Title: The Drowning Kind
Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.
“Lots of men want to stay in a boat because they're afraid of drowning. But a mermaid knows: life is just not worth living if you're not ready to drown a few times.”
― C. JoyBell C.
Captain Sean Reynard has many secrets. Some are larger than others. This one is fairly small, relatively speaking. 
He owns a kayak. 
It’s dusty, and hasn't been used in years. He had bought it on a whim, trying to impress a woman long forgotten now, and now he’s thankful for that impulsive purchase. It’s almost eleven at night when he unlatches it from the roof rack of his car and slips the front of it into the water. The moon is full tonight, turning the river silver and the trees on the river bank more gray than black. He’s grabbing the paddle when he hears your footsteps on the soft riverbank. 
“I wasn’t sure if you were making it out tonight,” you say. “Heard it was a rough day in the office.” 
“Rough day in the office means meeting up with you will be a certainty.” 
Your eyes glint in the bright moonlight as you smile at his comment. He still is getting used to having someone genuinely pleased to have him in their presence, no expectations or favors. You’re already dressed in your swimsuit, bare feet, toes curling into the soft silt as the river laps around your ankles. He knows you’ve spent most of the hot summer day in the river, that you know the currents, branches, and estuaries as well as he knows all the roads and neighborhoods in Portland. The perks of being a naiad and a police captain.
He moves towards you, leaning down to kiss you but you retreat a couple steps further into the river with a coy smile. “You’re going to have to catch me first.” 
“Well that hardly seems fair.” 
“I’ll go easy on you,” you give him a wink before turning and disappearing under the silver water. 
He watches the ripples of your movement as you do your laps under the surface and wait for him to launch the kayak. By the time he’s made it to the halfway point in the river, he can see the electric blue glow of your gills as you circle around the kayak. He pulls his paddle out of the water and rests it across his lap. He waits for a few moments, enjoying the silence, letting his eyes adjust to the night sky as more stars start to appear in his vision. He needs this after the frustrations today; he needs the quiet, the physical effort…you. 
Your electric blue eyes are peering at him from the pointed bow of the kayak. You sink below the surface again but appear at the side of the kayak, effortlessly pulling yourself up and sitting, perfectly balanced, in front of him with minimal shifting of the boat. You stay in your naiad form to help with your balancing, air whistling and chirping quietly from the gills along your neck. 
“Do you want to talk about your day?” 
He shakes his head. “No. I’d rather hear about your day.” 
“All my swimming and playing with my fishy friends?” 
“Says the woman who got kicked out of the all you can eat sushi bar last week?” 
“I almost got kicked out! Get your facts straight, Captain.” 
“My apologies.”  He lays a hand over yours and you instinctively pull it away but he catches it, slipping his fingers through yours like a hook and halting your retreat. He can feel the scars of the cutting, the lack of webbing between your fingers. He knows if he looks at your feet, he’ll find the same disfigurement there too. He changes into his hybrid form and waits for your eyes to meet his. “You’re not the only one with marks of shame.” 
You squeeze his hand back and give him a small smile. This is usually when you start listing the differences between them: he had zero control over his heritage, you had made the conscious decision to go against eons of tradition. His mother had tried to protect him as best she could. Your husband had stood by and watched you be cut by the village elders so they wouldn’t do the same to him. He has tried to convince you, shame is shame, details be damned. One day, he hopes you’ll believe him that when he sees you, all he can see is strength, resilience, and bravery.  
He sees everything he wants to be and that’s a much bigger secret than the kayak. 
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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3500 Follower Celebration: Say It Again - Sean Renard x Reader (NSFW)
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Tagging: @kmc1989 @kabloswrld @words-and-seeds
Hitting bingo square: "I'm yours." "Say it again."
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It’s almost violent the way that Sean loves you. It’s a furious, rampant emotion that sears through his nerve endings as he pins you against the penthouse door. He’s still wearing his shirt but his trousers are down by his ankles, his dick buried deep inside you as he fucks you like his sanity depends on you. In a way it does, because he needs you to see how much he wants you, how deep his feelings run. You’re hitched breathing rings in his ears as you bundle his shirt in your fists, grasping at the fabric as his cock rakes over that deviant little spot inside you, the one that makes you moan like a whore.
“Do you understand how much you mean to me?” He asks you, his voice a little rough. “Do you see it?”
You tilt your head away but Sean captures your jaw, gently guiding your gaze back to his.
“Madelyn, look at me.” He whispers, his nose trailing along yours. “Look into my eyes and see that I’m yours.”
You gasp as he hits that perfect place inside of you and he holds himself there, hips rocking just a little as the pleasure begins to build to a crescendo.
“Say it again.” You breathe as his thumb ghosts over your parted lips.  “Please, I just need…”
He knows what you need. You crave the same thing that he does, security, reassurance. This whole thing tonight had started because you’d been forced to watch him with another woman, her hands on him, touching him, her lips ghosting over his skin as she whispered in his ear. He hates that he can’t be with you the way he wants to, that he can’t love as openly as a normal man could. To do so would put a target on your back and Sean, he just can’t do that, so he plays the game the same way he always has.
For both your sake and his.
“I’m yours.” He promises you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “For as long as you’ll have me, I always will be.”
Love Renard? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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Could you do a request with Sean Renard “A little less fight and a little more spark” or maybe “how can you stand to be so cruel?”
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You aren’t the type of woman that Sean usually entertains, he usually goes upmarket. Women with money, sophisticated, power. It’s part of the game he plays, the one that he was born into. Each and every seduction gets him one step closer to his goal, the crown.
There’s nothing to gained by sleeping with you. There’s no favours to be exchanged, or battles to be won. You’re practically blue collar, so many rungs down the ladder that you shouldn’t even be in his purview but you are, you have been since you stepped into his Squad Room.
When Sean takes you to bed it’s because he wants to be with a woman who loves him for who he is, not for what he can give them. He forgets about the trappings of his position and for the first time in his life, he’s just a man falling for a woman, one that cares about him just as much as he cares about her.
That’s what tonight is really about, intimacy, connection.
When he’s with you it’s not about the fight he’s been waging for decades with his family, it’s about the spark, the one that only exists when he’s with you.
Love Sean? Get added to his tag list!
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
@kabloswrld @kmc1989
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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@bullet-prooflove has gotten me starting to watch Grimm. If any new stories pop up, it's her fault.
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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AHHHHHHH!!! I am so in love with this! This is AMAZING!! I love the gentleness and the sexiness and the connection…Gah! I just love this so much. Thank you!!
Valentine's Day Bingo: Blossom: Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader x OC (NSFW)
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Set before the events of @the-hinky-panda story 'The Gin Blossom', when Riz and Songbird met Ginny for the first time.
Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @adaydreamaway08 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @librarian1002 @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @msjava1972 @fleureeee @just-a-throw-away
Hitting Bingo Square - Wild Night
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It isn’t the first time for you or Riz, but it is for Ginny. She whispers this into your mouth as her head tips back onto Riz’s shoulder, his lips ghosting along the curve of her throat. His palms frame her hips, holding her steady against him.
You both know what she’s really saying, it’s the first time she’s been intimate with another person since Dylan her husband died, let alone two.
“We can stop.” You say quietly, using your fingertips to tip her chin up to meet your gaze.
Communication is key in a situation like this. You like Ginny, you both do, the three of you made a connection tonight. You weren’t looking for a third person but there’s something underneath the surface, something deep, something spiritual, you know that Riz feels it too.
Ginny’s been torn apart inside; she’d hurting and the two of you want to take that away. You want to remind her that human contact doesn’t have to come with pain, that there’s beauty in the vulnerability. Her history has taught her to withdraw, to hide herself away but you’ve seen glimpses of the woman she is. You want her to embrace that, to reconnect with the world because right now she’s just existing, she isn’t actually living.
It hasn’t gone that far, not yet. Riz’s shirt is gone, his jewellery stacked neatly on the nightstand. His tattoos contrast against Ginny’s skin. She’s pretty in black, clad in a cotton bra and panties. Her nipples poke through the fabric and Riz’s palm chases up the shape of her waist, his thumb toying tracing over the dark shape lightly.
“I want this.” She tells you, her fingertips reaching out and brushing the hair away from your features. “I want this with the both of you.”
“If you change your mind we’ll stop.” Riz’s breath ghosts in her ear. “It’s only fun for us if you’re enjoying it too.”
There’s no pressure, Ginny can take as little or as much as she wants from the two of you. The purpose of this is to make her feel good, to remind her that love doesn’t have to come with a price. It can be given unconditionally, without expectation. This will never be more than a one-night thing, something to bring her back to the world because Ginny, she’s stuck right now. She needs to feel the intimacy that comes with another person, to understand what it is to be loved.
“We’re going to take such good care of you.” You whisper against her lips, your bare skin brushing against hers. Riz’s fingertips trail up along the strap of Ginny’s bra, guiding it down along her arm. He unclasps it, drawing it from her form and tossing it from the bed.
Your thumb chases along her jawline before you kiss her. It’s gentle and soft, a simple brush of the lips as your fingertip toy with the elastic of her panties. Riz’s palms stray back to her breasts, his thumbs ghosting over her nipples bringing them to attention. She moans into your mouth as your fingertips stray lower, brushing over her clit through the fabric of her panties. She’s wet already, you can feel the dampness on your fingertips as your caress that needy little nub of hers.
“Oh, she likes that, don’t you Ginny?” Riz chuckles against her skin. “You like it when my Songbird touches you like that?”
She nips your lower lip, it’s a playful gesture, one that makes you laugh because there’s the girl you knew was under all that suffering. You like her, you think the three of you are going to have a lot of fun together. Your fingers trace over her clit, slow intimate circles that have her moaning into your mouth. Her fingers tangle through in your hair drawing you closer, because she needs the both of you right now.
“Oh Ginny.” Riz smiles into her shoulder as his fingers hook the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her thighs. “You want more don’t you?”
He’s intuitive your man. He’s spent a lifetime pleasuring women, becoming attuned to their needs, their wants, their desires. He knows when someone needs to get fucked, he senses it in Ginny. She needs that intimacy, that release. There’s a catharsis in it, he knows.
He looks to you, if you want to take this step, he’s game. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardise the relationship he has with you. You’ve never done this before, not with him. You’ve always been the third and he’s always been the one in the driver’s seat. The dynamic is different now, the two of you it’s a partnership.
“Do you want him to fuck you, Ginny?” You ask her. Your fingers thread through her hair, tugging her head back so you can look into her eyes. “I promise you; he knows exactly what he’s doing with that cock.”
She nods her head, her teeth biting down on her lower lip.
“I think we better give the lady what she wants.” You tell Riz, reaching around Ginny to help Riz remove his underwear.
He grasps the base of his cock, guiding it between her legs. Her wetness smears across his cock, soaking him as he presses against her entrance. Ginny’s breathing turns ragged, she whines as he exerts just the tiniest bit of pressure, and he chuckles into her ear.
“Trust me, I’m worth it.” He tells her.
Your fingers return to her clit, caressing it lightly as Riz enters her slowly. Her breath hitches and you use your free hand to cup her jaw guiding her mouth back to yours. He sinks into her inch by inch, filling her completely before he withdraws and starts all over again. He fucks her with long, languid strokes, his cock raking over that sweet little spot deep inside of her. You keep your grip on her jaw, keeping her grounded as you take her higher.
She’s close you can feel it. Her kisses are messy and urgent, her skin flushes that pretty shade of pink and you know you have her right on the cusp.
You feel the moment she shatters, the noise she makes it’s so raw, so primal. You know it’s a release, all of that pain, that suffering, it flows out of her in the midst of the act. It can be overwhelming; you both know that.
“We got you,” Riz tells her as he holds her close. He understands the needs for an anchor in this moment, something to keep you tethered. You cup her features in your hands, your thumbs smoothing the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s alright Ginny.” You whisper. “We’ve got you.”
Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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The Medic Series
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Pairing: Coco Cruz x Morgan "Stitches" Fox (OFC)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: An ER nurse from the affluent La Jolla area of San Diego has had enough of her restrictive, hyper-religious life. She takes a job as a nurse in Santo Padre's clinic and finds it's the best decision she ever makes.
This takes place in @bullet-prooflove's The Community universe.
Stitches
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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@darqchilddaydreamz. Thank you so so much for the lovely comment. My number one goal with this fic is to show nothing but respect for vets and the struggles they face on their return home. So I am very relieved to hear that those feelings do come through in the writing. And trust me, I have quite a long story planned out for these two so buckle up!
The Gin Blossom: Part III
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Warning: Mention of PTSD, survivor guilt, and suicide.
The night had been going so well. 
You had stuck around Santo Padre for the last week. There were no festivals during that week that you had signed up for and the idea of catching up with Songbird and Riz sounded like a nice break. However, you found your time spent helping Jo and Songbird decorate the outside bar space for a wedding reception that was happening Saturday. Coco and Stitches had apparently eloped and this was their punishment: an evening of elegance and celebration with their closest friends. 
If this was how their esteemed friends were treated, well…it was a good sign of a healthy community. You have to admit, meeting the variety of people in the MC and their significant others, you understand why Songbird has settled here, has made friends with these people. And they seem to have fully accepted you into their ranks. No one stands on ceremony. If you’re going to be part of the group, you’ll stick around. If not, you’re free to go. The honest and direct acceptance is something you only ever came across in the Marines. 
This is a true brotherhood. 
Your days are spent stringing lights, arranging flowers and candles for centerpieces and the evenings are spent with Gilly. He comes to Jo’s bar since you’re staying in your airstream that’s still parked behind the venue. You have a few beers, swap war stories, and subtly flirt. You like him, much more than you thought you would. He’s resilient, funny, and kind. You like his sarcastic sense of humor, and the ease of conversation. You could fall for him, seriously fall for him, and you haven’t felt that way since Dylan. It gives you hope for a second chance of happiness, for finding a true home.
When he asked you to accompany him to the reception on Saturday, you didn’t even have to think about it. You had enlisted Songbird’s help in choosing a dress for the occasion. Normally you wouldn’t care. Fashion was never something important to you. But you felt like this mattered, this was important. And you didn’t want to throw away a chance at finding your second chance. 
The dress was a simple, over the head shift that was a blend of greens, blues, and golds, that brushes right above your knees. Songbird dug out a pair of gold sandals that lace up your calves. She must get the same feeling that you do, that this is some kind of turning point. She fixes your hair, a mix of twists and braids. On the short walk from your trailer to the bar, Songbird picks one of the papery-thin cactus blossoms, a vivid magenta bloom, and tucks it into one of the twists by your ear. 
You can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you greet Gilly by the entrance of the reception area. It feels selfish, wanting this second chance. You were adopted by a power couple when you were three. Pulled out of a meth house in Chicago, hiding under a kitchen table clutching a bag of McDonald’s fries and chicken nuggets and handed to a four star Army general and a corporate lawyer. You went right into the Marines after high school graduation, married a Gunnery Sergeant, and thought you had your happily ever after. 
That is until everything went completely off the rails. 
And brings you back to your current situation. 
You had a lovely time at the wedding reception. Eating, drinking, and dancing with Gilly. You enjoyed being close to him, held by him, and when he leaned in close during the slow dance and asked if you wanted to get out of here, you didn’t hesitate to answer yes. But now he’s holding the passenger door of his truck open for you and terror roots you to the spot. 
Shit. 
This is not how you saw this situation going. 
***
Gilly knows a PTSD episode when he sees one, and the look on your face tells him something terrible has happened in a vehicle’s passenger seat. He automatically switches into rescue mode and shuts the truck door. The sound is enough to snap you back from whatever traumatic experience you were reliving. 
“I’m sorry-” 
“No,” he interrupts you. “Don’t be sorry.” 
He can see you’re trembling so he takes your elbow and guides you towards the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate. Your eyes land on all the things that he and Riz had collected for this evening: blankets, pillows, a cooler. So much for it being a surprise now. He grabs a blanket and spreads it out on the tailgate before helping you up on the makeshift seat. A few deep breaths later, you give him a shaky smile. 
“Were you trying to seduce me this evening, Mr. Lopez?” Your voice is still trembling but you’re regaining your footing. 
“Who says I’m giving up on the seduction?” 
You laugh shortly and your shoulders start to relax. It’s a good start. But he sees you’re still struggling to find your words. You’re brave. You’re a marine. And you do end up capturing those elusive words. 
“Remember I told you about my husband, Dylan?” 
Gilly nods. “Yeah. You said he died a couple years ago.” But you never said how and pieces are starting to fall into place. “Car accident?” 
You nod your head. 
He’s heard a lot of stories, far too many of them, of vets coming home and within six months, slamming their cars into trees or motorcycles into ditches. The thought had crossed his mind a time or two if he was being honest. But something always stopped him. The hope that something was going to come along and make it all worth it. “He did it on purpose?” 
“Yeah.” You rub a thumb over your Marine tattoo. “Except I was in the car with him.” 
“Fuck.” The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “God, I’m so sorry.” 
“There were warning signs. Events that lead up to that night but…” you trail off, a whole other story behind that revelation. “I tried to pull the wheel so the car would stay on the road but…he punched me in the face. Knocked me out. The doctors say that’s what saved my life.” 
“Being limp at impact.” 
“I was in a coma for a month. They weren’t sure I was going to come out of it. But I did. And then found out Dylan didn’t make it. By the time I was released from the hospital, and could face getting back into a car, grass had already grown over his grave.” 
PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. Grief at not being able to do enough. Gilly knows these feelings all too well. He rests his hand over yours and you immediately slide your fingers between his. “You know, even if you did recognize all the signs, that wouldn’t have stopped him.” 
“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “I know that now.” 
They sit in silence together, hands entwined, and listening to the music from the reception drift over to them. It’s soothing and after a few moments of sitting together like this, he decides on how to move forward. Gilly takes out the keys to his truck and holds them out to you. 
“Whatever you want to do this evening, you’re in the driver’s seat. You’ll always have the driver’s seat when you’re with me.” 
You look at the keys with wide-eyed surprise and then your gaze shifts to the supplies in the back of the truck. “Well, it seems a shame to let such a lovely seduction go to waste. And it has been a while for me. But,” you sigh dramatically. “I’m afraid I don’t know where a good location for such an event would be.” 
“Lucky for you, I happen to know how to get there and will be more than happy to provide directions.” 
You take the keys from him, leaning forward and kissing him briefly. “Well then, let’s not waste any more time.”
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
Note
Not an ask but just wanted to say I recently read your Carrillo Los Regalos series and it was AMAZING! Your writing is so good and you wrote him and the reader so well! So yeah just wanted to say how much I thoroughly enjoyed it! Love him as a character, so amazing to see long fics/ series about him!
🩶
OMG, this is the sweetest message! I can not express how happy this made me! Thank you sweet anon, thank you so much!
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
Text
The Gin Blossom: Part III
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Warning: Mention of PTSD, survivor guilt, and suicide.
The night had been going so well. 
You had stuck around Santo Padre for the last week. There were no festivals during that week that you had signed up for and the idea of catching up with Songbird and Riz sounded like a nice break. However, you found your time spent helping Jo and Songbird decorate the outside bar space for a wedding reception that was happening Saturday. Coco and Stitches had apparently eloped and this was their punishment: an evening of elegance and celebration with their closest friends. 
If this was how their esteemed friends were treated, well…it was a good sign of a healthy community. You have to admit, meeting the variety of people in the MC and their significant others, you understand why Songbird has settled here, has made friends with these people. And they seem to have fully accepted you into their ranks. No one stands on ceremony. If you’re going to be part of the group, you’ll stick around. If not, you’re free to go. The honest and direct acceptance is something you only ever came across in the Marines. 
This is a true brotherhood. 
Your days are spent stringing lights, arranging flowers and candles for centerpieces and the evenings are spent with Gilly. He comes to Jo’s bar since you’re staying in your airstream that’s still parked behind the venue. You have a few beers, swap war stories, and subtly flirt. You like him, much more than you thought you would. He’s resilient, funny, and kind. You like his sarcastic sense of humor, and the ease of conversation. You could fall for him, seriously fall for him, and you haven’t felt that way since Dylan. It gives you hope for a second chance of happiness, for finding a true home.
When he asked you to accompany him to the reception on Saturday, you didn’t even have to think about it. You had enlisted Songbird’s help in choosing a dress for the occasion. Normally you wouldn’t care. Fashion was never something important to you. But you felt like this mattered, this was important. And you didn’t want to throw away a chance at finding your second chance. 
The dress was a simple, over the head shift that was a blend of greens, blues, and golds, that brushes right above your knees. Songbird dug out a pair of gold sandals that lace up your calves. She must get the same feeling that you do, that this is some kind of turning point. She fixes your hair, a mix of twists and braids. On the short walk from your trailer to the bar, Songbird picks one of the papery-thin cactus blossoms, a vivid magenta bloom, and tucks it into one of the twists by your ear. 
You can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you greet Gilly by the entrance of the reception area. It feels selfish, wanting this second chance. You were adopted by a power couple when you were three. Pulled out of a meth house in Chicago, hiding under a kitchen table clutching a bag of McDonald’s fries and chicken nuggets and handed to a four star Army general and a corporate lawyer. You went right into the Marines after high school graduation, married a Gunnery Sergeant, and thought you had your happily ever after. 
That is until everything went completely off the rails. 
And brings you back to your current situation. 
You had a lovely time at the wedding reception. Eating, drinking, and dancing with Gilly. You enjoyed being close to him, held by him, and when he leaned in close during the slow dance and asked if you wanted to get out of here, you didn’t hesitate to answer yes. But now he’s holding the passenger door of his truck open for you and terror roots you to the spot. 
Shit. 
This is not how you saw this situation going. 
***
Gilly knows a PTSD episode when he sees one, and the look on your face tells him something terrible has happened in a vehicle’s passenger seat. He automatically switches into rescue mode and shuts the truck door. The sound is enough to snap you back from whatever traumatic experience you were reliving. 
“I’m sorry-” 
“No,” he interrupts you. “Don’t be sorry.” 
He can see you’re trembling so he takes your elbow and guides you towards the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate. Your eyes land on all the things that he and Riz had collected for this evening: blankets, pillows, a cooler. So much for it being a surprise now. He grabs a blanket and spreads it out on the tailgate before helping you up on the makeshift seat. A few deep breaths later, you give him a shaky smile. 
“Were you trying to seduce me this evening, Mr. Lopez?” Your voice is still trembling but you’re regaining your footing. 
“Who says I’m giving up on the seduction?” 
You laugh shortly and your shoulders start to relax. It’s a good start. But he sees you’re still struggling to find your words. You’re brave. You’re a marine. And you do end up capturing those elusive words. 
“Remember I told you about my husband, Dylan?” 
Gilly nods. “Yeah. You said he died a couple years ago.” But you never said how and pieces are starting to fall into place. “Car accident?” 
You nod your head. 
He’s heard a lot of stories, far too many of them, of vets coming home and within six months, slamming their cars into trees or motorcycles into ditches. The thought had crossed his mind a time or two if he was being honest. But something always stopped him. The hope that something was going to come along and make it all worth it. “He did it on purpose?” 
“Yeah.” You rub a thumb over your Marine tattoo. “Except I was in the car with him.” 
“Fuck.” The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “God, I’m so sorry.” 
“There were warning signs. Events that lead up to that night but…” you trail off, a whole other story behind that revelation. “I tried to pull the wheel so the car would stay on the road but…he punched me in the face. Knocked me out. The doctors say that’s what saved my life.” 
“Being limp at impact.” 
“I was in a coma for a month. They weren’t sure I was going to come out of it. But I did. And then found out Dylan didn’t make it. By the time I was released from the hospital, and could face getting back into a car, grass had already grown over his grave.” 
PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. Grief at not being able to do enough. Gilly knows these feelings all too well. He rests his hand over yours and you immediately slide your fingers between his. “You know, even if you did recognize all the signs, that wouldn’t have stopped him.” 
“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “I know that now.” 
They sit in silence together, hands entwined, and listening to the music from the reception drift over to them. It’s soothing and after a few moments of sitting together like this, he decides on how to move forward. Gilly takes out the keys to his truck and holds them out to you. 
“Whatever you want to do this evening, you’re in the driver’s seat. You’ll always have the driver’s seat when you’re with me.” 
You look at the keys with wide-eyed surprise and then your gaze shifts to the supplies in the back of the truck. “Well, it seems a shame to let such a lovely seduction go to waste. And it has been a while for me. But,” you sigh dramatically. “I’m afraid I don’t know where a good location for such an event would be.” 
“Lucky for you, I happen to know how to get there and will be more than happy to provide directions.” 
You take the keys from him, leaning forward and kissing him briefly. “Well then, let’s not waste any more time.”
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
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One of my favorite quotes by the great Ray Bradbury:
“In quickness is truth. The faster you blurt, the more swiftly you write, the more honest you are. In hesitation is thought. In delay comes the effort for a style, instead of leaping upon truth which is the only style worth deadfalling or tiger-trapping.” -Ray Bradbury
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Telling myself this every day so here's a meme
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the-hinky-panda · 1 month
Text
The Medic Series: Part II
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Title: The Medic Series
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Johnny Coco Cruz x OFC (Morgan "Stitches" Fox)
Summary: Morgan Fox is a nurse who is looking for a fresh start. She leaves La Jolla the night before her wedding for a fresh start in Santo Padre.
Author's Note: This series takes place in the same universe as @bullet-prooflove's Community Series.
“Oh damn.” Nan pulls her purse strap over her arm. “Looks like one for you..” 
Morgan looks up from where she was organizing cotton balls and tongue depressors for the next day. She had been at the clinic for a week now and already Nan has started to thaw towards her. A couple days ago, eight people walked through the door needing stitches and since Morgan was the new hire, she got all of them. Nan had made a comment before leaving that evening that the work had been neat and efficient so that was what she was going to call her: Stitches. 
A man with a motorcycle kutte opens the door for a scared teenage girl with facial abrasions, a black eye, laceration by her hairline, and she’s holding her arm. They both have the same large, round eyes and the same shade of earth brown. He looks nervously between Morgan and Nan. 
“You guys still open?” 
Nan looks at Morgan. “Are we, Stitches?” 
She nods at the trio in front of her. “Of course. I’ll clean up when we’re done, Nan.” 
Nan gives her nod and heads out, flipping the sign to “closed” before shutting the door and locking it behind her. 
“Alright,” Morgan starts towards the hallway that leads back to the exam rooms. “Just follow me and we’ll get you checked out.” 
“Look, uh,” the man pulls out his wallet and starts to pull out all his cash. “We don’t have no insurance, and-” 
“That’s okay,” Morgan interrupts. “It’s after hours and our billing department has already gone home.” She winks at him to make sure he understands her implication. He apparently does and puts his wallet away reluctantly. She continues her trek to the first exam room and turns the lights back on, motioning for the girl to sit on the table. “What’s your name?” 
“Letty.” 
“Letty, I’m Morgan. Nice to meet you.” Morgan starts pulling out bandages, butterfly stitches, and antiseptic wipes. “And who’s your friend?” 
A small smile quirks up on the corner of her mouth. “That’s my dad, Coco.” 
“Dad?” Morgan looks over her shoulder at where he’s standing in the doorway of the exam room. “When did you have her, when you were twelve?” 
“Oh, gross.” 
Morgan chuckles and pulls on her gloves. “Sorry. So, tell me what happened. This looks like a nasty gash on your head.” 
Letty’s eyes land on Coco with more caution than makes Morgan comfortable. Whatever the answer is, it’s not going to be a good one. Coco pulls out a pack of cigarettes. 
“If I want a smoke…” 
“You can go out the back of the building,” Morgan tells him. “There’s a small trash can by the door, use that to prop the door open or else you’ll get locked out.” 
He nods. “‘K.” He motions to Letty. “You tell her everything. Don’t lie to nurses.” 
Morgan waits until she hears the door creak open and the familiar metallic clang of the trash can taking the placeholder spot. “I have to agree with your dad. It’s never a good idea to lie to nurses.” 
“So saying I walked into a door isn’t gonna cut it?” 
Morgan assesses the cut that runs along Letty’s hairline. “I’m going to say someone bounced your head off a porcelain sink…twice.” 
“Damn. You are good.” 
“So if it wasn’t your dad, who was it? Boyfriend?” 
Letty scoffs. “No. It was a John. I think that’s what you would call him. My grandmother sold me to him so is it a John if it’s long term?” 
Thankfully years of hearing stories similar to this allows Morgan to easily school her features but the twist of disgust still turns her stomach. “It’s wrong no matter what we call him. Have you filed any reports with the police?” 
Letty shakes her head. “My dad’s in an MC. If anyone will handle it, they will. Unless you have to file a report?” 
“I’m new in town. If a MC handles the issue, I’m not about to get in the way of it. As long as it gets handled and you get the hell out of there.” 
Letty regards you thoughtful and then gives a resolute nod. “You’re not too bad.” 
Morgan starts to say that Letty isn’t too bad herself when a blinding pain erupts along the side of her head. Her knees hit the floor and she sees stars, bright spots blocking out her surroundings, a loud ringing in her ears. She hears Letty curse before a loud crash follows. She’s able to blink away the spots and sees a man, medium height and barrel-chested, trying to grab Letty by the arms. The young girl is putting up quite the fight, kicking, spitting, and scratching like a cornered cat. 
This must be the John. 
Morgan carries a gun with her but knows it’s illegal since Santo Padre is in a different county than La Jolla and she hasn’t had a chance to transfer her permit over to Imperial County. If she even manages to get to her purse to get the gun, it’ll raise a lot of questions. So she goes with plan B: while Letty is fighting with the man, Morgan crawls over to a specific drawer and unlocks it, pulling out a bottle with a liquid sedative. She grabs a syringe, fills it, and immediately swings her arm to jam the needle into the man’s thigh, pushing the plunger down at the same time. 
He screams and lets go of Letty. “The fuck did you do?!” 
Letty has managed to pick up the stainless steel tray the stitching materials were laid out on and brings it down on top of his head. Then she brings it down again. And again. His leg gives out and he slumps to the floor, blood running down the side of his face. Letty draws the tray back again, eyes wild, but Morgan stops her from bringing it down again.
“Hey, I can explain an unconscious man but not a dead one,” Morgan tells her calmly. “Come on, let’s lock him in here and call the police.” 
Her eyes go even wider at the mention of police. “But-” 
Morgan tugs her away from the barely conscious man and slams the door shut behind them. “As far as the police need to know, he broke in to rob us and we took him out. That’s it.” 
Morgan goes into another exam room and grabs a plastic chair, shoving it under the doorknob to ensure the man stays there until the police arrive. Releasing a deep breath, she looks over Letty and sees a couple scratches and abrasions from the recent encounter but nothing serious. She reaches up and touches the side of her own head where he blindsided her and her fingers come back bloodied. 
“Come on,” Morgan turns the lights on in another exam room. “I can finish your stitches in-” 
“How did he get in?” 
Morgan freezes. She didn’t even think about that. Nan locked the front door when she left and Morgan would have heard him breaking the glass to get into the clinic. That only leaves the back door that was propped open. Of course. 
“Fuck,” Letty starts for the back door. “Coco!” 
“Wait, wait,” Morgan reaches out to stop her from leaving. “I’m sure he’s fine.” 
Letty pulls loose from her grip. “No, you don’t understand. He wouldn’t let the fucker past him! He was out there fucking protecting us!” 
Morgan wipes the blood that’s running down the side of her face now and retrieves her gun just in case there’s something else waiting for them outside. She also vows to never let anyone in again past closing time. 
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