#Alma Presses Play

[dolls-and-cats]

To Jewish friends in the doll community, gut yontif and I hope y'all have a sweet new year.

I am not Jewish myself, but have appreciated learning about Judaism over the past few years from public historian Rebekkah Rubin's (iamexcessivelydollverted on instagram)'s posts. Today, I made a honey cake from a 1970s recipe book, From Dora with Love, following Rebekkah's recent patreon post. Rebekkah says the honey in the recipe ties in with the hope for a sweet new year.

My doll is Alma from the book Alma Presses Play by Tina Cane, which is loosely autobiographical and set in NYC in the 1980s. Alma grows up with Jewish and Chinese heritage but doesn't grow up as an observant Jew or connected to a synagogue community.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.2k / 18 / soap soulmate au, part 1

...

You're Soap's enemy. One of Graves' Shadows. You just betrayed him, and now he's seeing his name tattooed across your skin. The Las Almas night nearly eclipses the soulmark's inky color. But it's there, clear as day. He can't wrap his adrenaline-addled mind around it.

He ghosts up behind where you're posted--pacing, patrolling, on the lookout for him--and wraps his hand around your mouth. You react in surprise, grabbing his wrist. But before you can twist out of his grasp, he slides the blade of your fallen Shadow's knife against your back.

If you're his soulmate, it changes nothing. He'll still be one man against dozens, chances slim to none that he'll make it out of this alive. But he has to know.

"You," he growls. "What's your name?"

You still. You're trained to keep a cool head under far more extreme circumstances than this.

"Your name," Soap repeats, voice like gravel.

He loosens his grip just enough to let you speak.

You release a slow breath out. "Classified."

He increases the pressure of his knife against your back. "That bastard Graves trusts you, aye? Not many others posted this way. Nobody'll find you for awhile." He presses the tip of the knife back into the fabric of your uniform. He'll keep the pressure there until he gets what he wants. "Your full name."

You say nothing for a long moment. But then, you see no reason to die overlooking these twisting Las Almas alleyways. You tell him your full name.

It confirms what he already knows. It's the name printed on his own skin, the name he's repeated to himself thousands of times over. The knife disappears from your back.

"Look at me," he tells you.

You push his arm away and turn on him, drawing your sidearm and training it at his chest. You step back, looking him up and down. "You're the one we're looking for. Aren't you? Capture or kill--" Your voice falters when you see he pulls his shirtsleeve up, revealing his own soulmate. He doesn't give you one goddamn second to try to deny it or turn your eyes away the way you've been trained. Your name. Tattooed on your target's arm.

Seeing you eye to eye, Soap's breath catches in his throat. His own name on the side of your neck is clear as day to him now.

"You're her," he says, still not quite believing it.

You take another step back. What are you supposed to do? You should shoot him, yes, but could you even make your finger pull the fucking trigger now? You lower your gun, but you don't put it away.

"You should go," you tell him, voice low. "Now."

But he doesn't move. He wants to take this moment in, study your face, memorize every detail. You're the real thing. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, and a myriad of scenarios play through his mind, just like yours. What happens if he leaves? Will he be able to find you again?

He takes a step toward you.

"Don't do that," you warn him, sliding back a step to keep the same distance between you. "Don't make me hurt you."

"You wouldn't." He moves for you now with the confidence of a man who believes that, too. He wants to touch you again. Just to make sure you're really here. His voice is rough and thick. "I need to look at you."

You bite down on a gasp when your heel knocks against the wall. He's getting too close. You can't let your control on the situation slip. You can't forget why you're here or what will happen if Graves finds out about this.

"Back off," you warn him again. You still have your sidearm in hand, but you're terrified he's right--pointing it at him is an empty threat.

"Can't."

He moves in close to you, his breath hot on your neck. You swear you can feel his body heat through the layers of both your uniforms. Your nerves are on fire. His scent is everywhere. This can't be happening. Not now. It should be a dream, meeting your soulmate, but it's a nightmare.

"Listen to me," you force out. "They'll find you and kill you. Leave. Now."

"Can't." Soap is close enough to whisper it into your ear. His hands close around your arms. "Can't think straight with you in front of me." His gaze darkens as he pushes forward, pressing you into the wall and pinning you there. If he's not going to live to see morning, he's going to kiss you. He has to taste you.

You hear another Shadow under you, boots thudding against the metal stairs, scaling up to your lookout perch.

You try to fight the panic welling up in your throat. You could both be shot for this. Killed for it. Worse.

You can't let them see him. If you give him what he wants, he'll go, right?

You grab his collar and pull him forward, meeting his lips in a searing kiss. His lips feel like stubble and taste like blood. He shudders, feeling your body suddenly pressed against his. He deepens the kiss. He's starving, but it's not enough. Just the taste and feel of you isn't enough. His fingers weave into your hair and he pulls you close, pressing even harder against your body.

You forget yourself for a moment. Your brain chemistry shifts hard, heat and want burning in your veins.

Then you hear voices from below and reality washes over you again. With a strangled groan, you push him away. "God damn you. Hide."

Soap has to force himself to let you go. It takes every ounce of control to keep from reaching for you again. But the look in your eyes when you push him away... he knows you've crossed a line.

He disappears the moment two more Shadows crest the top of the iron staircase.

You avoid rousing suspicion as you lie to your allies' faces, reporting no sightings of either target. By the time you're forced to leave your post and follow the others back to the nearest rendezvous point, you're resigned to never seeing him again. It's better not to wonder.

All you can think about are his fingers weaving into your hair, his lips on yours, the burning grip of his hands around your wrists. You tell yourself not to think about it... but then your mind goes back to it, over and over. No matter how much you tell yourself it's better not to fantasize.

Even when you learn he evaded capture, he's a wanted man. A dead man walking. You're better off pretending you never saw your name tattooed on his skin.

...

There is no other thought on Soap's mind but you long after he slips away into the Las Almas night.  The sight of you leaving with the other Shadows haunts him when he closes his eyes. He wakes up adrenalized, thinking about you in his hands, his heart pounding like it could punch through his rib cage.

His soulmate got away, and the weight of regret is setting in.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

resident evil boys taking readers virginity 👁️👁️

Literally don’t care what boys you write for this prompt I just need Luis 🙏

I gotchu anon. Hope you like these 🥰 Warnings: smut, loss of virginity, oral sex

He wanted to make this night special since it was your first time, so he went above and beyond with the preparations. I'm talking about candles all over the place, rose petals in the bed, champagne, a good movie to relax, and good music to put you both in the mood. During the movie, he initiated everything. He just couldn't wait. He wanted you for so long that it started to hurt.

You'll start to feel his fingers tickling your skin, gently tugging your shirt and going under it. His hand went up to your bra, and there he cupped your breast, massaging it gently. The little sounds that you make while he is touching you are delightful to his ear. He turned his head to look at you, closed the gap between your bodies, and started to kiss you passionately, all while still giving attention to your breast.

He took off your clothes slowly, kissing and tasting every inch of your skin as he exposed you. It was like unwrapping a long-wanted gift, so he took his time.

"Mi alma, you are simply gorgeous," he said as he was looking at your naked body.

His kisses went from your neck to your breast, where he spent some time playing with them. He cupped them as he gave each nipple special treatment, and then moved on to your thighs.

As he kissed you down there, he began to moan as well. His tongue moved in circles around your bud, and over it, he made all sorts of movements just so he could keep hearing you puffing and moaning. You took a fistful of his hair, pressed his face closer to your core, and began to rub your hips all over his face. He was so close that you could feel the vibrations of his own moans. His beard also felt nice over your heated core.

When he inserted two fingers, your grip tightened on both hair and sheets. You rolled your eyes and hips, trying to get more friction.

When he felt you were wet, he stopped and removed his own boxers. Your eyes widdened at the sight of his cock, which was thick, long, and soaked at the top. You knew he was big from the moment you rubbed on him, but you were still surprised at the sight of it.

"Easy, love, I'll go slow. If it hurts, tell me, ok?" He said this as he came on top of you. He suppoerted himself on the elbows. He was looking into your eyes, his gaze so deep that it pierced through your soul. You felt him so close, and you gasped when you felt his tip breaking inside. It stings a little, and you breathe heavily. You dig your nails into his back.

He went slow, he never went with the full length because he wanted you to give you time to adjust. He also began to kiss you again, with the same passion, and he also kept whispering sweet, loving words to your ear. His romantic attitude helped with the pain, and after a few more thrusts, pleasure took its place. It began to feel good—so good that you told him it's fine to increase the pace.

You felt him close, he was listening to your indications, and he knew how to stimulate that spot inside you. Eventually, you felt a familiar pressure in your lower belly, and soon, you were milking him of everything that he had to offer.

He collapsed next to you, pulling you closer to his chest. His big thumb was running circles on your cheek, and the other arm was wrapped around your body. He kept asking if you were alright and if he had done something to hurt you. All these worries took hold of him, and he failed to see how much you enjoyed it, but you showed him when you climbed on top of him for round two.

When he knew that he would be the man to take your virginity, he was very pleased. In his eyes, you were just his property, a useful tool in his arsenal, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take care of you on your special night.

His lips felt like feathers on your skin. His hands moved gently along your curves, grooping the flesh when the kiss got intense.

"On your back," he said almost shyly. His tone was so sweet, so gentle, and so unusual for him.

His lips moved from yours and travled to your neck, giving you soft bites that won't leave marks. His hands moved to your breasts, cupping and massaging them gently.

"Albert," you whispered as he began to rub your nipples with his fingers.

He left your neck and descended further until he reached your breasts. All this time, his lips never left your body, constantly kissing your hot skin, and soon they found your nipples. His tongue twirled around them, going up and down until you were a complete mess down there. He kept on like that until you clearly grabbed his hips and urged him to give you some more friction between your legs.

"Albert, if you keep going like this, I'll cum," you desperately said.

He chuckled but didn't hurry up. He gave both of you nipples one more lazy, long lick before moving on.

"Bastard," you said under your breath.

He finally reached your core, and this is where he finally gives you the attention you want. Two of his fingers enter your hole slowly, as his tongue begins its usual activity on your clit. He moves in perfect rhythm, making you arch your back and call out his name.

You reach out hesitantly to his head, wanting to grab his hair. At first, you gently touched his golden locks, looking for a reaction. Seeing that there is none, you grab a fistful of his hair, but you don't pull hard. Still no reaction, and in fact, he added a third finger, making you gasp. That was the moment when you properly tightened your grip and pulled his hair properly—a moment in which he moans too.

"Are you enjoying this Wesker?" You teased.

"What do you think?" he asked as he pulled out and removed his pants. His cock was thick and long, and it was swollen. His tip was also pretty soaked.

He went on top of you, glued himself to your body, and pushed the first few inches into your cunt. He grunted instantly, as you were so tight. It took every ounce of self-control to not push his dick inside you in one thrust and fuck you sensless. You gasped for air as it began to sting. You dug your nails in his back, leaving small red marks.

Wesker went slow, so slow, and was paying attention to you the whole time. He began to kiss your neck again and also to praise you. You liked when he was being gentle with you, and the more affectionate he'd be, the less it would hurt. Little by little, kiss by kiss, the pain faded, and you began to feel good—so good that you urged him to go faster.

He knew how to rub that spot inside you, and you felt your orgasm approaching.

"Albert..." you started but were cut off instantly by him. He began kissing your lips again, very passionate and almost sloppy.

A few more thrusts, and your cunt was contracting hard around his cock. A few seconds after that, he came as well and filled you to the brim, feeling your belly expand a bit.

When he pulled out, all of that thick cum oozed out of your cunt.

What shocked you was how gentle and caring he was afterwards, but what shocked him more was how fast you climbed on top of him for round two.

He knew it was your first time, so he made sure to clear his schedule so you could get all of his attention.

When you arrived, he poured two glasses of wine and put your favourite movie. You were the one to initiate the foreplay, as you placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed hard enough to make him notice. You noticed how well-toned his leg was when he flexed under your touch.

Then, you moved your hand up until you reached his cock. Yeah, you were feeling brave, especially after those glasses of wine.

He split his legs and allowed you to toy with his growing erection. You felt your legs going weak as you kept massaging his big bulge. You kept thinking, "If he feels this big now, I wonder..." Your thoughts were cut short when you felt two fingers lift your chin. His big, blue eyes were looking at you, admiring your delicate features.

"You are doing great so far," he said with a smirk.

He pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was so gentle and sensual that you felt yourself getting soaked.

He began to undress you, taking time to admire your body. It was like unwrapping a gift.

As you were lying down with your legs spread, his fingers were busy rubbing your clit and his mouth was sucking on your tit. He loved the sweet, sweet sounds that you made, the little moans and puffs, and how you would say his name. You noticed how his cock would twitch every time you said his name.

"Leon..."

another twitch, but this time a small, white bead formed at the tip, which then dropped along the length.

His fingers were moving up and down your bud as his tongue was twirling around your nipple. You gasped when you felt two thick fingers entering you, but it didn't hurt. It felt so good to see how they'd come in and out, and he curled them to stimulate your spot so you could hear angels singing.

"I think you're ready," he said, and he came on top.

The first few thrusts stung a little and made you feel uncomfortable, but he went slow, very slow, so you have time to adjust. He was very careful with you all the time.

When the stinging sensation was fading and pleasure took its place, you told him to pick up the pace, the moment in which he came closer to your body, glueing himself to you, and buring his face at the crook of your neck. He caressed various portions of your flesh by kissing them and occasionally biting you gently. He loved when he was all over you like that, and that showed by how enthusiastic he trhusted his hips.

You dig your nails on his back, leaving small marks that would faint shortly. It was the first time when you felt this full, and as overhwelming as it was, you never wanted him to stop. He also knew how to stimulate that spot inside you, which made your toes curl and caused you to become louder and louder.

"Leon, I..." you said as you felt your orgasm approaching.

"I know, babe, I feel it too."

His cock was throbbing like crazy before entering you, but now it was pure torture, especially since you were so tight. When he felt your cunt contracting around his sore cock, he couldn't control himself anymore. It came instantly, filling you to the brim.

Leon collapsed near you and pulled you into a tight embrace. Between heavy breaths, he asked if you were alright. He was worried about you, and he was also worried if he did something to hurt you. However, his worries began to fade when you asked for a second round.

He wanted to make something special for you. This touch-looking man is actually a softie inside, so he made sure that everything was perfect for your first time. He got vanilla-scented candles, champagne, chocolate, and he even cooked.

You were the one to initiate the act as you began to caress his chest softly. His big arm was wrapped around your body, and he'd stand to mimic your movements. When you felt more courageous, you slid your hand underneath his shirt and started touching his torso, blushing when feeling his toned abs.

One thing led to another, and now Kauser was on top of you, kissing you very passionately. His hands were squeezing your breasts while his tongue was busy capturing yours. He was a good kisser, and he knew how to touch you. That was shown by your actions, as you kept moaning and rolling your hips underneath him, urging him to move on already.

He couldn't help himself and stopped by your breasts to give them a little attention, licking and sucking on those hard nipples. While his mouth was busy with one, the other would pinch and twist your sensitive part, making sure they both got the same appreciation.

"Jack..." you called him, hoping he would get the hint.

"I'm sorry, I got carried away."

He went between your legs and wasted no second. His tongue quickly found your clit and began to circle it relentlessly. He loved the sweet sounds that'd come out of your mouth as they persuaded him into toying with your little cunt all night.

He inserted some fingers inside you just so he could hear you getting louder. He curled them inside you, finding that spot and rubbing it fast enough to make you pant and grab the sheets.

It overwhelmed you already, but you were still a sucker for new sensations.

He came on top of you and glued himself to your body. You got a glimpse of his cock and got a little worried.

"Hey, everything will be fine," he said after noticing your expression. "I'm here all the way. Just tell me if it hurts, and I'll stop, ok?"

You nodded, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You felt his lips touching yours, and you wrapped your hands around his neck. The kiss was gentle, not so chaotic as early. It still didn't distract you from the sudden pain you felt when he inserted the first inches. A whelp came out of your lips, and he didn't push further. Instead of going at a slow pace, he kept kissing you, and he told you countless times how good you're doing.

Eventually, after all that praising and slow progress, you began to feel good and demanded he move a little faster.

He knew his ways, and he quickly managed to rub that spot inside you. His thick cock went in and out of your tight cunt at a normal pace now, making you both moan and call each other's names.

"Jack..." You felt your orgasm approaching, so you held tight. You wanted to feel him close, as these new sensations were very overwhelming.

"I know, babe," he said between grunts.

A few more thrusts, and you felt thick, hot shots of his cum filling you up. Calling his name, you let the orgasm wash over you. A white veil lowered over your eyes, your toes curled, and you held him tight. Your walls kept milking him until the very last drop.

He collapsed next to you and pulled you closer to his chest. Krauser kept praising you, saying how good you were and how well you took him. A few worries got to his mind, but they were soon cast aside once you climbed on top of him for round two.

Captain, my captain. This man is so responsible and overprotective, and when he found out that he would soon be the first man to ever take your virginity, he felt like he had such a huge task ahead of him.

He overdid himself with the preparations. He got some expensive wine, cleaned the apartments thoroughly, and prepared a nice playlist.

His touch was so gentle on your body. His hands slid up and down your curves as he kissed you so passionately. He pushed you on the bed and climbed on top of you, his beard tickling your skin.

He started with your neck, then lowered to your breasts, which he massaged the whole time. His fingers would relenttlessly go over your hard nipples, making you arch your hips and meet his erection. His bulge was big, and it made you wonder if he would fit inside.

His tongue circled your nipples a few times before descending again, leaving a trail of kisses on your hot skin. He reached your core, placed your legs over his big shoulders, and began to kiss you again on your lips. Then he parted them, revealing your clit and started sucking it.

Your moans made his cock twitch in his pants, and he felt himself getting soaked.

His tongue and fingers worked hard to make you ready, and when the time came, he removed his boxers and approached you.

"What if..." you began as you parted your legs.

"It will be alright, I'm here."

The first inches sting, and he went very, very slowly. He asked constantly how you were feeling and if you wanted him to stop, but you assured him you're fine.

His body was pressed tight against yours, his fuzzy chest tickling your skin. He was so warm and gentle, and you felt so safe between his big arms. Because you felt so safe with him, you started to enjoy it little by little until you moaned again. You wrapped your legs around his waist and urged him to go faster.

You were both moaning and panting. He was so delighted by how good your tight cunt felt, and your body went numb from how good he felt inside you. The more he rubbed that spot inside you, the faster the pressure in your lower abdomen increased.

"Chris..." you whispered faintly and hugged him tight.

"I know. I feel it too."

In a bit, you cunt kept contracting around his cock, milking him of everything he had to offer. He filled you to the brim, and when he pulled out, some of his semen oozed out.

He collapsed near you, pulling you close to his chest. He kept kissing you—your forehead, cheeks, and lips. Also, he asked you constantly if you were alright and if you enjoyed it. Chris was very concerned about you, but all of his worries faded when you climbed on top of him for round two.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

bésame

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only! smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bilingual!reader, spanish dialogue (its not really translated but all the important parts are explained), rafe learning spanish

rafe sets down his briefcase, toeing off his shoes as his eyes scan the foyer for you, surprised that you don’t come running up to greet him like you normally do when he gets home.

“hola, baby!” he yells out, suddenly hearing a clatter from the kitchen before you stick your head into the hallway.

“hola, amor.” you smile. “just making tamales for dinner.”

“ahh.” rafe nods, the time consuming dish explaining why you were already working in the kitchen, filling the corn husk with ingredients before rolling them up.

“come keep me company?” you smile at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that always has rafe bending and agreeing to anything you ask him. “tell me about your day?”

“of course.” rafe walks the short distance in the hallway, pressing a kiss to your lips, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“missed you.” you hum against his lips. “te amo.”

rafe smiles back at you. he didn't know any spanish besides hola when he first began dating you. “te amo, amor.”

you give him a look, eyes widening slightly as you go back to working on your dish. “that pronunciation was shockingly good, rafey.”

“i may have been practicing a little.” rafe smirks, in truth he's been practicing a lot, working really hard to learn the language for you, even going as far as to hire a native speaker to meet with him on his lunch breaks.

“practicing, eh?” you smile, fingers effortlessly folding the tamale, having done it so many times. “how do you say eat, then?”

“comer.” rafe answers, without even having to think about it.

“¡no me digas!” you gasp in surprise. 

rafe laughs, a faint blush on his cheeks at the look of wonder and excitement in your eyes. “we… i mean uhh… vamos a comer tamales.”

“yes!” you squeal. “we are going to eat tamales!” you have to put the corn husk down, quickly washing your hands before moving over to rafe, touching his cheeks.

“you’re so good, cariño!” you have to get up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes lips. 

“i know that one.” rafe admits with a smile. its one of the first thing he had the instructor teach him, various pet names to call you. “sweetheart or darling. i also know mi vida, mi corazon. i even know princesa and uh..." it takes rafe a second, but the word for soul finally comes back to him, "mi alma."

“oh wow.” you could melt on the spot at the sweet words coming out of rafes mouth, only sounding even better in your natural language. “let me see if you know this one… bésame.”

it takes a second for the words to click, and then rafe smirks down at you, leaning in to press your lips together in a kiss, just like you asked for. his mouth dominates yours, turning your bodies so you’re the one leaning against the counter, trapped between rafes strong arms.

“quiero verte.” you whisper to rafe, tugging on his shirt. “i want to see you.”

rafe quickly pulls the shirt off over his head, his muscles on display for you to rub your hands over.

“how do i say undress me?” rafe asks, moaning lowly when your hands pass over his nipples.

“desvísteme.”

“undress you? okay. bueno.” rafe smirks as you let out a laugh, tricking you into being asked to be undressed. 

you raise your arms up so he can tug your shirt off, eyes widening when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra. his hands cup your chest, playing with your tits as he finds his way back to your mouth, tongue running along your lower lip until his thumb swipes over your nipples and makes you gasp, finally allowing him entrance. 

“quiero probarte.” rafe whispers against your lips, your eyes widening when you realize what his words mean, still not used to hearing him speak in spanish. “quiero probarte, baby. can i take your shorts off?” “yeah, yeah.” you nod. you swear you must be dreaming, with rafe saying that he wants to taste you in spanish. you wonder who he asked, who gave him the translation, because as far as you know, the only spanish speaking people he knows is your family members, and while rafe is not easily embarrassed, even that's going too far for him.

rafe tugs at your shorts and underwear, letting them fall to the floor before you’re being lifted up onto the island counter, half-assembled tamales long forgotten as rafe bends, burying his face into your core without any delay.

his tongue laps at your entrance, tasting your juices as they build up. his mouth makes an obscene slurping noise, and you didn’t even realize how wet you’d gotten from hearing him speaking spanish, getting to communicate with him in such a beautiful language that you love so much.

he drags his tongue upward, flicking it against your clit. “te gusta?” rafe asks.

“yeah, yeah i like it!” you answer rafes question, head feeling fuzzy as he goes back to flicking over your clit before circling it teasingly, making you feel every nerve when he drags back over before his tongue finds its way down towards your entrance.

he gathers even more slickness on his tongue before dragging upward, using it as extra lubrication against your clit. he licks at your most sensitive area before tugging your clit between his lips, sucking it into his mouth.

you let out a squeal, reaching down to grip his hair in your hands to hold him in place, pressing his face further into you.

you can feel rafe chuckle against your skin at your clear excitement, but he doesn’t pull away, simply continuing to eat you out as you mumble a few curse words in spanish when his fingers press against your entrance.

hes slow when pressing his digit inside, counter to the speed and intensity of his lips on your clit. when he finally begins to pump it inside and out, your body relaxes, the familiar feeling allowing him to slip a second finger in.

rafe wastes no time scissoring his fingers, clearly needing to open you up quickly to get himself inside.

“fuck!” you shout out. “rafe, rafe, cógeme. cógeme, por favor.” rafe pulls away, looking up at you, clearly having not heard that word before. “fuck me!” you tell him in english, tugging on his hair slightly to encourage him to stand up, to take you.

rafes confusion turns into amusement, his grin spreading as he slowly raises, fingers continuing to thrust inside of you as your hands grab at his pants, undoing them as quickly as you can before shoving them down, rafes hard cock rising.

“tell me the truth, rafe.” you gasp as his fingers pull out, only momentarily feeling the gaping emptiness inside of you until rafes cock takes its place, filling you up effortlessly, the perfect amount of stretch to your walls to bring you the slightest hint of pain, that only increases your pleasure. “who is teaching you this?” “i may have hired someone to help me out on my lunch breaks.” rafe smirks, keeping his cock buried inside of you, your hips moving while sat on the edge of the marble counter, trying to entice him into thrusting. “no promises im ever gonna be fluent, but i figured its the least i could do. for you.”

“oh, rafe.” you feel tears well up into your eyes. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips. “i love you.”

“te amo.” rafe smiles down at you, your legs wrapping around him next, waiting for the thrusts to begin, but rafe remains still for a few more moments, letting you enjoy the soft, sweet moment.

it lasts as long as rafe can hold himself back until he suddenly pumps forward, hips thrusting up rapidly, glad that the island counter sits at the perfect height for him to fuck you at.

“oh, yes!” you moan out, nails raking down his back. “fuck, feels so good baby.” “yeah, can feel your tight little cunt squeezing me.” rafe moans as well, combined sounds filling the kitchen. 

“don’t know…” you try to get the words out, his cock repeatedly filling you, making you interrupt your sentence with gasps. “don’t know how long i’ll last.”

“yeah? my mouth and cock that good? need to cum already?” rafe loves how easily he can make you cum, how fast he can push you to the edge. it only turns him on more.

“sí.” you nod. “close, papí.”

rafe lets out a groan, his orgasm suddenly close from the use of that single word alone. “call me that again, baby girl.”

“papíííí.” you whine out, rafes hips pushing up, slapping against your skin as an orgasm suddenly forces out of you, cunt pulsating around rafe, pulling his own orgasm free.

“fuck.” you curse, before repeating it in spanish. “joder.”

“god, your pussy is perfect.” rafe says, pressing his lips against your cheek as the last of his cum is milked out. “how do you say that in spanish?” “nnn, i don’t know.” you groan. “my minds not working right now.”

“aww, pobrecita, all fucked out.” rafe laughs, pulling his cock out of you.

“your fault.” you grumble, feeling his cum leaking out onto the counter, but you need at least another minute of rafe holding you close before you care about the mess. “your fault dinner is gonna be late too.” you look at your workstation. “we’ll wash up and then i’ll help you.” rafe offers. “and you can teach me some more words in spanish.”

“fine, but you don’t need to learn any more dirty ones, niño travieso.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid

[saint-ajax]

༒ OCT. 09 | El Sin Nombre

༒ KINKTOBER

TW: 18+ | TEASING | EDGING | THIGH HUMPING | DRY HUMPING | ORAL SEX | VAGINAL FINGERING | PHONE CALL | MOMMY KINK |

   El Sin Nombre is the faceless man who rules Las Almas. Respected out of fear. People may respect the name, but true and loyal souls of the city despise it. One thing you love about the respected, dreaded, image is that the man who built the name is a woman.

   “Sin Nombre 's personal sicaria?” you say.

   “ Si, mi amor? ” the woman's voice called out behind you. There she was. Your Valeria Garza. The hottest, most beautiful woman in your eyes.

   “ Ola, mami .” you smile giddily, excited to embrace your woman after a long morning without her. You walk closer to her, arms open and ready to wrap around her neck. 

   You did as you planned, wrapping her neck with your arms, tiptoeing to reach for her lips. She grips the back of your hips, where her fingers lie on top of your ass. She leans down to meet your soft lips. “You miss me, baby?” 

   She asks in her husky voice. “Of course,” you say as you lean back to look at her face, and rise again to kiss her. Then you do it again.

   “I still have—” you tiptoe to kiss her, “—work to do,” and again, “—I'm sorry, mami. ”

   She says as she kisses back every time you rise up to meet her lips while she caresses your ass. “Okay..” you say with a slight pout as you look up at her through your lashes, “but, can I stay here?”

   She furrows her brows, thinking. “Will you behave?” a grin appears on your lips before you nod eagerly.

   “Promise.” You say before leaving another peck on her lips.

   “Alright, you can stay.”

   She holds your hand as she brings you to the long table of her office. The people in the mansion know who you are, and what you are to Sin Nombre. They respect and protect you, lusting over your beautiful body isn't allowed or else they're dead. 

   She sits down and spreads her legs as she makes you stand up in front of her. “Twirl for me.” She commands you.

   You smile as you show off your red skimpy sundress flowing with the wind. A brow rose as she noticed something. “Lift your skirt.” She demands. You stopped and blushed. You were caught already.

   Your fingers grip on the edge of your skirt, hesitant to lift it. There weren't any other people around in the room, which was good. You slowly lift it, exposing your creamy skin. 

   “Faster.” Valeria demands impatiently. You lift it up to your waist, revealing your pussy. “I knew it, you putita.”

   You blush and look away, folding your lips together in embarrassment. “I- I did it for you.” You mutter. 

   “I know. Come here.” She says gently, encouraging you to approach her. You did as you were told.

   Her hands press down your waist while the other creeps up your legs, traveling the sweet spot between your legs. “A- ah…” you moan in surprise when she forcefully spread your legs and straight up inserted a finger in your cunt.

   “So fucking wet already.” She comments while she slides her finger up and down your wet folds. You bite your lip as your brows meet. She stood up and tug aside the cloth on your tits to lick on it. She sucks on your nipples while playing with your pussy.

   She fastens the pace on your cunt and when you start trembling she stops. “I’ll see you later, mami .”

   She smiles before leaving a kiss on your lips and sucking her finger drenched in your juice. You watch her dumbfounded.

   You spent the day watching your woman answer calls, yell at men around the house, and work like a dog. She's never been hotter when she speaks and curses in Spanish.

   “¡Qué puta madre, pendejo! ”

   You watch from afar how she gets mad at the stupidity of men around the place.

   Yet when she sees you, her furrowed brows and piercing eyes soften. You are the prettiest thing. The one who calms her down.

   “ Mi princesa,” she whispers in your ear, purposely tickling you to hear your adorable giggles. 

   It's her habit to push you into a tight room and eat you out. “O- oh..” you moan as your lifted leg exposes the cunt she's devouring. “A- ah.. I'm- I’m cum–” 

   Just when you're about to reach your high, she stops and kisses you on the lips, leaving you high and wet. Such a fucking tease.

    She laughs at your grumpy face. Frustrated from all the teasing. “Come on, cara bonita, smile for me.” You roll your eyes at her which makes her laugh louder.

   But when she touches you and you reject her, that's when you get too cocky. All of a sudden, you find yourself bending over her lap while she spanks each cheek exposed from your lack of undergarments. 

   “Estás probando tu suerte, mi putita.”

   Her degrading nicknames for you only wets your pussy more. You wince at every smack hitting your skin. Your ass eventually came red and thoroughly spank. You apologize for testing your luck. 

   “I- I'm sorry, mami. ” You mewl in softly and she lets you go. She massages your soft skin until she can't help but dip her fingers in your wet cunt. Then eventually leaving you longing for more.

   Night time drops and the endless calls kept coming, it was boring you. You can't wait to feel her touch on your greedy pussy anymore. You whine and sigh on the side while she talks business on the phone.

   You decide not to wait anymore. You walk closer to her and put her lap under your bare cunt. “Hi..” you whisper gently with a sweet smile as you hang your arms on her shoulders.

   “ Si- si– Mami, what is this? – porque? si, ahuevo– What are you doing? That's what I said, exactly the plan– ”

   “Ignore me.” You say as you kiss her jaw, her neck, exposed arms covered in hot tattoos. You even lick it, and suck her skin, leaving a mark of territory. A low rumble on her chest causes to slip out because of your stunts. You smirk and start to thrust your hips. You fix your sitting, trapping only her right thigh then continued to rub your bare pussy on her cargo pants. You start to undress yourself as the friction on your clit feels so good and dry at the same time. 

    You look her in the eye while she speaks to the phone, you suck three of your fingers wet before putting it on your clit to drench it with saliva. Then you continue to hump on her thigh, your clit and pussy hole pleasured yet aching for more as you arch your back. Your bare chest presents your tits closer to the woman busy with a call. 

    You moan at your own cause. You grind faster as she catches a grip on your hip, but you don't stop. You play with your nipples, pinching the hardened buttons and squeezing your mound as you throw your head back from the self-inflicted pleasure.

   The knot on your abdomen was threatening to explode. You keep your pace on her thigh, you squirm from the friction against the cotton and your sensitive clit. Valeria watches you as you play with yourself. She was impressed when you made yourself cum with just her thighs. 

   Your pace slowed down, gently rubbing your core on her thighs. Your mouth hangs open as you ease the climax down. Your eyes are forced to widen when you feel her grip pull you to face the other way, to lie your back on her chest, she creeps her in your legs. The pad of her fingers encircles your glossy clit from your orgasm. 

   You writhe under her touch as she awakens the flame of pleasure on your cunt. “ Yes, it will be delivered in time .” She tells the other person on the phone. If her Spanish is fucking sexy, her English accent is even hotter. You moan in her ear as you throw your head back and fall on her torso.

   “Si, mami.” you whimper as she inserts her finger, sliding them in and out of your sopping cunt. Your hips move in circles, you can't help it. You were meeting the rhythm of her digits.

   She uses her free knee to spread your legs wider and cup your pussy, massage its sensitive nub, scoop delicious juices as she inserts fingers rapidly in a pace that feels good for you.

   “Si, it'll be coming shortly.” She cleverly replied to the phone before dropping the call and focused on her beautiful needy slut.

[leah-lover]

Girlfriend duties. Alexia putellas x reader.

Angst, smut, fluff.

90 minutes and not a single successful shot from you. You were beyond devastated when the ref blew her whistle . Another olympic gold escaping through your grasp. Another lost opportunity at redeeming your country. Another moment of weakness. Another loss.

The stadium erupted at the final blow but at the moment you couldn't hear anything. You just sat down, your head in your hands, and felt nothing. Nothing was going through your head for a few seconds. Then you remember your girls. Most of your teammates were young. This was their second consecutive major loss. You got up quickly, collected yourself and went straight to the first person to console them. You made the round of everybody. You told them how proud you were of them, how good of a job they did throughout the Olympics , and how lucky you were to play with them in the final. Your regard to your own feelings was invisible. You were the captain, it's your duty to help them.

After the team huddle, you made the round of the pitch and met every fan you could. You signed autographs, took pictures, and spent as much time as you could before getting your silver medals.

As expected the winning team clapped for you as you went to get your medals. What hurt you the most about the loss was how better the Spanish team was than you. They were on a different level than you for the whole 90 minutes.

While walking to get your medals, you kept eye contact with the Spanish captain of the night for a little too long. All you wanted was the comfort of her arms. You wanted to cry in her chest, you wanted her to tell you how good you are, you wanted her to talk Spanish to you, to south you, to make love to you, but you couldn't be that selfish. Tonight was her night.. She deserved to celebrate her hard fought win along with you Barca teammates.

It was like she knew your exact thoughts. The look on her face was enough to give you the confidence to wake up those stairs, get your medals and help your team heal.

You didn't stick around to see them get their medals. Instead you followed as a crying teammate to the locker room. After consoling her more, you showered and picked up your phone.

“ I need to see you meet me in the hall please.” texted alexia. Once you saw her name you smiled. You didn't want to ruin her fun so you hesitated in responding. “ please mi alma.”

“ okay.” you responded, dropped your phone and headed to the hall.

The music was getting louder as you approached the Spanish locker room. You stood, your head against the wall,your eyes closed, waiting for alexia. You didn't hear her come near you, you just felt her arms pull you in for a huge. Your head on her shoulder, you didn't dare to open your eyes.

“ mi niña estoy orgulloso de ella.” she whispered kissing you temple.

“ I am not sure there is anything to be proud of.” you respond. she then brings your head in front of her so she can look you in your eyes.

“ don't you ever say that again. You're an olympic medalist now. Plus I saw the way you handled your girls. You were so good to them mi amor.” she added, her thumbs rubbing your cheeks.

“ don't let me ruin your night go celebrate with the girls and tell aitana, ona and the others congrats.”

“ I want to celebrate with you.”

“ We can do that once we are back in Spain, baby. We can't now.”

“ Come with me, we can travel together back to barcelona.”

“ You are kidding right? Baby they don't know about us.”

“ They are our family. It's fine if they knew. I want to be with you.”

The Spanish plane was going to land in Barcelona because they want to do the press there, so going with them would be an easy flight to your home, back to your bed and in ale's comfort. You hesitated before saying yes due to the awkwardness of the situation but you knew that while alexia was there she would be the only one who got your attention.

“ hola bebita, nice of you to join us.” said aitana as soon as she saw you enter their locker room your hand intertwined with alexia’s.

“ merda les capitanes estan juntes al llit.” said ona.

“ no es permeten preguntes de moment. celebrem-nos en pau.” said alexia shutting down the confused faces.

The Spanish girls lit up your mood even though half the time you were texting your teammates. Once you were in the bus, you and alexia sat at the front where no one was. You put your head on her shoulder and she put her hand on your thigh. She kept rubbing her hand along the length of your thigh the whole journey back to the hotel. Once you got to her room and shut the door behind you, you whispered in her ear. “ mommy, i need you.'' She then picked you up, put you down on the bed and proceeded to strip you. She knew that you wanted her too much so she didn't bother to tease you. She just kissed you all over. She kissed your lips, your neck; your chest, your stomach until she arrived at your inner thighs. She spread your legs slowly, and teased your entrance a little before putting two fingers inside you. You arch at her action and release a small moan. While thrusting into you she whispered in your ear how proud she was of you, how good you were for her, and how much she loves you.

“mi amor eres tan bueno para mí. que buena niña." She whispered again before speeding up. Once she realized how close you were she started kissing the sensitive spot on your neck unleashing filthy sounds from you. You came without her permission which she doesn't like. You thought that she would punish you for it. Instead she put her fingers full of your juices in your mouth and said, “límpialos por mí.” After you cleaned them, she got up, handed you water and said, “ I am gonna prepare a bath for us then we are gonna go down and celebrate with the girls okay?.”

“ I love you so much. You are perfect. ” you say to her.

“ I am just doing my girlfriend duties.”

[ytmanzwhore]

Chase It - 1

summary: in which nellie harding gets pulled back into the world of storm chasing, and butts heads with the tornado wrangler himself

warnings: none so far :)

an: hey peeps- this story is being cross posted on my wattpad account (forbesfever) so if you want to check it out there, that is likely where updates will go first!

read chapter two // three

then

"Wakey, wakey," a cooing voice whispered in Nellie's ear where she sat curled up in the front seat of Jeb's SUV. The red head groaned as she began to slowly stretch her legs, peeking her eyes open to see Addy's bright smile hovering over her. "It's time to get going bud."

"It's so early," Nellie whined as everyone began to move around, Javi of course still snoring on the ground till Addy blared the horn at him. The six of them had a pretty solid routine at this point, so it took them only a few mintues to get back to full functioning capacity.

"Hey!" Nellie shouted at Addy sharply as the blonde banged on the metal cylinder in front of her, ignoring Jed's camera turning to her. "Addy how many times to I need to tell you, do not hit that device or I swear to-"

"That's our Nellie," Kate laughed at the camera as the redhead continued to berate Addy. "Nellie is our resident health care professional with us in case of emergency, but also the reason we have Dorothy here with us."

Nellie, Kate and Javi had met by chance at Muskogee State. There was no real reason for two kids in the Meteorology department and a girl in the nursing school to interact, unless you factored in Nellie's last name. Muskogee State College in 2005 had been the lucky recipient of a donation from Dr. Jo and Bill Harding, of the last used Dorothy prototype. At that point, Jo and Bill had retired from chasing and consulted and taught across the country.

In 2018, their niece had chosen to attend their alma mater. In the past, the Harding's had gladly allowed different departments to take Dorothy out in the field, after giving them stern warnings and usually making them pass some tests. But when Nellie was stationed there, she became their new point girl. So when Kate's proposal came across their desk, they asked Nellie to be Dorothy's custodian as the girl did her field research with her team. And so formed the odd but strong bond between Kate, Javi and Nellie, and an all around a passion for storms. 

"Nellie might not be studying with us," Javi moved in extremely close to the camera. "But she's probably chased more storms in her life already, then the rest of us ever will."

And Javi wasn't wrong, because Nellie? While her little brother was attending play time with the kids from the farm down the road (because their parents were too busy to parent), Nellie was sitting in the backseat of Jo's beat up truck, hearing Dusty scream down the radio and watching vortex after vortex leave paths of destruction. Nellie's childhood was split between that backseat, school, and cuddling on the couch at Aunt Meg's house while waiting for their parents to finally check back in on their kids.

So here Nellie was, berating Addy as she hit a legendary piece of equipment. "I told you I can handle Dorothy," Nellie huffed as she walked over and pet the cylinder. "She's just a temperamental bitch."

"Like you," Javi giggled, giving a innocent smile as Nellie whipped her head around to glare at him. 

"I got her," Nellie nodded as she looked at the control panel, and poked at the release button gently, holding it down for a few seconds before pulling back and pressing again. Dorothy as if knowing who was asking something of her, opened up easily. "There's a method here, and-"

"Ok we know you're the Dorothy whisperer," Praveen laughed as he walked over with his laptop. "The only reason you're here."

"Whoa, whoa," Kate interjected, walking up to wrap an arm around Nellie's shoulder. "That's not true!"

"Thank you," Nellie nodded with a grin. 

"She makes a great instant coffee too," Kate giggled as Nellie gasped. "Alright guys, lets get going."

And with that, their little group made some last minute checks before loading up the cars and hitting the road. They were driving through the farmlands of Oklahoma, both Kate and Nellie looking around and thinking of home. Nellie was watching the radar with Praveen while Kate took a last minute call from her mama. 

"There's barbecue waiting for us at home," Kate grinned as she hung up the phone and everyone in the cars cheered. As the group drove towards the storm Kate had been eyeing, they could all feel the conditions begin to build. The wind began to whip, and Nellie cracked the window and took a deep breath, feeling the energy building around them. 

While Nellie might not have a want to follow the academic side of storm chasing, what she did have was the instinct. Like Kate and her aunt and uncle, she could understand a storm like not many could. She loved the thrill of the chase, but what her heart called for, was to help people in the aftermath. Which is why she had chosen to pursue nursing instead of meteorology. 

"It's time," Nellie said quietly as Kate also called for Jeb to stop so they could finalize the solution in the barrels. With that, Javi set up in his van to track data, while the other five loaded back into Jeb's SUV to get into position. 

Nellie's chest began to ache as they drove and the hail began. "Something's not right," Nellie said as Kate began to peer out the windows. The two of them realized at the same time that the tornado was behind them. Everyone's heart began racing, especially as Jeb in an effort to avoid some debri, ended up in a ditch. They took that chance to hop out, save the overturned barrels, and drop the trailer in the tornadoes path. 

The car moved further and further away from the vortex, feeling elated as Javi announced Dorothy's sensors had gotten swept up into the atmosphere. Kate's face was stone as she watched behind them, and noticed the compound wasn't active. Javi's voice tapered out as Nellie's arm hair stood tall. 

"The velocity is 200 miles an hour," Praveen said quietly as Addy tried to hail Javi. Everyone's stomachs dropped as the realization hit them all, that an EF5 was quickly gaining on their position. 

Jeb tried his best to drive them out, but the car couldn't handle the roads. Once again they ended up off the road. "This car's gonna fly," Jeb said to everyone, and Nellie needed no more influence to throw her door open and grab Addy's arm.

"Let's go," she screamed as they booked it to the overpass ahead of them. Kate and Nellie made their way up the slick incline, Nellie freezing as she watched Kate's leg get sliced by a piece of metal. "You're ok," she yelled as she pushed Kate's butt until Jeb grabbed her arm. The red head turned around, spotting Addy lying prone on the incline. 

"Addy come on," Nellie shouted, leaning down to where the girls hand was outstretched. "Take my hand-"

And she could only watch as Addy's body got too high, and the girl's body was swept away by a flying piece of wood. "Oh no," Nellie's breath came quickly. "Okay Nellie," she talked to herself as she turned around and finished climbing to where Kate was being held under Jeb's bulk.

"Come on," Kate yelled, reaching for Nellie. The girl was silent and cold as she moved behind Jeb, bracing her feet against the concrete pillar and wrapping her body around the metal pipings. She closed her eyes, listening to the whistle as it built, hearing Kate's screams as she felt another one of her friends get swept into the vortex.

"Nell," Kate whispered as the silence hit. "Nellie."

Hours later, the two girls were found on the side of the road by a kind police officer, who hid his horror at the blank stares and bloodied bodies walking towards him.

now

Nellie's body jerked awake as her alarm went off, pulling her out of another dream about dark storms and the sound of a train approaching. She sighed as she pulled herself out of bed, opening her black out curtains and seeing the afternoon sunshine outside of her little apartment. The girl went about her usual routine, pulling on some leggings and a long sleeve before lacing up her tennis shoes and heading out for a run.

From there, it was time to shower, down some coffee and food, before throwing on her scrubs to head out for her 12 hour shift at a regional hospital in Oklahoma as a Senior Shift Nurse. She went through the motions that day as she did many days when her night was plagued with nightmares. But no matter what, she gave her best patient care, knowing she might be serving people on the worst day of their lives (or just for a paper cut). 

At 7 am, the girl made her way back to her apartment, looking at her phone and seeing a missed call from Javi. Knowing the boy's habits had changed drastically, she gave him a call as she started her car. 

"Good morning sunshine," Javi said into the reciever as he picked up her car. "You on your way home?"

"That I am," she nodded. 

"Long night?"

"Always," she sighed with a tired smile. "But feeling good."

"Good good," Javi said with his own sigh.

"How was Kate?" the girl probed. And with that, the red head listened as her friend spoke to her about his meeting with Kate in New York, and his failure to convince her to come to Oklahoma. Nellie finished her drive home, choosing not to interrupt the boy to tell him she'd already heard most of this from Kate the night before on her way to work.

"Do you think you can talk to her?" Javi asked desperately. "Try to get her to just give this a chance?"

"Javi," Nel sighed. "I have talked to her. And she's terrified honestly to chase again, to get that close to another storm like," and she didn't have to finish her sentence for the man to understand. 

"I know," he sighed. "There's just so much going on. So much I wish I could do. And I wish I had her skills or your skills, but I don't."

"Javi you need to believe in yourself," Nellie scolded. "You are great at what you do. And you're great at helping people. You just need to find another way. Kate is not the only way you can get this to work, you just need to think outside the box. But hey, let me call you later ok? I just got home and I need to get some sleep."

The two friends said their goodbyes, before Nellie headed inside and readied herself for her post shift nap. After another shift, two of three before Nellie was off, the redhead was sleeping once more when her eyes popped open in anger as she heard banging at her front door. The redhead cursed as she stomped her way to her front door, not even checking the peep hole before swinging it open. "What?" She growled, her mouth opening before she processed the two faces in front of her.

"Hi Nellie," Kate waved nervously as she bounced on her toes. "Missed you!"

"What the hell!" Nellie gasped as she leaned in to hug her friend, looking at Javi in confusion over her shoulder. "How did Javi convince you to come out here?"

"Well here's the thing," Javi laughed uneasily as the girls pulled apart. "She said she'd give me a week, but only if we dragged you along with us."

"What?!"

[redroses07]

AHS boys cuddling headcanons. <3

A/N: Hey guys! I'm back from my year long hiatus! It's been a crazy year for me and I've been through a lot of ups and downs but I'm finally back! Expect me to be posting a lot now because I have a TON of ideas. Anyways, enjoy this little drabble! Love y'all!

Contains: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Michael Langdon, and Xavier Plympton.

Tate Langdon:

This boy is definitely a little spoon.

Constantly asks you to hold him in your arms.

You, personally love this, and happily wrap your arms around him lovingly.

Places soft kisses on your fingers while you trace his features.

Absolutely LOVES when you play with his hair, he practically begs for it.

Now don't think he's always going to be the one being held, that's just what he prefers.

If you're feeling down he'll pull you into his chest, and hold you like something's going to take you from him (his abandonment issues showing)

Loves kissing your neck while cuddling.

Kit Walker:

Kit is truly the most loving partner you could ask for and cuddling with you is one of his favorite things in the whole world.

Likes to see your pretty face so prefers that you two lay facing each other.

Softly tells you all the things he loves about you while pressing kisses to your nose, lips, cheeks, and forehead.

When I tell you his hands would be all over you, I mean ALL OVER. He loves to trace his fingers down your arms, torso and stomach.

Kit also likes to sneak his hands under your shirt when your laying together, and he often falls asleep with them like that.

Cannot fall asleep unless his hands are on you in some way (will not lose you like he lost Alma)

Anyways Kit is amazing and I am in love with him.

Pre-death Kyle Spencer:

Tbh he's my least favorite Evan character so apologies if this sucks.

For some reason I feel like he loves to nuzzle his face in your neck, and he often falls asleep like that.

Lets you lay on his lap while he works on schoolwork, and starts playing with your hair when he loses focus.

Loves when you sit in his lap, he will pull you in his lap literally anywhere. No matter if you're alone, or with your friends he feels the best when you're comfortably situated on his lap.

Jimmy Darling:

Big spoon!!!!!!

Loves when you straddle his waist or wrap your arms around his neck.

Really loves to feel as close to you as possible so he'll tangle your bodies together in every possible way.

One would think it would be hard to get comfortable like that but your comfort is Jimmy's #1 priority, even if that means sacrificing his own.

So if that means his arm falls asleep or his leg cramps, that's okay! as long as you're co. mfortable.

Jimmy loves to kiss your cheeks, and when he's in a silly mood he quickly switches between the two. This leaves you flustered, and in a fit of giggles.

James Patrick March

You wouldn't expect it but James LOVES cuddling with you.

On the outside he seems like he would be cold and dismissive in a relationship but you are his EVERYTHING.

Loves when you lay on top of him and he can comfortably wrap his arms around you.

Constantly whispers to you how much he loves and adores you and would do anything for you (In love with his accent)

Probably not surprising but he likes to leave marks all over you, and not just during sex.

Will bite and suck on your skin while you're cuddling. His favorite place to leave marks is your collarbone.

He sees this as an intimate act, and loves the idea that people will know you belong to him.

Kai Anderson

Lets be real...this man is not a cuddler. To be honest he only cares about you when he's trying to make the messiah baby.

But occasionally he'll be extremely overwhelmed with cult responsibilities and will turn to you for condolences.

Holds you while he vents to you about his frustrations.

Plays with your hair or fiddles with the straps of your tank top to distract himself.

Will also ask you about your day to give him something else to think about.

These are the few times when Kai shows his vulnerable side.

Will kiss your shoulders while you tell him about your day, or give him cult advice.

Michael Langdon:

I love Michael so much y'all he's literally my husband.

Cuddling can go either way with him tbh. Sometimes it's him holding you, and sometimes it's you holding him.

When he holds you he pulls you into him and traces is fingers along your back.

Loves to intertwine your fingers and tightly grip your hand. It makes him feel closer and more connected to you.

Cuddling is when you and Michael have your most intimate bonding moments. When you spill your deepest thoughts and secrets to each other.

On the other hand, when the pressure on Michael is too much, he wants you to hold him.

He cries softly, and stuffs his face into your chest in an effort to hide his tears.

When life just becomes too much for him being held and kissed by you makes everything feel okay.

This is a weird one but I feel like he'd have you brush his hair (I love long hair Michael don't hate).

Xavier Plympton:

Likes to listen to music while cuddling, and will softly sing along if he knows the lyrics.

Will also tap on your back along to the beat.

Likes when you lay your head on his chest and drape your legs over his.

Loves to talk while cuddling, telling you everything that comes to his mind.

He talks, you listen, and that's what he loves about you.

Takes breaks in between his various rants to kiss the top of your head and make sure you're comfortable.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: Some nights you just can't seem to sleep no matter how hard you try, it's alright though because Miguel's on his way home.

Warnings: None, it's just very, very soft.

A/N: Not a request, but I have to write at least one fic about dancing in the middle of the night with Miguel. Set in the same universe as What's In Between, listen to the song mentioned here. Enjoy!

Everyone has those nights where they just can’t fall asleep. Whether it’d be the stresses of the day before or the next, an issue that has been troubling you, or simply because you can’t shut off your mind and fall asleep, it inevitably happens to us all.

Unfortunately for you, that was tonight. After tossing and turning for the last two hours, you had enough.

Maybe it was because the bed just felt so empty without Miguel in it, who knows.

All you knew was that you could not fall asleep. So what better thing to do than to make a late-night snack?

Sliding out of bed, you blearily blink your eyes as they readjust to the kitchen light. After a few moments of scrolling through your playlists you settle on a soft one, to match the mood of the early morning (or late night depending on who you asked).

The music played softly in the background as you made your favourite snack, humming along to the song. Miguel’s shirt hung loosely down your frame as a warm summer breeze floated in through the open window.

The reason you loved the night so much was because it was so quiet. So simple, so peaceful, with only the light of the moon shining its way.

“One day, I will stop falling in love with you~” you sing softly, swaying from side to side in between bites, a happy little smile on your face.

Miguel watched as you swayed gently from side to side, a soft look on his face as he feel himself relax with your presence alone.

He still wore his Spiderman suit, the aches of a difficult mission starting to settle in his bones but he seemed to forget all of that the moment he saw you.

“Until then I’ll drink my coffee, eat my pie pretend that we are more than friends~,” you sing, swirling around as you feel that familiar prickle giving away his presence.

His eyes seem to widen slightly as you acknowledge him before a small smile settles on his face.

“Then of course I’ll let you break my heart again,” you say, making your way up to him as the smile on your face mirrors his own.

“Dance with me?” you ask him, holding out a hand for him to grasp. He only shakes his head.

“Mi alma, you know I’m not much of a dancer,” he replies but eyes your hand for a moment.

“Oh, c’mon Miguel,” you plead, a hand held out waiting for him to hold it. “Just one dance?” And even though he tried his hardest, he just couldn’t resist the look in your eyes.

“Alright, but just one,” he says, grasping your hand warmly before pulling you close, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your expression lights up as he does, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his chin.

He can’t help the smile that plays across his face, his heart growing so warm in fondness.

The longer he holds you in his arms, the more he can feel his body relax within your embrace as you sway from side to side with the slow melody.

Being a protector of the multiverses, he didn’t have time to be soft. Not when the decisions he made, when the decisions all the spiders had to make under his direction would destroy that softness in an instant….But with you, he could afford that vulnerability, because he knew you would hold the frail wounded heart hidden behind the walls he built gently.

He reserved that softness for you, only you.

“Someday, one day,” you continue to sing, and he lets your voice wash over him like a calm ocean wave. “I will stop falling in love with you.”

He lifts an arm up from your waist for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t think I ever could, querida,” he whispers softly. “Stop falling in love with you, I mean.”

You look up at him, unable to stop the tears from welling in your eyes at the admission but he wipes them away before they could fall.

“I don’t think I could either,” you say softly before leaning your head back on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “You’re stuck with me, unfortunately,” you chuckle, but he only pulls you closer.

“How are you feeling?” you ask hesitantly, noticing how he looked more tired than usual. You knew it was a 50/50 tossup as to whether he would answer in truth, but you knew he appreciated the thought.

It wasn’t often he allowed himself to be vulnerable, truly vulnerable with you. To spill all those thoughts swirling in the beautiful chaos that was his mind. That strong front he put up was the only thing that held him together.

“I’m alright, mi corazón,” he answers, though his eyes held the depth of a thousand words.

He was tired…but he was home.

Taglist: @remuslupinwifee

[sunflowersteves]

i'm not cute || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary || Miguel always loved when you played with his hair.

author's notes || this is my first miguel fic and im v excited!! there will be much more to come <3 also, my spanish is v v v limited and i tried following what ppl were saying in the miguel tag but please let me know if I need to fix anything!!

warnings || none, fluff, it's tooth-rotting

“Did you just braid my hair?”

You paused—froze even. Your hands stilled in between his luscious, soft hair, and it took every ounce inside of you to not continue to feel through each strand of his. 

“Uh, no?” It was bashful. 

You inwardly winced at the extremely unconvincing tone of your voice. You couldn’t see, but his lips curled into the smallest of smiles. His spidey-DNA, as you liked to call it, sensed the heat that radiated off of your body. 

After an unsuccessful mission, Miguel came home in a state of ire. His eyebrows were furrowed, anger rolling off of his body in waves as his chest heaved up and down. But as soon as your hand placed itself across the plains of his chest and soothed the fabric of his suit, everything started to dissipate. 

The anger, the grief, the guilt—everything. 

You gently pulled his wrist, and he blindly followed you into the living room of your makeshift apartment he built in Nueva York. You sat right above him on the couch, brush in your hand as you stroked through each strand of hair. His frame practically barrelled over you, despite him sitting on the ground with his back to the legs of the couch.

 In return, he wanted to desperately turn around and press light kisses into your skin, but he refrained. He knew that all you wanted to do was comfort his tense muscles. 

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You bite your lip, sheepishly, as you ignored his comment and started to braid another part of his hair. You very carefully twisted the fluffy soft hair between one another and grinned at the What he didn’t have to know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Well, apparently, you were wrong because once you tugged on his hair, yet again, and he practically jumps. 

“¡Ay!” He yelps and turns his head to look at you, “¿Qué mierda haces?” 

Your eyes widened, “Miggy! Oh—I’m so sorry!” You go to reach for his head again in an attempt to soothe the pain that you caused, but he caught your wrist. 

If you weren’t too concerned about tugging on his hair, you would have noticed the slight change in his lips that turned into a sly smirk. “Cariño,” He warned. His voice was gravelly and rough���the sound sending shivers down your spine. “¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?” 

In one motion, he’s hovering over you. “Hmm?”

Your mouth opens in surprise—the spark in your heartbeat not going unnoticed by the man before you. “I–I just, Miguel—” You were starting to get nervous under his gaze—just like you always do.

Pure adoration flashed between his ruby eyes, and his finger gently rubbed against the side of your cheek. It was so gentle and affectionate that it almost created tears against your waterline. He loved when you got nervous and playful—it always struck against his chest and seized him whole. He wanted to see the effect that he had on you in every waking moment, it seemed. 

He smiled. “You’re cute.”

You gasped, attempting to turn the tables around and flip him over. “I am not cute!” Alas, you were unsuccessful. 

He laughed. It was hearty and pretty against your ears. “You’re right. You’re the cutest.”

You grumbled under your breath, and it took every ounce of control not to kiss the puffing of your cheeks. “Whatever, you’re the cutest. Not me.” 

Miguel smiled—teeth showing and entirely genuine as he took in your playful expression and fingers that twisted the short hair against the base of his neck. 

“I’ll eventually make you admit it, mi alma. Don't you worry."

~~

¿Qué mierda haces? - What the fuck are you doing?

Cariño - Honey

¿Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am i going to do with you?

Mi alma - my soul

[thirstworldproblemss]

Fic: Closer

cowritten with @astroboots

Fandom:  Moon Knight Pairing:  Jake Lockley x F reader (x Steven, x Marc) Length:  5.6k words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings:  This fic contains explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, anal play, and anal sex. (That's it. That's the fic.)

Summary: Jake checks an item off his bucket list, and you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves.

Notes: Many thanks to @guruan who fixed our my extremely questionable Spanish (any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault) and whose deliciously debauched art is a never-ending source of inspiration. More thanks (and uh... oh god, sorry 🙈) to the poor anon who submitted the prompt that spawned this to Cici last Kinktober and had to wait a whole year to see the damn thing. And, of course, ALL my love to my darling cowriter and 🤡💖🤡 sister, @astroboots, who always makes writing a joy, and without whom this never would have been started, finished, or posted at all.

[ twp’s Masterlist  | boots' Masterlist  ]

Jake hasn’t spent a lot of time in the driver’s seat over the years. For a long time he only fronted on rare occasions. Life or death situations mostly. Those hair-trigger moments when the body is in critical danger and a moment’s hesitation is all it’d take for all three of them to wind up dead. 

Those times when things are too much for Marc or Steven to be able to handle? That’s when it’s Jake’s turn at the wheel. 

It’s why normally the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, in command of the body, is the source of imminent danger: 

The face of the man who has a knife pressed against the collar of his military uniform in the middle of a desert. 

A panoramic view through the windshield of a truck that is seconds from veering off a winding cliff-side road. 

A long-haired Jim Jones wannabe staring down at him along a glowing walking stick protruding from his own chest. 

But things have been different lately. For one thing, he’s been spending a lot more time fronting, and not just in dangerous situations. 

For another, he’s learning that there’s so much more world out there than he’d ever imagined. There’s Ben & Jerry’s peanut popcorn flavored ice cream, Saturday karaoke nights, Derby Girls and you. 

Always you.

You were just Steven’s girl first, and then somehow against all odds Marc got involved too, and now that Jake’s been allowed a taste, he's never letting you go. You’re his guide to the wide world,  the road map keeping him on the right route, the safe resting place when he’s tired. Su alma, his soul.

And right now you look exhausted. Your thighs shaky and trembling, matted hair glued to your forehead, all of you dripping with sweat and other things. Steven must have really worn you out before he ceded the front. 

Sweet, shy little Steven—Mr. Sunshine—who just fucked you seemingly within an inch of your life before he remembered that he needs to share. 

And Marc thinks Jake is the unhinged one. 

The punch of adrenaline that always comes with fronting is still running through his veins, and he’s already hardening at the sight of you on your stomach, ass up in the air on display for him, Steven’s come just beginning to drip out of you. It doesn’t matter that the body just came, it’s Jake’s turn now. 

He slides his rapidly stiffening cock through your slippery folds, nudging the head against your clit, you and him both slick and sloppy with Steven's come and your own wetness.

“Aaah – Jake,” you gasp sharply into the pillow.

You know it’s him. He doesn’t know how. You haven’t even turned around to look at him, but somehow you just know. You always know. It’s an uncanny magic trick that impresses the hell out of him every time.

Jake grips one side of your ass in his free hand, squeezing hard. You’re all smooth skin and soft flesh under his finger, your cute little asshole peeking up at him. You’d kill him if he’d called it that out loud. So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, swallowing down the groan that’s simmering in his throat at the sight of you.  

He can't resist sliding his thumb over that little pucker. He barely even brushes over you when you let out a pretty gasp for him. His cock is fully hard now, and it jerks against you at the sound, so he does it again, just to see if you’ll make the same noise twice. You do. 

Then you moan, sharp and keen, and he has to pull back, hand sliding over his slick length once before he leans in and replaces his thumb with the head of his cock. Taking his time, he slides it along the curve of your ass before nestling himself snugly between your cheeks. He makes an absolute mess as he goes, smearing the shiny slick left by Steven all over your bare skin until everything is a glistening sheen under the dim light as he begins to thrust forward, sliding his cock between the valley of your cheeks. 

Jake's dreamed of taking you here. He wants to take every fucking hole you have, fill you up and cover you with his come until it's dripping off of–out of every inch of your body.

Mierda. Even just the thought of it has heat climbing his spine, and his cock jerks in his fist and spitting even more precome into the mess already covering your spine and the rounded curves of your ass. 

He thrusts against you again, fucking himself between your cheeks, and you mewl quietly, pressing back against him. Maybe he won’t even fuck your pussy this time. Maybe he’ll just stay right here and rub his cock on your gorgeous ass until he comes all over it. Add to Steven’s mess with one of his own. He’ll do it. And reach around and rub your clit so you come too.

Maybe if he can get you used to the idea of his cock rubbing against your ass, maybe one day you’ll let him put it inside too. 

"You can, you know," you mumble out into the pillows, and Jake freezes, heat streaking down to his balls, and he has to grip himself hard at the base to avoid painting your ass with his come right then and there. 

Shit, did he say that out loud? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He must have heard you wrong. Or he misunderstood. You can't possibly be offering what he thinks you are. 

"You can try putting it in. I might ask you to stop if I don't like it, but..." you your knees slightly, and the move has your ass practically wiggling at him in temptation, "It feels good right now."

Jake's brain stalls out. His body flashes hot all over. The back of his neck is tingling. He squeezes the base of his cock so hard he thinks he might be in danger of doing permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he comes on your ass right now when he’s just been told he might get to come in it. 

Gritting his teeth, Jake breathes through his body’s urge to come, pushing down the near-overwhelming need to shove his cock into your tight little asshole immediately. He knows he has to prep you if there's going to be any chance of you enjoying this, and he needs you to enjoy it because he wants to be able to do it again (and again and again and...) 

Shit. He needs to get on with it, or he's going to finish before he even makes it inside.

Jake makes himself let go of his aching cock, leaves it bobbing and dripping in midair, and turns his focus on you.

Leaning closer, he uses both hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, and just looks at you for a minute, watching your body clench around nothing.

"You want me to fuck you here, sweetheart?" he demands, sticky thumb sliding down through the mess of your slick and Steven’s come to circle your puckered hole, almost but not quite touching it, "Gonna let me put my cock inside this tight little hole and fill it up with my come?"

You whine, your whole body shivering under him, and he grins, satisfaction buzzing in his veins when your hips cant further up, trying to get him to touch you.

It’s fucking adorable is what it is. He is starting to understand why Marc likes to edge you now. How could he not? You’re always so reactive and needy when you’re denied. You make it so fun to tease. 

Sliding his thumb down, he slicks it around and around, just to watch you whine and shiver and shift, hips chasing his touch. His dick jerks with every noise you make and every time your body visibly clenches.

As fun as this is, a bright delight humming in his chest at your every little reaction, Jake doesn’t have the patience to tease you for long. 

He’s not like Marc. El Jefe seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this, but it’s only a minute or two before Jake can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he doesn’t get inside you one way or another. So he stops, holding his hand still to let you “catch” him.

When you do, he sucks in harsh breath, heat punching through him as he watches you rub yourself against his thumb, heart rate spiking as you lean back, the tip of his thumb pushing inside just a little.

It's barely anything, but the feeling of you parting to let his his thumb slips inside, then squeezing him back out is addictive. He presses harder, wanting more. His thumb slides a bare inch inside, and his groan barely covers the strangled sound you make, body tensing under him. 

Sweat breaks out on his forehead along with the realization that he cannot fuck this up. 

"Alright, mi alma?" he asks, trying to sound sweet and gentle, but his voice, low and eager, betrays him. A starving wolf in a sloppy sheep disguise. He’s not fooling anyone, not himself and certainly not you. 

Reigning himself in as best as he can, his fingers close into a fist with tight tension blaring in every nerve. Then he unfurls his palm to pet his hand over your back and down your side to give your ass a gentle squeeze. 

“Do you  need me to stop?" 

"N-no," comes the shaky answer, and Jake thanks any gods who might be listening, "It feels a bit odd, but..." you squeeze around his thumb, hot and unbelievably tight, and Jake swears under his breath, "It’s a good odd, I think. Just– just give me a moment."

You shift slightly, clenching again, and his cock jerks and throbs like the nerves of his thumb have somehow been reattached directly to his aching length. He really fucking doesn’t want to come before he even gets inside you, but right now he’s not sure if that’s in the cards for him.

Then you push back against him, and his thumb slides in another half inch, and both of you gasp. He pulls out slightly and risks a small thrust back inside. He's rewarded by another gasp and a small moan, so he does it again, a little further this time, and this time the moan is louder.

Fuck, you look so good like this, ass all slick and slippery. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jake leans forward, spitting onto the curve of your ass right above where his thumb is inside you. 

You jerk when it lands on your skin, and he likes that. Likes that even though he’s done it before it always seems to take you by surprise. Likes how his spit  looks on your skin too, shiny and slick as it slides down the crack of your ass to join the rest of the mess he’s smeared there. Likes that when he pushes it into your tight little asshole, it’s one more way that he can be inside you, make you a little bit more his in a way that will linger after he’s no longer with you.

You whine as he pulls his thumb all the way out, he spits again, hitting his target, directly on your pretty little asshole, then he presses in again, shoving more of his spit into you.

Like most things when it comes to how he feels about you, Jake doesn’t entirely understand why he likes this so much. It’s primal, somehow, a deep-seated need to mark you with himself–his spit, his scent, his come.

His cock is aching, throbbing in time with the way you clench every time he pushes his thumb into you. Jake can't stand it, has to wrap his free hand around himself, gripping as hard as he dares, and stroking slowly. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, red hot pleasure searing up his spine as he leans in to slide the head of his overwrought, leaking cock along your ass, right next to where his thumb is shoved inside. 

"You feel how hard you make me?" he demands, pressing himself against you, relishing the way you shift and moan again, body still squeezing around his thumb, but loosening with every passing moment as you relax. It also has the added benefit of his precome dripping down to lubricate things even more as he thrusts into you a little deeper each time. "Fuck, I can't wait to get inside this tight little hole. You gonna let me in, mi alma?"

"Yes, yes, Jake! Please!" you cry out, only partially muffled where your face is pressed into the pillows, and he damn near loses it again. Has to press his cock against you hard, almost to the point of pain as fire licks out along his nerves, threatening to send him over the edge.

"You want this cock in your ass right now?" he grits out, vaguely aware that he should probably spend more time prepping you, stretching you so you can take him easier, but he can't wait another fucking second.

He pulls back, pulls his thumb out, and you whine out his name Jake, Jake, Jake as you push your ass up and back, chasing his touch.

He looks down to see a blur of movement between your legs, and realizes that at some point you shoved a hand underneath yourself to rub at your clit.

It’s pure impulse. He doesn’t think. Before he even realizes what he's about to do, Jake’s hand flashes out, coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends your flesh jiggling in an all-too-appealing way. 

You cry out, sharp and high-pitched, but Jake knows from experience that it's a cry of shock, not of pain, and he quickly follows up on his advantage.

"Naughty naughty, sweetheart,” he scolds, “Who said you could touch yourself?" 

You freeze, obviously caught, and several seconds tick by where he watches approvingly as the mark left on your supple skin from the impact of his hand shades into a darker hue before you whine again, "Please, Jake. I need– I need–"

That's more like it. 

"Pobrecita," he croons to you, enjoying the way you relax at his gentle tone, "Do you need more?"

You nod into the pillow.

He leans in and smacks his cock against the same place his hand struck. You jolt, letting out the hottest fucking sound, so he does it again, and has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to escape him at the sensation.

"You want this cock, mi alma?" he demands, voice harsh,  "You want me fuck your ass with it right now?"

"Yes. Yes, Jake. Fuck, please. YES!" you pant out, sounding as desperate as he feels. You’re pressing back against him, hips shifting so you can press that pretty little hole right against the tip of him, acting for all the world like you're going to fuck yourself back onto his cock if he doesn't give it to you fast enough.

It's a heady feeling, to hear you beg for him, and part of him wants to hear you do it again, and again and again. To leave you there, begging for him as you struggle to fuck yourself on him. Lucky for you, he is nothing like Marc. 

"All you had to do was ask, mi alma," he grates out as he begins a slow press forward, "All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll give you the world."

Your body yields to him, the head of his cock slipping inside, and he has no more words. Only a strangled groan to match your whine as you clamp down hot and impossibly tight around him.

A sparkling clarity descends, time dilating, stretching out the way it does when he's in the middle of a fight, and he can only be grateful because he's barely clinging to his composure by the tips of his fingers here.

One truth stands out above everything else: he can't hurt you. 

He has to go slow, keep control, make it good for you. 

Jake wraps an arm around you, fingers tangling with yours to rub desperate circles around your clit, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you relax slightly under and around him. Still he doesn't move, not sure if he can without losing it and pumping you full of his come right then and there.

It's only when your hips start to move, hitching forward against his fingers, and then back to fuck yourself a little farther onto his aching cock that he dares draw in another breath, dares to meet your movements with small thrusts of his own, fucking in a little further each time.

And you take him just like that, little by little. One slow press, one torturous inch at a time, until he's buried as deep in you as he can go. 

"Fuck. Jake," you gasp out, clenching hard around him, and he groans. 

He makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re stretched tight around the base of his cock, taking every fucking inch he has to give, and the sight hits him like a punch to the gut. His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and somehow you take him even deeper.

You make a strangled sound, clamping down so tight it borders on the painful, and he freezes, shuddering behind you.

"¡Mierda! ¿Estás bien?" he demands, has to stop and mentally scramble for the words before he can ask again in English, "You okay, mi alma? Shit, did I hurt you?" 

"N-no. I'm okay," you pants out in response, "You can– You can move, Jake. Please. Need you to mo–"

Before you even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out and easing back in. It’s a tight fit, your body hugging him so snugly that nothing else would fit. 

Lento, he reminds himself, gently. Not too fast. Gritting his teeth against the demands of his body, he presses himself in and out of you as slowly and carefully as he can manage, and he tries to keep his fingers moving on your clit. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in until he’s sure it must be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

You whine, writhing under him as he inches back into you.

"Jake," you pant out, nearly sobbing his name, "Jake, Jake," and he slows further, worried that it's too much.

"No!" you cry out suddenly, and Jake freezes on instinct, holding still as you prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your upper body sharply to one side so you can glare at him over your shoulder, "Don't bloody stop. I want you to fuck me."

The words hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of him, and the determined look on your face stabs him right in the heart, his whole chest pulling tight. 

"You've been so patient, Jake,” you cajole him, “and it's good. Better than I thought it would be. I want you to stop holding back. Fuck my ass for real. Let go, Jake."

Fuck, he loves you so fucking much. The feeling is so big, he doesn't know how his body can contain it. He wants to move mountains, conquer the fucking world just so he can lay it at your feet. He'd give you anything. 

But the only thing you're asking for right now is his cock, and that he’s just as desperate to give you as you are to take it.

He pulls out slowly, one… last… controlled… withdrawal, then he slams into you so hard it drives you forward across the bed away from him. Digging both hands into your hips, he yanks you back to him, back onto his cock.

"Like this?" he asks as he pulls out and slams into you again,  "You want it hard? Like this, mi alma?"

"Yes– Fuck– Yes–" you gasp out between harsh thrusts, "Ja-Jake!"

His name breaking on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life, and it severs the last threads of Jake's control. He lurches forward with a roar, driving himself into your tight little ass over and over again, as hard and fast as he can go. 

The force of it knocks you off your elbows, flattening you into the bed, but Jake just yanks you back, repositioning his knees as your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

Every thrust is deep and relentless, burying himself inside you as deep as your body will let him, giving you as much of him as you can take. Until his hip bones are pressed flush against your ass, until his cock is buried inside you to the root, until every inch of him is enveloped by you. 

He's so lost in the feel of you, he doesn't realize he’s fucked you all the way across the bed until you're precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Your knee goes first, slipping sideways off the bed mid-thrust, and it's enough to pull him off balance and send you both tumbling to the floor. 

Instinct takes over, and before Jake even has a chance to consciously register what’s happening, he’s already twisting, shielding your body so that he takes the brunt of the fall. He winds up hitting the hardwood ass-first before coming to rest with his head against the nightstand and you in his lap. 

Miraculously, you’re still connected, the force of the fall shoving you down on his cock farther than ever before, the feeling of being lodged so far inside your tight ass more than enough to overwhelm the slight pain in his tailbone from the fall.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then you start shaking, trembling in his arms, shoulders vibrating against him. He has half a second to worry that he’s fucked up badly enough to make you cry before a loud, bright sound rings out in the room. 

You’re laughing. Oh thank fuck.

"Oh my god, Jake! You just fucked me off the bed, quite literally. That's definitely a first!" you exclaim, twisting around to giggle down at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, mouth curved in an open, full-toothed smile. Jake has a handful of seconds to marvel at how beautiful you are before you shift in his lap, your body clamping down around him, and any last lingering shreds of control he might have been clinging to are gone.

Jake lifts his hips, fucking up into you, and watches your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips.

It's not enough.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and rolls to his knees, and your gorgeous laughter dissolves into a broken cry of surprise as he drags you with him. The sound melts into a long drawn out moan that has the tip of his ears tingling. He can’t think, all he can do is keep going as he fucks forward into you again, his chest tight against your back as he forces you down onto all fours so he can keep fucking you. 

Fuck. The wood floor is hard and uncomfortable under his knees, digging into his kneecaps. He knows it must be worse for you with his weight bearing down on you, but he can't make himself stop. 

He's been dreaming about taking you this way for so long, and now he finally gets to. He knows, he knows he should stop and check on you, should move the two of you back up onto the bed where you'll be more comfortable, but that pretty little ass is stretched around him so perfectly, tight and hot around him, and his need is riding him hard.

Heat prickles from the tip of his fingers, spreading along the nerve endings along every patch of skin, fuck. It’s everywhere, expanding across the span of his chest, pooling in his abdomen, gripping into his lungs. He can’t breathe. Can’t stop. Can’t–

"Lo siento," he stutters out. "I'm sorry, mi alma. I can't– I have to–" Words leave him, and all he can do is pant against your neck as his hips jerk into you with increasingly sloppy thrusts. 

His end is approaching fast, whether he wants it to or not, and he barely has the presence of mind to shove a hand underneath you, rubbing desperate circles over your clit with fingers gone clumsy with need.

He has to make it good for you. He has to. He has to– 

Por fortuna, it only takes a minute for you to tense underneath him, sobbing out his name and tightening around him so forcefully that he can't keep thrusting, his cock locked in place by the tight clench of your body.

The lack of movement is enough to stave off his own orgasm, but just barely, the pleasure is overwhelming, teasing at the tip of his tongue as you shudder underneath him and you flutter rhythmically around his cock. It's so similar to being inside your pussy when you come, but it's different too. The pulse of your pleasure there squeezing him so tight it's nearly painful, but its so, so fucking good.

He breathes through it, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against the skin of your back. Does his best to keep his fingers moving on your clit, trying to prolong the moment for you, to draw you pleasure out as long as he can. He wishes he could see your face. 

Next time, he promises himself. Face-to-face next time, so he can watch every expression you make as he fucks you full of himself and see the pleasure break across your face when you come with his cock lodged deep inside.

All too soon, you're collapsing forward onto one elbow, your other hand shoving at his where it's buried between your legs, and he lets you push his hand away, planting his palm on the ground next to your head. 

You turn weakly to look up at him, pulling partially off of his dick as your body sags like you can’t keep yourself up. 

"Are you ready, mi alma?" he grits out, dimly aware that he's shaking as he braces himself above you, "Ready for me to fuck this tight little ass full of my come?"

"Mmm," you hum, sweet and contented under him, "yes, please."

That's all Jake needs to hear.

He slams his hips forward into yours, and the force of the first thrust knocks you forward off your elbow, your chest meeting the ground as you half-collapse under him. 

Jake follows you down without stopping, fucking into you hard. You sink a little further towards the floor with each thrust until you're flat on your stomach, but Jake still doesn't stop. He can’t, though he's sure he must be flattening you. Doesn't think he could stop if his life depended on it

He's grinding into you now with increasingly sloppy thrusts, burning heat burrowing into the base of his spine as he holds back his orgasm by sheer will, slurring out endearments against the back of your shoulder.

“Mi alma. Mi vida. Reina de mi corazón.”

And you are. His soul. His life. The queen of his heart. You are all of that and more. His gorgeous, perfect love, taking him, all of him, exactly as he is.

"Do it," you say from underneath him, and reality seems to recede, his vision tunneling in on your lips as they shape the words that just might kill him.

"Fill my ass up with your come. Fuck it into me as deep as you can. I'm yours, Jake."

Jake's orgasm crashes into him like an unexpected switch. Like a bomb going off. Like a knife sliding between his ribs, sharp and sudden. Pleasure sears though every inch of the body that has never felt more like his than it does at this moment, his forehead pressing against the warm skin of your back as he empties himself inside you in pulse after pulse of aching release. 

By the time the last shuddering spasm subsides, Jake feels wrung out like a bloody rag. He barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of you, mustering just enough strength to roll the two of you to the side so that he’s no longer squishing you. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he carefully pulls out, then pulls you back against his chest, curving his body around yours, and the two of you lay cuddled together like that for a long moment.

Eventually, his strength returns, along with the awareness that the floor he’s holding you on is both hard and probably not all that clean given Steven’s penchant for pouring sand all over. You deserve better. He gets up first, and carefully helps you rise to standing, waiting a moment to be sure you’re steady on your feet, before guiding you gently into the bathroom. 

When he flips on the bathroom light, the shadow of his reflection in the small round mirror transforms into a flushed, wide-eyed Steven who mumbles, “That was… God, that was… ” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Jake’s not sure he could either, but Mr Sunshine doesn’t need to know that, so he just shoots the mirror a smug smile and tips an imaginary cap in that direction before he moves to turn on the shower.

You shiver a little when he steps away from you, so once the water is running, he wraps both arms around you, encouraging you to lean against him while you wait for it to get warm. You do, wrapping one arm around his waist in return and curling into his chest like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Jake just watches you. Tilting his head back and slightly to the side to get a better angle, he lets his eyes roam over your face, taking in the soft curve of your cheek, the eyelashes feathered against the soft skin there nod that your eyes have fluttered closed, the hand you’ve settled against his chest, right over his heart, the way your lips curve up into a slight content smile. 

You’re beautiful.

You always are, but right now, something about this moment makes Jake’s chest tight. It steals his breath as surely as if there were hands wrapped tight around his neck, choking the life out of him.  But instead of stealing his life, it’s as if you’re giving him more of it, pumping him full of its essence, filling his chest until he doesn’t know how his body can contain the feelings you inspire in him. 

The bathroom is getting warmer, steam starting to form on the mirror, but Jake is loath to relinquish his hold on you. You seem equally uninterested in leaving him. You’re snuggled contentedly into his chest, but the way you slump lower and looser with each passing second tells him that he needs to get you moving fast, before you fall asleep standing up. “Water’s warm,” he tells you, and you hum sleepily against his chest. It’s so, so tempting just to carry you back to bed, but he knows you’ll be happier if you’re clean.

“C’mon, mi alma. Into the shower. Vamos.”  He herds you gently backwards until you’re standing under the spray.

You hum sleepily up at him without opening your eyes, and he’s worried for a moment that he’s lost you to sleep already, but you stay standing when he cautiously releases you.

Reaching for your soap, he quickly lathers up a washcloth. The smell of the soap—the smell of you—quickly permeates the small space, and he breathes deep, letting the familiar scent wash over him.  He runs the cloth gently over your shoulders,  taking extra care with the still-visible bite mark one of them left there, then down over your chest. The skin of your breasts is soft and warm under his fingertips, and he’s half tempted to try for another round, but he feels strangely protective of your soft sleepiness.

Instead he dutifully rinses you off, letting the water cascade over your body. 

You blink your eyes open long enough to shoot him another warm, sleepy smile, and the contentment in his chest seems to expand, taking root and spreading with every breath until it feels almost too large for the small space of the shower. 

He steps out, reaching for a towel, and drys you off gently, before doing the same to himself with much less care.

Then he carries you back to bed and tucks you in, doing his best to straighten out the wrinkly covers before pulling them up over both of you. Curling his body around yours, he holds you tightly to him. There are a lot of things in this world Jake can do without, has done without. But this– you are no longer on that list.

In the cozy warmth of the bed with your body pressed against his, his eyes feel heavy. Jake never used to fight to stay in the driver’s seat, not once the excitement was over. But he clings to consciousness now. He wants to prolong this moment when his vision is filled, not with yet another threat to body, life or limb, but with something altogether perfect: the sight of you drifting off to sleep, your head nuzzling into the pillow, a slight smile on your face… safe. 

It’s the last thing he sees as he falls into a deep, restful sleep. .

Thanks for reading!

—

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[mylarena]

thinkin abt soap being able to touch ghost, unlike literally anyone else on base. like, even gaz and price get minimal leeway on it. the medics act like hes a feral cat when treating him. theres rumors that he once broke a guys wrist for patting his arm.

but then soap shows up, and hes like, Ah Nah Man, Itll Be Fine!

and punches him in the shoulder and says 'save ya a seat, sir!' and sees the momentary flash of shock from his absolute fucking audacity before he turns and ignores the absolutely killer glare he gets as he walks away

then ghost pats his arm before he leaves the camera room, leaving soap too shocked to do anything but give him a weak thumbs up as he walks away

then soap pats his shoulder before climbing onto the helo out of las almas

and thats just the start.

people around base see soap bump shoulders with ghost while walking down a hallway and everyone can only look on in horror as ghost-- does nothing. huffs and rolls his eyes, but does nothing.

and anyone who witnessed it are simply not believed when they tell people about it.

but they know.

then it happens again, and more people see it, and then its flying around the base in whispers and gossip.

"soap gave lieutenant ghost a shove and he didnt even react!"

"he sat next to him during the brief, and he was pressed right up to him!"

"they were sitting across from each other in the mess, and, you wont even believe this, but they were playing footsies! soap was stealing things right off of his plate! and ghost just let him!"

and ghost starts being more open to other peoples touch, too. nothing even fractionally as close to what he lets soap get away with, but price gets to ruffle his hair in the 141 common room in the rare occasion that ghost is without his mask. gaz can throw an arm around his shoulder without being growled at like a fuckin dog.

the next time a rookie accidentally bumps into him, theyre terrified for a moment that theyre either going to be booted off the base for disrespecting their CO or gutted like a fish, but ghost just nods stiffly to their frantic apology and steps to the side to walk right past them.

and, even wilder than everything else, ghost is seen initiating contact with soap. patting him on the back (making soap beam like the sun), ruffling his hair (causing soap to borderline giggle), grabbing him by the chin to tilt his head to get a better look at a wound over his eyebrow (making soap look up at him with a gentle expression, settle a hand over his wrist, and softly reassure him that he's okay.)

and it says a lot that eventually when someone says that they walked into the gym late one night and caught ghost and soap pressed chest-to-chest with soaps arms hooked up and around ghosts neck and ghosts hands on soaps hips, people dont immediately dismiss it as something entirely unbelievable.

[melancholicstation]

Salvatore can wait, now it's time to eat soft ice cream — bobby f. kennedy

As Jack's wife many may propose your sex life to be exuberant and quite frequent: in reality it's nothing of the sort. After having your beautiful baby-girl Enya, you'd expressed fears and insecurities of being intimate about your new post-baby body with Jack to which he kindly dismissed them telling you that he loved you even more now. While hearing those words from a man you've loved half your life warmed your heart his sentiments fail to quell your fears. However, what sets you free from all your present worries and gives you release is in fact his own brother and your brother in-law: Robert.

taglist: @vile-harlot @dulcegal @rockstarfreddybby @starsprangledgirl @bluelancergirl @hisamericanmuse @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @rocker-chick-7 @reptaysgf @castiellover77 @salvatoresablondie @mckinleygirl98 @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @obsessedwithjohnjr @monturi @darcyspirits @unmarlou @remotewatch @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @fortheloveofjos @strip-weather-forecast @ultr4v1ol3nt @acrowdedstreetin1944

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, postpartum insecurities, possible inaccuracies to do with pregnancy and postpartum as i have never been pregnant before, infidelity, nipple play, desperate catholic man, unprotected sex, drunk sex, fingering, being eaten out, 18+

words: 2,950 words

It was a quiet morning for you. A statement that you could rarely ever leave your mouth truthfully due to your residence being that big egg-shell coloured house located at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington—or how it's more commonly referred to as the White House. But you weren't in the White House, no, you for now were in the land of fado, wine, and poetry: Portugal.

Taking advantage of the barren land in your calendar managed by your assistant spacing between the 21st and the 28th you had decided to go visit your sorority sister, Alma, and her sprawling Lisboa estate 'Quinta da Abrigada'—or at least that's what she'd called it in her letters inviting you to the country house. You'd been initially apprehensive, a cross-country flight with a 6 month old baby seemed to be a recipe for complete and total disaster. Not to mention the press coverage, nit-picking your choices labelling you as an unfit mother, while hailing Jack as the dotting husband and father. Which he was, though that was when he was there which proved to be scarce.

Despite this worry of yours the person who truly convinced you was not Alma herself and her gushing about the residencies sparkling woods and breathing taking views of the Serra do Montejunto. In fact it was your very own tousled hair, chiseled jaw, president of the United States husband: Jack.

Apparently, in his astute opinion, he believed that some time away from the unrelenting US press and the ever thinning tightrope of public opinion would be good for you and the baby. Initially you'd worried that it would be to distressing for your little Enya to be away from her father that much for more than a couple days—you swore that you'd read a dreadful story in women's weekly of a baby forgetting the face of one of their own parent! You retold this story to Jack to which he only chuckled, and delicately cupped your face teasingly tapping the tip of your nose. In response to this he'd told you that once he'd finished up scheduled business in Palm Beach that he'd fly to Lisboa on the SAM 26000 Boeing. That was on the night before the 21st, and after listening to your husband you'd confirmed with Alma that you were in fact coming.

However it was now the 24th and Jack still hadn't shown up, and you were given no indication that he was ever going to.

Your melancholy about your marital situation was intermittently interrupted for a few days by Alma keeping you an incredibly busy working woman. You see, she was trying to convert the Portuguese country home into a fully functioning hotel and a wedding venue—she would never admit it to you or to herself but you had a sneaking suspicion it was a true vanity project in every sense of the word. You'd heard rumblings between European socialites that her Argentinian polo player husband was growing weary of her shopping sprees down at the Avenida da Liberdade and the last straw was a wine-filled rampage of the strip boutiques on Castilho Strett that ended in a bill of over sixty-two thousand euros.

Despite positioning your Portugal stay as a vacation Alma really put you to hard labour. Or at least your version of hard labour at 6 months postpartum which was lugging the ostentatious amount of floral and foliage arrangements for the happy couples who'd chosen the Portuguese country home to be a witness to their holy matrimony.

By 4 pm you were done for the day having laid out the varied bouquets of chocolate cosmos, primroses, hollyhocks, and wisteria. Some were incased by crystal glassed vase, like a trapped ballerina forced to spin inside of a music box. While others were allowed to roam free, tangled up the arched walls of the chapel, propped up by short and stumpy neoclassical stone pillars.

You'd initially underestimated how unhappy it would make you to see couples—each more happy than their former. It made you want to take a microscope to the state of your own marriage and shred it open. How unrecognisable you both were to the versions of yourselves that had walked down that Rhode Island aisle that day. Your marriage to Jack wasn't bad by any means: it was just different than it had been at the beginning. After having a child your relationship with Jack had morphed into more of a companionship rather than a romantic relationship. He'd become more distant: working later hours and coming to the west wing smelling of palo santo and black current bud.

A stark contrast to your personalised musk of waffle cone accord and vanilla...

But you were committed to make your marriage stick. For your sake, for your children's sake, and for the sake of Jake's whole presidential career. You were each other's best friend but sometimes, all of the time, you'd just wish he would touch and cherish you like a lover. You just wish he would be soft with your heart every once in a while.

You'd hoped a European getaway for the both of you would make some difference, but it seemed that Jack had made his choice. And so will you.

Because you had been such a help around the home Alma decided to watch Enya while you helped the florists prepare, the last time you saw your baby-girl was only a few short hours ago and yet your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest.

Dusting yourself off, brushing away the cut stems of flowers and pollen from various flowers that were sure to stain the surplus of linen matching sets you had brought along with you, you made a bee-line away from the chapel and towards the main house. Maybe Alma truly was on to something about making the sprawling estate into a hotel what with its ample land of approximately 1,350,794 Sq Ft.

Due to its overwhelming size Alma had allowed you to stay in the third wing of country home which had been newly renovated to accommodate for her aspirations of it one day becoming an auberge, but much, much large. With its many rooms you and Alma, and Jack if he bothered to show, were more than comfortable. Though you could afford it with the shear square footage of the wing, Alma's cot stayed with you directly to the side of your king sized bed, a welcomed addition of the renovations by you.

You couldn't believe that Alma was taking this kind of project on, to you just planning it all out seemed hugely anal. What with all the construction needed to implement tarred streets, sidewalks, public lighting, water pipes, sewage, electrical and network cables at the entrance of each lot. I mean it was a lot.

As you push open the door connecting the wing you immediately b-line for the washroom: eager to get the confused scents of opposing flowers off of you this instant. You thought back to your conversation with Alma, remembering that she would be watching her until 5pm: delightful. Despite the absence of your daughter resting on your chest being deeply felt by you, it was a blessing to be able to take your time in the shower. A privilege that you had taken for granted in your twenties.

Apparently your darling Alma, along with Alma's own older children, was going to get a private tour of the romantic woods, the various sycamore trees, and even the proprietary chapel in between the scheduled weddings that day. You'd gathered that by now, taking a look at your watch while you start to disrobe for the shower, Alma and Enya would have already stopped by the church by now.

During your shower you lathered yourself with your 'garden essentials' body wash the scent of California lavender leaving you with a camphorous scent, awakening your senses invigorating you for the evening. Next, you applied a scotch pine shampoo bar to your scalp-a gift from one of your Californian friends from elementary school who'd turned to the all natural life—whatever that meant. Once out of the shower you palmed a hair oil blend of argan oil, natural antioxidants and fatty acids, pear seed oil, and castor oil throughout your locks. Since getting pregnant and after giving birth you had seen a direct decline in the thickness of your hair and an increase in hair loss, a symptom of postpartum you absolutely detested. Activating the arrival of your baby soon you'd decided to get your hair out of your face, since her favourite pastime of late seemed to be yanking your strands of hair with remarkable strength.

Speaking of postpartum symptoms... since you had started breastfeeding your baby girl, your nipples had gone increasingly sore and sensitive especially at nights. As a preemptive measure you put some nipple cream given to you by a midwife and went along with your out of shower routine slathering on your personal favourite body oil that you'd dispersed into a travel size bottle.

Moving out the bathroom after dressing your put on immediate edge. Despite its size you hear noises coming from the room adjacent to the bathroom you'd just stepped out of—the bedroom you and Enya had been staying in.

Ice hot horror had bleed into every crevice, and every vein in your body. Jack always told you to be wary of going places without security—always fretting over your security and your penchant for leaving unannounced, and now you were paying for it.

In an almost comical defence, you grab the nearest thing in your line of sight: ironically an erotic sculpture ground by a plinth that looked like it weighed a far few. Hands shaking you, grasp the brass handle and quickly turned the nob: trying to look as menacing as possible to an intruder.

But what was behind the door was anything but. There was Bobby, in all his grecian tragedian beauty, holding Enya with his big pilose arms supporting her head like a true natural parent—which you'd hope he was after having enough children to start as sports team.

Both of you looked equally surprised as each other.

"Christ, hun what ever are you doing with that thing?" Bobby says chuckling, while rocking back on the soles of his feet and motioning to the stone sculpture.

"Oh Good Heavens, Bob you nearly gave me a damned heart attack" you say clutching a hand to your chest. To which Bobby shamefully and discreetly looks at your chest—in his defence you were wearing a more than revealing top because you really weren't planing on any visitors.

"Oh I'm sorry, c'mere sweetheart how are you? It's been ages!"

"Bob we spoke over the phone two days ago!"

"Oh, c'mon now you that phone calls don't suffice for either one of us."

Bashfully you smile, but realise Jack has not accompanied Bobby, wondering where he is you ask,

"God Bobby it's good to see you too, tell me where is Jack around? did you tell him that there's stables he's probably there he'd love th-"

Interrupting you Bobby explains, "Sweetheart, he couldn't make it I'm sorry."

A bit embarrassed, you try to play it cool. Noticing your discomfort Bobby gently dislodges Enya from his chest to yours, and it's cheesing to say but the weight of her on your chest salves the wound ever so slightly.

"Bob how did you get her? I thought Alma was watching her?"

"Oh she was but we met down at the chapel and I offered to take Enya—she looked a bit occupied with her own roady children. I didn't want Enya to be forgotten about." he says while stepping closer to you, trailing the back of his hand against her cheek and then moving his eyes to you.

Flustered you take your time analysing him back: dressed in a rolled up button up white shirt, and khaki coloured slacks. Blushing, Bobby says,

"She seemed pretty sleepy when she was handed to me. Why don't you have some time on your own and I'll watch her for you?"

"Oh please Bobby i've had plenty of 'me' time. Your ramblings would do me good, would take my mind of Jack. Matter of fact I'm starving aren't you?"

"Famished! I tell you a palm beach flight to Portugal is no joke."

"Well that sorts it! we'll take her bassinet and have some food out in the grass."

"Sounds perfect, maybe some champagne. I know you can't drink but you can live vicariously through me!"

Chuckling you nod, and he follows you out of the room.

Moving into the kitchen you start to prepare the snacks. Looking at your bleak options since you haven't gone to the market you decide on hors d'oeuvres chicly displayed on a walnut cutting board gifted to you by a baroness. Gathering the necessaries: crisp bread, casalingo salami, foie gras parfait, chicken liver paté, and finally a bottle of pierre mignon for your beloved Bobby.

Delicately balancing the board with one hand, and the bottle in the crevice of your arm, you glance back into the bedroom with Bobby and Enya. Despite your unintentional eavesdropping you hear Bobby rocking Enya to sleep,

"You are so lucky to have your mom, huh? She's the best mom anyone could ask for don't you think?"

The comments warm your heart but you're unable to dissect that feeling as Bobby steps out of the room moments later and like a gentleman: immediately steps to take the bottle of wine and board from your hands.

And one thing leads to another, the hours pass, and by 10 pm you both felt drunk—and probably look it to any outsiders passing by. Despite not drinking a single drop you feel utterly intoxicated by his very presence.

Luckily, Enya had been picked up by Alma to be watched for the night after she'd landed upon you two in the grass: with Bobby's head in your lap, giggles emitting from the both of you.

As the night drew on you'd gotten immeasurably close physically, simply tripping over yourselves trying to catch each other up on both of your lives when you weren't with each other. Bobby being Jack's brother meant that a great portion of your life was spent next to Bobby, and even going a few days apart felt like a whole year for the both of you. Possibly a little co-dependent considering you both had parents but you both didn't want to question it to hard—the papers did enough of that themselves, always questioning your friendship or rather the existence of something more.

Once you two had sufficiently caught each other up on your respective lives, the conversation turned more soft and touchy. Bobby was extremely tactile when tipsy. You and Bobby had kissed a couple of times over the years but you'd never gone the distance, always stopping yourselves.

However this time neither of you wanted to stop, in a haste Bobby motions to take off your top, that was until Bobby's soft caresses of your body reminded you of the insecurities plaguing you for the last 9 months.

Feeling you freeze up Bobby, worried that he'd done something wrong, asks if you're feeling okay,

To which you reply, "It's nothing on you Bob, it's just that ever since Enya I'm so different to how I was. Now i'm sore and I ache all the time, and I feel so damn unloveable."

"Oh Hun, you're nothing of the sort. I see, before me, a woman not only worthy of love but of worship. Let me worship you, please I promise it'll be-"

Captivated, you nod almost immediately but cringe as you release you hadn't had time to wipe off the nipple cream you'd lathered on hours before.

Once your breasts are revealed to him you can't bear to look from embarrassment expecting him to recoil, but he doesn't in fact—your worries are bulldozed by the fervid pleasure of his mouth of your bud, sucking delicately for your pleasure and your pleasure only.

Taking his warm mouth of your bud for just a second Bobby says with batted breath,

"Take a deep breath, baby, C'mon"

Overcome, you arch your back like a Persian kitten. Your nails scrambling, and tearing into the soft grass: your moans turning into soft, delightful screams.

Overcome with gratitude and deference to Bobby you scream out, so loud that you're not entirely sure that Alma can't hear you,

"Baby, baby, baby, I'm-i'm your man"

Who knew you could cum from that? Certainly not you, that's for sure but alas you did.

You take several minutes to come out of it, to which he just cradles you brushing a few short strands of hair, dotting kisses along the concave of your breasts.

As if to give back you raise a hand to his chin, and engulf him in a sweet kiss, nothing reminiscent of dominate coming from either side: just tenderness.

"Oh I can taste champagne on your lips, Bobby!"

"Y'know I do have an idea on how to get rid of that taste" to which Bobby dramatically lays you on the ground and gets down to business on his hands and knees, fingering and teasing your mound: warm and inviting.

By the whole end of the ordeal you've had 5 orgasms and made enough noise to rival the neighbouring cats and dogs screeches and barks.

All the nipple butter has been removed from your breasts and is now squarely strewn around on Bobby's face and lips—they do say lanolin is a good moisturiser for the lips...

[jazzandother-blog]

Ray Charles and Quincy Jones

(English / Español / Italiano)

‘Shortly after arriving in Seattle, I heard about a blind man who had shown up one night at the Elks Club on Madison Street and had blown up the place away with his playing and singing. Rumour had it that he had appeared in Seattle out of nowhere and was amazing, so I snuck in one night to hear him. He was a lanky, dark-skinned guy, and he was throwing himself around like a madman. He played piano and sang like Nat King Cole and Charles Brown, and he also played be bop on alto sax like Charlie Parker. There was even something of Bud Powell in his piano playing. I attended a whole set and then introduced myself. He told me his name was Ray Charles and it was love at first sight for both of us. I was fourteen when I met him and he was sixteen, and what I liked about him and his music was that he was independent. At sixteen, Ray Charles was already a man. […] I admired the way he did the shopping, the way he cooked, the way he did the laundry. I'd watch him cross the street without a cane or a dog, avoid traffic, do the shopping, figure out the rest, shuffle across the pavement, never missing a step, and I'd say to myself, ‘Hell, if he can do it, I can do it. [Ray was my role model at a time when I had few role models. He understood the world as I was incapable of understanding it. He told me, ‘All music has soul, Quincy. No matter what style, you have to be true to it. He refused to set limits for himself.

("Q: The Autobiography of Quincy Jones", Three Rivers Press, 2002)

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«Poco después de llegar a Seattle, oí hablar de un chico ciego que se había presentado una noche en el Elks Club de Madison Street y había hecho estallar el local tocando y cantando. Se rumoreaba que había aparecido en Seattle de la nada y que era increíble, así que me colé allí una noche para escucharle. Era un tipo delgaducho, de piel morena, y se lanzaba como un loco. Tocaba el piano y cantaba como Nat King Cole y Charles Brown, y también tocaba be bop con el saxo alto como Charlie Parker. Incluso había algo de Bud Powell en su estilo al piano. Asistí a un set entero y luego me presenté. Me dijo que se llamaba Ray Charles y fue amor a primera vista para los dos. Yo tenía catorce años cuando le conocí y él dieciséis, y lo que me gustaba de él y de su música era que era independiente. A los dieciséis años, Ray Charles ya era un hombre. […] Admiraba cómo hacía la compra, cómo cocinaba y cómo lavaba la ropa. Le veía cruzar la calle sin bastón ni perro, evitar el tráfico, hacer la compra, calcular el resto, arrastrar los zapatos al pisar la acera, sin perder nunca un paso, y me decía: «Joder, si él puede hacerlo, yo también». […] Ray fue mi modelo a seguir en una época en la que tenía pocos modelos a seguir. Entendía el mundo como yo era incapaz de entenderlo. Me dijo: «Toda la música tiene alma, Quincy. No importa el estilo, tienes que ser fiel a él». Se negaba a ponerse límites».

("Q: The Autobiography of Quincy Jones", Three Rivers Press, 2002)

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«Poco dopo essere arrivato a Seattle, sentii parlare di un tizio cieco che una sera si era presentato all'Elks Club di Madison Street e aveva buttato giù il locale suonando e cantando. Si diceva che fosse comparso a Seattle dal nulla e che fosse incredibile, perciò una sera mi intrufolai lì dentro per ascoltarlo. Era un ragazzo magro, dalla pelle bruna, e ci dava dentro come un matto. Suonava il pianoforte e cantava come Nat King Cole e Charles Brown, e suonava anche il be bop sul sax alto come Charlie Parker. C'era anche un po' di Bud Powell nel suo stile al pianoforte. Assistetti a un intero set e poi mi presentai. Mi disse che si chiamava Ray Charles e fu amore a prima vista per entrambi. Avevo quattordici anni quando lo incontrai per la prima volta, e lui ne aveva sedici, e ciò che mi piacque, sia di lui che della sua musica, è che era indipendente. A sedici anni, Ray Charles era un uomo. […] Ammiravo il modo in cui faceva la spesa da solo, cucinava da solo e si lavava i panni. Lo guardavo attraversare la strada senza un bastone né un cane, evitare il traffico, fare gli acquisti, calcolare il resto, strascicare le scarpe mentre saliva sul marciapiedi, senza mai mancare un passo, e mi dicevo: “Accidenti, se lo può fare lui, posso farlo anch'io”. […] Ray era il mio modello, in un momento in cui di modelli ne avevo pochi. Capiva il mondo come io non ero capace di capirlo. Diceva: “Ogni musica ha la sua anima, Quincy. Non importa in che stile sia, devi esserle fedele”. Rifiutava di porsi dei limiti»

("Q: The Autobiography of Quincy Jones", Three Rivers Press, 2002)

Source: jazzit.it

[tacticaldiary]

Hey there! Love your stuff! I was just reading some of your work for our favorite Scotsman and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to feed me more.

Picture this, Soap and Reader have been a thing since like forever. On the “Alone” mission or something, reader goes on a rampage to find her sweet sweet Johnny.

A Still Beating Heart

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"Like hell I was leaving you." Clicking her tongue, she shifts her focus on his wound that's bleeding through the hasty patchwork. "Not letting you bleed out now."

"You gonna kiss it better, hen?" A poor attempt at a joke.

"I'll kiss you all you want once we're safe."

A/N: This turned out way longer than I expected-

Masterlist

Rain obscures her vision as she runs, the image of Johnny hitting the ground after being shot playing over and over again in a dreadful loop.

He got away. He's gotten away. He's alright.

She chants it in her head over and over whilst navigating the winding streets of Las Almas.

"Watch it." Ghost barks yanking her to the side roughly when she almost crashes head-first into a crumbling brick wall. "Get your head on straight, Sergeant." Muted anger coats his words as he spits them out.

She grits her teeth in response, taking a second to survey her surroundings. They've stopped in an alleyway a good chunk of the way into the town. There's no doubt that Graves would be on their heels, they couldn't afford to stop for long.

Leaving two deadly soldiers who are witnesses wouldn't be a risk he'd take.

Three. She reminds herself with a fierce determination. Three soldiers.

How dare he. How fucking dare Graves turn around and betray them like he hadn't been their brother in arms for the last few weeks. The fact that he'd turned on them without remorse, shot her boyfriend without batting an eye was unforgivable.

Rage, hot and fierce scalds the blood running through her veins. Her mind is a storm of conflict, a desperate chant of Johnny's name on repeat. Between the anger, there's the blinding worry that accompanies it. It had all happened so fast she didn't get a chance to see where exactly he got shot, just that he'd fallen with a pained grunt, then Ghost was shouting at him to go.

Part of her rages Ghost him as well, for the way he'd roughly stopped her from lunging into the open to get to Johnny. It's not justified. Ghost had done his job as Lieutenant, had gotten them both and Johnny out of there in time.

Just barely in time.

While Ghost ventures farther into the alley, she clicks on her radio, switching through different channels. "Transmitting in the blind, does anyone copy?" She says into the device, frustrated when there's no answer, she flicks through the channels again and-

A raspy cough, a weak, familiar Scottish drawl.

She switches to it immediately, bringing the radio up to her mouth. "Johnny? I read you." The relief is palpable in her voice, a creature that settles with its claws still out. "What's your location?" She holds her tongue and her questions upon hearing heavy, raspy breaths from the other side. "Johnny?"

"Aye. 'S good to hear your voice." He manages. "I'm in...at the corner of a street. Edge of the town somewhere." There's a grunt from the other end, the rustling of gear and clothing as he sits up. "Is Ghost there?"

"Affirm." Her eyes snap to the man as he talks through his own radio. "There's a Church north side of the city. We'll recon there." His scouting must have resulted in something, then. It's a good plan, she'll admit. A structure with a solid vantage point gated off and less likely to be surrounded with its many exit points. Smart.

"Copy." Johnny's short response makes her frown.

"Can you make it?" She presses him. The short beat of silence has her heart sinking.

"'Course I can." He laughs but it's hollow. "Don't worry your pretty head about it. You'll see me in no time."

"Get moving, Soap." Ghost shuts down the conversation tightly, peering into one of the cracked open doors that lead into what looks like a clothing store. "Stay on my six," He tells her. "It's a straight path there, but we don't have a count on-"

"I'm going fetch him." Ghost exhales slowly, not turning around. "You and I both know he's lost an unknown amount of blood. I'm not risking losing him to that motherfucker." She snarls.

"You don't have his location."

"I'll scour the outskirts until I find him. You provide overwatch from the church. I will find him."

The fire in her eyes, the tight-strung posture...Ghost has little doubt that she would. They meet eyes, but she doesn't back down for a second, daring him to order her otherwise.

Finally after what seems like ages, he jerks his head behind him in silent, begrudging approval. "Thirty minutes, Sergeant."

"I'll only need ten."

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tucked behind the counter of a grocery store, Soap clenches his jaw as footsteps pass through the window above him. This entire situation was a shit show.

The sting of betrayal was almost as painful as the insistent throbbing on his shoulder. He's already sure the bullet is lodged in there from the quick once-over he gave himself. Admittedly, it had taken him longer than he expected to get his bearings. Judging by the puddle of blood he woke up in, he'd already lost a good amount of blood before he'd roughly packed the still gushing wound.

Guerrilla warfare was bloody and made something vile crawl through Soap's veins. Every time he ties together rope and metal to pry open a door, or fashions a bomb out of a mousetrap, he can't help but think of the bodies he'd encountered on his path to the church. Children, women, men...nobody was spared by those fuckers.

It was vile, a kind of justice he didn't enlist to take part in. The very thing he's sworn to protect people against...

Soap is snapped out of his thoughts by Ghost's voice. They'd had some back and forth whilst they were moving, and Soap knows it's partly to keep him alert and present. Underneath Ghost's rough words, there was always a twinge of worry lacing his tone only someone familiar with the exact lilt of his mannerisms would pick up.

Once the footsteps recede, Soap groans quietly, pushing himself up to his feet with help from the wall. His legs protest, his arms ache and a deep exhaustion infects his mind, begs him to sit down for a few minutes and let go.

In an attempt to shake off the thoughts, he takes a deep breath and reaches for his radio to hear the one voice that always makes him snap to attention.

Soap's been thanking whoever was up there that she'd ended up safe with Ghost. It didn't ease his worry but it soothed it into something more bearable. She wasn't incapable by any means, but even the strongest person benefitted by someone equally capable by their side.

God, he hopes he reaches the church before he collapses.

Swaying suddenly, Soap curses under his breath and reaches to grab the counter to steady himself. In his haste, his arm crashes against a vase, sending it crashing to the ground.

The noise is accompanied by the yells of Shadows outside the store. Soap barely has time to curse himself out and make a lunge for the stairs before the soldier from before peers into the store, rifle at the ready.

Gunfire rains down on him, grazing his arm when he presses himself behind a brick pillar for cover.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sweat beads down his back as he struggles to keep himself upright, shaky fingers patting down his pocket for the knife he'd yanked out of a soldier's head an hour ago...has it been an hour? He doesn't know anymore.

Cautious steps approach him, his heart pounding against his chest as adrenaline pushes itself through his system.

It was strike now or get struck down. The element of surprise was the only advantage he had. His shoulder aches like a bitch but he sucks it up and tightens his grip around his knife.

It all happens at the same time.

Soap lunges out of his hiding spot, weapon raised as much as the fuzz around his vision will let him.

And he watches as someone else tackles the Shadow to the ground.

Soap stops in his tracks, tensing at the vicious way she slits the man's throat. Familiar hair, a body he's mapped out with his hands and mouth over and over again.

Her gaze snaps up to meet his, a shock down his spine.

"For someone so loud, you're good at staying hidden." She huffs, wiping the blood off of her cheek.

No. No, she couldn't be here. She was supposed to be with Ghost, not roaming the streets crawling with Shadows for...

For him.

The thought warms him from the inside out despite the situation. Who the hell is he kidding? He would have done the exact same thing for her.

The moment her hands touch his arms, all the energy seems to snap out of him. Johnny's knees give out, her hands barely catching him to lower him gently to the ground.

"Shit, Johnny?" Panic laces her voice. A hand slick with blood cups his cheek, slaps it gently to prompt his eyes to flutter open. "You gotta stay awake, okay baby? Come on." She doesn't relent until he listens, a hazy gaze focused on her.

"Ya shouldn't be here." He rasps out.

"Like hell I was leaving you." Clicking her tongue, she shifts her focus on his wound, bleeding through the hasty patchwork. "Not letting you bleed out now."

"You gonna kiss it better, hen?" A poor attempt at a joke.

"I'll kiss you all you want once we're safe." Hooking his uninjured arm over her shoulder, she helps her stand. Her heart clenches at the pained groan he tries to muffle. It's good that she had the sense to come back for him.

She doesn't want to think what might have happened if she'd been a second too late.

"That a promise?"

"A threat." She corrects as they stumble towards the backdoor. The weak snort she gets in response is more than enough to loosen the knot in her chest an inch.

Soap's laugh dies in his throat when they hit the streets.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He mumbles, looking around at the roads bathed in crimson.

Bodies and bodies of Shadows lay scattered around almost every alleyway they hobble through. Peeks through to the main roads show the same results. Black masked figures slumped over, limbs twisted and odd angles, necks slit open brutally.

"Had some fun getting to me, did ya?"

There's no response from her but a shrug.

There's no sorrow or remorse for what she had to do to get to him. A mantra of his name playing through her head, the desperation of getting to him and the rage of the situation mixed together had made each swipe of her knife, each broken bone easy.

She's painted the town red.

Johnny. She needed to get to Johnny and whoever was standing in her way had met their demise by viscous hands and an unforgiving sentence.

"I'm surprised you made it that far on your own." Keeping him talking was important. "Graves will face hell for what he's done." They duck into a street, the church in plain view.

"It's a bleedin' a war crime." Soap says. "Makes me want to commit a few of my own." His voice dips down to a growl. She shares the same sentiment.

"Amen." She mumbles back, peering out into the courtyard in front of them. A couple of figures patrol the area, breaking off of each other to peer behind parked vehicles and doors to different shops.

"Four hostiles in our path." A grimace. She gently lowers him down against the stone wall. "Stay here while I clear our path... not that you can go anywhere, actually."

Soap seems displeased about her going off on her own, but he knows that he's more of a liability than an advantage in a situation where stealth is valued. "Take 'em quietly."

"Copy." Her bloody knife spins in her hand. "Be right back, baby." Pressing a kiss to his temple, she slips out of the alley.

Johnny breathes out a shaky sigh, and lets his head hit the stone behind him. Itchy and restless from being able to do nothing, he loathes feeling so...useless. He's confident in her, how could anyone not be? But that doesn't quell the need to shield her from everything he can spare her from.

She was fiery and bright, everything he'd always wanted. She came into his life as a force to be reckoned with, butting heads with him and throwing insults back at his face as easily as he uttered them to her.

Love had hit him hard.

Stuck in his head, his eyes flutter shut against his wishes as he thinks. Just for moment, he tells himself. Just until she gets back.

Just a second of rest wouldn't hurt, right?

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he knows that letting himself fall unconscious was the worst possible case in this scenario, but he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried. The blood loss makes him tired and lethargic and before long he's fallen into the inky depth of sleep.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had all gone to shit.

Three of the four guards she'd taken down quickly. It had been almost easy how fast and quiet they went down, gurgling on their own blood as her knife slid across the chinks in their armour, the skin of their necks.

The third guard had been a little too trigger-happy, though. A twitch of his finger while he was choking had set his gun going off with a bang, a bullet embedded into one of the cars nearby.

It had been enough to alert every goddamn person in the vicinity.

She's glad she left Johnny behind, at least his position wasn't compromised.

Just as the street started filling up, her radio had crackled to life, Ghost barking that the church had been compromised and overrun, ordering them to meet him at the end of the street to secure a vehicle.

She was already there, all she had to do was keep her position and stop the Shadows from flanking her until Ghost got there.

"Copy." She mutters into the radio, setting up the rifle she'd swiped from one of the corpses over the hood of the cars she's ducked behind. "Eyes on a possible vehicle." She relays over comms upon setting sight on a blue truck close to her, relatively unscratched. Firing off round after round, the soldiers drop like flies. The armoured ones are a little tougher to deal with, and need a more precise aim but she manages somehow.

She curses under her breath as more of the pour from the stores and alleys into the streets.

Just a little longer. Ghost was almost here, then they could secure a vehicle, grab Johnny and get the fuck out of here.

Wrecking carnage in his path, Ghost emerges from behind a barrier after what seems like an hour, and together the both of them climb into the truck she informed him of. "Stop by the far alley and I'll haul Soap inside so we can get the hell out of here." She grunts, firing off shots from the back of the truck as Ghost starts the ignition.

She gets an affirmative and they're on their way, ducking at the sound of gunfire and barked orders following them.

She jumps out of the truck and runs into the alley where she left him. "Time to go Johnny, come-..." She halts in her tracks, into a dead stop at the scene in front of her.

Blood splatters the wall behind his shoulder, the wound aggravated and bleeding through the improvised bandaging in rivers of red down his arm. He's...he's pale, shallow gasps of breaths that are barely there making his chest move in movements too small to be healthy.

Ghost yells at her to make it quick, and it's her Lieutenant's voice that brings her crashing back to reality. Swallowing back her panic, she hoists Johnny up and drags him into the back of the truck, yelling at Ghost to move as she lays him down as still as possible.

Bullets ping off of the metal, but all she can focus on is pressing her hands to Soap's wound. She leans in close to feel him puffing out short gasps of air.

Still breathing, she tells herself as Ghost makes a sharp turn. He's alive, he's breathing, he's here, he's not dead. Alive, alive, still alive.

With hands shaky, she pulls out a proper roll of gauze from her vest, the emergency first aid pouch she carries is worth its weight in gold.

"Don't you fucking die on me, baby." She whispers, voice cracking. "It's not allowed." She wipes the worst of the wound with disinfectant before packing the hole with fresh gauze.

There was so much blood pooling beneath him in that alley...and how much had he lost before that?

He needed a medic, and fast. She wouldn't lose him. Not him.

Not her Johnny.

Not the person that could coax a smile out of her even if she was in the foulest of moods. Not Johnny, who always seemed to know what she needed, what made her feel better. Not the love of her life who she'd seen a life out of the military with.

Please, not him.

Time flies by and soon, Ghost pulls over in front of a safehouse. When he exits the driver's seat and comes round the back to asses the situation, his heart sinks as he finds her curled up over Soap, lips pressed to his forehead as she whispers to him, her hand carding through his dirty hair as if he might wake up to feel it.

"Let's get him inside." He says, tone oddly sombre. If he notices how wet her eyes are, he doesn't comment on it, merely helps her carry him in silence.                                   · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rudy had been a godsend. His safe house had been packed with supplies much more useful to Soap. He'd taken one look at Soap, at her wrecked and frantic state, and taken over. Ordering her and Ghost to start studying the maps to the facility they planned to break into, he started his own inspection of Soap.

She can't focus.

The maps mean nothing to her. The lines, the marks, the circles. It was meaningless gibberish to her when her boyfriend was-

"He'll pull through." She blinks back into the present at Ghost's gruff voice, head snapping up to meet his gaze.

"He better." A shaky inhale.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Rudy comes back to inform them that Soap is stable, her legs nearly buckle under her with a wave of relief. She pushes past him immediately to seek her boyfriend out, and finds him laying on one of the old cots pushed to the corner.

She takes a seat on the floor next to him, resting her head against the mattress. "You're an asshole." She mumbles after a second. "Scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

He probably can't hear her, but it doesn't stop her frayed nerves from talking. Her hand finds his and she squeezes it gently trying to bring some of her warmth into his cold skin. Sighing, she presses his hand to her forehead, shifting her grip so her fingers rested on his pulse.

Each steady beat loosens the knot in her chest, reassures her that he is alive.

Would he wake up soon? Would he wake up at all? The latter thought is quickly chased away, because there was no choice. Johnny had to wake up, he had to.

A world without him simply wasn't one worth having.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her back aches.

Forehead pressed into the mattress right by his waist, it's the first thing she registers as she's roused from where she'd dozed off. Blinking sluggishly, she groans as she feels a hand carding through her hair.

Just the right pressure, the feeling so familiar and warm and soothing-

Her eyes widen and she snaps up straight to meet a pair of tired but amused blue eyes studying her. Johnny's sitting up right in front of her, looking down at her in that soft way he always did.

"Rise and shine." He rasps out, and she almost sobs at the sound. Pushing herself to her feet, she wraps her arms around him the best she can without injuring him. "Easy." He winces at being jostled but holds her just as tight.

"Thought you were gone." She chokes out, trembling. "I thought-"

"I'm right here, bonnie." He whispers into her hair. "Right with ya. Gonna take more than that to do me in, right?"

She laughs wetly into his shoulder, as he runs a hand up and down her back as if she was the one who needed comforting.

Pulling herself together was a more difficult task than clearing the streets of Las Almas. Every time she thinks she's calmed down, she remembers how still and cold Johnny had been and she spirals all over again.

He clicks his tongue and manoeuvres them gently so he's laying down with her on his chest, careful to avoid his good arm. Her head is pressed against the centre of his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat a balm against the rising and falling cycle of panic and grief she's stuck in.

Alive, alive, alive. Still alive.

Once her breathing evens out into something relatively stable, she tries to speak again. "Don't scare me like that again."

He hums. "I'll do better next time." A tired smile grows on his face as she pinches his side.

Alive.

He was still alive.

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(3/09/2023)

[indigosunsetao3]

A Bouquet of Oleander

Submission for for @glitterypirateduck‘s ‘Amor a Alejandro Challenge’ challenge.

Title: A Bouquet of Oleander

Pairing: Alejandro X Reader

Warning: Canon typical violence. Fluff? Protective Alejandro (that is a warning in itself he doesn't play).

Summary: Alejandro has been away without word for two weeks when suddenly a threat appears at home. (This is my first Alejandro story, trying to mix up my usual writing.)

Prompts: "Why haven't you been answering your phone?" & "Do you trust me?"

Word Count: 2k

Two weeks. Ale had been gone for two weeks this time and you were growing restless. He promised that he wouldn’t be out of contact for long, that he’d check in because he knew how the silence affected you. But there hadn’t been a word from him or Rudy for that matter. Rudy always managed to step in when Alejandro was tied up to let you know he was safe and alive but even that small sliver of communication had remained quiet. Being up in the mountains also did not help with the sense of isolation and seemed to only press on your mind just how alone you were.

Alejandro had wanted a place that was out of the way. Far enough away from the violence and chaos that was the city he grew up in to keep you safe. Yet still close enough for him to keep an eye on and be available to help reign in when things grew out of hand. So that was how you found yourself in the modest home that was built on top of a small hill that overlooked the ocean on one side and the city far below on the other. The closest neighbor was a ten-minute walk and while she would bring by fresh eggs from their coup in exchange for some herbs you grew, or just come to talk over coffee every few days, you were completely alone in the house.

Another sigh you lean back on your heels and wipe the back of your hand across your forehead smearing dirt in a messy line. You had decided to start yet another garden, this time tiered down a small slope that faced the water, to grow some more flowers. Gardening had become a bit of an obsession for you, tending to the seedlings or small snips of shrubs until they were stable enough to put in the ground. The dining room had turned into a small nursery and some of the plants were more than past due to be planted.

Ale had told you to wait, that he’d dig it out and arrange everything for the latest design you had sketched out when he got back. But he wasn’t home and the plants were ready so that meant digging the trenches and lugging the stones yourself. The neighbor had offered to send her nephew to help but you had waved her off saying you could use the exercise. In truth, you knew you’d be too picky for the boy and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings when you went behind him to fix everything he did. So, with a sigh, you head to the garage to pick through the paving stones for the retaining wall.

Just as you are about to start tossing the stones into the wheelbarrow you hear the telltale sound of a motor approaching. A hint of apprehension slides down your spine as you peer toward the road, the vehicle not visible yet between the trees. Alejandro had warned you about what to do if someone unfamiliar showed up, about the danger of strangers in Las Almas. How you were to never let on you knew who he was, or even interact at all if you could avoid it. So, dropping the stone back down with a thud you rush over to hit the button to shut the garage door to avoid even being seen. There were no other houses this way so there was no reason for anyone to come this way unless the destination was your house.

The door shut in time as you stood in the garage and listened. The car was turning up the gravel driveway and barely slowing down and you edge back to the corner in the dark praying it was someone just lost. Or a door-to-door salesman that was really trying to fill their quota for the month. The door on the vehicle slams shut causing you to jump before you hear a set of footsteps approaching the front door in quick succession before jogging up the wooden steps. They pound on the front door once, twice, before a voice calls out, specifically for you. You recognize that voice.

Scrambling for the garage door button again, stumbling a bit in the dark, you hit it and wince at the mechanical whine of the metal door rising. The sun floods back into the garage and you dart out to stand in the driveway as Alejandro jogs down the steps himself to meet you halfway. The bags under his eyes tell you he is exhausted but the only thing you can read on his face now is alarm and panic.

“Ale?” You ask stunned as you take him in. His clothes are filthy, covered in dirt and grime, and a worrying patch of dark red that looks like dried blood near his shoulder. “What are you doing here? What happened?” You had gone two weeks without word and now he was suddenly here standing before you looking as if he were dead on his feet.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” He asks as he crosses the few feet between you to pull you into a tight embrace. He doesn’t seem to care that you are a sweaty dirty mess, just as you don’t mind that it seems like he hadn’t showered in days. Just to feel him again after all these days worrying, wondering, and frankly terrified alone with your thoughts, was blissful.

“What do you mean? I’ve had the phone on me this whole time. I hadn’t heard from you in so long,” you stammer as he pulls back to cup your face in his hands. He’s staring at you as if you were the very air he breathed, relief sliding over his face. “Ale, what is going on?”

“I’ve been calling for the past three days corazón,” Alejandro answers after a moment, his eyes still roving over your face as if trying to convince himself that you were really there and everything was really fine. “Rodolfo tried as well with no answer. I thought something had happened,” he leans in and kisses your forehead, apparently not caring about the dirt smeared there and the sweat. “You can’t not answer my calls. I thought you were just mad at first because it had been so long…but then you still didn’t answer when Rudy,” he cuts off and tugs you tighter against him.

“No that can’t be right,” you manage as you cling to him, your mind racing. You had kept the wireless house phone on you wherever you went. Cell service was non-existent this far up in the mountains so a landline was the only option. It could be spotty sometimes, especially in the rainy season, but you had just talked to your mother a few days ago and it had been fine. You didn’t have many people that you called or called you so the phone not ringing in days wasn’t unusual. “I haven’t had a call from you,” you breathe out. “I thought something had happened to you, to Rudy,” you lean back and stare up at him as he turns a bit in your embrace to track the wires that ran from the house to the pole at the end of the drive to the road.

“Go inside,” Ale states after a moment and you can feel his body become tense under your touch. You know that voice, that tone and shift in his body. He senses something is wrong, some unperceived threat is lurking and despite the muggy heat, a chill washes over you.

“Ale, what is going on?” You ask a bit quietly as he gently extracts your arms from him and he reaches for his pistol at his side.

“I will be right in. Just go inside,” Alejandro says as he moves to walk to the end of the drive. His eyes are still tracking the wires that run from the utility pole and his gun is resting gently by his leg in his hand as he walks.

Not needing to be told again you walk inside but continue to watch him as he gets to the end of the drive and peers up the pole, then looks down the street. He isn’t out there for long before he jogs back up the drive and bounds into the house, slipping his pistol back in the holster though the safety was still flipped off.

“Someone’s cut the line,” he says quietly as he goes to the phone and picks it up to find a dead signal. “Has anyone been here?”

“What? No. I mean the neighbor and her nephew,” you answer a bit rapidly trying to go over everything that had happened in the past two weeks. There isn’t much, to be honest.

“Nephew?” Alejandro presses. “Who?” His eyes are looking back out at the street again as if waiting for an enemy to pop out from behind your butterfly garden and attack.

“I don’t remember his name, he offered to help me with the garden,” you start and nearly flinch at the look Alejandro cuts at you. He had warned you about strangers and this nephew was a stranger, even if he was related to the nice elderly lady down the road. “I told him no. I didn’t need it,” you respond quickly, “he never came inside. Just walked his aunt up for us to have some coffee together.”

The realization hits you as you babble on about what seems like an innocent exchange. He had come all this way to visit his aunt, just to walk her up the road and turn tail and leave. It seemed innocuous then but now you wonder if he had been casing out the area. Had been up to something and maybe even planned something sinister when he realized you were all alone up there. Or he was after Alejandro for that matter since you had mentioned your fiancé Ale was away on a business trip and the young man seemed interested in what he did for a living. The lie was architecture since Alejandro had designed and built the house you both lived in, but the guy just smirked and nodded as if he knew something else. Again, in the moment it seemed like nothing but looking back now it seemed obvious.

“We need to leave,” Alejandro states as he looks back out the window again.

You don’t move. You just stare at him frozen in place. Something like this had never happened before, for all the complaining you did about being so alone you had never felt unsafe in your house. Unless you counted the saucer sized spiders that snuck in from time to time.

“Do you trust me?” Alejandro asks as he gently takes your hand to which you nod fervently. “Then please go pack,” he continues as his other hand comes up to push away some loose hair from your face. “I’ll take you to a beach somewhere. Our own private little bungalow where you won’t even need a bathing suit to go swim,” he prods trying to get a smile on your face.

“But what about our home?” You ask, glancing to the dining room where all the pants are still sprawled out. “We can leave for a few days but they know where we are now,” fear coils in your stomach, and panic that you would have to leave this house. One that Alejandro had help construct and had torn apart from top to bottom to fit your every whim and desire when he moved you in with him.

“I’ll need to find this nephew,” Alejandro answers simply, “and have a conversation with him.” At the look on your face, he grins, “just a conversation, amor.”

You know from stories in the past that a conversation with Alejandro when his family was threatened usually ended up in bloodshed. Rudy had been witness to plenty and had even pulled Ale back when someone attempted to make a veiled threat against his sister and nieces. By the way Alejandro was staring out the window like a dog on the hunt you knew that this ‘nephew’ would be lucky to leave any sort of confrontation from Alejandro intact. And despite yourself, you find yourself grinning at the thought of how fierce he was to keep you and those he loved safe.