#but yeah man I love crafts even if I suck ass at some | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scuttling · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

576 notes · View notes

griffintail · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! So I was new at your blog and I feel like ive discovered the 9th cloud of heaven 🤯 so I don't know if youre in the mood but i loved your technoblade child reader fics and i really wanted to ask if you could write a overprotective!tecnho x f!child reader? i feel like it sucks so im not pushing you to do it-

I probably took it a different way than what you were thinking but I hope you still enjoy!

Utmost Care

Pairing: Technoblade X F! Reader

Warnings: Overprotective nature, Light Angst, Mentions of Swords, Mentions of Scars

~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno didn’t hold a lot of things with value but when he finally did, they were protected with the utmost care. That goes the same for living beings. His daughter certainly was one of those beings.

All of (Y/N)’s life, Techno always kept his eye on her or made someone he trusted with his life was watching her, meaning only he or Phil watched her. If Phil couldn’t watch her at the time, Techno then took her with him, keeping her close the entire time. And, if (Y/N) could tell the truth, as she got older, it was tiring.

She was thirteen years old but she wasn’t allowed to go off on her own. She either had to go with Techno and Phil, the only time she could be alone was in her own room. It was extremely tiring when she couldn’t learn new things that could be considered dangerous. Techno wouldn’t teach her to fight or brew or enchant because he said she’d never need it.

She just wanted to do something without the need for approval. She just wanted to be her own person and live her life as she wanted.

So…that’s how she started sneaking out hours at a time. She was only allowed her own peace and quiet in her room? Alright, she used that to her advantage and locked her door when she knew Techno was busy either tending to things and wouldn’t check on her for hours. When she left, she went to the one place she knew mischief was encouraged.

“Uncle Tommy!” (Y/N) grinned as she walked in the door.

“Here comes trouble!” Tommy grinned.

Tommy indeed encouraged the things Techno considered bad. He helped teach the girl how to fight, taught her to brew, showed her a few things with enchanting, and most certainly let her go off on her own around L’Manberg or the SMP, though he did warn her to be more careful in the SMP lands.

(Y/N) felt free and felt like her own person finally without a weight of watchful eye on her.

It was one of those days once more. Tommy was teaching (Y/N) the ways of the sword.

“Come on, stop trying to hit me and hit me!” Tommy grinned cheekily, then yelping as (Y/N) swung as hard as she could with a smirk.

It was just another day for the pair, they just didn’t know it wasn’t another day for Techno. (Y/N) always left when Techno was on his own because he did get distracted when Phil was around or Phil tended to help him. So, if Phil was around, going out was a no-go. Phil usually showed up in the early mornings so she could tell if she could sneak out pretty early in the day.

But, today, Phil had been held up in L’Manberg and came late.

“Hey mate!” Phil called as he walked over to Techno’s.

“Phil, you’re pretty late,” Techno said.

“Yeah, had to help with some things in L’Manberg first.” Phil shrugged. “Farming all by yourself today?”

“(Y/N) said she wanted to read and she might come out later,” Techno told him as they went into the house, Techno resting his hoe by the door. “(Y/N)! The old man’s here.”

“Fuck off mate.” Phil laughed.

Techno smirked as he cleaned off his hands but frowned when he heard no movement in the rooms above.

“(Y/N)!” Techno called once more.

“She might be sleeping in, let her be.” Phil waved it off. “She’s alright.”

But the voices whispered worry, only fueling Techno’s.

“She doesn’t usually sleep in. I’m going to check on her.” Techno said before going up the ladder.

He went to (Y/N)’s room knocking, but there was once more silence. He didn’t like that.

“(Y/N).” He said trying the door handle, but found it locked. “What the-Hey. What’s with the locked door?”

“Techno?” Phil called up concerned by the conversation he was hearing.

She wasn’t saying anything though and the voices whispered panic and Techno reacted. He took a step back before kicking in the door. Phil jumped before quickly coming up the ladder as Techno went into the room.

“Techno!” Phil shouted as he followed after.

Techno’s breath came quicker out of his nose as Phil came in.

“(Y/N)’s not here. Someone took her.” Techno moved past Phil.

Phil looked at his son leaving the room before looking at the teenager’s room. The only mess was the door but (Y/N) indeed wasn’t here and his wings puffed before he rapidly following after Techno.

“You know, the last thing I thought Techno would do was not teach you how to use a sword,” Tommy said as he leaned back on the bench overlooking the river below his base.

(Y/N) sat next to him, both of their training swords laying down close by.

“I always ask him to teach me but he just tells me I don’t need to learn how to fight. I’ll be fine.” She huffed. “What am I going to do if a mob manages to get in? Can you imagine if a creeper managed to come into our house? It could just blow me and the house up because I couldn’t do anything, I might as well just stand still.”

“Ah, he’s always had a stick up his ass.” Tommy waved his hand. “And an ego. He probably thinks he can keep everything from hurting you.”

“But that’s the point uncle Tommy!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “If he taught me, it’s almost a guarantee I won’t get hurt. I could protect myself and go out and meet people. Do whatever I want.”

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Tommy assured her.

“Alright!”

Both of them jumped as they looked around wildly, Tommy giving a scream, hearing the voice of said man. Then, a moment later, they realized it was their walkies and shared a look.

“Whoever has my kid can bring her back now and have a painless death.”

“Uh oh.” They both muttered.

(Y/N) scrambled to get her things as Tommy stood up in a panic.

“Bye!” (Y/N) shouted before sprinting towards home.

How the hell was she supposed to explain this? Oh no dad, I just decided to wander in the forest with no warm clothes?

“It’s going to be a shitty day.” She muttered as she slipped into the portal and sprinted down the pathway towards the home portal.

Deciding it was better before her father started searching homes, she took out her walkie.

“Dad!” She spoke. “What’s the problem?”

Techno froze in his path, looking at Phil before taking off his walkie. “(Y/N), where are you right now?”

“I just…went for a little walk. My legs were starting to cramp up.” She lied, wincing slightly.

“Your door was locked (Y/N). What happened?”

“I don’t know the door handle must have broke.” She tried as she felt relief seeing the home portal.

“(Y/N), what’s going on?” Techno asked in frustration.

None of this was adding up. What the hell was going on?

“Nothing dad, everything is—” She stepped out of the portal and froze when she was met with two netherite decorated family members. “Fine…”

Phil’s eyes were wide as Techno stood there quiet for a moment.

…

“YOU WENT IN THE NETHER!?” Techno shouted throwing up his arms.

“Dad, look I can explain—” She tried.

“No! I-What were you thinking?!”

“I—”

Techno looked her over. “Is that a sword?! What—You don’t fight! What the hell were you doing?!”

“Look—”

“Mate—” Phil tried to even cut in.

“No! We’re going home.”

Techno went to grab her arm but she moved back.

“LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!” (Y/N) shouted as she shook.

Techno stood in shock as Phil took a step back, this was between father and daughter.

“I-I-Yes! I snuck out! And yes! I have a sword! But its-I just wanted to live for once! You don’t let me go out on my own! You don’t let me train or learn anything you do! I stay at home! And read and learn about farming and crafting basic ass shit! And that’s it! If I’m lucky I get to go out to the village with you keeping a close ass eye on me! And I’m tired of it!”

Techno was quiet as (Y/N) took deep breaths before he came towards her.

“You know that to keep you safe.”

“Oh, shove it, dad! What’s the point of being safe when I don’t know anything! I felt like I was going crazy and I-I can’t do that anymore daddy. I can’t.”

(Y/N) had tears in her eyes. She hated it; she was so tired of it. She was so tired.

Techno was stood in shock hesitating before coming over and hugging her tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered to her. “I…I didn’t know it was hurting so much…”

It was a bit awkward of a hug with his armor on but (Y/N) hugged him back regardless.

Techno had wanted to just keep her safe. He had so many enemies and seen so many things in his life…He just didn’t want his little girl to see all the same things he had and he didn’t want her to carry the same scars. But all the while, it seemed he was hurting her in a different way.

“I’m sorry. We’ll figure it out, ok?”

“Please.” She nodded.

He’ll figure it out, he’ll still make sure she was safe, but he’d figure it out for his little girl to be happy…

====================================

General Taglist: @devilchicc @technoblades-sword

(WHY CAN"T I TAG YOU)

#technoblade x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt oneshots #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #dreamsmp x reader

306 notes · View notes

firemama · 3 years ago

Text

Its 5:30am and i have a ragging fever and im tryna sleep and thinkin about dragon age

And u know what!! I dont care WHAT the inquisition party mages start with!! Theres no fuckin WAY Solas specializes in ice magic!

Have u SEEN his classification? Like yeah rift mage, obvious, of course, he is Fade and Veil man. But the literalness of it? HE LITTERALLy! THROWS BIG FUCKIN ROCKS. Punch with fist!

Ice magic is all about defenses and traps and buying time, it is NOT solas' style. What is his style is throwing flaming rocks at people. You know what that IMPLIES? FIRE MAGIC. Especially when you look at fire amd ice magics clinically. Because ice magic, or rather, cold magic, would be removing energy from an enviorment (most easily, sending it to the surronounding Environment) to create a lack of energy, and thus make things colder. where as Fire magic, or Heat magic, would be injecting energy so suddenly that shit COMBUSTS. In the insance of SOLAS, a RIFT mage, how fucking easy would it be to spit out energy from the fade at a target? Its the same violent and straight forward tactic as, you kno, spitting a ROCK outta the fade. And also solas is a self admitted hot head (though he says its his youth in which he was short tempered, he litterally fell the fuck asleep for xyz number of years and then woke the fuck up and said "im wiser now" and continues to make wildly rash decisions like "shit lets give this blight guy my magic orb this will all work put fine" and also "hey almost all my fucking people died but im pretty sure if i tear down this veil thing i made which killed them, the current species of elvhen people that have probably adapted to the world as it is now will just be imortal probably!")

But my theory that elvhen people of current thedas plausably having changes to a point of no return aside:

Solas should totally use fucking fire magic, fuck the ice magic spell he starts with that everyone seems hellbent on taking as his elemental style.

That said, Vivienne is absolutely a fucking ice mage? Unquestionably? I mean its totally her fuckin style? She would totally take pleasure in immobilizing targets and taunting them (she litterally does this exact thing during her introduction sequence). And also shes an indirect, ice cold bitch (tone indiactor: kinda fucking love that about her). She would definitely be the kind of deadly ass mage that uses a style pension for defense and traps, cause thats BASICALLY what the game is but like, with words. And also sucking the energy out of something to freeze it is just the kind of a-emotional tactic you can expect in her calculative nature.

This leaves our last elemental school to Dorian, who should definitely be the fuckin school of storm? Lightning man? Like i know eveyone wants him to be fire because oho flamboyant little flame. But like everything about dorian is ententionally weaponized and volatile, even his flamboyant personality. His sharp tongue is a live wire and he litterally lives his life by the motto, "oh it looks pretty, but if you touch it, zap!" Like hes the embodiment of arching electricity. And it just fucking works more with his chaptic style! He a Necromancer! CHAOS! PANIC! FEAR! SPIRIT BOMBS AND THUNDEROUS CHAIN LIGHTNING = MASS HYSTERIA AND SWEEPING DAMAGE! Dorian comes from a country where the front lines and the battlefields are run by magic rather than armor or sword, his magic should reflect that. Quick, light on the feet, devestating. And dorian, himself: unpredictable but a whole school of science and research, to know the finesse of his craft and its nature, whether its the spirits he forms or the lightning he crafts.

Anyway it seems violently obvious to me

Tldr: Dorian it Storm, Vivienne is Ice, and Solas is Fire. It matches their nature, it matches their fighting styles, it matches their specializations.

Im sure this post is riddled with typos but cut be some slack it is now 6:10am and im exhausted

#munchatter #dragon age inquisition

76 notes · View notes

ivyaugustetc · 3 years ago

Text

the dead poets on ice: another headcanon from hell

hey guys!! sooo @pretentious-strikes helped me come up with this idea so big big shoutout to faye ily bestie

uh yeah i had some trials and tribulations over this but it's here :)

also, when i say the poets, i'm including chet and ginny and chris in that. i need to give them a name though. i thought sapphic trio or sumn???

neil: i love this boy but he cannot skate </3 he's got so many talents and yet this is not one of them. he spends the entire time clinging to todd (who also isn't entirely sure he can skate well) and the other half quoting dramatic shakespeare scene and faking his death on the ice HAHAHAHA. can you imagine him pretending to stab himself with a dagger while quoting the end of romeo and juliet? and then he just. fake stabs himself and pretends to die on the ice while todd is like "GET UP I NEED HELP"

todd: the literal definition of "i think i'm doing it right???????" like he kinda knows what he's doing because he skated once two years ago but at the same time it's still a new feelings and he's disoriented?? the fact that neil is hanging onto him for dear life kinda makes him feel like he should know what he's doing, so he fakes it til he makes it because he doesn't have the heart to tell neil he is no safer in his hands than in the jaws of a shark. he leaves better than he was at the beginning, of course, but boy were those first ten minutes absolute hell for him (except for the neil holding onto him part. that was nice.)

meeks: not horrible, not fantastic, but secure in the knowledge that he can skate wherever he pleases without have to worry about falling over. he's just freaking zen the entire time, more of a spectator than a player in whatever chaos is occurring. he makes the occasional sarcastic comment, but spends the majority of the time focusing on his own craft (a.k.a. skating in circles around the edge of the lake). he'll help if anyone gets injured, but otherwise he's perfectly content with his own thoughts and we love it for him :)

cameron: who is a perfectionist? richard. who's good at everything on almost the first try? rich. who's fucking incredible at ice skating? CAM THE MAN RICHARDSON THAT'S WHO. when I say this man has the technique, the style, i mean he has it. he's told approximately no one and yet exactly everyone is in awe of this man's skills. and while he's not showing everyone up, he helps the others that can't seem to go two seconds without falling on their asses. moral of the story: get urself a man who can do both, aka richard cameron.

pitts: he is as tall as a tree and just as uncoordinated as one :) he's the type of person to laugh at how much he sucks rather than get frustrated about it? so every once in a while you'll hear a yell from pitts, followed by a thud, followed by the loudest, most infectious laughter you've ever heard. Like he makes everyone else nearly fall from laughing so hard. He just raises the morale like crazy but is probably also prepared with first aid training if anyone were to fall and break an ankle or something.

charlie: does not know what he's doing, but he's doing it very loudly and badly. he has a baseline skill set that includes standing upright and skating slowly on the ice, but it soon progresses into ZOOM ZOOM GOTTA KNOCK EVERYONE ON THEIR ASSES dalton. he's just zip zoppin through everyone, cackling his head off and trying to push a select few to the ground. he never once succeeds to push cameron down even though that's his main target because cameron has the balance of a flamingo and even though charlie's laughing he's internally thinking "WHY WON'T YOU JUST FALL AND VALIDATE MY CHAOS????" he leaves without having knocked over cameron, but it's fine. he knocked knox over more times than he can count.

knox: um...he's the worst out of all of them. like he is...abominable. he knocks himself and everyone around him off balance whenever he falls because he's the flailing, Not Going Down Without A Fight type of faller. he's definitely frustrated by his lack of skill, especially when Chris skates by and does a little twirl right in front of him. But he's determined to leave that place not totally helpless, but does he? no. charlie made sure he didn't. moral of the story: it could've been better if it weren't for charlie.

chris: I feel like Mrs. Noel would've been the kind of parent to put Chris in gymnastics or something when she was a kid and therefore Chris has great balance and would be a GOD at ice skating. Like, she probably do a few of the little twists and turns that lower-level figure skaters can do. She ends up getting really focused on trying to learn how to do a spin and goes off in her own little world for a bit before she realized she forgot where she was and goes back to hang out with Ginny.

chet: this man is a football player, okay? ice skating is not his thing. First of all it took a hot second to find ice skates that actually fit him, and then when he finally got on the ice he was caught completely off guard by how SLIPPERY IT IS????? so he hangs onto chris like she's a life preserver for a while until she gives him some motivational pep talk that convinces him to let go. he does the weird preschooler slide-walk thing for a while, you know where he's making the movements of walking but his feet are just sliding back and forth on the ice and he isn't getting anywhere because the coefficient of friction is basically in the negatives? but he ends up figuring it out and leaves with one-half of a new skill!!

ginny: queen has never done this before but she does NOT need anyone's help. She is so dead set on doing it all by herself and not allowing a single soul to give her help. When she falls, she dismisses all the hands held out to her and figures out how to get up by herself. Once she gets the hang of it, she allows herself to be dragged around by speed-demon Chris Noel for a bit and once or twice they fall down in a heap because Chris is skating backwards in order to hang onto ginny's hands and therefore cannot see where she's going and furthermore hits every poet like they're bowling pins. But they laugh every time they fall because it's lowkey hilarious and also they're in love <3

#dead poets society #dead poets society headcanon #neil perry #todd anderson #stephen meeks #steven meeks #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #nuwanda #richard cameron #chris noel #ginny danburry #chet danburry #knox overstreet

66 notes · View notes

gothgirlmahi · 4 years ago

Text

Tight Fit

Summary: This is just porn. You’re a receptionist that gets stuck in an elevator. Everyone is very happy about that.

This was just an excuse to write my faves :) Masterlist

No beta, I live on the edge.

Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader

Warnings: All the smut. Very corny porn with no plot. One line of implied Stucky. Minors DNI

The situation you found yourself in was altogether ridiculous. You had to deliver some documents to another floor. The information could have been handled by a phone call but bureaucracy. After hitting the button on the elevator, you realized you left one of the documents at your desk. A quick jog back to grab them left you running back to the elevator, scrambling to get between the doors before they closed. Then it happened.

You were stuck.

Somehow, you managed to get caught around your waist. Your upper body and head faced the inside of the elevator while your lower half was still stuck facing your desk. The papers you held spilled to the floor inside the elevator. The doors were tightly cinched around you, giving no leeway as you tried to wiggle your way out. You could feel your skirt riding up with the effort you exerted.

Steps coming down the hall caught your attention. Someone could help you!

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

Judging by the voice it was Captain Rogers. America’s golden boy. Gorgeous Steve Rogers. You went weak in the knees at the sound of him and if you weren’t being held up by the elevator, you were sure you’d be swooning.

“Uh,” you tried your best to look behind you and through the doors, “can you help me out of here? I kind of had a little incident.”

“Oh?”

With your head turned, you watched as he came closer and put down his shield. The angle soon became too much for your neck and you turned back around, sighing and dejected.

“How bad is it?” you asked. He was silent for a moment.

“It doesn’t look bad at all. Maybe I can help.”

Steve came closer and firmly held you by the waist. The first attempt to pull you out was unsuccessful but he was undeterred.

“Maybe if I just...get closer.”

He stood right behind you to ground himself. His crotch was pressed up against your behind and your eyes widened.

Was he hard? That very much felt like an erection.

He pulled again, with a little more force this time. You may have budged by about an inch but no more.

“I don’t think it’s working,” you told him. He didn’t say anything. His hands began to wander along your lower back and down the sides of your thighs.

“Uh, Captain Rogers? Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Sorry, I just...your ass is so—I mean. I think maybe if I pull your skirt up I can get you out.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But if Captain America wanted to ogle your ass you’d be a willing model for him. Even if he wanted to do a little more than that, it would be alright with you.

“Go ahead,” you urged him. You heard him sign in relief behind you before bunching your skirt up at your waist. He made a pained noise behind you.

“Your ass is amazing.”

“I thought you were getting me out?”

“I will, but consider this. You want to get out. I want to get off. Maybe we can help each other out.”

This was better than any wet dream or any fantasy you crafted. Captain America was asking to fuck you.

“Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

Steve spanked you lightly before rubbing his hands all over your ass. He massaged it tenderly, kneading and appreciating the supple flesh. One of his hands lifted your thong and held it by the string.

“You always wear these to work?”

“Every single day,” you answered him. He chuckled behind you before pushing the material to the side.

The sound of his belt buckle excited you. How many people could say they got fucked by Captain America, one of the hottest people on the planet? How many people knew Captain America was an ass man?!

You both let out groans as he entered you. He was big, but you were ready. Plenty of sleepless nights riding dildos and imagining it was him had you prepared for anything he could give you. He slammed into you hard and you let out loud moans into the space of the elevator.

Steve’s hands never left your ass as he fucked you. Pinching and squeezing while he rammed into you. Soft groans of pleasure left his mouth, spurring on your own enjoyment. You bit your bottom lip, trying to keep your screaming to a minimum and braced one of your hands on the wall even though Steve was doing a good job of keeping you in place.

“Steve, it feels so good,” you cried out. He cupped your ass cheek, shaking it in his hand.

“I love watching your ass jiggle. Everyday you come in wearing these skirts. I’ve wanted to fuck you for months.”

The idea that you could have had this months ago made you want to kick yourself. You could have been fucking Captain America months ago?!

Steve sped up the rhythm of his hips, eagerly fucking you. Your body was alight with pleasure, happily taking everything he gave you.

“Such a tease, sweetheart. It’s like you’ve been taunting me all this time. Is this what you wanted?”

“Oh fuck yes!”

Steve laughed at your reply and reached his hand under you to play with your clit. Your legs shook at the stimulation and you cried out, clenching around him. Steve slapped your ass hard and had you coming all over his cock, moaning and squirming as much as you could in your position. He touched you until you were overstimulated and soon he was filling you up while a low moan of your name escaped his lips. He pulled out and let some of his cum spurt over your ass. You let out a deep sigh at the feeling of him dripping out of you.

Steve stood straight behind you and you heard him shift his weight while he fixed your underwear in place and pulled your skirt back over your ass.

“I’ll be back. Maybe Tony has something that can help.”

You sighed as you heard him step away and enter the stairwell. Sure he was fast, but he’d have to find Tony first. And there were how many floors in this building? Even with the elevator it was still a sizable ride from the first to top floor. You would probably be stuck for a while.

With nothing to do, you twiddled your thumbs before trying to wiggle around and get out. No luck. You were really jammed in there.

You perked you when you heard the door to the stairwell open.

“Steve?” you called out.

“Hey—whoa, what happened to you?” Definitely not Steve.

“Sergeant Barnes?” you asked. This was an embarrassing position to be caught in. Never in your life did you think you’d be greeting the Winter Soldier ass first. Oh well.

“Are you okay?”

You had just been fucked by one of the hottest men you’d ever met. Things could certainly be worse.

“I’m okay, but I’m stuck. Steve was here and he went for help. Do you think you can get me out of here?”

He had a metal arm for crying out loud. If he couldn’t get you out, who could?

“Hmm, let’s see.” You heard him approach and stop a bit behind you. He made a thoughtful noise.

“You have something on your skirt.”

Oh no. Now this was embarrassing.

Found stuck in an elevator covered in Captain America’s jizz.

“Oh, I must have, err, sat in something earlier!”

“I’m going to try to pull you out, okay?” he asked.

“Sounds good to me!”

Bucky placed his hands on your hips and pulled, receiving the same result as his friend.

“Geez, you’re really in there. How did this even happen?”

You shrugged as best you could in your position.

“By all means it doesn’t make sense and yet, here I am.”

Bucky chuckled behind you.

“Okay, I think I get what’s going on here.”

“Huh? What’s going on?”

“If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to do some elaborate scheme.”

“But I’m not—“ you stopped yourself as you realized what he was saying, “umm, yeah. You caught me. Was it that obvious?”

It was really your lucky day. Getting laid by two Avengers? What could be better?

“Steve is such an overachiever. He covered you. God, I want to taste you.”

You perked up, suddenly not very keen on your escape plan.

“Then do it! I mean—that would be great! Do whatever you want to me!”

Bucky pulled your skirt up from where it clung to your skin. He groaned at the sight of you before getting to his knees.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I gotta get my tongue in that pretty pussy. Clean you up. Stevie really made a mess.”

You were nearly rabid from excitement.

Bucky pulled your thong down your legs and you happily stepped out of it. He lowered his face to your pussy and licked a stripe from your clit to your folds. He sucked on your lips sloppily before pulling away.

“Oh yeah. That’s definitely Rogers.”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“How would you—oh fuck!” Bucky took your clit between his plump lips and sucked hard, leaving you gasping for air. He moved his mouth up, pushing his tongue inside you and moaning as he cleaned you up.

He ate you like a starving man. Within minutes your legs were weak and ready to give out while he pressed against all your sensitive spots. His tongue began to circle your clit and you squirmed, pushing back against his face desperately. Bucky pushed a metal finger deep into your cunt and you moaned his name, still trying to push your hips even further against him. When he pressed another thick digit into you and curled his fingers, you were a goner. Vision blurred and body convulsing while he continued through your orgasm. A little burst of liquid from between your legs had your face heating up in embarrassment as you came down from your high.

Bucky pulled away from you and sat back on his heels.

“That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“That’s never happened before,” you confessed. You could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know I was that good, but glad to be of service. When I get you out of here, I want you to sit on my face.”

“No complaints from me. That is, if I ever get out of here.”

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re going to get you out of here. I’m going to go find Steve and we’ll figure this out.”

He pulled your skirt back down and skipped off into the stairwell. You couldn’t help but notice he kept your underwear. You supposed it didn’t matter at this point, you weren’t exactly doing great at keeping up an air of modesty. You were starting to get sore around your middle from the cinch of the elevator door and hoped they would be back soon.

When the door to the stairwell swung open and someone else stepped out, you could tell by their gait it wasn’t either of the men you had already encountered.

“What is this? Who has done this to you?” Thor bellowed at the sight of you.

“No one did this to me,” you explained.

“This is strange. Some sort of Midgardian tradition?”

“No. I had to deliver some files and I got stuck in here.”

“A helpless maiden. This is certainly a problem I can solve. I’ll have to hold on to you. I hope that is not indecent?”

“Go ahead. Might as well try,” you encouraged him.

Thor circled his hands around your waist and pulled at an angle. To your surprise, you moved just the slightest bit. An idea hit you and you called out for him to stop.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in concern.

“No, uhh—“

You had one chance to get this right. If Thor could actually get you out of here, maybe you could wait just a little longer and request something else.

“Thor, if you want to, we could do something else before I get out of here.”

“Oh? What could we do in this position?”

“I don’t mean to be forward, but if you want to fuck me you can.”

Thor was silent for a moment. You wanted to hit yourself for sounding so slutty. But you’d be crazy to set aside the opportunity. This wasn’t just anyone, there was a literal god standing behind you. It would be ridiculous not to even offer.

At east that’s what you convinced yourself.

“Well, who am I to deny a beautiful woman her carnal pleasure? I would love to fuck you,” he nearly growled.

You felt like you won the lottery.

Thor pushed your skirt up and gasped at what he saw.

“Oh, you are absolutely dripping. A very welcome sight.”

“Oh, yeah. Steve and Bucky are to blame for that.”

“Ah, they arrived here before I did. This won’t do at all. I’ll have to fill you with my godly seed.”

“You are more than welcome to do that.”

Thor pressed his thumb against your clit and you sighed, reveling in his touch. While he touched you, you heard him fumbling with his armor with his other hand. Thor pulled his hand away from you. Before you could complain, the head of his cock was pressed against your clit and rubbing in mesmerizing circles.

“Ah, that feels good,” you told him.

“I have something that will feel even better. Are you ready?”

“I can’t say yes enough.”

When he pressed against your entrance you realized just how thick he was. Certainly larger than Steve and bigger than any man you had ever been with. He pushed slowly into you, opening up your tight channel for him. Your inner walls clung snugly around his length as he fed you more and more of his cock. Just as you felt like it would never end, his hips were pressed firmly against you.

You let out a shocked gasp.

He stayed there for a bit to let you adjust but you wiggled your hips in protest. You wanted it now. His first thrust had you arching your back and holding onto the elevator door to keep yourself upright. It was like he was touching all of your insides at the same time. Brushing past every single sensitive spot you had and driving you crazy.

You were out of your mind as he fucked you. Absolutely drunk on his cock.

This is it, you thought. My hoeing is going to get me killed.

But what a way to go.

Thor grunted behind you and placed a hand on the back of your neck while the other firmly kept hold on your hip.

“You are breathtaking,” he complimented.

“Yeah,” you managed to get out, “we’ll have to do this again some time.”

“You’ll have no complaint from me,” he assured you.

This experience would probably ruin normal men for you. Nothing could compare.

Thor made you cum so hard your legs went limp. He was pressed deep inside you, leaving you clenching hard around his thick length. Thor fucking growled as he came, thrusting so hard that both of you were pushed through the elevator doors and onto the floor.

His quick reflexes were the only thing stopping him from landing directly on top of you, instead landing beside you at your back. Sometime during your fall his cock had slipped out of you, leaving cum dripping down your thighs.

You had to laugh. The situation was too insane. But you were free! You turned to Thor with a bright smile.

“I could kiss you!” you yelled in excitement. Thor looked intrigued and opened his arms for you.

“I encourage it!”

You fell on top of him, smothering his lips with yours. Neither of you noticed the doors closing and the elevator ascending.

The doors opened to a shocked Tony and Pepper, looking down in horror at the mess of papers you and Thor were lying half naked in, still making out.

“How the hell are we going to explain this to HR?”

Important Author’s Note: I really wanna make out with Thor.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter solider x reader #thor x reader #thor x you #stucky x reader #marvel x reader

355 notes · View notes

tsuki-sennin · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Momo Monday~! Er, uh... Taro Tuesday~! ...Thursday, I know it's Thursday. I uh... didn't feel like doing it on Monday so I put it off and I'm doing it now. Oh well. Y-you don't mind, right?

Spoilers, I guess...

-Ah yes, Haruka appreciated the headpat. And the Noto Gang seems to be in fear of these Juto things.

-Oh! We did it again, Haruka-chan~! Your friends are cheering you on! Your lame-ass boyfriend gave you a headpat!

-...this ain't right.

-I guess Haruka got magically uncancelled. All the adults in my life used to tell me and my friends that we'd become absolutely worthless and unloved if we ever plagiarized anything, so it's doubly impressive that Haruka managed to bounce back from that in celebrity purity-obsessed Japan.

-"You've been carrying this team, Haruka. Would you like to quit now?"

-Guild admin Don Kaito.

-Wow, so Haruka's essentially been blackmailed.

-...and yet the look on Don Kaito's face...

-I'm gonna be totally honest, even if I believed Haruka's plagiarism allegations (if I were in this universe, that is), I'd probably still enjoy reading First Love Hero anyway. Like, she's 17, and even if I believed that she was in the wrong and the person accusing her of it is right, she's like a full grown adult reissuing her work with Haruka's name out of spite. Now, I'm not trying to downplay how big of a dick move plagiarism is in the real world, but some real stupid and spiteful people throw that word out for no reason, and it sucks knowing it could happen to somebody I care about.

-Ippei-sensei seems burnt out on the kinda fame Haruka wants. I can respect a man who likes a classic shoujo story though.

-OHHHH HELLO, TENTACLES

-...is that a pirate? ...GOKAI-KI :O

-Oh, Haruka's back with her wet-blanket boyfriend.

-She didn't even know who the Pupper and Birb are. Shameful.

-Ah, yep, there she is, the creepy adult woman following around this high school girl!

-IT'S THE AUTOGRAPH GUY :O

-GOKAI-KI

-Oh! I know who this woman is! I saw people talking about her on Twitter. Hiyori Katada, she originally auditioned for Haruka before Kohaku Shida got the part. And now she's OniSistering.

-"Awwww, c'mon! I can't even escape from OniSister even when I'm not her!"

-I wonder, is this kinda like a Daita/Daigoro situation? I mean, they're both Yellow Ranger roles being switched out...

-I see the new girl's a bit more respected by Don Momotaro. Didn't even kick her lmao

-Marina Maeda...

-"Uhhhhh, yeah, I totally don't know who you Donbura guys are, you wanna tell me more about you?"

-"Woooooow, you're cool, Miss Manga Artist~!"

-Shinichi just like me, fr :sob:

-Seems like Haruka Kito's got a Wonderful Life, if you know what I mean.

-She may be good at her chosen craft of manga, but that evidently came at the cost of her cooking and footwork being on the level of a dog.

-OHHHH

-OHHHH MARINA-SAN'S MAD

-She certainly doesn't seem to take her curse as well as Haruka has.

-Seems like the Juto haven't killed off that bus full of people yet. That's a relief, at least.

-OHHHHHHHH THEY'RE HERE

-THAT POOR CHEF

-So, acting as a Donbrother curses you, no matter who you are.

-Haruka's running commentary is a bit weird.

-That's a lovely shot.

-Hey, what the hell, man!? You don't just grab a girl like that!

-Gokai-Ki appears!

-Yeah, run away you little bitch!

-Oh, I get it. The pirate steals the hard work of others to prop himself up. Very clever.

-Ohhhh, hi Sononi~! Yaaaas queen, kick ass~!

-Marina's heart wavers.

-She still has her camera on hand... :(

-Haruka's resolve burns.

-"Put me back in, coach! Somebody's dream is on the line!"

-Swing that shit, girl!

-Oni Robotaro~!

-Festival time~!

-Robotaro Festival~!

-Yo! Yo! Yo!

-Ohhhhhhh, is this an insert song~!

-Ahhhhhh, they're all goin' full force~!

-Man, I don't even care it's CG, were going all out~!

-Party Time~!

-Avataro Zan, Avataro Zan~~!

-Don! Don! Donbrothers~!

-Here's hoping Gokai-Ki's host reflects on what he's done.

-Back to square one, Haruka-san. But hey! Marina's life is back to normal, that's pretty good at least.

-Seems like Haruka's back in the saddle. ...how can Don Kaito do that, I wonder?

-Man... how is it that every episode of Donbrothers so far has been an absolute banger? How are we 10 for 10!? Inoue really hasn't lost his touch with Sentai, has he? And the directors really love what they're doing, because all these shots kick all kinds of ass.

-Anyway, join us next time where Tsubasa gets sick as a dog and we beat up a cop!

#momo monday #i know it's not monday shush #super sentai #avataro sentai donbrothers #donbrothers spoilers #don! don! it's a full force peachy festival!

6 notes · View notes

need-a-fugue · 4 years ago

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #pope garcia #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x you #will ironhead miller #benny miller #triple frontier fic

38 notes · View notes

kim-bobbae · 4 years ago

Text

90. “You can tell me anything.”

Work has been somewhat a nightmare and I just felt like writing about some Jay lovin’...though if he’d look at me like that I’d just burst into tears right away sigh TT

How do I go home and rant to my boyfriend, Jay Park, about my boss – Jay Park?

You had honestly imagine working with your boyfriend to be the best thing ever, especially so when he was essentially the busiest man alive, and working with him meant that you could see him every day despite his inhumane schedules – the occasional coffee runs before work and the little glances that he sneaked at you whenever he came in and out of the office? Cute, you loved it.

But while you did get to spend almost every waking hour with him, that was the very reason why it made work extra hard – he made his never ending pile of work look so easy and it honestly did nothing to make you feel better about your job, more so when the music video you were working on was due for its final review tomorrow and you were not the least bit satisfied with the outcome after working on it for three consecutive nights.

“Hey,” You said, flashing him a small smile as the both of you exchanged glances via the reflection on your monitor.

“How’s it going?” He asked, giving your shoulders a massage.

“It’s still work in progress I guess…” You shrugged, weariness evident in the tone of your voice to which he picked up almost immediately.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, pulling over a chair from the desk next to yours, then turned your chair to face him.

“Yeah, it’s just been a really long day…”

It was two in the morning, the rest of the employees long gone. You had spent the entire day working on the music video and had completely lost track of time as you played it back over and over again, going back and forth between several transitioning effects and finding it difficult to come to a decision.

He remained silent, studying your face carefully – from your slumped posture to your sleepy eyes, he knew something was up but instead of asking once more, he merely held both your hands, furrowing his brows he waited for you to speak again.

“…can I please get a hug?” You whispered.

“Of course,” He hummed, then gestured for you to sit on his lap before he wrapped his arms around your frame, bringing your fingers to his lips as he kissed them gently. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been working on this for nights and no matter how many times I watch it, I just can’t seem to figure out what’s lacking,” You explained. “The review is tomorrow and this is driving me nuts…”

He wordlessly reached for your mouse, playing the draft you had completed thus far and for a while he just stayed like that, watching with a careful eye while his other hand kept his hold on you. With the way he remained silent throughout and his attention completely fixated on the screen, four minutes felt like forever as you chewed nervously on your lips, your eyes darting back and forth as you looked for the slightest hint of reaction other than the bobbing of his head towards the beat.

A smug smile played on his lips as the video came to an end, and you could’ve sworn your heart was about to fall out of your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“I don’t get what you’re stressing about,” He stated as a matter of fact. “That was dope.”

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not, why would I?”

You sighed, getting off his lap and sitting back down in your chair as you stared at the screen and scrolled aimlessly through the video once more.

“Baby, what’s going on?” He asked, confused at the way you were reacting to his compliments.

You ran your fingers through your hair, “I’m not tryna flex or anything...but that’s what everyone says and at this point I feel like everyone’s just flattering me cos I’m your…”

“You’re my…?”

“…never mind.”

He scooted closer to you, hands on yours to stop you from working and looked at you with a face full of worry, “You can tell me anything.”

“…cos I’m your girlfriend,” You told him, looking down at your lap.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I feel like everyone’s telling me that I’m doing a good job just cos I’m dating their boss,” You explained. “This video doesn’t even feel complete…how in the world is this ‘great’?”

You weren’t sure if this was you putting all this unnecessary pressure on yourself because you were surrounded by so many talented creatives in H1GHR’s graphic team, but with the way the several music videos you’ve directed for Jay over the years have been consistently blowing up, the bar was set high the moment Jay signed you to direct his team. You’ve been working independently for several years with the intention of making a name for yourself before joining a label and Jay completely understood that, giving you all the time and space you needed to develop your craft but with how he hyped you up (you know, typical Jay) and assigned their latest and biggest project, the compilation album, under your direction the moment you entered, the pressure was no doubt eating you up.

“We don’t have to worry if you’re the one directing the music videos.”

“This project is gonna blow up now that you’re in charge. The edits in your latest work were sick!”

Sure, you appreciated the fact that they thought so highly of you, but all these expectations were inevitably sending you into an endless cycle of self-doubt.

For a while he simply stared at you, confused. He watched the way tears were beginning to well up in your eyes as you clicked on your mouse frantically, applying filters and effects before undoing them again. This went on for a good minute and it was when frustration became evident from the way you tapped loudly on the control + z keys did he make an attempt at stopping you.

“Hey-”

“You’re so good at what you do – you do ten thousand meetings a day while releasing songs, doing photo shoots, interviews and even working out – you make work look so easy and I feel like everyone associates my work to yours and…its stressing me out,” You said, then sighed as pushed your mouse aside and buried your face in your hands. “I don’t want to disappoint them…”

“Baby, look at me,” He said, placing one of his hands on your lap.

“I can’t,” You whispered against the palm of your hands.

He let out a deep breath, peeling your hands off your face before he cupped your cheeks and brushed away your tears with his thumb, “You’re doing great, and I’m not saying this just because you’re my girlfriend and I love you to death – you know how honest I am with my comments when it comes to work.”

“For real..?” You rasped, looking down at your lap to avoid his gaze.

“Of course,” He reassured you. “Now stop putting yourself down for absolutely no reason at all cos I’m proud of you and your work.”

“…I’m being stupid now, aren’t I? For being whiny and a crybaby…?”

“And for complaining that your boyfriend’s too awesome? A little,” He joked, finally eliciting a giggle from you.

Nevertheless, he pulled you in for a hug, dotting a kiss on your forehead.

“Now let’s go home shall we? You’ve been staying up at the office for a few nights and it kinda sucks going to bed alone knowing you’re in the office slogging your ass off for my music video.”

“Alright boss,” You snickered, knowing very well he hated it when you addressed him like that and he rolled his eyes at you, saving your work once more before dragging you out of the office.

#Jay Park #park jaebum #park jaebeom #jay park scenarios #jay park drabbles #AOMG #aomg scenarios #aomg reactions #khh #khh scenarios #khh imagines #khh reactions #100 ways to say i love you

239 notes · View notes

maturemenoftvandfilms · 4 years ago

Text

The Secretary of Agriculture

CHAPTER FOUR: The First Time

Featuring U.S. Secretary of Agriculture, Sonny Perdue

I'm a congressional intern attending the Congressional Summer Intern Lecture Series (ILS). The Lecture Series brings prominent professionals and influencers in their respective fields to speak to summer interns about a variety of topics, from policy discussions to advice about pursuing a successful career in Washington, D.C. and around the world. This year's speakers of interest were Agriculture Secretary Sonny Perdue, Senator Cory Gardner and Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy.

On Monday, October 21, 2019, Agriculture Secretary Perdue was the first Lecturer to speak and I sat right in the middle of the room with a full view of him. God how I wanted him. He was not just handsome--the man was hot. I looked at every line, every wrinkle on his face and guessed by the crow's feet he was in his mid to late sixties or early seventies. Built like a stereotypical suburban granddad, on the one hand, with white hair wrapped around his bald head, clean-shaven and strong-chinned. On the other hand I could tell he took good care of his body. He was the husky in shape type. His shirt was tight around a well-crafted chest and tucked cleanly into slacks that hugged his thighs and ass. Damn. What a fucking man.

I didn't take my eyes off the man as I did so. I wondered what would he think if he knew a guy like me wanted to fuck him. Just then, Sec. Perdue looked at me. In that minute I knew it--I could tell--he wanted me. I knew it instinctively, he had some latent homosexuality in him and he wanted me. I had to fuck him. After the lecture, even though we weren't supposed to, I walked over and greeted him.

"Hello young man." Sec. Perdue said, lingering by the exit door. He offered his hand as his blue eyes swept over me.

I had to snap out of my day dreaming because I was about to make a tent out of my pants. Well, one thing led to another and our conversation turned into how I would satisfy him if I got him into my bed.

I had to snap out of my day dreaming because I was about to make a tent out of my pants. I didn’t see his wife, and decided to make a bold move. I took the lounge chair next to him. He looked at me, nodded, and we introduced ourselves. And yes, we both were attending the same trade show, so the conversation flowed easily. I found out that his wife went out shopping, and he was just relaxing and trying to recover from the hectic day today.

Well, one thing led to another, and our conversation turned into how I would satisfy him if I got him into my bed.

"You really don't beat around the bush do you? He responded.

"Well sir, I was taught to say what's on my mind. I said.

"Well son, I feel the same way to tell the truth, life is too short to beat around the bush! He said.

"Well then, is there someplace we could go?" I said to Sec. Perdue.

"I think we could find a place." He said casting me a sly grin.

The journey to his hotel room was unbearable. Officials to dodge, people for Sec. Perdue to nod away. But once we hit the quiet hallway on his floor, Sec. Perdue's hands were on me as he steered me into what I assumed was his hotel room. I could only catch a quick glimpse of the large room and spacious bed before the lock clicked and Sec. Perdue was grinning at me again, his eyes blue and hungry.

"Fuck, you're hot, son."

I grinned back, moving toward him and plunging my tongue into his mouth. He moaned, suddenly weak and desperate; this powerful man, the United States Secretary of Agriculture, moaning as a simple intern kissed him. We began frantically pulling off our clothes. I didn't know if he was eager or just didn't have much time to "fraternize with the interns" before continuing on with his duties, but he wasn't waiting for any conversation. I certainly didn't mind.

As he slipped down his jockeys, I had to stop undressing, and stare at his wonderful dick. All 6 1/2 inches of it pointed at the ceiling, and was framed by his grey pubic bush. His ripe nuts were hanging low to his body. I was just staring at his young beautiful body. All my blood had to be in my 7- inch dick as I was harder than I could remember being in a long time. I placed the palms of my hands on his firm chest as he placed his hand on my hard dick, feeling and testing the size.

"Oh, yeah," he moaned, as he ran his hand down my tender, sensitive cock. I was afraid I was going to cream my underwear right then.

We sat on the bed at the same time hugged each other very hard before laying back onto the bed. Sonny spread his legs wide as I moved between his legs, my hands stroked their way up his inner thighs before I kissed the tip of his leaking cock. It throbbed as I held it firm at the base and began sucking it. As I developed a steady rhythm I felt his legs clasp around my back, I reached out and began playing with his nips as my mouth worked on his cock.

“I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum.” The old man warned. I wanted his load so I sucked and tongued his massive dick even more. “I'm cuming.”

And it did! I felt a strong stream of cum jetting form his dick. I swallowed and kept swallowing as Sonny’s cock squirted out his load. Then even as I continued to suck the last few drops of his cum out, the old man’s cock deflated.

Still wanting to fuck him, I did something that the old guy wasn't expecting. I pushed his legs up, moved my face closer to his ass, I stuck out my tongue and slid it through the sweaty hairy crack. The scent drove me wild, I continued licking him here for ages. Then I brushed my tongue against his hole a few times before sliding the tip of it in.

“Yes!” Sonny moaned softly as my tongue worked in and out, eating him.

I could feel his body quiver as my tongue plunged deeper into his ass hole. I could feel his asshole relaxing; I moved my tongue away from him so that I could finger his ass.

“Shit!” Sonny called out in panic when he felt the first of my fingers slip in his hole.

“What are you doing?” He cried out, but he didn’t make any effort to stop me as I slipped a second finger in.

"Just opening you up." I quickly answered as by now, I easily had three of my fingers in him.

A sure sign he was ready to be fucked. I moved up and pointed my cock head towards his butt hole, I pressed against him and the tip of my cock slid in.

"Ahh... shit, you're killing me!" He cried out as I grabbed hold of his legs, sliding in further.

What a sight! My over-sized cock was stuffing itself into the tight hole of the United States Secretary of Agriculture! Not wanting to hurt him, I let him slowly adjust to me before I began to slowly fuck him. Sonny began moaning. It was very quiet, but with an encouraging note and every so often he would squeeze my dick with his ass muscles. I began to pick up the pace when I instantly hit the right spot as his cock came back to life. I leaned over and kissed him as I drove my dick deep into him. I broke our embrace and started planting kissing on his cheeks, forehead and all over his face.

"Fuck my ass!" The old man said in a choking, husky voice.

"Yeah... You like it. You want it. You love it. You were born to be fucked like this!” I said before kissing him again.

I known was getting closer as continued to fuck his hairy old ass. I wanted to fuck him for hours, but the pleasure mounted quickly and I couldn’t stop myself as his asshole felt too good to pull my cock out. I just fucked him harder and faster and extracted as much pleasure as possible knowing that the end was near.

“I’m cumming. I’m cumming!” Sonny suddenly yelped as another orgasm hit him, shooting more jism onto his belly and my chest.

During this, his ass muscles contracted spasmodically as a woman's vaginal muscles do at orgasm which brought on my own. I was yelling something profane, nearly screaming and I came, punching an enormous load deep into his daddy bowels. I shot spurt after spurt into him while he cried "Yes! Yes!" as I slowed my pace and finished him off with gentle strokes.

Suddenly I was getting dressed like a madman as now the fantasy was done. Sonny was still lying on his back, breathing like he was having an attack with his cock was surprisingly semi-erect.

"Thanks... I enjoy it." He said.

"You want my telephone number. Maybe when you're in town you could give me a call and stop by?" I said as I reached for a pen and quickly scribbled my phone number on a piece of the newspaper.

"Yea, maybe I'll call you."

#Sonny Perdue #fan fiction #american politician #politician #The First Time #perdue fan fiction #perdue fiction #The Secretary of Agriculture

174 notes · View notes