#cob light strips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sideroachblog · 3 months ago

Text

Hey y'all here's that AleRoach WIP I promised!!

~4k words. Dry humping at the end (mostly build up), Alejandro being OOC because this was a bit of a daddy issues fic, Size Difference, Unfinished.

There will be TWs under the cut. They're pretty heavy because this is an offshoot from my fic Outside Looking In, where Roach was rescued after being a POW and experienced *severe* trauma. This WIP doesn't go into detail, but it doesn't mince words and it investigates how Roach's experiences are fucking with his current relationships. Additionally, there are heavy spoilers in here for OLI and it reveals more of Roach's perspective of his relationships with the team, particularly Ghost and Soap.

@youredyingthatsallthereis bc I was asked to tag <3

TWs:

1. References to SA Roach endured while captive

2. Roach still being underweight from torture

3. Referenced Cheating

4. Internalized homophobia

5. My awful attempts at Spanish and writing realistic dialogue for someone who speaks English as a second language. In other words: Alejandro sounds corny as fuck. This man on the damn cob.

TRANSLATIONS

Flaquito = An endearing petname. Flaco means skinny and the suffix -ito makes it smaller/cuter/etc

¡Está bien! = It's alright!

Cuate = Buddy/friend/etc

Mierda = Shit

Cariño = Honey/sweetie

No puedo dejar de pensar en ti. = I can't stop thinking about you.

Tesoro = Treasure

“Awfully thin for a member of the 141. How do you run drills? I dunno why they brought you here; you don’t even have a call sign yet.”

Roach looked up from the table where his nose was buried in gun parts, one of the team's assault rifles completely disassembled for cleaning. Colonel Vargas filled the doorway.

Before he could stand to salute his superior waved a dismissive hand and said, “Don't bother. Keep the energy, heaven knows you need it. At ease, flaquito.”

The nickname was a surprise when Roach expected to be addressed by rank. No clue what it meant, though. Halfway up from his chair he hesitated, then plopped back down with straining thighs and a groan. He quipped, “Maybe I'm just too good to leave behind, Sir.”

It was impossible to relax again, on edge and unfamiliar with the man’s temper, bracing for an inevitable smoking. He sat stiffly, spine straight as a board.

The Colonel double checked the safety on his own rifle before resting it in the corner then meandered across what was one of the safe house's bedrooms, now stripped of furniture save for folding tables and gun cases. The space was designated for weapons storage and maintenance. A lone yellow bulb hung from the plain room’s ceiling and offered sufficient lighting—enough to complete duties, not enough to help locate dropped screws or runaway pens.

“You’re in danger,” Vargas said matter-of-factly.

Roach squirmed. “Aren’t we all?”

“You especially. The stairs up here winded you. You have thin bird wrists and negative muscle mass like a frail old lady. What if we’re raided?”

He frowned and said, “I either prove my gun skills or perish, I guess.”

“That isn’t a price I’d expect your Captain to chance paying. Sacrificing fresh meat who needs more time to train, especially when you could put others in danger, too. I’m well-acquainted with John and well-experienced weighing risk versus reward.” The man pulled up a chair and settled in on Roach’s right. “Point is, I’d never send someone so underweight on an operation like this one, even if they stay cooped up in here. Not a newbie. Not in a million years. For Price to make that call, he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“What are you getting at, Sir?”

“You don’t have the eyes of a new recruit.”

He monitored the Colonel in his peripheral for any threatening behavior and swallowed hard. “Just joined the Special Air Service, Sir. If you think he’s hiding something, I think he’s the bloke to ask.”

Alejandro Vargas sat there like a brick wall: an athletic, imposing man of great importance to the Mexican Special Forces, more so than Captain Price was to the taskforce. Only now, with broken ribs where a bullet slammed his plate carrier, was he confined to the safe house in brief recovery. Roach felt like chump change in comparison to his weight lifting build, about six inches shorter and only half the kilos, stuck doing upkeep rather than assisting in the field. Even at his peak, before everything, before Makarov’s Ultranationalist animals held him captive, Roach wasn’t nearly as strong. He reminded himself that he was still healing, still gaining muscle, still making progress on top of how far he’d already come.

…So far, he’d only managed to gain about ten kilos. Ten more and he’d reach a ‘normal weight,’ again, still so unbearably skinny, still far from the size and strength his job required.

Their power imbalance seeded discomfort in his abdomen. Their differences in strength only amplified what stemmed from the subservience a sergeant owed a colonel. It was too similar to Russian prison, Roach beaten and abused by guards double his size who commanded him around like a mule. He tensed without meaning to, leaning away when Vargas’ thick forearms rested on the table, muscles rolling beneath their skin as the man fiddled with a hand guard from the disassembled gun.

The sight left him conflicted. Vargas struck fear in his heart, but struck it in other ways, too. He was attractive, certainly Roach’s ‘type,’ especially considering his confident, benevolent demeanor and how he cared personally for each of his men (at least from an outsider’s perspective). Tough love, but love nonetheless. However, the timing of Roach’s trauma was tragic—happening before he had the opportunity to explore his true sexuality. His thoughts were a muddled mess.

“I just cleaned that, Sir,” he stated. “You’re smearing finger grease all over it again.”

Vargas grabbed a damp cloth and wiped his hands down before using it to tidy the mess. “We’re not on an op. I’m not even your colonel. No need for the formalities right now, Smith.”

Smith. Garrett Smith. The new name was still foreign to his ear, so accustomed to ‘Gary Sanderson’ that he nearly corrected people on occasion. He went to say ‘yes, Sir,’ then truncated the title, hissing, “Yess-s—”

The slight lisp from Roach’s missing teeth made it all the more embarrassing. His cheeks turned pink.

“I’m dead serious about those eyes. Have you seen yourself? Permanent dark circles, thousand yard stare. Even now, you look passed me rather than at me.”

“Mm. I hadn’t noticed,” he lied, sounding as unbelieving as possible. “Interesting observation.”

Vargas angled his wide body to watch the Sergeant work. “Yes, very.”

Roach shrunk into his shoulders when the Colonel leaned forward, into the small uniform shirt that hung baggy enough to have him dress-coded anyway. He prayed the man didn’t notice.

No such luck.

“Not everyone in the world is out to get you. I don’t know who taught you we are. Price wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”

He shuddered at the memory of Shepherd and replied, “I’m well aware there’s people on my side, Sir.”

“I’m one of them. No need to act like a scared dog.”

What if Price was wrong again? What if Alejandro were schmoozing him, attempting to—Roach gritted his teeth, trying to allow his respect for the Colonel to overpower his panic. “I know.”

“Then relax; I won’t bite.”

His legs screamed to bolt before something terrible happened, old pain from Ultranationalist hands resurfacing. Cuts, punches, yanked hair. Having his head shoved underwater until the bubbles nearly stopped.

When he was first captured, their medics begrudgingly treated his burn wounds with as little care as possible (and he had no idea why they didn’t leave him to die). They ripped off the dressings as if peeling stubborn wallpaper, debrided his skin without anesthesia, re-mummified his writhing form as agony lingered. The worst came later, towards the end of his imprisonment. It happened once. Fingernails digging into his thighs, forcing his legs open. Wrists bound so tightly with fraying rope they sustained nerve damage. Bodily intrusions he longed to forget. Thankfully, his attacker was not gifted in certain areas; however, the bastard compensated with violent thrusts that tore through Roach anyway, mentally and physically, leaving a cloud of disgust surrounding his body even months later. Worse still, the fact that Roach had dreamed of those same activities, gentler, involving trusted individuals. These fantasies were tainted, of course. Everything about him felt rotten after his assault was said and done.

He knew that wasn’t true. The thoughts surfaced regardless.

With a deep sigh, he did his best to loosen up.

“Good,” Vargas praised when Roach visibly shoved down the tension. He plucked a rifle scope off the table and worked the cleaning cloth up and down its length in long strokes, wrist twisting as he did.

Roach watched momentarily, then gazed up and found the man already looking back. He said, “You don’t need to help, if you’re busy. I’m sure you’ve more important duties to tend.”

“More important…? It’s break time. I’m striking up conversation. You intrigue me.” A gleam in Vargas’ eye betrayed the true extent of his interest: Roach was a mystery to solve. A broken man still piecing himself together in the line of action, ‘freshly recruited,’ although it was clear the Colonel knew better.

Roach offered a weak smile. “There’s not much to know.”

“Ah. I see. Hate small talk?”

“Always have, S-sir.”

Vargas replaced the scope and began polishing the other hand guard. “There’s beauty in the little things, you know. Much to be learned from interactions you wouldn’t think twice over. Puzzles made from smaller pieces are more intricate by design.”

“They take longer to assemble. Not much time to spare in our line of work, is there?”

“I’ll spare my time for you.”

As sure as he was the Colonel meant nothing of it, Roach’s face flushed anyway. Even though the thought of Vargas picking out the truth made him queasy, his eyes opened wide, dry lips parting delicately.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously, “thanks.”

The corner of Vargas’ mouth raised in amusement. However slight, the expression managed to reach his eyes with sincerity.

“Of course. We kinda… left you here toiling alone. I wasn’t expecting to be stuck here as well. I can only assume you feel swept under the rug, maybe a little useless,” he said, wiggling one hand like a balance. “I know I do. But you’ve been lightening the load on our shoulders when we return from missions, though. So don’t feel bad. We appreciate having maintained weapons and an organized living quarters after. Your work at the base is invaluable.”

The words struck a cord in Roach’s heart, feeling more understood than he had in ages. With the 141, he was merely doing his best. His accomplishments were stepping stones in recovery. He wasn’t capable of anything more until healthy, and even afterwards his achievements would be overshadowed by the unspoken thought that he managed them despite everything.

Roach became inseparable from his suffering.

He nodded. “No problem.”

The Colonel clapped a massive hand on his bony shoulder. “Don’t be so shy. I appreciate your hard work, lugging around heavy gear and checking ammo supplies. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I’ll be sure to mention it to Price.”

Again, he nodded, unsure of whether to give thanks once more.

“You’re doing great, Garrett. You deserve recognition.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Roach’s eyes. He blinked them back but ultimately failed, and two tiny droplets escaped down his cheeks in white-hot rivulets.

Vargas was taken aback. His brain caught up to speed as he exclaimed, “¡Ay, está bien, cuate! Don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

Roach let him rub circles into his upper back, resting his eyelids as the movement swayed his body. Vargas cupped Roach’s jaw in a warm, calloused palm, encouraging him to turn without force, fingers long enough to hit his sideburns. It felt great to be appreciated, even better to be touched without being handled like glass. In their efforts to help him feel safe, the 141 did the exact opposite of his captors. Instead of treating him like rubbish—like a fleshlight—he became a priceless heirloom that would shatter under a funny look. Intentions aside, he still felt like an object.

Alejandro touched him like a person.

“What’s wrong?” He repeated.

“You—you’re so nice,” the Sergeant whimpered, laying a hand over Vargas’ own on his face. “I dunno what to make of it.”

“Are your teammates not nice to you?”

“They are! They are. Just… Not like that. They don’t say things like that. I f-feel like a dead weight.”

“You’re not. And I mean it.”

Roach cried harder. Vargas stood and opened for a hug, which he lunged into wholeheartedly, draping himself onto the man’s chest as those strong, angelic arms wrapped around him. Breaths heaved Vargas’ sturdy pectorals and Roach along with them. It felt secure. His thoughts calmed to a trickle for once.

Suddenly, a warm kiss pressed into his temple, short circuiting his brain. He sighed as safety eased through him. Roach had never been kissed for himself. Hannah kissed him selflessly, mistakenly. She loved him; she wanted to kiss him for their sake, not knowing he'd never feel it as intended but unconsciously aware something was wrong as she floundered to fix things. It was through no fault of her own, having a coward of a husband who feigned heterosexuality to avoid family drama, and she eventually stopped trying. It hurt, seeing her sneak around with Mike. Gary ignored it, figuring she deserved someone able to cherish her entirely.

Gary did love her though, and Roach believed he always would no matter his identity. There was a reason he chose her to marry. Playing the part was easy with her kind heart and dark, witty jokes. She’d been his best friend, high school sweetheart, and first kiss—supposedly his last and only, if not for Simon coming along.

Simon.

Simon kissed him greedily when he needed reassurance.

‘Are you still here with me?’ He asked wordlessly when they were alone, boxing Roach against the wall in one final measure of security. He was aware of Hannah, his kisses selfish, self-aware, and sorry. ‘I need to mean something to you. I don’t care what, lieutenant or lover, just care for me.

Be there for me.’

Gary wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He orbited Simon because of their difference in rank, never falling in love because they were battle buddies and he was a married man. However, he couldn’t let his Lieutenant in as a brother-in-arms—not when he dreamt of holding him each night. Of fucking him stupid in the supply closets. No, Gary acted selfishly, too, devouring the only male attention ever thrown his way and giving Simon false hope, accepting kiss after undeserved kiss. Simon was kind while Gary was awful, returning the gentle reassurance of his lips despite never fully opening up, caught in Cupid’s purgatory where he lied to his commanding officer and wife simultaneously. Garrett could be better, if Simon would have him. If he could bear putting his damaged self on display for someone who loved him when he was whole.

A thumb wiped the moisture from Roach’s cheek.

This was different. Vargas put comfort in the gesture. It was Roach’s turn to be reassured, promised he was welcome in their embrace. Vargas didn’t need anything, didn’t want anything more than to learn who Garrett was now, and it was similar to Soap’s appeal—except Vargas was less skittish and unsure of what he himself had to offer, unbiased by the team’s grief-stricken reminiscing or the knowledge of Roach’s assault. Most importantly, despite all this mushy emotional crap, Vargas’ touch remained impersonal. Impermanent. Roach could safely make mistakes because he'd either die recapturing Los Vaqueros’ headquarters or return to the UK after the operation concluded.

“Colonel,” Roach whispered, pulling back to scan his face.

“Please. No one’s here. Call me Alejandro.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Really, do it. You’re not one of my men. We could be friends at the end of all this. You need more of those.”

“I’ll be too far.”

“I’ll make time to call.”

He hesitated. His arms snaked away from Vargas’ neck until his hands fell to the man’s chest, stabilizing himself on the broad ribcage waiting there, further examining the man’s expression for hints of annoyance. He found none.

Roach’s eyebrows furrowed and more happy tears begged to flow freely as he asked, “Do you mean it?”

“Absolutely, I do,” Alejandro replied. His grip slid to Roach’s hips to accommodate how the Sergeant repositioned. “Christ, Garrett, you’re even skinnier than you look. I can’t believe Price would… Never mind.”

He was right. He engulfed Roach. Only now, rather than make Roach feel lesser, freakish, and scared, it had him weak in the knees. Roach shivered and flicked his eyes to Alejandro’s lips, starving to feel them tenderly elsewhere, ashamed to desire such attention from the first man to give him understanding and selfless touch.

A Russian accent floated through his mind, dark with arousal and aggression. Maybe he was ‘just a worthless whore.’

“Please,” Roach asked, knowing exactly what he wanted yet not how to phrase it.

“Please, what?” It was an honest question, not a flirty tease.

Roach wanted more than friendship at the moment. A relationship wasn’t the goal; physical intimacy was. To get fucked out of his mind by someone harmless.

One of his hands drifted to the back of Alejandro’s neck who, thankfully, took the hint and leaned forward until their foreheads clunked.

“Please. I’m Roach. When we’re alone, I mean.”

He tilted his head and asked, “Roach? Why that?” sounding pleasantly confused yet excited at the prospect of an answer.

“It’s my old call sign. Don’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

An answer and a secret, and a clue about Garrett’s past. Alejandro’s face lit up like he’d won a hundred quid. “Okay,” he grinned. Then, the serious tone in Roach’s voice transferred to his. “Okay. Sure. Anything you need.”

“Anything?”

“Anything I’m able to do, I will. I’m a man of my word.”

Alejandro was a stranger he’d known less than a month, but his kindness and sincerity were unending thus far.

Roach chewed his lip and said, “Kiss me again. Kiss me more. You did it right.”

He pulled back, gazing at Roach while one of his hands returned to the Sergeant’s jaw. His smile grew until his cheeks squished his eyes into crescents. “Mierda… How could I say no?”

Turning Roach’s head to the side, Alejandro’s lips reconnected with his temple, then stippled across his cheekbone and down the crooked bridge of his nose. Request granted, the Sergeant closed his eyes in contentment and hummed, reaching up into Alejandro’s hair. Heat rushed to his face and coiled in his belly as the Colonel traced kisses along one of his smile lines, planting a final one at the corner of his mouth before pausing.

“Am I still doing this right, cariño?”

His knees were quaking and his hands gripped Alejandro’s shirt for dear life. Even if he let go, he knew he’d be safe. “Yes,” he said, voice wavering.

“Want me to keep going?”

“God, yes. I’ve never had someone do this before.”

Alejandro frowned. “Not ever?”

“No. I’ve only ever been…” he struggled to think of an appropriate term, “…touched by people who wanted it from me. I’ve never had someone do it because I needed the attention.”

“You have mine now. You caught it the second we met.”

“…Why?” Roach asked.

“None of the files about you line up with who I’m holding in my fucking arms. I’ve met a different man than the recruit I approved on paper—I need to have a chat with Price about that. No puedo dejar de pensar en ti.”

“What does that mean?”

Alejandro grinned and whispered, “You’re peculiar. Mysterious.”

“There’s no mystery,” he insisted.

“Whatever you say, Roach. Even if I don’t figure you out, I'll enjoy learning what I can.”

“You’re too much. Shut up and keep kissing.”

He caught Roach’s chin and guided the Sergeant’s lips into his own, making no attempts to part them or shove his tongue in between, maintaining comfortable pressure that broke briefly between smooches. His exhales blew hot. His stubble tickled when he trailed up Roach’s jaw and planted one below his ear.

Roach shivered and moaned behind his puckered mouth, savoring the way Alejandro curled over his body in response, now looking up so their lips remained connected while the man cradled his head and the small of his back. When Alejandro relented Roach groaned in protest, attempting to pull him back by the collar.

He chuckled. “I was going to ask if you’re still enjoying this. I think I got my answer, th—”

Roach cut him off with an open-mouthed kiss, hoisting himself up on tip-toes instead since Alejandro was immovable and took too long closing the gap of his own accord. It elicited a surprised gasp that Roach swallowed whole, using it as an opportunity to press his tongue against the Colonel’s teeth. Fingers tangled in his hair, offering comfortable encouragement rather than balling into a fist and yanking.

Then, Alejandro moaned.

And the sound rolled as deep and powerful as an ocean current,

And it flowed up the arc of Roach’s spine slow and sweet like molasses,

And Roach couldn’t take it anymore.

“My legs are tired,” he complained, limbs shaking, “and my ass hurts from the chair.”

“My lap is pretty comfortable.”

Just what he wanted to hear. He grinned, winded, huffing desperately through closed teeth, “I dunno if can I just take your word for it.”

“Aw, don’t trust me?”

“What can I say? I’m a skeptic,” Roach laughed nervously. Having little experience, flirting wasn’t his forte. “Can we move to that couch in the sleeping quarters so I can find out for myself?”

Alejandro blessed him with a look of surprise that bloomed into a beaming smile. “Lead the way.”

Roach took his wrist (and was allowed) to drag him. They burst through the door, Alejandro flopping onto the aforementioned futon with creaking springs. Roach straddled him immediately and the Colonel’s hands returned to his hips, untucking the baggy shirt from his loose pants, slipping under its hem. It felt electric. It had him shaking like a dog.

“You alright?”

“Just nerves,” he assured.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

Unbuttoning his own fly, Roach cursed at the pre-cum already forming a wet patch on his boxers.

“Already excited, cariño?”

“Sorry. Y-you’re very attractive.”

Their half-hard cocks throbbed together.

“You’re one to talk,” Alejandro said and lifted Roach’s shirt, mouth gaping at the exposed fuzzy skin beneath.

The shame of having a body surged in Roach’s mind. “I used to have more definition. I was hotter before…”

Those hot, rough hands roamed further under Roach’s uniform, ghosting over his ribs. Alejandro said, “I want you however you are.”

“I’m doing much better than in September.”

“Good,” He replied and leaned in for another slow kiss.

Roach moaned into it as fingers tweaked his nipples. No matter the pleasure, he put his own hands over Alejandro’s and pulled them off. The man detached at the first hint of resistance.

“Hm? Don’t like your chest played with?”

“No, I do! I just… was curious if you’d stop when I wanted.”

Alejandro’s eyes widened. He was intelligent; he read between the lines before Roach finished writing them.

The Sergeant continued. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

Pulling him in tight, Alejandro buried himself in Roach’s neck and whispered, “Tesoro. If you want me to stop, tell me! It would kill me to know I hurt you.”

“I will,” he smiled, leading the man's focus back to his nipples, who immediately resumed toying with them. “You know, for a bloody colonel, you sure do love to follow my directions.”

“A good one knows when to stop commanding and listen. Competent sergeants know what they need. Besides, it’s still break time. I’m just Alejandro. You’re just Roach.”

Before Roach could reply, Alejandro leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his warm, wet mouth while flicking the other, earning a gasp at the tongue teasing it and wriggling hips searching for friction. Their cocks pressed together as Roach ground his pelvis down, then again, driving the rhythm of their dry humping as fast as he could. Unfortunately, in his affected state, this wasn’t that fast.

He growled in frustration, the pleasure simultaneously too much in his inexperience, yet too little.

“What’s wrong, hm?”

“I want it harder!”

Alejandro tested the waters, applying gentle pressure as he bit Roach’s pectoral.

His reply was somewhere between a whimper and yelp. “Nn!~ Not what I meant!”

The man simply soothed it with his tongue, reaching up to caress Roach’s head.

“The grinding, that’s what I mean.”

With a slow grip on Roach’s waist, giving him time to realize and protest if desired, Alejandro used those massive muscles to rock him back and forth.

#AleRoach #AlejandroRoach #Gary “Roach” Sanderson #nsft #Alejandro Vargas

9 notes · View notes

pixielovers2account · 1 year ago

Text

We were so young

Jenna Ortega x female reader.

When had it started when had I lost myself?

I sat on the old stool of an bar the “need a drink?” A man with a white beard asked I nodded licking my lips as he slid the beer over “thank you.” I placed the cool glass cup to my chapped lips, when was this going to be over? The pain of losing someone dear to one myself a beautiful best friend I could have forever but now she’s forgotten how could I forget? How am I supposed to forget my once lover?

I remember her smile soft pink lips like a pink lemonade.

I remember her smell the smell of strawberries and sweet sweet caramel.

And I remember her voice melody rigging through my ears.

And I remember ruining everything.

…

We stood under a deep gray and foggy sky. “We should head back y/n.” Jenna was always so smart and I was “no come on! This’ll be fun!” Stupid. We walked down the corn field heading towards an old cabin that was supposedly ‘hunted’ I mean of course it wasn’t just some teenagers playing around. Or so I hoped.

We made it we finally made it yo the surprisingly kept cabin with a lantern lit we headed in. “Honestly y/n we should head back this is so stupid ghost aren’t real.”

Jenna’s worry echoed throughout the place causing and echo to shallow back to us. “Whoa this place is empty.” I laughed running in more “Y/N!” Jenna yelled running after me.

“This place is huge bigger than I expected Jenna, Maybe one day me and you could get married here.” I smiled back at the girl whose expression became unrecognizable...unreadable. Of course i caught on to this so I made up a lie “I’m just kidding Jenna your like my bestie so maybe we’d be married in a bestie way yea?” I smiled at her. Her expression becoming hurt then contorted into a smile “yeah that would be fun.”

Being as stupid as I was ignorantly ignored that sign. Moving on “come on we should look in the bed rooms.”

That’s how it happened we began to search the house only find one or two spiders cob webs and dust. Until we made it to the basement. “It’s getting late y/n we should go.” I opened the basement door the creepy sound of the thing could scare a grown man and the smell the rushed out to us was uncomfortable.

“Oh man that smells like-“

“Death.” Jenna finished. “Yea…hey Jen maybe we should go…” I looked to her with a worried expression she nods taking my hand leading me out the door.

The rain hardened as we ran through the corn filed shiver fell through my spine as I yelled.

I fell to the muddy floor “y/n? Oh I’m so sorry come on get up.” Jenna came back for me helping me up. “Who goes there!” A man yelled we both looked to each other terrified “I think that’s our cue to go cupcake.” Jenna rushed out “yeah!”

We finally made it out that maze of a filed panting and muddy.

“Man that was…”

“Fun!” Jenna laughed out I giggled and smiled “that’s the most fun I’ve ever hand since…ever!” She gasped out sitting on the wet concrete. I sat beside her “your quiet a character you know that.” I looked at her “is that a compliment Jen?” She nods tilted her head.

Then everything slowed down.

I don’t know what got into me but the feeling of electricity sparked throughout my body and mind as I leaned closer.

Our nose touched “y/n..” Jenna said in such a small voice. “Shh” I hushed the girl. Our lips meeting one another. The moment seemed to last forever till she backed away “y/n” my eyes widened as I backed my head away “oh my god Jenna I fuck I shouldn’t have.” She didn’t speak or maybe she did I was too panicked to listen “i I gotta go Jenna fuck I’m so sorry.”

I ran down the street the lights slowly turning on as I ran for my life pushing my lungs as hard as they could go.

I remember her yelling my name.

I remember her trying to call me 30+ times.

And I remember leaving her

And I remember never looking back.

…

So that’s why. That’s why I’m alone that’s why I’m here right now drinking cheap beer at a strip club of sorts. I let out a quiet sigh stumbling out of the wooden stool “put it on my tab j.b.” The old man nods as I stumble out the door drunkenly. I reek of beer and other various drinks. I let out a sigh falling on the sidewalk “ouchie…” I pouted as it thundered “oh great now it wants to rain.”

I poke my lips out pouting now crossing my legs and resting my head on my held up hands I continue to mumble to myself. “Y/n?” A wiredly familiar voice called.

I ignored it “oh my god is that really you.” This time turning my head out of spite I meet dark brown. Golden eyes that seemed to light up just like the day I met her. “Jenna?” I questioned still in a state of pouting. “Hi, yes it’s me.”

She leans over placing her hands to her thighs holding herself up “still childish as ever I see.” She teased I rolled my eyes clearly still intoxicated with that drink so I pout turning onto my back. Letting the cool rain hit my face “why are you here Jenna.” I asked in a cold tone.

She frowns a bit before leaning over me blocking the rain from my face.

“Well you are in the middle of the road blocking traffic is the first one.” I looked over seeing cars raging with horns and people aggressively yelling. Then I looked to her “and your in front of my way to go to my hotel. I’m not here for you y/n.” Ouch…I let out a sigh getting up slowly stumbling my way trying to get off of the road “oh no you don’t y/n. It’s dangerous and your clearly drunk.” She makes a point by tapping on my clothes.

pulling me to the pure black BMW. I was sat in the car a heater automatically hitting my face. I groaned as she buckled me in before hopping into her own seat and quickly driving to where I assumed to be her hotel “not the way to my house…” I sang out “I know y/n. Im taking you to my place…” her eyebrows creased as we took down another road the rain only seemed to thicken and so had my heart.

…

I sniffed as she lead me into her room helping with my clothes and shower once I got out she helped me to her bed her bed might I say anything. I sniffed again tears filling my eyes “I sorry.” Jenna stopped dead in her tracks as she slowly pulled out her own pajamas in a white robe.

She looked back to me with half lidded eyes. A sheepish smile felt on her lips as she whispered to me “We were just kids y/n.” She took in a breath now coming to me placing her body on mine just like she used to we layer back our breaths in sink as she kissed my cheek playing with my fingers and rubbing me. “I’m so sorry.”

“we were so young, too young to understand what the meaning of love was what are feeling are y/n. So…so stop grieving and love me y/n please just just love me like you used to show me what is it

Please.”

#female reader #jenna ortega #lesbian

10 notes · View notes