#031624

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Lightning Rod

Summary: Despite the chaos that often surrounds each of your lives, he is the calm in the storm. Pairing: Jack Reacher x Female Reader Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: Fluff, Implied smut Instigator and Beta: princessmisery666 Photo Source: (x); Banner made by me.

The howling wind picks up, making the wooden structure protecting you creak and moan against its force. Rain pelts the windows, bright, jagged lightning randomly illuminates the room, and deep, rolling thunder resonates to the marrow of your bones. But what makes your skin prickle and nerve endings tingle is the gruffly whispered, “It’s going to be a good one.”

“Promise?” you ask, laying a hand on his chest. The deep rumble of his laugh shakes the entire bed, and you smile, turning to kiss the warm, smooth skin beneath your cheek. You can’t help but squirm and giggle when his fingers tickle your side as he glides a hand down your back to rest it on your hip.

“There is a ninety-percent chance of storms continuing until 0200 with a small break and will start again at 0400. With the surface dew point at 58 degrees Fahrenheit and the latent instability that increased once the storm passed the Rockies, it is-” 

“Reacher.” You cut him off with a slap to his chest. His extraordinary intelligence is one of the many reasons you find him attractive, but the dry factual delivery can sometimes be arduous. Rolling your eyes, you settle into his side and chuckle, “Can we just lie here and listen?”  

Shifting to kiss the top of your head, he gives you a quick squeeze and then lies back, free hand shoved under his head, and states, “Yes.”

The storm is stronger now—the thunder louder and more intense. Rain no longer strikes the glass in heavy drops but flows down the pane like a waterfall. Sighing happily, you snuggle closer to his warmth. The only thing separating the two of you is the soft cotton boxers he’s wearing and the thin—too small for those seam-bursting muscles—t-shirt you stole from him.

Reacher's not a guy you expect a commitment from, so when he does stop by, you take full advantage of his visit. Since he unexpectedly showed up on your doorstep, the two of you have been holed up in your home, fucking, eating, napping, fucking—rinse and repeat. You match his stamina for the most part, but after three days, exhaustion is creeping in. When the storm lulls, the slow rise and fall of his chest and steady heartbeat beneath your ear are the Pied Piper of slumber.

Startling awake when a crash of thunder shakes the house and rattles the windows, Jack tightens his hold and runs a hand over your hair. “You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

Humming contentedly, you whisper, “Love you.” He doesn’t reply but squeezes your hip. More often than not, each of your lives is a tempest of diplomacy, expedience, kill or be killed, and general mayhem. Reacher is your eye of the storm, your lightning rod. No matter what is happening around you, you know you will always be safe when he’s near. Nestling into the crook of his shoulder, you delightedly drift back into dreamland.

The shrill screeching of your alarm wakes you next, and you throw out your arm to hit the snooze button or toss it across the room. Either will work as long as the racket ceases, but you can’t quite reach it. The arm around your waist pulls you back against solid muscle and further away from the cacophony. “Jaaaaack.”

He groans, reaching over you to silence the offending hunk of plastic and metal. In the stillness that follows, you hear the ongoing storm; rain steadily patters against the window, but the thunder now echoes from a distance. Turning to face him, you grumble, ”Traffic’s gonna suck.” Kissing the hollow of his throat, you flatten a hand on his stomach, reluctantly pushing away to slip out of the bed. The iron band that is his arm is quickly around you once again holding you firmly in place.

“You don’t have to go.” 

His sleep-raspy voice sends a pleasant tremor through your body. You’d love nothing more than to stay right where you are, but the long weekend is over, and you have to face reality again. “I’m supposed to be back at work today,” you mutter as your finger traces a path between his prodigious pectoral muscles.

“No.” 

“I-” The soft scrape of stubble along your jaw parts your lips, allowing him to steal your breath in a hungry kiss—mouth released as your head starts to spin, you’re left with just enough functioning brain cells to realize how insane you are to contemplate leaving while this man lies naked in your bed. Weakly pushing against his chest, you stutter, “I need-”

The grip on your ass cheek and rough kneading are unexpected, but you desperately moan when he rolls his hips forward, letting you feel his desire pressed hard against your mound, teeth grazing the meat of your shoulder. Your body is a maelstrom of reaction—muscles flex, flesh warms, pulse ratchets, nerve endings ignite, breath stalls, and heat and pressure pool low in your belly, making you throb with need. When your walls clench involuntarily in response, hungry to be filled once again, you exhale sharply, “Shit, I-”

“Okay, fine."

Did he growl? 

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but when you notice he’s released you from his hold, you tilt your head to look at him. There is no way you could ever accuse him of pouting, but you can see disappointment in his eyes. Holding back the laugh bubbling in your throat, you say, “I was trying to tell you that I at least need to call in.”

It doesn’t happen often, but when he smiles, it’s just as bright as he is big. Rolling over, he squishes you into the mattress with his lower body, resting most of his weight on his forearms. “I already took care of it.”

“Reach-” Warm breath tickles your upper lip, and your half-hearted admonishment is terminated with the sweep of his tongue and a thigh nudged between your legs.

Not sure who would be interested besides you, @kittenofdoomage.😆 Stacey's already mentioned above.

[yukikasource]

yugopa216 많이 커서 예정일보다 훨씬 일찍 나올 것 같은 우리 딸랑구💗 #출산준비 #출산

[talltalestogo]

“Wonders and shadows”

Wonders and shadows Shadows weave in spring / sunlight and serrated leaves / hopes and wonders high. . . #wonders #shadows #hopes #sunlight #spring #haiku #poem #poetry #photo #haiga #oldnorthknoxville #davidebooker #march #saturday #031624 #2024

[skybluelatte]

Happy Birthday Yuto!!!💛🐿️💛

ゆうとくんお誕生日おめでとう‼︎🎂

[rennebright]

031624 by rororo [Twitter/X] ※Illustration shared with permission from the artist. If you like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source.

[akosichay]

031624 staying in bed all day

[b444ked]

031624 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ girls night out~~

grabbing drinks & eating good food ++ ending the night with some karaoke >>>

[pansamantalamo]

| 031624 . SATURDAY . 🎮 CEBY GAMING . NINO KUNI

Last year ko pa binili tong Nino Kuni. Pero ngaun ko lang balak laruin. Pahinga muna saglit sa BOTW cozy open world muna. Naway matapos ko laruin ito at hindi ma back log ulit hehe. Wag nyo na pansinin yung oras dahil pa sabado malakas loob ko ma late talaga hahaha!

[krossarchives]

031624

[oneeachday]

031624

[phantom-kitten]

I feel like posting another one of my songs

so short I love her so

tell me if you like it

lmk if you want more idk whatevs

[littlebitofparadise]

031624

Happy to finally e-meet you Royce! 💖

Happy to see my girls again! Walang pinagbago, mga attitude pa rin talaga kayo. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Salamat sa paggising sakin, pag-tour sa bagong bahay nila Eka at sa panggugutom nyo sakin @ 3am sa inyong mukbang. 😂

Miss ko na kayooooo. 🥹

[babyzhai19]

031624

[paracosmnocturne]

031624

Yesterday, I interviewed my mother's employer of ~6 years for a project in one of my classes.

It should be noted that I have never talked to this man. I have only heard stories about him from my mother, and given that she is his secretary, I've seen what he does in his work. Overall, he seems very passionate and very hands-on; clearly loves his work. He clearly appreciates his colleagues, whether long time friends or they just met a week ago.

And so before we officially start the interview, I introduce myself for formality and tell him that I'm honoured to have a chance to speak with him 'cause he seems cool as hell. And then he goes, "before we start, can I compliment you?" And obviously he seems earnest and I'm curious. So I go, "okay!" And he like.

In paraphrase, he goes, "I'm so proud of everything you've ever done. I'm so proud of what you do and that you made it this far. I didn't even know your mom had a kid in college! I'm so proud of you and I'm very honoured to be interviewed by you." OH MY GOD I started crying in front of him like. Sir we've literally never met and this is the first time I have spoken to you??????

He was so sincere with it too, as if I was really a child he raised. We've only met ONCE and I instantly felt so safe with him (he gave me permission to call him 'Uncle'!!!)

And so the point of this story is that at that moment, I realized that human beings are so compassionate with one another, and that there's so much love to give in our hearts. We respected each other before we even met; some of us are still alive because of all that love in our hearts. That's crazy.

[princessmisery666]

💜🤩

He’s all sleepy and gruff and sweet and I love it 💜so glad you gave into the peer pressure 😜

Lightning Rod

Summary: Despite the chaos that often surrounds each of your lives, he is the calm in the storm. Pairing: Jack Reacher x Female Reader Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: Fluff, Implied smut Instigator and Beta: princessmisery666 Photo Source: (x); Banner made by me.

The howling wind picks up, making the wooden structure protecting you creak and moan against its force. Rain pelts the windows, bright, jagged lightning randomly illuminates the room, and deep, rolling thunder resonates to the marrow of your bones. But what makes your skin prickle and nerve endings tingle is the gruffly whispered, “It’s going to be a good one.”

“Promise?” you ask, laying a hand on his chest. The deep rumble of his laugh shakes the entire bed, and you smile, turning to kiss the warm, smooth skin beneath your cheek. You can’t help but squirm and giggle when his fingers tickle your side as he glides a hand down your back to rest it on your hip.

“There is a ninety-percent chance of storms continuing until 0200 with a small break and will start again at 0400. With the surface dew point at 58 degrees Fahrenheit and the latent instability that increased once the storm passed the Rockies, it is-” 

“Reacher.” You cut him off with a slap to his chest. His extraordinary intelligence is one of the many reasons you find him attractive, but the dry factual delivery can sometimes be arduous. Rolling your eyes, you settle into his side and chuckle, “Can we just lie here and listen?”  

Shifting to kiss the top of your head, he gives you a quick squeeze and then lies back, free hand shoved under his head, and states, “Yes.”

The storm is stronger now—the thunder louder and more intense. Rain no longer strikes the glass in heavy drops but flows down the pane like a waterfall. Sighing happily, you snuggle closer to his warmth. The only thing separating the two of you is the soft cotton boxers he’s wearing and the thin—too small for those seam-bursting muscles—t-shirt you stole from him.

Reacher's not a guy you expect a commitment from, so when he does stop by, you take full advantage of his visit. Since he unexpectedly showed up on your doorstep, the two of you have been holed up in your home, fucking, eating, napping, fucking—rinse and repeat. You match his stamina for the most part, but after three days, exhaustion is creeping in. When the storm lulls, the slow rise and fall of his chest and steady heartbeat beneath your ear are the Pied Piper of slumber.

Startling awake when a crash of thunder shakes the house and rattles the windows, Jack tightens his hold and runs a hand over your hair. “You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

Humming contentedly, you whisper, “Love you.” He doesn’t reply but squeezes your hip. More often than not, each of your lives is a tempest of diplomacy, expedience, kill or be killed, and general mayhem. Reacher is your eye of the storm, your lightning rod. No matter what is happening around you, you know you will always be safe when he’s near. Nestling into the crook of his shoulder, you delightedly drift back into dreamland.

The shrill screeching of your alarm wakes you next, and you throw out your arm to hit the snooze button or toss it across the room. Either will work as long as the racket ceases, but you can’t quite reach it. The arm around your waist pulls you back against solid muscle and further away from the cacophony. “Jaaaaack.”

He groans, reaching over you to silence the offending hunk of plastic and metal. In the stillness that follows, you hear the ongoing storm; rain steadily patters against the window, but the thunder now echoes from a distance. Turning to face him, you grumble, ”Traffic’s gonna suck.” Kissing the hollow of his throat, you flatten a hand on his stomach, reluctantly pushing away to slip out of the bed. The iron band that is his arm is quickly around you once again holding you firmly in place.

“You don’t have to go.” 

His sleep-raspy voice sends a pleasant tremor through your body. You’d love nothing more than to stay right where you are, but the long weekend is over, and you have to face reality again. “I’m supposed to be back at work today,” you mutter as your finger traces a path between his prodigious pectoral muscles.

“No.” 

“I-” The soft scrape of stubble along your jaw parts your lips, allowing him to steal your breath in a hungry kiss—mouth released as your head starts to spin, you’re left with just enough functioning brain cells to realize how insane you are to contemplate leaving while this man lies naked in your bed. Weakly pushing against his chest, you stutter, “I need-”

The grip on your ass cheek and rough kneading are unexpected, but you desperately moan when he rolls his hips forward, letting you feel his desire pressed hard against your mound, teeth grazing the meat of your shoulder. Your body is a maelstrom of reaction—muscles flex, flesh warms, pulse ratchets, nerve endings ignite, breath stalls, and heat and pressure pool low in your belly, making you throb with need. When your walls clench involuntarily in response, hungry to be filled once again, you exhale sharply, “Shit, I-”

“Okay, fine,”

Did he growl? 

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but when you notice he’s released you from his hold, you tilt your head to look at him. There is no way you could ever accuse him of pouting, but you can see disappointment in his eyes. Holding back the laugh bubbling in your throat, you say, “I was trying to tell you that I at least need to call in.”

It doesn’t happen often, but when he smiles, it’s just as bright as he is big. Rolling over, he squishes you into the mattress with his lower body, resting most of his weight on his forearms. “I already took care of it.”

“Reach-” Warm breath tickles your upper lip, and your half-hearted admonishment is terminated with the sweep of his tongue and a thigh nudged between your legs.

Not sure who would be interested besides you, @kittenofdoomage.😆 Stacey's already mentioned above.