#yes the paper is safe for him to chew

[dusty-fat-boy]

Witness his reign of destruction!

Witness the pain he brings!

This is who you pray to!

This is who you worship!

This could be you next!

WHY WOULD YOU GIVE HIM THIS MUCH POWER!

[rexhya]

sukuna in the least sexual was possible, loves having his fingers in your mouth.

he found you on his property, a slave girl just looking for somewhere safe and no one was allowed to witness him and live to tell the story, meaning you wrre trapped here.

forever.

in the meanwhile sukuna got to inspect you all way he wanted, you folded like paper under him. it was easy to stick his too large numbers into your mouth.

"so dull...how can you hunt with these things.." he mumbles curiously.

you choke, saliva dripping feom you jaw as he released you, "there not for hunting..there for chewing."

"ah yes, i forget your species is so soft, you must turn your kills into mush before swallowing them."

you don't even have a chance to speak before there back in your mouth again, this time his pads pressed hard on your tounge, playing with the flexible muscle.

you gag this time, slapping his arms to release you and a much as sukuna doesn't want to he realizes with a frown, that you can't breath.

he doesn't pat your back as you cough again, only watching your reactions and keeping them in hus mind for later.

"you're quiet a weak one, you know that right?"

"yes, you've told me many times sukuna."

"mm, and i'm right, you really arent meant for anywhere else but under my protection."

you startle, "you're wh—"

he shoves his digits back in you mouth again, watching with precious delight as you squirm under him again.

[mw00nie]

you don’t know how to explain it without sounding insane.

you’re not just horny. it’s not a normal craving, not some fleeting kind of want. it’s deep, low in your belly, aching between your legs and humming through your blood like a fever.

you want him. not like a fantasy, not like a distraction. you want him like it’s biological. like your body is demanding him.

and he’s being so… him about it.

soft linen shirt, sleeves rolled up. a few buttons undone. glasses slipping a little as he reads the paper with one hand and stirs his coffee with the other.

you stare. you squirm. you try to keep it together. fail miserably.

“kento.” you say it like a warning. like a prayer.

he looks up, instantly attentive. sets the spoon down. folds the paper. eyes on you. “yes, love?”

you shift in your seat, thighs tight, your oversized t-shirt sticking to your too-warm skin. no underwear. no bra. just fabric and need.

you chew your lip. he tilts his head. “…what is it?”

you swallow. “i want you.”

his face doesn’t change. but you feel the shift. like he knows exactly what you mean.

still, he gives you a moment. “want me… how?”

you stand. cross the room slow, almost dizzy with how badly you need to touch him. press your hands to his chest. look up at him.

“like i’m going to die if you don’t fuck me,” you whisper.

his breath hitches. and then his hand is on your waist. firm. grounding.

“what happened?” he asks gently.

“i don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “i woke up like this. i’m- i think i’m ovulating or something. i can’t stop thinking about you. my body just-”

he nods. murmurs, “i understand.”

then he kisses you. not rushed. not teasing. just full, slow, thorough. like he wants to give you everything and take you apart all at once.

his hands slide down your back. he lifts your shirt just enough to find bare skin. his palm splays against your lower back. warm. steady. safe.

“you’re burning up,” he murmurs against your cheek. you whimper.

he walks you backward until your thighs hit the dining table. you grab at him, needy and breathless.

“slow,” he says softly, kissing your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. “you’re overwhelmed already.”

“i need you,” you say again. “i can’t- kento, i need you now.”

he exhales. his jaw clenches. he cups your cheek. “you’ll have me,” he says. “completely. i promise.”

he sinks to his knees like it’s nothing. like it’s natural. reverent.

and when he spreads your thighs and leans in, his mouth is hot. his tongue slow, deliberate. like he’s reading your body and translating it to a language only he knows.

your hips jump. you gasp. your hands fly to his hair.

“oh my god-”

he hums low in his throat. holds you steady. you’re wet already, messy and warm, and he doesn’t say a word about it. just takes you in stride. devoted. focused. you come like that, fast and high-pitched, trying to stifle it in your fist.

“don’t hide from me,” he says, rising to his feet. “i want all of it.”

you pull at his shirt, desperate. he lets you. unbuttons it slowly, lets it fall. then his belt. then everything else.

he presses you down against the table, eyes sweeping over you like he’s seeing something sacred.

“you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “so needy. so honest.”

you feel the press of him and moan. loud. he shushes you softly, kisses your temple.

“i’ve got you.”

he fucks you like he means it. not just to get you off. not just because you asked. he fucks you like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. like it’s worship. like your need is a gift.

slow strokes at first, then deeper. harder. your hands scrabble for him, nails raking his back, your mouth clumsy against his shoulder.

“just like that,” he whispers. “you’re taking me so well, sweetheart.”

you cry out. he kisses the sound from your mouth.

“you needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs. “needed to be filled. taken care of. i know.”

you nod frantically, tears prickling. it’s too much. not enough. everything.

he’s panting against your neck now, thrusts getting rougher, hand slipping between your thighs to rub you again.

“you’re perfect like this,” he says, voice strained. “so warm around me. so fucking wet. you want it all, don’t you?”

you come again, shaking. sobbing through it.

he follows with a low groan, head buried in your shoulder, body tense and trembling as he empties into you.

the silence after is thick with breath.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, hand brushing your hair off your sticky forehead.

“you all right?”

you nod, dazed. completely fucked out. “yeah.”

he kisses you. so soft it makes your throat close.

“next time,” he murmurs, “tell me earlier. i’ll take the whole day off.”

you laugh. then gasp when he lifts you into his arms, carrying you toward the shower.

“we’re not done,” he says. “not if you’re still aching.”

he sets you down gently.

and starts all over again

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Four (4/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. A glimpse into a therapy session. Mentions of racing accidents. A tiny bit of angst, and then lots of fluffiness.

Notes — Yes. It happens. It finally happens. Our babies MEET. Also: I’m spoiling you all with these updates, but I’m writing like a mad woman atm. I wrote 3/4 of this chapter after work today.

Oscar’s face filled her screen, his hair mussed, white t-shirt hanging loose around his neck. The hotel lamp behind him cast a soft golden glow, and his voice was low and tired when he said, “Hey.”

Francesca smiled without meaning to, her laptop perched on her thighs and a mug balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. “Hey. You sound half-asleep.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not. Just tired. Long day.”

She hummed, shifting her laptop slightly. “You didn’t have to call me tonight. I know you’ve got another early start tomorrow.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question. 

They fell into a lull, not uncomfortable. Oscar reached for something offscreen — probably a bottle of water — while Francesca scrolled back through the rough notes she’d been making for her book. Her screen glowed faintly, a scattered mess of plot threads, character traits, and one lonely bullet point that just said: Let them kiss, eventually.

“What are you working on?” Oscar asked, his voice soft, easy. His thumb rested against his cheek as he watched her like she was the most interesting thing on screen—not whatever was playing on Netflix in the background.

Francesca laughed quietly, the sound half-nervous, half-flattered. Her neck flushed warm. “The outline. For the book.”

“Ah, yes. The very-big-deal-but-trying-to-play-it-cool publisher thing.” His grin was lopsided and teasing, but his eyes were full of something else — something that made her stomach flutter. She’d told him about it the second Katie had left, unable to keep it to herself. That had been two weeks ago.

“Have you figured out the, uh, plot yet?” he asked, genuine curiosity softening the teasing.

“Sort of,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “It’s messy right now. But I keep thinking about how to write two people who don’t make sense on paper. Like — different lives, different worlds. But they find this… perfect little space where things make sense. With each other.”

Oscar’s eyes held hers for a moment, steady. “That sounds good. Familiar.” 

She blushed, immediately looked back at her screen. “It’s just a first draft. I probably won’t like it by next week.”

He grinned. “Can I be the first to read it?”

“You don’t even read.” She shot back.

“I’d read anything if you were the one to write it.”

Francesca tried to hide the way her breath caught, but it was pointless — the screen was too intimate. Too real.

Oscar must have noticed. Instead of pushing, he leaned back against the headboard, stretching out those long limbs. “You’ve got your book. I’ve got my races. We’re both booked and busy for the next few months, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “But… it feels a little less overwhelming when I’m talking to you.”

His brows lifted — like he hadn’t expected her to say that out loud.

She bit her lip. “Too much?” She was always second-guessing what she should and shouldn’t say to him. This whole getting to know each other while also maybe-flirting thing was still very new to her.

“No,” he said, his voice low, warm, and firmer than usual. “Not even a little.”

The screen flickered slightly as he shifted beneath the covers, yawning into his shoulder. “You keep working. I’m just gonna close my eyes and listen to you type. Don’t mind me.”

Utterly ridiculous.

She watched him through the screen, his face half-shadowed in the low hotel light, eyes still closed. For a minute, she just listened to the sound of his breathing, even and slow.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she asked — quietly, like the question was delicate in her mouth, “If we’re both this busy… how are we going to make it work? The — uh — us meeting thing…”

Oscar’s eyes opened, slow and steady. He looked right at her — really looked. All the sleepiness disappeared in an instant.

“When you’re ready,” he said, voice steady and certain. “When you say the word — I’ll make it happen, Francesca.”

Francesca swallowed. “Even if it’s… months from now?”

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Next week, six months. Next year.” He stressed the words. “When you’re ready, I’ll find the time. I’ll show up. I’ll be there.”

She blinked, unsure what to say, a warmth blooming somewhere deep in her chest. No one had ever spoken to her like that — like effort was the bare minimum, like she was worth rearranging a life for.

He smiled then, softer now. “You’re not something I’m just squeezing in whenever I have a spare five minutes, Francesca.”

She lowered her gaze to her laptop screen, biting back a ridiculous smile. “You really know how to mess with a girl’s focus, Piastri.”

His laugh was quiet, happy. “Good.”

—

Francesca sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop propped up on a stack of pillows. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, painting soft, warm streaks across her duvet. Dr. Kapoor’s face filled the screen, serene and steady as always.

“You mentioned last time that you were ready to try something new,” she said gently, “something uncomfortable.”

Francesca nodded, fingers toying with the edge of the pillow she was hugging to her stomach. “Yeah,” she said. “I went for this, uh, stupid little walk. Literally just to the postbox at the end of my street and then straight back.”

Dr. Kapoor smiled. “A walk isn’t stupid.”

“No,” Francesca agreed with a small huff, “but it was hard. That’s what’s stupid.” She paused, then added, “I was out of the flat for ten minutes, maybe. No headphones. I looked at people.” Her voice dropped slightly, like saying it too loudly might unravel the fragile progress she’d made. “I didn’t turn around early. I wasn’t sick in my neighbours bush.”

Dr. Kapoor’s expression softened. “That’s a big deal, Francesca. How did you feel afterwards, once you got home?”

“Proud,” she admitted, wringing her hands together. “Also like I might never do it again.”

She laughed lightly. “You’ll do it again. Pride is a very strong motivator.”

Francesca hummed. “I journaled after. Like we talked about.”

“And what did you write?”

“That I was scared,” she said, looking down. “And I didn’t die. And I didn’t need anyone to come get me. I did it alone. It felt… weird. Good weird. Kind of.”

There was a long pause as Dr. Kapoor took that in. “That’s a great self-reflection. Honest.”

Francesca stared at a little chip in her nail polish. “I have spent years waiting for things to just magically get easier,” she said eventually. “Like one day, I’d wake up and it just wouldn’t be hard anymore. But that’s not going to happen, is it? Not even when I’m taking medication.”

“No,” Dr. Kapoor said, not unkindly. “It won’t. Not like that.”

The lump in Francesca’s throat tightened, but she nodded. She didn’t cry. That was something.

“Do you want to try something bigger this week?” Dr. Kapoor asked.

Francesca’s eyes flicked to the corner of the screen, to her own pale reflection. “Define bigger.”

“How would you feel about a short café visit? Ten minutes. Order something. Sit alone.”

Francesca blanched. “Oh god.”

“Trying is the goal,” Dr. Kapoor said warmly. “Not perfection. Not comfort. Just the attempt. You can always walk to the cafe and then go straight home. You could get a to-go drink. Or you could sit inside and just let yourself take up the space that you’re entitled to.”

Francesca gave a little shrug. “Would it be cheating if I wore my headphones and took a book with me?”

“Not cheating,” her therapist assured her. “That’s a very common coping mechanism. Just don’t let yourself  disappear into it. Try to take notice of the world around you, too.”

She managed a smile. It was small, but real. “Okay. Ten minutes. Book optional.”

Dr. Kapoor’s voice gentled again. “Is there anything else that you’d like to talk about?”

Francesca hesitated. Her thumb ran over the stitching on the pillow in slow, nervous circles. “I said yes to doing something,” she said finally. “To… meet someone new. Not soon, but eventually. I want to be braver by then.”

There was a quiet moment between them.

“Why?” Dr. Kapoor asked gently. “What is making you think that you need to be braver than you already are?”

Francesca blinked, her breath leaving her in a soft exhale. “I don’t know.”

“We’ve already talked about the book deal.” Dr. Kapoor recalled. “Taking on a project like that has taken a lot of bravery. Going for your walk? That took a lot of bravery too.” She pointed out. “I think, perhaps, you’re underestimating how much better you’re doing recently, Francesca. Six months ago, you couldn’t walk out of your front-door.”

Francesca stared at a small smudge on the screen. “I don’t notice it, when I’m doing well.” 

“Well,” Dr. Kapoor said, with an encouraging nod. “I’ve noticed it. I’m telling you. You are doing well.” 

Francesca smiled. 

— 

Francesca was curled up on her sofa, half-watching the podium interviews and half-scrolling through messages when Oscar’s name lit up her phone screen.

She found that she was smiling before she even answered.

He looked exhausted, glowing with sweat — post-race adrenaline still clinging to him. His cap was backwards, damp curls sticking out at the edges. “Hey,” he said, eyes bright. “Did you see that overtake?”

Francesca laughed. “Crofty lost his mind, Osc.” She stared at him, feeling ridiculously fond. “Yeah. I saw.”

Oscar beamed. “Felt pretty good. Not gonna lie.”

“You looked like you were flying out there,” she told him, her voice light. “Literally, at some points. I don’t understand how you can go around corners so fast and not just, like… tip over or something.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, only amateurs tip their cars on the apex.”

Francesca flushed. “Oh, shut up.”

There was a beat of silence, then his expression softened, dimples barely visible beneath the shadow of his cap. “Thanks for watching.”

She looked down, fingers tightening around her phone. “You don’t have to thank me. I like watching you.” She hesitated, then added with a small smile, “I might need to send a scathing email to Sky Sports, though. They don’t show you nearly enough on the main broadcast. I can’t deal with the onboard — makes me nauseous.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound curling around her ribs. “Yeah, I’d rather you didn’t ride onboard with me, honestly. If something happened—” He broke off suddenly, jaw tightening. His eyes flicked away like he’d said too much.

The air between them shifted.

Her stomach dropped. It was too easy to forget what he did. To pretend, for her own comfort, that it was safe. Controlled. Not dangerous.

She sucked in a slow breath, already feeling the panic creeping in at the edges. “I’ll call you later,” she said quickly, before he could say anything else. Before she could spiral.

Then she ended the call—like a coward.

— 

The paddock buzzed with celebration after Ferrari’s victory, but Oscar barely noticed. He moved quickly, head down, nodding absently at a few crew members as he passed. Lando’s driver’s room door was half-shut, muffled music playing from inside.

Oscar knocked once, then let himself in.

Lando looked up from where he was sprawled on the small couch, a half-finished protein shake in hand. “Alright, mate,” he said. “Don’t you have some post-race debrief to be at?”

Oscar shut the door behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

Lando sat up, brows lifting. “Francesca?”

Oscar nodded once. He didn’t sit — just crossed the room and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “She hung up on me. We were talking after the race. I said something—about my onboard camera, how I didn’t want her watching it, just in case something ever happened. She went quiet. Said goodbye. Ended the call.”

Lando frowned. “You think you freaked her out?”

“I know I did.” Oscar dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s so easy to forget how not-normal this sport is to normal people.”

Lando set his drink down. “Right. I get that. She’ll probably get used to it though, yeah? I’ve had girlfriends freak out about it too, but once they realise how rare the big crashes are—”

“This isn’t like that,” Oscar cut in, quieter now. “She’s not just someone I met last weekend.” He hesitated, then added, “She’s got her stuff. Anxiety — a lot of it. She doesn’t really leave her flat much. But she’s trying. She’s been pushing herself and… I think I went too far with it.”

Lando was quiet, thoughtful for once. “Okay. Give her space. Let her process. But don’t vanish on her. Send her a message. Let her know you’re still here. Let her decide when to come back in.”

Oscar let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. “It’d be so much easier if she liked F1.”

“She doesn’t need to like F1,” Lando said with a small, knowing smirk. “She likes you.”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned toward the door, hand on the handle, then paused. “You ever think this job makes it impossible to have a normal relationship?”

“All the time,” Lando said, not even pretending otherwise. “But look at Max. Lewis. Charles. They’ve all figured it out. Doesn’t mean it’s easy. Just means it’s possible.”

Oscar nodded once, not quite smiling, but something close. “Yeah. Alright.”

Then he left — already reaching for his phone.

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca 

Oscar: 

I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t even mean to say it. I’m so used to the people I care about being used to this stuff. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. 

Francesca:

pls don’t say sorry. im the one who should be sorry. i shouldn’t have hung up. i just felt myself getting worked up and that’s embarrassing, lol. i felt silly for it 

Oscar: 

You’re not silly. I promise. 

Francesca: 

um. quick question. when is your next bit of time off? 

Oscar: 

?

Francesca: 

i want you to come to london, osc

i need this to be real. 

Oscar: 

Wednesday?

Francesca: 

which wednesday? 

Oscar:

As in three days from now 

That Wednesday 

Francesca: 

Oscar.

Oscar: 

You said the words. No taking them back now. 

Send me your address. Don’t overthink this. 

I’ll call you in an hour, yeah? Just got a few more things to do before going back to the hotel

Francesca: 

okay <3

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca: SOS actual sos mayday mayday girl down

Katie: …what happened did henry throw up on your laptop again

Francesca: OSCAR IS COMING TO LONDON TO MY FLAT ON WEDNESDAY AS IN. WEDNESDAY. IN THREE (3) DAYS. TO MY HOME. WHERE I LIVE.

Katie: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I AM CALMLY SCREAMING

Francesca: i said the words like an idiot “i want you to come to london, osc” WHO EVEN AM I

Katie: i’m so proud of you

Francesca: i just stood there staring at my mirror for 11 minutes trying to decide if i should buy new sheets WHAT IF HE THINKS MY PILLOWS ARE WEIRD or what if henry bites him or what if i bite him

Katie: … fran.

Francesca: not in like a weird way i just i’m spiraling

Katie: you’re going to be FINE you like him he likes you he’s coming because he wants to not because your pillowcases are perfectly crisp

Francesca: but they’re not though they’re old and faded and they have little stars on them

Katie: which is exactly the kind of thing a soft boy in love would find charming now breathe make your outline order yourself some new teabags clean the bathroom and maybe light a candle

Francesca: i am lighting twelve candles. 

Katie: do not set your flat on fire before wednesday. he’s gonna fall in love with you, fran. just wait.

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Hattie

Oscar: Can I ask you something without you being annoying about it

Hattie: no promises x

Oscar: How do you know when something is real Like Not a fling Not a distraction But like. A real thing

Hattie: oh boy do i need to sit down for this

Oscar: I’m being serious There’s this girl Francesca I think I’ve mentioned her?

Hattie: only every time we talk lol go on

Oscar: She asked me to come to London To see her Like, properly Not just texting or FaceTiming anymore And I said yes. I am going. Wednesday

Hattie: wait THIS Wednesday?? as in three days??

Oscar: That’s the one We’ve both been busy. And now suddenly it’s happening. And I’m… I don’t know Excited. Nervous. Like I want to be good for her I want to make it easy

Hattie: Oof You’ve got it bad huh

Oscar: I think so She doesn’t have an easy time with people Or places She struggles with stuff But she’s let me in. Slowly And I just keep thinking If she’s brave enough to try I don’t want her to ever regret it 

Hattie: Wow Mum’s gonna lose her mind

Oscar: If you tell Mum before I do, I swear

Hattie: cross my heart but seriously you’re doing good and it is real because you care enough to ask all this just be gentle with her be yourself and don’t forget she has a cat

Oscar: I bought cat treats earlier Just in case

Hattie: I love that for you Let me know how it goes And if you panic and need someone to scream-text at, I’ll be on standby

Oscar: You’re a legend Thanks Hatt x

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Lando

Oscar: So I’m going to London on Wednesday

Lando: ok? for what? media? sim?

Oscar: To see Francesca

Lando: ??? WAIT LIKE SEE HER IN PERSON??

Oscar: Yes Lando In person With my eyes

Lando: bro it’s SUNDAY how did we go from “she hung up on me” to “I’m flying to a whole other country” in less than 2 hours

Oscar: She asked me to Said she wants this to feel real I told her to send her address and I’d be there

Lando: who are you and what have you done with my emotionally constipated teammate

Oscar: Growth x

Lando: ngl i’m kind of proud but also slightly terrified like you know you’re in deep, right?

Oscar: I’m aware Does it show

Lando: mate you just casually dropped that you’re making international travel plans because a girl said “I need this to be real” yes. it shows.

Oscar: I don’t want to mess it up

Lando: just be yourself and try not to talk about tyres during dinner or whatever

Oscar: Copy that

Lando: also tell her i can’t wait to meet her bring her to a race. eventually. when she’s ready

Oscar: One step at a time But yeah We’d have to work something out for her. To make it possible 

Lando: zac would sort something if u asked. i can always help out. she seems nice. worth it

Oscar: Thanks mate. She is 

—

Francesca stood in the middle of her living room, clutching a half-damp cloth and staring blankly at the coffee table she’d already wiped down three times. Henry was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, unimpressed by the chemical smell in the air. She’d cracked one of the windows open for him.

“Okay,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Cool. This is better.”

The apartment smelled like fresh linen and lavender. She’d lit one of her aromatherapy candles — not a cheap supermarket one, but the fancy soy one she usually saved for special occasions or very bad days. The couch cushions had been fluffed. She’d washed her bedsheets, then panicked and washed them again. Just in case.

But now… now she didn’t know.

How was this supposed to go? 

Was he going to… stay in her apartment? Or was he just coming for the afternoon? She hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t said, and now it felt too late to bring it up without it being weird.

Would he eve want to stay with her?

Would that be too much? Too soon?

Francesca looked around her flat, and all she saw was a space that had, for a long time, been her sanctuary. Her bubble. Her little island of calm in a world that was too loud and too fast.

Letting someone into it — him, of all people — felt both right and utterly terrifying.

She moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and immediately closed it again. She didn’t even know what he liked. Was he a tea or coffee person? Did F1 drivers eat carbs? She only ate carbs.

“Get a grip,” she muttered, pressing her palms against her face. “It’s just Oscar.”

Still, her heart rattled against her ribs like it wanted to make a run for it.

She tried to shake it off — the nerves, the overthinking — but it clung to her like static. Taking a breath, she reminded herself of Katie’s advice from their last FaceTime: “Be more open. Talk to him when you start freaking out. He’ll appreciate it, and you’ll feel so much better for it.”

So, she reached for her phone. Hovered. Then typed — quickly, before she could spiral.

Francesca: hey, quick question. are you getting a hotel or do you want to stay with me? i totally don’t mind either way! just figuring out things out 

Her phone buzzed twenty minutes later — just as she was elbow-deep in laundry, holding a long-sleeved shirt like it had personally wronged her.

She wiped her hands on her joggers and grabbed the phone, pulse jumping.

Oscar: Hey, just boarding now — sorry for the delay. I’ve got a hotel booked, don’t worry. You don't need to worry about anything, actually. I never want you to feel pressured. We can do whatever feels right, okay? I’m just happy I get to see you.

Francesca stared at the screen, a strange pressure building behind her eyes. Relief, affection, nerves — all of it bundled up into one messy emotion that made her want to both laugh and cry.

She sat down on the couch, Henry immediately hopping up beside her and kneading at her thigh with his murder mittens.

Francesca: okay. thank you for being so normal about this (normal in a good way, not like, boring) also i am definitely spiralling a bit but trying to be chill about it. so you might be on your way to meet a full-blown anxious ghost x

Oscar: Lol You could be an actual ghost and I’d still like you I’ll text when I land x

She set her phone down again — more gently this time — and pushed down a girlish squeal. 

— 

Her phone rang again not long after Oscar’s message. She almost didn’t check it before answering — assuming it was Katie, maybe — but when she glanced at the screen and saw “Izzy (ugh)", her stomach sank.

She hesitated, thumb hovering. Then, stupidly, she answered.

“Francesca,” came the clipped voice, already laced with tension. “Mum wants to know if you’re going to bother coming in August, or if we should just stop asking.”

“I— I already told you that I probably won’t be able to make it,” Francesca said, already shrinking into herself.

Izzy sighed like she was exhausted. “It’s just rude, you know? You can’t keep isolating yourself and expecting everyone else to keep reaching out. I feel like we’re making all of the effort.”

Francesca said nothing.

“And honestly,” her sister continued, “you've turned yourself into some kind of influencer, and you post videos of yourself and pictures to thousands of people, but you can’t even make the effort to get over yourself and come to see us. Mum thinks you hate her.”

She felt the old heat behind her eyes, the way it always came — fast and uninvited. “What? No. Of course I don’t hate her. I’m just… I’m doing my best here, Izzy.”

“That’s not good enough forever, you know.”

The call ended five minutes later. It might as well have been one long exhale of shame.

Francesca sat for a while on the floor by the laundry basket, arms curled around her knees, trying not to cry. But Henry came to her again, head-butting her shin softly. And then she remembered: Oscar. On a plane, coming to see her. Choosing her. Wanting this.

She got up.

She wiped her face.

She washed her hands and re-tied her hair and changed into clean joggers. Then she took a deep breath and said to the empty flat, “he doesn’t get to meet that version of me today.”

Because maybe she couldn’t make her family understand her. But maybe she didn’t need to, not when someone else already seemed to — and liked her despite it all.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: Hey, just checking in. How’s the heart rate? Has he landed yet??

Francesca: no idea. i think so? maybe? i’ve stress-cleaned everything. henry thinks i’m possessed or smth. also my sister called. so that was fun! but i’m… okay. i think. maybe.

Katie: Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to say mean things about Izzy until you smile?

Francesca: i think i just needed to say it out loud to someone who gets it. i don’t want him to walk in and think i’m this emotional swamp of a person.

Katie: First of all, he won’t. Second of all, you’re allowed to be a little bit of a swamp. He likes you anyway. Third… you’re doing great. I’m so proud of you. Really.

Francesca: thank you okay. i’m gonna go stare at the door like a weirdo now

Katie: You got this ❤️ Call me later and tell me everything, okay? Even the awkward stuff.

Francesca: of course

— 

She heard the lift *ding* before she heard the knock.

The soft sound that made her stomach lurch.

Henry, traitorous and uninterested, didn’t even lift his head from the sunspot on the carpet.

Francesca stood in the middle of the living room, palms damp, jumper slightly too warm, and heart beating hard enough to echo.

Three gentle knocks. Measured. Like he wasn’t sure how loud to be.

She walked to the door before she could psych herself out.

And there he was.

Oscar, in a hoodie and a pair of loose sweatpants, hair slightly flattened and one hand gripping the handle of a duffle bag. He looked a little tired, a little travel-worn, and entirely too good.

He smiled, soft and a little unsure. “Hi, beautiful girl.”

She opened the door wider. “Hi.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer than necessary, until Oscar let out a breath and stepped inside. He didn’t touch her right away — just looked at her with that same warm focus she’d seen through every FaceTime screen.

“I didn’t know if I should hug you or—”

She stepped into him before he could finish, arms winding around his middle. He didn’t hesitate then — his duffle bag hit the floor and his strong arms encircled around her, sturdy and steady and real. She could feel his heart through his hoodie, fast like hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she mumbled, her voice catching.

He smiled into her hair, his hold on her tightening, and for a brief moment, she wondered how inappropriate it would be to ask him to never, ever let her go. “Thanks for letting me in.” He mumbled. 

They stayed there, tangled in the doorway, until Henry finally meowed in protest — as if to say shut the door, it’s cold — and Francesca laughed softly against his shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE

[hatussy]

Pretty please give me Frank with freshly signed divorce papers celebrating his freedom with the girl he’s been crushing on for months, resulting in slutty wine tipsy sex? I need it.

slutty | f.l

pairing: frank langdon x f!reader warnings: alcohol, frank's an ass, reader stands up for herself, smut, nsfw [18+ only], fingering, biting/marking, hate fuck, bickering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, frank is divorced, word count: 5236

summary: in which you reach your tipping point

author's note: happy belated birthday mom!!

oneshot | masterlist

“I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and that weekend we had,” your friend confessed. “You know what I was like back then. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, but it was like he saw past that. Like he saw my soul and made me feel alive for the first time in, god, so fucking long. I appreciate you letting me vent, but tell me more about how Frank’s being a total douche canoe to you.”

You laughed and Alice cracked a smile. You hadn’t felt in a laughing mood all week. You’d been counting down the days to seeing your friends and getting drunk, and in true fashion, Alice was the one to break you out of the mood you’d been in and actually laugh.

“Aside from him, the job is great, you know? I feel appreciated for the work I do, and it’s a great place to be. But Frank…he’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s fine one minute then chewing me out over little shit the next. And it’s not over shit in my control, anyway, so I usually tune him out. I think he’s waiting for some other kind of reaction, like tears or something, but I’ll never cry. And he doesn’t bother me enough to make me cry. So I tune him out and it just makes his rage worse, but I still have a job? I don’t know what his angle is. Like, does he expect me to quit? Sue over abuse in the workplace? I don’t know. But it pisses me off more than upsets me or anything. I don’t know, dude.”

“He’s hot, right?”

“So hot.” You groaned, wishing you had another drink. “Another round? On me this time.”

Alice nodded, so you walked off to the bar to get a couple more drinks. And two more shots each. If you were going to divulge your crush on one of your superiors, it called for more alcohol. 

When you returned to the table, your other friends were gearing up to go home. Wishing you both a good night and to get home safely before leaving you to your own devices.

“How long have you had a crush on Frank?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” You asked, while she simply grinned and reached for a shot. You picked up another, cheersing before throwing it back. “I don’t know, maybe a month ago? I caught him on a good day, well, good for me because he wasn’t nitpicking, but bad for him, because he had some shit going on. I overheard a call—lawyers, I think—and something about divorce papers. He apologised about the call, whatever I overheard, and I told him I didn’t care what shit he had going on in his personal life, but not to take it out on me. And he’d been pretty good since then. Asking me how my day was, and actually seems like he’s interested in the answer, and if I say it’s been a good day, he’ll say something along the lines of ‘you didn’t piss me off today, so it was a good day for me too.’ Cunt.” 

“You know when we were little and you’d be told that the boys are only picking on you because they think you’re cute?” Alice asked.

You threw a balled up napkin at them. “Don’t say he’s picking on me because he thinks I’m cute. He thinks I’m incompetent.”

“You’re a resident, incompetent is par for the course until you complete your residency and pass your boards,” she pointed out, brushing the napkin aside. “You go back tomorrow, yes?”

“With a raging hangover, most likely. Why?”

“Wear that blouse you think is too skimpy because it shows too much boob. I want to see if he says something about the way you’re dressed, even though you change into scrubs.”

You sighed, reaching for the last shot and throwing it back without waiting for her. “If he says anything about my clothes, I’m calling him the fuck out. I’ve had enough of his shit, and at this point, I don’t give a single fuck if I have a job the next day or not.”

“Atta girl!” She cheered, downing her shot. “I’ll bring dinner over tomorrow night so you can tell me how it went.”

You felt rough. And it was your own fault. But you forced yourself to get out of bed and changed into the outfit Alice suggested the night before. Picking up a coffee and bagel on your way to work before heading into the locker room.

“Woah, mama.” Trinity whistled lowly. “You look hot. Late night last night?”

“Something like that.” You laughed, leaving her imagination to run wild. 

You didn’t have the desire to tell her why you were really dressed up, but your interest had been piqued by Alice’s observation. You wanted to see if there was any weight behind it, and you were probably still dealing with alcohol lingering in your system which gave you the courage to actually go through with it. 

Before you could doubt the stupid decision, the door to the locker room swung open and you were staring at Frank.

“Langdon,” you said, turning your back to him as you unbutton your blouse and grabbed your scrub top from your locker. 

He mumbled your surname, for what it was worth, making his way to his locker to drop his bag. Still, you watched him—the tightness in his posture, the way he clenched his jaw like something pained him. 

Maybe there was some truth to Alice’s theory. 

Changing into your scrub pants was next, struggling your way out of the tight denim you couldn’t believe you actually got on this morning, before slipping into the more comfortable blue scrubs. Shoes swapped for your comfy trainers, pen in your scrub pocket, stethoscope around your neck, and your notebook between your teeth as you stuffed your clothes into your locker. 

You blew out a breath, tucking some hair behind your ear before hastily leaving the locker room, ready to start your day. 

“Morning,” Dana greeted. “Surprised to see you standing.”

You laughed. “Me too, honestly,” you replied. “Caffeine and spite are very powerful motivators.”

Dana simply grinned. “There’s a kid in bed four who swallowed a marble.”

“Glass?”

“X-rays should be back soon,” she replied. 

“Thanks Dana,” you told her, heading to bed four to check in on your first patient. 

The kid was in good spirits, for the most part, it was the helicopter-mom that was doing your head in. The way she hovered, the way she didn’t move out of your way so you could do a proper exam. 

“Well, the good news is that the x-rays don’t show any sign of blockage, meaning the marble will likely pass by itself,” you informed the mother and child. The mother, who exhaled like swallowing a marble was a death sentence, finally seemed to relax. “The bad news is we’re going to have to monitor your son for another few hours, at least until the marble passes naturally.”

“I’m going to poop the marble out?” The child asked. 

“You sure are! Well clean it before we give it back to you,” you assured him, and he pounded the air with his small fist. “Just promise me you won’t do this again, okay?”

“I promise.”

You didn’t believe him. Neither did the mother, who launched into a lecture the child was probably too young to understand about how much this trip was going to cost them. 

As you moved on to the next patient, a woman complaining of abdominal pain, you tried your best to ignore the looming figure hovering behind you. Langdon had called for an assist, the patient requesting a female doctor, and you were it. 

“Are you comfortable with Doctor Langdon observing?” You asked the patient. “As I’m still a resident, I require a senior doctor shadowing some of my cases.”

“That’s fine,” she said, flinching in pain before you even had a chance to ask if you could examine her. “I just feel more comfortable with a woman examining me.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you assured her. “Is the pain more centralised to one area, or is it everywhere?”

“Lower right,” she explained. “I have a history of ovarian cysts.”

You nodded as you donned a pair of gloves. “Does this pain feel like the last time you encountered it? Or is it new?”

“Same but worse,” she replied. 

“Do you mind if I touch your stomach to examine you?” You asked. 

“That’s fine.”

As you palpated her abdomen, you were aware of some bloating. She was in agony as you apologetically pressed down again. 

“Any spotting or bleeding?” You asked. 

“Heavy bleeding, nausea, vomiting,” she listed off her symptoms. 

“We’re going to need to do an ultrasound to be sure, but it’s very likely that you’ve had a cyst rupture, in which case, we will need to send you upstairs to have the surgeons make sure there’s no abdominal bleeding or ovarian torsion that’s causing further complications.”

Langdon handed you the bottle of jelly before powering the machine up. 

“This jelly will be cold at first, which I apologise for,” you said, applying some jelly to her abdomen before grabbing the small wand and pressing it to her stomach. “Langdon.”

“Calling an OR,” he replied. 

Her right ovary was riddled with cysts, a large one which looked like it had burst and now there was fluid causing the symptoms. 

“One of the cysts has ruptured,” you told the patient. “That’s likely the source of your pain and nausea, so we’re going to send you up to surgery.”

You grabbed a cloth to wipe the jelly from her stomach. 

“This is just what I needed today,” she groaned. “Can you get my phone? I need to call my boss and tell her I won’t be in for the rest of the week.”

You passed over her purse, quickly leaving the room with Langdon while the nurses finished up. 

“You did good,” Langdon admitted. 

“Compliments feel weird coming from you,” you replied, taking a seat at the nurses station so you could type up some quick notes in the patient’s chart. 

Frank huffed. “Whatever.” 

You stifled a laugh. “How the hell have you dealt with this behaviour for over four years?” 

Dana looked at you over the rims of her glasses. “Believe me, I ask myself the same question every day,” she replied. “It’s like herding cattle sometimes.”

“Can’t say I know what you mean.”

“Don’t shut down when he’s throwing his weight around,” she said, and you knew you weren’t talking about cattle anymore, but about Frank. “He’ll respect you more if you give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“It’d be easier if he wasn’t a cunt.”

Dana laughed as he crossed in front of you, giving you both a quizzical look. “Who’s a cunt?”

“You.” As if it wasn’t obvious. “Don’t you have patients to offend with your presence?”

“I’d rather be a cunt than arrive for my shift dressed like a hooker,” he replied.

“I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee,” you quipped, barely giving him time to process his own jab before you dealt your own blow. 

Fire raged in his eyes as they found yours again, holding your gaze while Dana laughed beside you, doing nothing to help the situation or hide her own amusement. She did, however, make herself scarce. Leaving you to deal with Frank by yourself, however you saw fit.

You’d already admitted to calling him a cunt, and then followed up by calling him a bitter divorcee. You knew the situation was only going to escalate. Suddenly, you wished for an audience. Someone to witness the demise of Frank Langdon. Luckily, you knew it was only a matter of time before the nurses station filled up with witnesses. You were just hoping you’d be balls deep in your argument for him to even notice the crowd. 

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. The rage burning inside you had your blood boiling—vision red. And you laughed because it was funny that he thought you’d just take it. That you’d get a blank look on your face as you stared through him, never listening when he goes off on these rants.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he exploded, and you’re quick to your feet. Like hell you were going to take this sitting down. 

You’ve never snapped back before. Not when he’s talking about your piece of shit car. Not when he’s trying so hard to get under your skin to get some kind of reaction from you, any kind, that you never seem to give. But today you’d had enough. Today was the day. 

You know the type. He’s waiting for a reaction, the one you know he’s desperately looking for; your tears, a trophy of his success in being the worst person you’ve ever met. The person who makes your life so much harder than it needs to be. 

Because this is what he does. He finds a weakness and picks it apart. Except he hasn’t found yours yet, and you don’t know if he ever will.

The only way to deal with bullies is to beat them at their own game, much like Dana said. You’d always been a firm believer in treating people the way you’d like to be treated, but kindness can only get you so far.

It was time to be a ruthless cunt. and Frank didn’t know what was about to hit him. 

“What’s not fucking funny is how you think you’re such a nice guy, but the second something doesn’t go your way, you’re quick to criticise and pick apart every little fault of a person, when really you’re just a vindictive, little old man yourself. You want to know why I’m laughing? Because it’s pathetic, you’re pathetic. You’re a fucking snake, spitting venom and using your words to choke your victims. Constricting them. Tightening the fucking noose around their necks until they break under the pressure. You’ve tried with me for two fucking years and I’ve taken it because I’m a fucking snake too. I see through the façade, and you’re not going to fucking break me. No wonder your wife is divorcing you.”

You could see the anger in his eyes. The twitch of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“While I’ve got your full, undivided attention, there’s a patient that needs your immediate attention. I’d suggest you use some of that rage that you’re feeling towards me right now and use it to do some good. Go on. I’m sure there’s some lesser man worthy of your insults.”

Then there’s the silence. You could hear a pin drop, and you know everyone heard you. You know they’re waiting for Frank to snap back, really drive home the final nail in your coffin.

Except it never comes, but Robby’s laughter does. It rings out loud and true, and you know why. Of course you do. Because if anyone knew Frank the best, it was Robby, and if he heard any of what you just said, he’d know the context. He’d know that it was called for, and that while many people had tried to go toe to toe with Frank in a verbal sparring match, not a single person had left him without an argument. 

You turned with a smile and looked at Robby, who’s laughter has caused a few nervous chuckles to fall past other bystander’s lips.

“Hey, Robby,” you greeted. “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, it’s much better now,” he assured you. 

As you walked back to your desk to finish some notes, a building full of your coworkers, and patients, staring at you in horror, the only sound that rang out beside Robby’s laughter was the loud slam of the locker room door. 

Success. 

“Um…what the fuck just happened?” Dana asked you. A few other people were waiting for your answer that never came. Eventually, Robby clapped his hands, ordering everyone back to work. 

You were counting down the minutes until you were asked to pack up your things and leave, except it didn’t come. 

“I got Frank an apple turnover as a peace offering,” Ciara told you, placing the tray of drinks at your desk alongside the bag that held the turnover. The drinks started disappearing as nurses and doctors alike grabbed their order. 

“Fuck him,” you dismissed, opening the bag and taking a bite out of it. “Thanks, Ciara. Want to get a drink after work? I think I need it today.”

“Only if you tell me what the hell that was about earlier?” She countered.

“Done,” you answered. 

Dana’s voice rang out, directing you to the incoming trauma. You thanked Ciara as she headed off to make the rounds, while you moved towards the doors as your next patient was wheeled in. 

“Ciara got my order wrong.” Langdon, always complaining about something. God, he drove you insane. 

You sighed, grabbing the other cup from the tray and showing him the name on the side. Frank was scrawled along the side, plain as day. “That’s because it’s my drink, this is your one.”

You took a sip of his coffee that you held, immediately spitting back into the cup. Dana tried to hide her smirk behind the rim of her own cup, while Princess and Perlah watched the interaction with a carefully blank expression.

You offered him the cup, turning to look at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t. He was so close you could smell his cologne. His jaw ticked as he grit his teeth and debated with himself whether he should keep the tea that he’d spat back into the cup, or swap for the latte which you’d treated the same way.

“You’ll be able to taste the apple turnover mixed with the latte. I think there might even be floaties. My gift to you,” you said as if this was a normal conversation to have. “Maybe even a hint of teriyaki chicken and avocado.”

“I’ll keep the tea,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent choice. Lemon balm is a great tea. Helps with stress,” you told him. “Drink up.”

Dana’s stifled laughter broke the death glare Frank bore through your skull as he turned his attention to her. Rolling his shoulders as he took a tentative sip of the tea.

The rest of the shift passed by in a similar manner, though Langdon did his best to keep his distance. The rumour mill was churning, wondering who was at fault this time. Yet another argument that caused tension between the two doctors who were always butting heads. 

By the time your shift finally came to an end after a grueling day, a few of the nurses and other residents had heard about your invite to the bar. They all made their own way,  which gave you time to gossip with Alice before anyone from work showed up and learnt all about your crush on Frank Langdon.

Though you assumed they already knew. 

“Hey, can I see you for a minute before you head home?” Frank asked politely and you wondered who gave him a tune up. His attitude had changed dramatically, and you were half inclined to hear him out.

“Do I need an audience for this chat?” You asked hesitantly, watching him shake his head.

“It’s not like that.”

You followed behind him but kept your distance. The sooner this was over with, the better. He led you to the break room and you closed the door behind you.

“If this is about earlier…I’m not apologising,” you started.

“I don’t deserve an apology, I’m trying to give you one,” he replied.

You hummed, not trusting yourself not to stay something that pissed him off and wanted to take the apology back. 

“I was cruel earlier, saying you looked like a hooker. I’m sorry,” he said. “And you’re right, I am a cunt and everything else you called me. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Did someone from HR feed that to you?”

He chuckled. “If they did, they’d be in here,” he replied matter of factly. “I wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry. And I understand if you want to take this further.”

“Why did you single me out?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m just a vindictive bitter divorcee stuck in my ways.”

Your lips twitched into a smile but you quickly wiped it off your face. Still, he saw it. You know he did.

“Thank you for apologising. I’m late for drinks with my friends,” you said, wanting to leave before you completely put your foot in your mouth.

“First round is on me,” he told you. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks.”

At the bar, you fell into the chair beside Alice, a drink in front of her, with another one waiting for you.

“See, I knew you’d look hot in that outfit.” She grinned. “What the hell happened today?”

“He said I looked like a hooker, so I called him a vindictive divorcee. Ate his apple turnover, spat in his coffee, and he apologised to me.”

“From the beginning,” she begged.

“I was talking to Dana and called Frank a cunt. He asked who was a cunt, and I confessed that it was him. He said he’d ‘rather be a cunt than look like a hooker’ so I said ‘I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee.’”

Alice laughed as you sipped your drink.

“I was already seeing red at that point, so I laughed because I could see he was gearing up to say something else. So I just…didn’t give him the chance. I said exactly what I thought of him, minus the crush obviously, and the entirety of the pitt heard. Then, when I thought he was going to kill me, Robby started laughing, so I asked him how his day was going, walked back to my desk, and then heard the locker room door slam shut,” you recounted. 

“I can’t believe you actually did it,” they said. “Do you still have a job tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it seems like it.”

She nodded, watching you sip your drink before continuing.

“Anyways, I was about to leave when he asked me to talk. The kicker? He apologised. He actually took ownership of his behaviour.”

“Jesus, and I just thought he’d be too busy ogling you to formulate an argument,” they replied with a laugh. 

“Oh, he got a good eyeful of my cleavage when entered the locker room,” you assured them. “I wasn’t sure if he called me a hooker because he’s attracted to me, or because I actually look like a hooker.”

“He’s attracted to you,” she confirmed.

“He’s a tool.”

“So fuck the bratty attitude right out of him, what do you have to lose?”

By the time everyone showed up to the bar, you’d already had a couple of drinks. Your inhibitions were loosened, and most of the nurses had already pieced together the context of the argument—they just wanted confirmation. 

Santos and Garcia were apparently right on the money, Langdon said some misogynistic shit and you snapped. Alice got a proper run down of the events—a more detailed explanation—even though you thought you did pretty well. Everyone else had a more colourful picture to paint, from the flare of your nostrils, to the shade of pink his cheeks turned—not from embarrassment, but from anger. 

“I swear he had steam coming out of his ears,” Garcia said with a grin. High praise, coming from her, when she had her own battles to fight with him. Sure, it seemed more playful than the arguments you had with Langdon, but that just proved to you he didn’t play well with others. 

“There he is,” you said. “Thomas the Frank Engine.”

Laughter greeted you as everyone turned his way. Frank, who might have heard Garcia’s quip about him, didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. 

Exhaustion. Each shift took a lot out of everyone. To unwind, you often found yourself talking shit with Alice and some other friends, trying to decompress as best you could. Sometimes you hit the gym, trying to work out your anger in a more productive way. Today, you drank, and so did several of your colleagues—even Langdon, true to his word—bought a round for everyone.

There was something about the man that made you take pity on him tonight—all jokes aside, he looked terrible. Friends weren’t an easy thing to come by, and from your own experience with your parents’ divorce, you assumed they’d picked sides.

And Langdon looked like he needed a friend.

“Assholery aside,” you said, sliding onto a seat next to him at the bar. “Are you okay?” 

He blew out a breath. “Been better, honestly.”

You nodded sympathetically. “They all picked her side, huh.”

Langdon laughed flatly. “Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense. They were my friends first.”

“They only know one side of the story if they chose her to stand by,” you replied. “And even so, they’re clearly not good enough friends if they dropped your ass so easily. You can make new friends—friends she’ll never get to meet. Friends she’ll never get to poach.”

“Do you want to be my friend?”

“Friends can criticise, but only if it’s done out of love, not malice,” you told him. “I don’t know if I can be friends with someone who is cruel and judgemental to a woman based on her looks.”

He nodded. “Suppose I deserve that, huh?”

“A piece of advice?” You offered, earning a nod in response. “You need to get over her, and the best way to do that is to get under someone else.”

It wasn’t an offer, you told yourself, but somehow Frank wound up at your apartment, lips attached to your own as your fingers tugged the long, dark strands of his hair. The kiss was frantic—desperate. His hands groped at your hips and ass, tugging you closer to him as his mouth dominated your own.

Frenzied, like he hadn’t been touched in months. Every moan you pulled from him, every gasp you gave him, only spurred him on more. Barely registering that you were backed up against a strangers’ car, or that he was just as gone as you were.

“Langdon,” you moaned, his hips pinning you to the side of the car doing nothing to hide the raging hard on he was packing.

He groaned lowly as you bit his lip, grinding his hips against yours, desperate for some kind of friction. “Fucking hell.”

You laughed, tipping your head to nip at his jaw. The soft spot where his neck met his ear. Little kisses—harsh sucking—earning a hiss from the slightly older man who’d been making your life hell. 

Your mouth stilled as he popped the button of your jeans, denim like a second skin, barely enough room for his fingers to ghost over your panties. 

“Now you have nothing to say, hm?”

Arrogant. Cocky. Bastard. 

The thin fabric did nothing to hide your arousal. Wet soaking the material, his finger seeking your most sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You’re an ass,” you huffed out, crashing your lips back to his as he applied the slightest pressure, your hips rocking to meet his hand. 

His laughter was muffled, as was your moan. 

Frank grabbed the waistband of your jeans, fighting the material over the swell of your ass. He tugged your panties to the side, nimble fingers slipping between your folds and applying a delicious pressure around your clit.

“Fuck,” you panted, rolling your hips desperately trying to seek more friction. ”Please,” you begged, cupping his erection over his jeans.

Frank groaned, earning a gasp from you as he pressed a finger into your pussy. “You’re soaked,” he marvelled, hooking his finger inside you and stroking the spongy wall that had you seeing spots. “Fuck, there she is.”

You fought to undo his jeans, forehead resting against his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to your high. Fingers tugging his boxers down, freeing his cock, and earning a hiss as the cool night air hit his leaking tip. 

“So fucking needy,” you tutted, earning a groan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed, gritting his teeth as you started stroking his cock. 

“You will,” you quipped, breath catching on a moan that took you by surprise. “Fuuuuck.”

Frank growled, your hand moving against him, his own inside you—both desperate not to be the first to let go. Your body was betraying you with each passing second—the coil in your lower abdomen tightening, your legs feeling weak, the gasps and moans that fell past your lips—yeah, Frank was sure he was going to make you cum first. 

His hips bucked as you slowed your motions, tugging his mouth back to yours to stop him saying whatever smartass comment he was thinking. His kiss was frantic, teeth clashing, his tongue mingling with your own. Your grip tightened in his hair, stilled around his cock, as your orgasm hit you with a vengeance. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You threw your head back, your cunt clamping down around his fingers, hips grinding against his palm. He dipped his head, chuckling as he nipped at your exposed neck, rutting against your palm. 

“Are you on birth control?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t come here tonight expecting to get laid,” he pointed out. “So no condom.”

“Are you clean?”

“What the fuck?”

“Your ex wife was cheating on you,” you stated. “It’s a legitimate question. Are you clean?”

“Yes, I’m clean.” He huffed. 

“Good, me too. And yes, I’m on birth control, but you better pull out.”

Frank pushed your jeans down further, hooking one of your legs over his arm as he positioned himself between your legs. Thick head sliding through your slick folds, notching at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, both of you watching the way your body welcomed him with ease. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, and then you were kissing him again. Rolling your hips for a slightly better angle as he slowly withdrew himself and slipped right back in. 

“So fucking hot,” he mumbled. “Gripping me so tight, feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

You gasped as he picked up the pace, the time for savouring the moment now over. Hands wound tightly in his hair, kisses being disrupted by moans and groans. 

“Frank,” you panted, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit, attempting to bring you closer to your high again. “Fuck you, I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he groaned. “Be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm? Milk my fucking cock.”

You let your head fall forward, biting down on his neck to muffle your moans. He grunted, pace sloppy and relentless. You whined, screwing your eyes shut as your orgasm crashed over you once again. Body convulsing, pussy clenching around him oh-so-good. Fuck, he was a goner. Grunting as he stilled, cock twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

“I thought I told you to pull out,” you snapped.

“Fuck, sorry. ‘M sorry,” he apologised. 

“Felt too good, hm?” You teased. 

“Fuck you.”

[lilithschosen]

hey, me, why don't you try to write something x reader finally?

oh hey me! yeah, for sure. early happy birthday, idiot!

LOST DOG (ao3 link) words: 7303 ships: agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader rating: E (NSFW) tags: strap ons, packing, daddy kink, cunnilingus, threesome, ideal eiffel tower ya feel me?

Your beloved couch potato of a dog is lost. You don't even understand how he got out let alone wandered away to the point of being lost. He's an older dog, a black lab with more white hairs on his muzzle than you care to count. So stating that he ran off is a little unsettling. 

You print out fliers with the most recent picture on your smartphone and write all of his names, nicknames, anything you've ever called him on the fliers. As well as your phone number and the most important thing: REWARD. 

You have a modest job, nothing too flashy but something you can afford little luxuries here and there. However, those luxuries would be few and far between if he was found because you would pay through the nose to make sure that hound is happy and safe. 

The thought of trudging through every street in Westview to put up the fliers was a bit daunting, though. You were almost discouraged by doing it until you thought to drop them off at the police station. 

You head down to the station, thick stack of freshly printed fliers in hand, and stand in the lobby. A mustached man sipping coffee gives you a nod as he walks past you, leaving you a bit confused than anything else. 

No one approaches you. 

You chew on the inside of your mouth, still waiting awkwardly in the lobby of the precinct and pat the stack of papers against your palm to calm yourself. 

“Can I help you?” 

You turn on your heels to look at who spoke to you. A woman with dark hair tied into a bun on the back of her head, wearing a white button-up shirt with a leather gun holster under each arm and black slacks. She has her hands clasped behind her back, leaning in towards you with an inquisitive, small smile. Her eyes rake over your body, sizing you up but not maliciously. 

“Oh, h-hi!” You suddenly stammer, having expected some dude cop and not her. You snap out of it and begin kickstarting the speech you've been practicing all day, “I lost my dog and I have some fliers I thought I’d give the Westview PD?” 

You lift the stack up and the woman's eyes never leave yours. She nods, holding her hands out in front of her now. 

“Oh no,” she tuts, shaking her head solemnly, “Come with me, I'll have to take down some information for your file before we proceed.” 

She extends an arm to you, turning to the side to have you walk past her. You do, feeling better now that you didn't have to pitch it like you were expecting. The woman rests her hand on your lower back and guides you further into the police station. 

She directs you into an office with the shades half drawn all around and closes the door behind you. Another woman sits with her feet up and arms across her chest, looking at you with her brows furrowed. 

“I'm Agent Rio Vidal,” the woman, Rio, starts with her hand to her chest. She walks around you and approaches the woman at the desk. She nudges her boots off the desk and clears her throat. “This is Detective Agatha Harkness. We're here to help you.”

Agatha huffs once her boots hit the floor, sitting up in her chair as she pulls at her blue flannel shirt. “So what happened? Boyfriend stole your shit?” 

You blush and look between the two women. Rio sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. She lost her dog, hence the fliers in her hand.” 

Rio waves you forward, and you do, setting the stack of papers on the desk. Agatha turns her head to look up at Rio while reaching forward to snipe a flier from the stack. She sits back in the chair, pulling the paper with her, and smacks her lips together. 

“Fido is lost, huh?” Agatha asks, looking at you over the top of the flier, “Have you tried looking for him? He's only seven, he couldn't have gotten far.”

“Well, yes,” you begin, taken aback by the bluntness of the woman, “His name is Joxer, actually. But yeah, he got out the other day, and I’ve been looking for him endlessly. My apartment is so empty without him.” 

Agatha laughs with an exhalation through her nose when you mention your dog's name. “Joxer. Cute name. Familiar one, some pop culture reference?” 

You nod, eyes lighting up that someone understood it. “Yeah, it's from Xena. He was the goofy friend, arguably a third wheel to Xena and Gabrielle.” 

Agatha’s eyes lift back up to Rio and the two share a knowing look before Rio claps her hands together, smiling at you.

“We'll hold on to these,” she scoops up the stack of fliers while Agatha folds hers into a square and shoves it into her breast pocket, “and we’ll get back to you if and when we get any information.” 

Rio offers her hand, and you take it without hesitation, grabbing onto it with both of yours, and shake it gratefully. 

“Thank you so much Agent Vidal,” she nods at you, head lowered. You look at Agatha and flash a smile. “Thank you Detective Harkness.” 

Agatha waves at you with a brief two fingers off her forehead. She crosses her arms over her chest again, running her tongue against her canine tooth while she watches you. You can't help but feel like she's drinking you in, and it makes your face hot. 

Rio squeezes your hand, bringing your attention back to her. You take your hands back sheepishly, and she chuckles at you. 

“Joxer is a fitting name for such a handsome boy,” she points to the picture of your dog on the papers on Agatha’s desk, “I bet he's a good cuddle buddy too.” 

You nod, beaming at the thought of your dog. “God, he really is! I live alone since my ex and I broke up. He's gone through so much with me so it's nice to not be completely alone after it all.” 

You run a hand through your hair at the realization you started babbling. Rio takes a flier from the pile and holds it out, frowning. 

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” Rio studies the flier and all the information earnestly before looking back at you, “Off the record too, your ex doesn't know what he's missing out on.” 

“Yeah, she sucked so.” 

You give a brief shrug and tight-lipped smile, not knowing how else to react. The wounds were still fresh, but you were healing. Joxer helps with that. 

Rio and Agatha both react the same way with widened eyes in surprise. Agatha coughs to break the tension. 

“Right!” Rio walks back to the door, opening it for you. “We'll be in contact.” 

You nod again at the both of them in your thanks and wave your goodbyes. As you leave, Rio secures the door once more. Firmly ending the encounter between the three of you. 

You make your way out of the precinct entirely and head back to your apartment which is a short walk away. 

You busy yourself with research on what to do if your dog goes missing. You opt to toss the blanket from your couch on the front steps with Joxer’s food dish and a couple pieces of his kibble, in case he's in the area. You try to keep music on in your apartment by syncing your phone to the speaker system you have for your television. 

Bopping along the rest of the evening, tidying up where you can to keep your mind off Joxer, your phone starts ringing, and the music cuts off. You run over to grab it and notice the number is one you don't recognize. 

You answer, holding the phone to your ear. “Hello?” 

“Hey!” Rio says on the other line, “I think I have a lead on Joxer, if you wanna head over here? It’s easier to discuss in person.” 

You jolt to the dish holding your keys, “Yeah of course, I’ll be over.” 

Rio gives you her address, and you jump down the front steps two at a time until you're on the sidewalk outside your apartment. You hurry to your car, starting it, and peel off down the street faster than ever. 

She didn't live far, and your heavy foot on the pedal definitely cut that drive even shorter. You pull up to Rio’s house, opting to park along the sidewalk than in her driveway, and shut off your car. 

You see Rio standing on the front porch in an oversized shirt and bare legs. You blush at the appearance of the agent, but step out of the car and give her a wave. 

“Oh, you got here fast,” Rio says more so to herself than to you, “Anyway, we handed out those fliers and made some calls earlier. He was last seen around your place.”

Rio smiles at you, a warm one that makes the corners of her eyes wrinkle, but you pause for a moment. What did Rio mean by “we”? 

It was getting dark, the streetlights were on and there was no way you should go knocking on doors tonight. You sigh, leaning against your car. 

“Well, I guess I’ll start asking around tomorrow.”

It sucks to have almost had your dog back, but since he's in the area and not in a pound somewhere in the big city you feel a little bit better.

You open your driver side door, defeated, but Rio calls out. 

“You could stay for a bit, maybe someone will call? I handed out a ton of fliers.” she asks with a hopeful tone, “Besides, when was the last time you had company that wasn't just a dog?”

You shut the door, keys clanging against the metal frame of the door. “I guess, sure.” 

Rio grins, biting down on the tip of her short nails as you make your way over toward her. She gives you a once over and flicks her tongue into her cheek. 

“You look comfy.”

You're standing on her front porch in a t-shirt and shorts with rain boots on since they were the only thing close to you when she called earlier. You laugh at your own appearance, scuffing your rain boots on the concrete of the front porch. 

“Well,” you pinch the hem of your shirt and waggle it against your body, “I didn't think I was going anywhere tonight.” 

Rio smirks, “I like it. Come on.” 

She pushes the front door open, revealing soft lights and a cozy living room. Something lived in and loved. Something your apartment lacked, truthfully. 

You step in and kick your rain boots off, leaving them to the side of the front door. A TV is mounted on the other side of the room, paused on the opening frame of a movie. 

“Did you want butter on the popcorn or are you gonna complain I didn't make it right again?” 

Agatha tosses a piece of popcorn into her mouth, crunching happily. She gives a head nod in acknowledgement to you, not even blinking at you in the house as well. 

“Oh, I didn't realize you two lived together,” you say. Agatha plops down on the couch in her dedicated spot, you assume, and holds the popcorn in her lap. “I don't mean to intrude, Rio thought I should stay a while in case someone calls about Joxer.” 

Agatha laughs into her palm, covering her mouth as she continues to eat. Rio shoots her a glare and moves into your space. “Yeah, no worries. Fridays are normally date nights, but we weren't going anywhere.” 

Date nights. 

The two were together. 

You blush harder, embarrassed from your ogling of Rio moments ago. Rio brushes past you and sits on the opposite side of the couch, curling her legs underneath her. She pats the cushion between her and Agatha, looking at you with expectantly. 

“You guys don't mind?” 

Rio shakes her head while Agatha shrugs with indifference. “You can be like Joxer was for Gabrielle and Xena.” 

Agatha winks at you, cutting the tension between the two of you. You roll your eyes at her and settle in between the two women. Agatha offers you popcorn, but you decline and she sets it in front of you all on the coffee table. She rubs her hands against her pajama pants and grabs the remote, starting the movie. 

“What'd I interrupt?” you joke, “Hopefully nothing too good.” 

Agatha spreads her legs apart, sinking further into the couch with a relieved groan. “Some shitty horror movie Rio insisted on.” 

Rio swats at Agatha over you, leaning with one hand on your thigh. As she moves back to sit down, she runs her hand against your leg and pats it. 

“Hope that's not an issue. I love horror movies, Aggie over there thinks they're cheesy.” 

You remain still, staring down at your leg until Rio removes her hand from you. You stammer for a second before responding. “I'm a complete wuss when it comes to scary stuff.” 

Rio holds her shoulder against yours, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Well if you get too scared, I'm right here. Or you can hide by her, but she might not appreciate it.” 

“I do appreciate it,” Agatha scoffs, pulling at the inside of her thigh and shaking her leg as if something was pinching her where it shouldn't. She raises her arm behind the back of the couch behind you. Her fingertips just barely graze at the back of your head. “I just always have to be the safety blanket.”

You cross your legs at the ankle, unsure what to do with yourself. The movie plays on, introducing the main characters as well as setting up the villain. It's a little cheesy, but some of the easily noticed jump scares still get you. 

“God, you weren't kidding,” Rio chirps at you, turning herself toward you on the couch. She rests her arm against the back of the cushion and props her head up with a fist under her jaw. “You really are a wuss.” 

You blush, twisting at your knuckles. “I did warn you.” 

Agatha snorts a laugh, pulling her hand off the back of the couch to pat you on the thigh. “Don't worry, this one sucks. It should be over soon.” 

It was encouraging to some degree, but not as much as you'd rather. You all tune back into the movie during a suspenseful scene. The main character walks slowly down a narrow hallway, only being illuminated by lightning strikes. Just as they make it to the end of the hallway, Rio shouts and grabs you by the shoulders causing you to scream. 

Rio wraps her arms around your shoulder while she wheezes with laughter. Your heart pounds in your ears from the scare, reaching up to grab her forearm across your chest. 

“Sorry, baby,” Rio says through her laughter, squeezing you in her arms, “I couldn't help myself.” 

You laugh along with her for a beat before your brain recognizes she called you baby. Your laughter dies off as you turn your head to look at her. 

She's closer than before. Her body pressing against yours, faces nearly touching. Her eyes flicker between holding your gaze and looking down at your lips. It was almost like she was about to kiss you. 

You turn your head away, focusing on the movie again. Rio sighs, “Thought we had something there.”

She pulls your chin back toward her with a lone finger, booping you on the nose. You fidget more with your hands, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“Is this a thing for you guys?”

Agatha shakes her head, knocking her knee against yours. “Normally, no. We don't share.” 

“But, we could share you,” Rio’s breath is hot across your face, lips hovering just in front of yours. “Only if you agree, of course.” 

It's all too much, but you can't find yourself saying no. Agatha’s turned toward you too, but not in your space like Rio. Instead, she's back against the arm of the couch, her legs still spread apart, but watching. 

Rio waits, studying your face before she closes in and kisses you. Gentle. Her plush lips are warm against yours, and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

She breaks the kiss slowly, smiling at you through hooded eyes before she takes your lips again. She opens her mouth against yours and you follow her. Her arms drop from your shoulders, allowing her hands to settle just above your chest with her fingertips hooking around your collarbones. 

Her tongue licks into your mouth, claiming you while her wife watches. It makes your skin itch against the fabric of your clothes. Like you're too hot with Agatha’s gaze and Rio's body against yours.

You feel Agatha shift next to you. Her thigh tenses as she lifts her backside up from the couch then sits back down. You want to turn and look, but Rio keeps kissing you passionately and fast. 

Rio moans into your mouth while her hand descends onto your chest. She takes a handful of each breast, feeling your pebbled nipples against her palm. She bites down on your bottom lip, making you gasp. 

“You're addictive to kiss,” Rio breathlessly states, stealing another kiss. She swirls a finger around your nipple before pinching it through your shirt. “And, fuck, your noises, they're so pretty.” 

You whimper as she continues playing with your nipple. The thoughts in your brain are jumbled and you barely are able to string them together, not with the constant stimulation of Rio Vidal all over you. A brief blip of clarity strikes you, remembering Agatha. You finally pull your eyes from Rio to look at Agatha and your breath catches in your throat. 

Agatha has her pants around her mid-thighs, holding a purple dildo in her hand that was fastened to a black harness around her hips. She's working her hand up and down the length of the toy slowly, but once you notice what she's doing, she bucks into her closed fist. 

“Keep going, baby,” she rasps, hips rocking into her hand, “Daddy's just fine right here for now, keep playing with her.” 

Rio nips at your throat, more with her lips than her teeth. The noises you make only encourage her, swapping to bite down your neck until she reaches your collarbones with her mouth.

“Can I take this off?” 

Her hand has left your chest and now holds the hem of your shirt. You nod, unable to take your eyes off Agatha. Rio tugs your shirt up, slowly exposing your stomach. She lowers her head down to kiss the uncovered soft skin, following the fabric with a drag of her lips until your breasts are freed from the shirt. 

Agatha watches with rapt attention, peeling her hand off of the toy and raising her palm to her mouth. She spits into it and wraps her fingers around the tip of the toy again, spreading her saliva down the length in a painfully arousing way that makes you feel like you're starving for it. Your mouth waters as your tongue slips past your lips to wet them. 

Rio immediately latches onto a nipple, holding the shirt up with one hand while she cups underneath your breast with the other. She snaps you out of the hypnosis of Agatha jerking herself off with a moan that vibrates into your ribcage. You cry out louder and Agatha snaps her hips up into her hand, grunting from your sounds. 

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, “I might need you to quiet down or else Rio won't ever let it go.” 

Rio’s tongue curls around your stiff nipple, and you have to clench your thighs together to hold back from trying to touch yourself. 

Another shot of clarity hits as your mind jumps back to what you came here for: Joxer.

Rio bites on your nipple, rolling it between her teeth, and you sputter out another moan for her. Your hand grips on the back of Rio’s head, holding her to your breast, and lift your hips up to grind against nothing. 

“Oh, is she needy?” Agatha asks, hand stilling on her toy while she runs her tongue against the back of her teeth and grins. “Why don't you tell daddy what you need?”

You pout, “I need- ah. I need to be touched.”

Agatha smirks. “Isn't that what Rio's doing?” 

Rio looks up at you with her big, brown, doe eyes, and sucks more of your breast into her mouth. You gasp at the sensation, hips lifting again to grind into the air and you whine. 

“You gotta be more specific, hon.” 

You hiss through your teeth, “Need you to fuck me.” 

Rio lets your breast fall from her mouth with a pop and she pushes you back on the couch. She settles on her knees between your legs, hands gripping at the waistband of your pants. Positively dying to get you naked and have her way with you. You throb at the look on her face, dark eyes staring between your legs at her prize. 

“Whoa,” Agatha holds up a hand between Rio’s face and you, palming at her wife’s cheek, “I think she said she needed me to fuck her, not you.” 

Rio rolls her eyes, sneering. She slides Agatha’s hand from her face. “Well, you snooze you lose.”

She shoves your shorts off, moaning with elation at the sight of your clearly soaked through underwear. Agatha grabs at her shoulder and moves her away. She nudges her further with her foot before replacing her between your legs. 

“There she is,” Agatha coos, “You need daddy to fuck you, huh?”

You nod, staring at the toy fastened to Agatha’s hips. She grips it, holding it steady. 

“You want daddy's cock?” You nod again. “Ask nicely and maybe she'll give you it.” 

It’s bigger than you’ve used before, but not by much. Thicker, longer, and the tip was definitely more bulbous than what you have back home.

Your shirt drops below your tits and she clicks her tongue. She bunches it in her hands and carefully draws it up over your head. She sighs happily, taking both of your tits in each hand. Her thumb runs over your hardened nipples, and you gasp at how rough the pads of her fingers were.

“That's not asking, baby.”

You try to press your thighs together, try to get any sort of friction to your aching clit, but nothing helps. You ache, throbbing for her to sink that toy she was playing with earlier inside of you. 

Rio trails a hand up your forearm innocently, knowing full well Agatha would be annoyed. “Don't you wanna be our good girl?” 

“Daddy,” you mumble, eyes pinching closed to try and get your words out clearly. “I want your cock. Please, daddy.”

Agatha tweaks both of your nipples at the same time. “Doesn't sound believable to me.” 

Rio nods in agreement. She brushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I bet you'd look so good riding her,” she trails off in a groan at the thought. “Ask nicer.” 

“I need-,” you try to say until Agatha licks her thumb and rubs her saliva against your nipple, and it fully clears your brain. “Oh, fuck.” 

Rio frowns, settling back in her spot on the couch. She sneaks one of her legs behind you, leaning back on the arm of the couch so you're now between her legs while Agatha is still between yours. 

She pulls her shirt up to reveal her black, cotton shorts. You turn your head and see she has them off now, balling the fabric into her hands before she tosses them at Agatha. 

They knock into Agatha's neck, and she rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath. 

“If you don't want her dick, I'll take it.” 

Your eyes snap open as you feel Rio sitting back up, “No-no please! I need it, please. Fuck me, daddy. God, please!”

Agatha grins, removing her hand from your chest to grab onto her toy again. She pulls you forward on the couch, tugging your ruined underwear down your legs with a swift motion, and lines the toy up with your cunt. 

She runs her other hand down between your legs, feeling the goosebumps form up the inside of your thigh before settling her hand at your pubic bone. Agatha rubs her thumb through your folds and you whimper quietly, moving your hips back in hopes she’d touch your clit. She spreads you instead, whistling low at the sight in front of her.

“You think I’ll fit, baby? I might split you in two. I think I want to.” her voice is raspy, dangerous. She means it. She drags the tip of the toy through your folds now, replacing her hand with it and she shivers, “All of this, and it's all mine.” 

Rio scoffs. “And mine.” 

Agatha’s eyes move from between your thighs to meet Rio's. She raises a brow in question and sinks the tip of her silicone cock inside your slick heat. 

You cry out, hands gripping onto the couch cushion underneath you for stability. Agatha and Rio stare at each other, neither wanting to break the stare they hold. 

“More,” you beg shamelessly, “Fill me, daddy.” 

Agatha’s gaze falls back to you, watching as your tight, perfect cunt greedily takes each inch of her cock. Her lower lip trembles as she bottoms out inside of you. 

“Stretched out for me,” Agatha pants, forcing her hips further to you and making sure you have every last bit of her sheathed inside, “I can't believe you can take all of me. Such a good girl, made for my cock.” 

Your head rolls back, turning to look at Rio. After she took her shorts off, you never realized she wasn't wearing underwear. Her pussy was on display and you drool at the sight. Rio giggles, hand extending out to swipe the bit that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. 

“Want a taste?” Rio asks, taking her hand out to spread your drool between her folds. Her cunt glistens from the light of the television screen with her arousal, from what she's done to you. “I bet Daddy would love to watch you eat me while she fucks you. Wouldn't you, Aggie?” 

Agatha can only grunt in response, silicone cock still sheathed inside of you. She rocks into you and clenches her jaw, knowing and practically feeling the tip of the toy was pushing into your cervix.

Slowly, she slips the toy out of you entirely and you miss the constant presence of her.

“Get on all fours,” Agatha orders, voice wavering for a moment before settling back at the deeper tone she’s used since you started, “It’s one way to keep you both under control.”

You follow along, kneeling where you initially sat, and drop to your elbows. You tuck your arms under Rio’s knees and situate them over your shoulders, hands gripping her thighs. She exhales with a breathy chuckle, and you grin up at her with the most excited and equally confused smile. 

Agatha grabs you by your hips, positioning your ass in the air before she palms at it. You rock back, the flesh of your ass cheek pressing back into Agatha's hand and she squeezes. 

“Oh, there's that cheeky personality I knew you had,” Agatha drums at your ass with her fingers, “I just needed your face nearly in my wife’s pussy for you to really come out to play.” 

Wife?

They're married?

Her toy was still soaked from your arousal, easily sinking it back into your core with a swift thrust in. You lurch forward at the sudden feeling of the thick toy inside of you and your nose nudges against Rio’s cunt. She yelps at the contact and grips you by the hair to keep you there. All thoughts of the two being married melt away. 

“Need more,” she whines, “I need that mouth on me, baby. Just focus on me and not her, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” 

You look up at Rio and press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to her clit. You kiss again, rubbing your nose into her trimmed patch of pubic hair and Rio groans in approval.

You stick your tongue out and press it flat at her entrance and drag it up to her clit. You flick at the swollen bundle of nerves with the tip of your tongue before repeating your strokes. 

Rio moans, fingers still holding your head in place. Agatha’s lip twitches at how you were paying more attention to Rio than her. 

She claps your ass cheek hard, causing you to gasp and lift away from Rio’s cunt as much as you could. Rio growls in annoyance, holding your head still as she starts to buck against it. 

Agatha smacks your ass again, thrusting in and out of you with measured snaps of her hips. She pulls the toy out until just the tip remains, forcing your walls to clench and hold it tight before fucking it back into you. 

“I feel it,” you grunt, teeth bared against Rio’s folds, “You're in my stomach, daddy. You're so deep.” 

The term falls from your lips so easily, never having called anyone daddy before. It was so effortless, so authentically something to call Agatha. 

Agatha lies on top of your back, hand running from your hip to under your navel. She thrusts the toy in again and hums in delight at feeling herself through your skin. 

“I told you I’d split you in half, hon.” She kisses your spine, fingers pushing down against the silicone, “You love it too, don't you?” 

You can barely comprehend it. Having your face in Rio’s hot, wet cunt while Agatha fucks you from behind. It's so much but so good. 

Agatha holds down her fingers against the bulge in your stomach as she continues to rail you. Enamored by your body and how well you take her, as well as fascinated by feeling herself. 

Rio keeps bucking up and your face, growing more desperate for your attention. She mewls out, heels digging into your shoulder blades. “Keep going, baby. Wanna cover your face with me.”

You try to continue, and you ache to, but with the way your body continues to bounce against Agatha’s strap, it was like you were only able to do this. That you were supposed to always be fucked by Agatha. 

You feel your orgasm swelling just beneath Agatha’s fingertips, digging your knees into the couch while you pant through your teeth. The combination of your drool and Rio’s arousal shoot out with each quick exhale of breath, leaving a spittle trail between Rio’s legs. 

Agatha smirks through her own movements once she notices Rio’s frustration and how she was losing. She leans back and fucks you deeper, as deep as she can. Her hips slam against your bare ass, and she growls at the feeling of your wetness spilling out from around the toy. 

“Bet I can make you cum before Rio can.”

Rio’s eyes widen, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Agatha winks, sliding her hand from the bulge of her toy down to your clit. She starts rubbing quick, tight circles around it as you scream. Your sensitive nipples drag against the couch, throwing gasoline on the overwhelming fire of your desire. 

Rio keeps fucking your face as best as she can, smearing herself all around your mouth and chin. She clenches her jaw, feeling her own orgasm building but not as fast as yours. The hand in your hair tightens painfully to hold your head steady while she chases her pleasure. 

Your brain goes blank as your eyes roll into the back of your head with a choked sob, and you are thrown into the absolute hurricane of your orgasm. You clench as hard as you can around the toy, but Agatha keeps fucking you through it with a wild cackle. 

“Good girl,” she praises, scratching angry, red lines down your lower back and onto your ass cheeks with both hands, “Milk my cock, take it. Tell me who owns this pussy, who is making you feel this fucking good.”

You start to call out her name, the vowel beginning with a loud “ah” before Rio smothers the words with her center to silence you. 

Agatha’s lip curls in a snarl, rubbing your clit harder and faster with her fingers held tightly together. Rio’s breaths grow shallow, whimpering as she pinches her own nipple and grinds into your opened mouth. 

“Gonna- oh,” she inhales sharp and then grunts, her head falling back, “I’m so close, baby. So, so close.”

Your eyes blink separately, one at a time. You roll your tongue through Rio’s folds and tuck it inside of her as best as you can before a second orgasm has your knees shaking. Your hips drop, internal muscles holding onto Agatha’s strap so tightly that you take her with you. 

Rio chirps in elation as she cums. Her juices gush out and into your mouth. You sputter a choke, brain delayed from everything and manage to swallow what you can solely to not drown between the agent’s thighs. 

Agatha curses under her breath, bent awkwardly now with you fully lying on the couch while she's buried inside of you. You turn your head away from Rio’s cunt, gasping for air. Agatha rubs at your ass cheek with a thumb, looking over both you and Rio in front of her. 

Her heart thuds harder in her chest for a beat, a smile pulling at either corner of her mouth until she catches herself and she clears her throat. 

Rio’s eyes open, lazily smiling up at her wife while she scratches at your scalp with her fingernails. She sits up from the arm of the couch, eyeing you. You’re quiet, lying still between her legs with your head on her thigh. 

Asleep.

Rio settles back down and continues scratching at your scalp, her eyes closing once more. The credits of the movie roll, a fast-paced rock song playing over the white script of names. It startles you awake but both of the women shush you gently. 

“Hey there,” Rio chuckles, removing her hand from your hair and places it on your shoulder blade, “Took a little nap?”

You lick your lips, tasting nothing but Rio’s cum as you try to rehydrate your mouth. You blink hard, pushing up to move away, but your arms tremble, and you fall back against Rio’s thigh.

“Don’t move too much, hon,” Agatha’s hands are on your hips, holding you steady, “I’m gonna pull out and get you more comfortable.”

She starts to slip out of you, only halfway out before you grumble. “Don’t.”

Agatha’s heart thuds again, and she bites her lower lip, eyes immediately looking down between your joined bodies. Your slick has the purple toy shimmering deliciously, making her fight every ounce of being from filling you once more. 

“I need to, baby. We can all go cuddle after we get cleaned up.”

You pout, lower lip jutting forward into the flesh of Rio’s thigh. Rio laughs under her breath, moving your hair out of your face. “She’s right, love.”

You relax again and let Agatha pull out of you entirely while still pouting the entire time. The emptiness makes you want to cry, sniffling impulsively. Agatha rubs at your thigh, leaning down to press a kiss against your lower back. 

“I’ll be right back.”

She stands from the couch and you listen to her footfalls against the hardwood floors grow further and further away. Rio situates you further on the couch, tucking her leg up on the couch next to you. You open your eyes, having them unfocus for a moment until everything comes into clear view. 

You didn’t take in their house much when you arrived, and certainly didn’t have time to once the movie started. It was a normal, neat little house. It was clear what was Rio’s and what was Agatha’s. The stark contrast of greenery and floral paintings as well as plants versus sport team items on the shelves and fishing baubles with pictures of the two women around the living room. 

Your brain is partially rebooted, now becoming painfully aware of what just happened and with whom. You freeze at the sound of Agatha approaching. 

“I’ve got a warm wash cloth and some water,” she sets the water on the table by Rio and holds the wash cloth in her hand, “I’m going to clean you up, okay?”

You nod, trying to hide your immediate panic at the moment. Agatha gently and delicately swipes between your legs, and you feel the throb of overuse from your clit. The friction of the warm wash cloth has you gasping, rolling your hips away from it. 

Agatha hums, thumb pressing underneath your ass cheek as she continues to clean you up. “We’ll talk in a second, baby. Just relax.”

You do as you’re told, easily able to succumb to the warmth and care of the older woman despite your anxiety. She takes her time and when she’s done, she guides you to sit up and offers the wash cloth to Rio. 

“I’m good,” she winks at you, waving the offer away, “I’ll take a kiss, though.”

The two women exchange a kiss, and you turn away to give them their moment. You feel a hand on your knee, but you don’t look. 

They break their kiss, Agatha touches her forehead against Rio’s with a smile, and she tosses the wash cloth to the floor. Rio sits up, pulling her legs up with one underneath her bare backside and the other bending at the knee to rest her arm on. Agatha settles in on the other side of you, mirroring the same spots you were all sat in earlier. 

She brushes her shoulder against yours, and she reaches out to cup your cheek. You look up at her slowly, still spent from everything. Agatha smiles at you, stroking your face with her thumb. 

She leans in and takes your lips against hers in a way that was almost uncharacteristic of her. It was gentle, reassuring. No need, no heat, just a comfort you want to wrap around yourself and sink into. Your eyes flutter close, melting into her. 

When she pulls away, she smiles even bigger. Agatha pecks at your lips one last time before moving back to her spot on the couch fully, giving you your space back.

“So,” Rio begins. You immediately blush, “Are you okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard with your hands in your lap. Being completely naked between the two women was intimidating. 

“I mean,” you start, running a hand through your hair as your cheeks puff out with an exhale, “I wasn't expecting any of this. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”

Agatha and Rio laugh at that. You awkwardly start to laugh too, but stop just as quickly as you started. Agatha throws an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you toward her. 

“We wanted you, you didn’t impose or anything. I promise this wasn’t some weird way to fix our marriage or anything, we’re both very happy with each other.”

She sounds sincere. The way Rio and Agatha were still loving towards one another after it all was proof enough. 

“So you really just, wanted me?” you find yourself asking, “I’ve never been in a threesome before. Never knew I wanted to, truth be told.”

Agatha presses a kiss to the side of your head, smiling into your hair. The stark contrast of the detective in the throes of passion and after were two completely different people. You find yourself wanting more of both.

“We just had a friendly wager, per se,” Rio adds, scooting over to wrap her arms around your torso. She rests her head on your shoulder, looking around you at her wife. “We wanted to see who could make you loudest. Couldn’t figure it out, though.”

Agatha huffs in annoyance, “Would’ve been me if you didn’t cheat.”

Rio sticks her tongue out at Agatha, laughing again. You enjoy the warmth of their bodies sandwiching yours, finding yourself laughing as well but with a comfort instead of panic. 

The three of you fall into a silence as the TV picks up with another movie. You all stay together, held together in a post-coital bliss until your phone loudly interrupts the serenity. Rio clicks her tongue at it, but reaches for your shorts on the ground and tosses your phone to you.

You answer it without reading the caller ID. 

“Hey!” you recognize the voice, it’s your neighbor. “I’ve had Joxer here all day, even had one of the Westview PD guys come check for him, but I forgot to call earlier.”

You hear your goofy dog panting in the background and you grin. “Oh, that’s great! I can come get him if he’s being a pest.”

Agatha’s arm around your shoulder slackens in disappointment, but you don’t move to get up. 

“Nah,” your neighbor says, “I’ll hold him for the night. I think you need some rest, you sound beat.”

Rio’s tongue pokes out to swipe at the corner of her mouth, holding herself back from laughing at the words. Agatha’s arm tightens around you again, and you clench at the ache where her strap was. 

“If you don’t mind, then sure! I’ll get him in the morning.”

Your neighbor agrees, ending the call with a bark from Joxer on the other line before you drop your phone to your lap. 

“My dog was at their house all day.”

You turn to look at Rio, eyes narrowing. 

“You never told me who had him.”

Rio pinches an eye closed, holding her hands up in front of her. “Okay, guilty. But! I didn't lie. Started knocking on doors and actually met him on a walk, by I’m assuming your neighbor. I asked for him by name and the big lug nearly knocked me over.”

“We just wanted a reason to talk to you again,” Agatha rasps, nuzzling your head with her nose, “I couldn’t get you out of my head, and neither could Rio. We did do our jobs, though.”

You breathe a sigh of relief at the whole endeavor being over with your dog just on a brief little vacation. You shake your head at it all, though. The detectives you met earlier today, the ones you were trying to get to help you find your dog, ended up seducing you instead while your dog was a couple doors down the whole time. 

You grab Rio, pulling her in to a hug while leaning into Agatha’s side. “You’re both fucking crazy, you know that right?”

“Yes,” Rio responds, voice thick with amusement, “But you like it.”

The weight has been lifted from your shoulders, and you can finally feel yourself dropping from the heightened state of stress over it all. Rio kisses your cheek, booping your nose with her finger before doing the same to Agatha. 

“Well since he’s having a sleep-over,” Rio says, “Maybe we can too?”

Agatha nudges you with her bicep to your back, “That sound like a plan, superstar?”

You snort at the nickname, making Agatha smirk. 

“I guess,” you try to come off nonchalant, but both of the women grin at you and your poorly crafted facade crumbles. “I hope your bed’s big enough. I hog the blankets.”

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.3

Listen here folks, I remember a lot from the movie however most of those memories are Hugh Jackman's abs

I hope this is alright, I added a few bits and obviously there will be dialogue that I have forgotten but I really hope it's semi-good, I know a lot of you have wanted a third part so hopefully it lives up to your standards 🫶

There be "violence" in this one

<< Part 2 Part 4 >> Masterlist

Logan had spent the journey drinking Gambit's booze and watching you sleep. You looked younger when you slept, less worn. He used to love taking you to your room when you fell asleep grading his pupil's papers or even just watching TV in the sitting room. He'd scoop you up in his arms and secure you safely in your room, then eventually he'd settle you in his. 

You had said the word husband yesterday, that wasn't lost on him. You'd been married to your version of Wolverine. One that wasn't too ‘macho’ to ask. One that loved you freely. He was a fucking idiot for being scared to take that leap. He and you had settled into a fuck-buddy-but-there-were-feelings-involved situation. 

He could've had more with you. 

Maybe if he was with you he wouldn't have been at a bar when the humans attacked.

He was lost without his friends but he was truly wrecked without you. When he found your body amongst the pile of mutants something inside him snapped. He couldn't stop hurting people. It began with the bad, then the semi-bad, then the not bad and eventually he killed innocents. He killed people that didn't deserve it. He made a bad name for the mutants and the X-Men. He killed the X-Men by tarnishing the memory. 

He couldn't be without you again. He'd bring you with him, take you to wherever Deadpool was taking him.

Surely he could convince you.

“You'll have to wake her soon.” Laura's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was staring intensely but not in an intimidating way. He didn't think she could stare without the intensity behind her eyes. She was born with it, through him. 

“I will.” He agreed. 

“You want some?” She raised an open cereal box. He didn't know why but he didn't want to insult her any more. He accepted some and thanked her. It was chalky but tasted vaguely like chocolate. Laura still just watched Logan, every stretch of his jaw as he chewed and eventually swallowed and then she still gazed into his soul  “You love her.” 

Logan didn't think it was a question but responded. He couldn't disagree if he wanted to. “Yes.” 

“I do, too.” She flicked her eyes to your face and then turned her head, repositioning herself on Blade's shoulder. 

Logan stayed still for another few minutes but the silhouette of the giant, Wade called Paul Rudd, became visible in the distance. It was time to wake you. 

He delicately shook your shoulder and you frowned, grumbling and burrowing higher into his neck.

“Baby.” Logan shook you again, and you let out a huff, squinting open one eye. “We'll be there soon.” 

You raised your head and slowly sat up, eyes sleepy and letting out a small yawn. Logan gave you a soft smile as he flattened a piece of hair that had stuck out, his hand slid down to caress your cheek. 

“You could come with us.” 

“With you?” Your brain was still mush. “I can't leave them.” 

“No.” He lied. “You should be up there in the skull with ‘Pool and me. It would be a better vantage point for you.” 

The plan was to have Laura, Elektra, Blade, and Gambit on the offence whilst you were their defence. You always were the protector, the shield of the group. Wade and Logan were going to distract and then use Juggernaut’s helm to bargain with Cassandra Nova. 

You took a moment to consider with your slow brain but then agreed. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” 

You continued to wake yourself up, preparing for a fight. It wasn't hard to, everyday in this wasteland was a fight. Everyone seemed to work for this Cassandra lady which meant that they wanted to kill you for not. 

In your peripheral you saw Blade open the sunroof, before rummaging in his bag.

Gambit spoke over the radio, “so, ami, ‘e gonna be ‘lastin’ a way through those’re hands.” 

“What he means to ask is how are we going to get through? I feel like that was an integral part of this plan and I have miss-” Wade cut himself off when he felt movement behind him. Blade had stood and freed the rocket launcher, hoisting it over his shoulder and aiming. “Oh my god, where did you get that?” 

El glanced through the rearview mirror and answered, “Punisher.” slamming her foot down on the gas.

“What one there's been like five?” 

You couldn't hear the end of his question as Blade fired the shot, it landed right in the centre breaking the fingers. 

“Hold on!” El ordered as she expertly spun the car to the left. 

Smoke plumed as you all were quick to exit. Elektra, Wade and Blade were to the left side. Logan, yourself and Laura to the right, Gambit was in the middle shuffling his deck. 

The others: mutants, supes, enhanced, all crowded you, waiting for the order to kill. There were familiar faces such as Lady Deathstrike, Toad, Juggernaut and Blob. There were others that you were fairly sure you recognised through their distinctive features despite them having different faces, like Azazel and Pyro. 

There were a good fifty more circling you, Laura smirked putting her sunglasses on. Blade spun his weapons then tapped one on Elektra's sais in a ‘cheers’ motion. Wade had his katanas out and your Wolverines both extended their claws. You and Gambit, the only ones with ‘magic’ powers stayed fairly still, well, as still as he could be. 

Cassandra was standing above you all in the skull of an Ant-Man, you remembered when he got there. She was quick to free him of skin and then organs. Positioning him in this horrid way, using his body as a base. It made you sick when you thought of the palaces and the buildings that came through the portals in abundance. 

“You came back.” She spoke. Her accent was posh but her tone was clipped. Clearly annoyed. 

“You have to send us back!” Wade shouted. 

She gave you a smirk and retreated into the right eye socket. 

Here's where the fun begins. 

“Let's fucking go!” Deadpool yelled. You all let out a war cry, Gambit's being “Allons!” as you all depart at the same time, each of you taking a side and going for it. Blade went toe to toe with Toad, Elektra fought Lady Deathstrike, Logan fought a very large man you didn't recognize, Wade fought a Doc Ock, Gambit took on a group of four, and Laura went for the big guy himself. Juggernaut. 

You were paired with Azazel. The man zapping about, striking you and vanishing before you could catch him. It took his tail tripping you for you to land on your back and actually be in a good-visibility position. Quickly you trapped him in a forcefield. It was an intense battle of power. The field had been a bubble but you wrapped it around his appendages and forced him to stay in one spot. Forced him still. But he struggled. He fought against you, red mist seeping from the forcefield as he thrashed about. 

You had trapped him but couldn’t do anything to dispose of him. If you flung him away he would just reappear and it was getting noticed that you were distracted. Quickly you rose to your feet, arms still extended, shaking with brute force and out of the corner of your eye you could see her. She ran towards you and you dropped on hand flinging a force field in the shape of a disc - you had so eloquently named a forcedisc - at her. It sliced through her side but she didn't stop. 

“El!” You yelled, barely dodging the acid she spat. Your arms stayed extended in the same position but you managed to kick her in the chest as she took a deep breath. She spluttered, acid dripping down her face and landing on her shirt. Her skin was immune but the fabric burned. 

Elektra spun to your call and nodded, having fought with you before she understood what was needed. 

You moved Azazel over to her and Elektra stabbed him, your forcefield opening just as the sai made contact. 

As you focused on the exact millisecond to release your palms, ‘acidgirl’ was able to choke you from behind. You conjured a muzzle over her mouth and held it there. Quickly plucking your knife out. 

Killing wasn't exactly new to you but it always felt bad, no matter if the feeling got smaller and smaller each time. You still felt guilty as you thrust behind and stabbed her stomach. 

Once you released the field her acid fell upon your shoulder. The suit fizzled and you were quick to pull the fabric from your skin. It still burned through but you pushed on. 

“Oit L/N!” Wade shouted over spinning cartoonishly across Logan's back to stab someone. 

You hadn't realised how isolated you were compared to the others, you were right at the back of the group, by the car. You threw out some forcediscs holding them stationary and jumped on them, over the heads of those trying to kill you. You ran, ascending up, towards the skull, flinging a couple out for Wade and Logan. They were quick to follow your cue and you made sure they and you got to each eye socket. 

They entered the right as you perched in the left, finding yourself at a much better position strategically.

Their plan was distraction. Yours was protection. You could do yours in your sleep. Quickly stopping a hammer landing on Elektra and misplacing a punch to Gambit. 

You had gotten more powerful being here. You had to. Your forcefields were no longer merely for protection, they could now be used as a force. Similar to Jean’s telekinesis except you were still using the forcefields, only they were now differently shaped, i.e. the ball that had knocked into the man's fist when he aimed for Gambit's face. 

A gate fell to the floor, landing on the Honda, and a creature stalked out of it, dark claws crushing the car as though it was tissue paper. 

You were quick to try and halt the thing. It was a humongous wolf? You couldn't be sure as it had two sets of eyes and three tails. It was clearly not from your version of earth. 

“Let it go!” Blade yelled up, smiling wide. “I got this!” 

You obeyed his order and focused your energy on Laura. Who had just decapitated Juggernaut. That's my girl. 

Quickly you flung multiple discs for her to jump onto, she was efficient as always and leapt towards the right eye socket when Psylocke's lasso yanked her back.

“Laura!” You screamed, instinctively opening a field around her head and closing your fist, crushing it - you'd never even thought to do that, never once occurred to use your power that way - just in time your baby tossed her backpack into the eye socket and it skidded across the marble floor and straight into Deadpool's awaiting hand.

You hadn't even noticed what was going on behind you. There was talking and now nothing. Sneaking a glance you saw Logan on his knees with Cassandra holding his cheeks. Her fingers disappeared into his skin, he was twitching slightly but she looked peaceful. 

Wade quickly revealed the helm and tiptoed behind her. 

“BOOM!” Gambit’s voice could be heard and then a series of much larger explosions than you were used to detonated. 

You were brought back to the battle at hand and decided that maybe crushing heads was the way to go when you saved El, who had been cornered by two men. 

Blade, having been fighting the beast, was currently sat on top of it and plunged a knife into its head. Downing the creature. 

There actually wasn't an awful lot of enemies left to fight and you were feeling good about the outcome when you saw it.

Alioth. 

The celestial dragon had its gaze set upon you. “Guys!” You called down. “Alioth is coming!” 

Realistically there wasn't anything you could do. You couldn't shield them from this. But perhaps Cassandra could? Did she save people from the dragon? Surely she didn't offer them up, right?

“Get inside!” You ordered and quickly turned to find Wade holding her firmly with Juggernaut’s helmet forced upon her. 

Logan was talking to her and you jogged over. 

“Alioth is coming.” You informed. 

“I can't save you with this on my head.” She taunted. 

“You won't save us anyway!” Wade countered, “Logan, you want me to off her?” His fingers twitched near her neck. 

“No.” Logan shook his head. 

“You sure? I'm right here.” 

“It's not what-Charles wouldn't want that. If he knew about you, my Charles, he would stop at nothing to come find you. To save you. He would've loved you.” 

You had known Cassandra for her reputation. She was the big cheese, she called the shots, she had an immense power and used it to do whatever she wanted. Everyone else were her playthings. But here, with the helm on, she looked small. She was tiny and thin and her eyes glossed over at Logan's words. 

“Mine, too.” You knew you didn't have to speak but you wanted her to know. That was the X-Man in you. Charles’ influence. Everyone deserves help. 

She looked at you and you felt as though she was looking into your very soul. Her eyes, even powerless, were weighty. 

“We can't release her, she'll kill us.” Wade reminded you. He wasn't wrong. What could you do? What should you do? 

You didn't have the time to think of a plan. “We need to hurry up, that monster is on its way.” 

A gunshot echoed through the skull as well as your own. You quickly forced a shield up, covering the four of you. 

Pyro was behind it, pointing the weapon at Cassandra. Your eyes followed the angle to see she was beginning to bleed heavily from her stomach. 

“I am tired of being her errand boy! 'Do this, get that', well no more!” He sauntered towards you all, the gun lowered to his side, you slowly eased the shield back as he spoke. “When is it my turn? First Magneto, then Apocalypse, Scarlet Witch and now Cassandra Nova!” 

When he was within range Logan silenced him with an efficient right hook. You know it hurt, because that man was heavy. 

“Not everyone gets a speech.” 

Blood splurged from Cassandra’s mouth as she coughed. “Shit!”  

“Wade, you have to take her helmet off.” 

“She, again, will. Kill. Us.” He tightened his hold. “You missed it, she said she'd ‘rub herself silly watching’ a second ago!”

“She's dying.” You argued. 

Logan agreed, “she needs her powers to help us, we're stuck here if she dies.” 

Wade let out a frustrated yell before he conceded and yanked the helmet off her. Her body fell to the floor as he let go and you were quick to help her. 

“It's okay, can you hea-” She was already up and standing, leaving you kneeling on the floor. “Oh.” 

You stood to your full height and watched as she kicked Pyro’s body before addressing you. “A wizard came through here. He died and I got this.” She revealed a fancy ring. Causing Wade to gasp and say ‘strange’. “You saved me and I am curious to how this will play out...so I suppose I can get you back, but you better hurry. As your friend mentioned, Alioth is coming.” 

Cassandra raised her arms and spun a circle, forming a physical one as she did. It crackled and sparked and in the centre was a street. There were cars and houses and people. It was home. Or a version of a home. 

It was civilisation. 

After all this time you could smell it. 

“Go on.” She nodded towards the ‘portal’. 

Logan grasped your hand and you were tempted. By god you were. 

But Gambit, Elektra, Blade and Laura. Your Laura who you had to help with her periods and hygiene; Laura who came into your room when she had a bad dream; Laura who had offered to help feed Blade - in a similar fashion that Logan did - because she ‘healed’ and didn't want you guys to suffer. 

You pulled free from him. “I can't leave her.”  

“Y/N.” Logan tried again. “This is your chance to escape!” 

“I won't leave her.” You clarified. 

“I-” 

“Guys, chop chop!” Wade accentuated the words with a clap. 

“Save the world and come back for me.” You offered lamely. It was a very long shot. But what else could you say? You knew he was here to save Deadpool's world, if it worked maybe you could all live there?

“I can't lea-” 

You pushed him away. “Go. I'll be here.” 

.

.

Part 4

[caoimhewritesfics]

Riley's Road To Oklahoma

(Undying Ground pt5)

Tags/CW: Post apocalyptic world, mentions of loss/grief

WC: 2.1k

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader. Reluctant allies to lovers

Series Masterlist → here

A/N: Will Simon and Reader ever just be normal with each other??? no. Very dialogue heavy chapter, exposition yayyy

G

Another living thing was not what he wanted in his house. Putting up with your attitude on the daily was already enough for him. He was new to this whole allies thing after all. Sure he worked with other people in the military all the time, made a couple friends even, but having someone who was basically a stranger living in his house and filling it up with pets wasn't exactly something he had experience with.

But, he couldn't deny that Riley was cute, and your smile when he happily trotted over to you was... well he liked it. Why? He didn't know. All he did know was that he wanted to see it again, whether he was willing to admit that to himself or not. Ghost did always like dogs. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad for him.

"Isn't he cute?" You asked with a beaming smile that made his stomach churn.

No, no. It was just that burnt squirrel he ate this morning making his stomach upset. Yeah? Yeah.

"Yeah, he is," Ghost sighs, gloved hand ruffling Riley's ears. "Weird for a dog to be out here alone," he mutters, almost thoughtlessly.

Your voice comes out sharp and worried, "you think there's someone else here?"

He hesitates, thinking over the possibility, "It's not impossible."

A frown creases your brow, "but you said the river and the highway keep people out."

"Must you question everything I say?" He asks as he turns to look at you, eyes narrowing in mild frustration

"Yes actually I do," you tease, a grin curling your lips.

He tilts his head back and sighs, "Ridiculous."

"Hey, you question everything I say. It's only fair," you throw your hands up in surrender.

Why you couldn't go five seconds without doing everything in your power to annoy him, he will never know. He always let it slide, though. Part of him found you... entertaining. He hadn't had anyone interesting around since Johnny.

He's snapped out of his thoughts as Riley turns, finding a pile of paper to chew on.

"Hey, Boy. What you got there, huh?" Your voice carries softly, moving towards Riley and his paper snack.

He watches you kneel down, taking the paper gently. "Hey, look at this." Your voice is urgent as you wave him over.

"What is it?" He’s immediately on alert, the tension in your voice putting him on edge.

Holding out the map to him, your fingers brush and Ghost stares at the paper, avoiding your eyes. "What's so important about this? it's just-" the words die in his throat when he sees it

SAFE ZONE.

SAFE ZONE.

"Safe zone?" His voice comes out as a whisper, like leaves rustled by a light breeze. The words tease him as they lay on the page.

You nod, finger tapping the dot on the map, "Mooreland, Oklahoma. Safe zone.”

---

R

You didn't speak of it for days. Safe zones aren't real, you knew that. Ghost did too. No one cares enough to make them real. This world was every man for himself, trying to change that would be a waste of time.

You tried to distract yourself with Riley and what you snagged from the town. You should have listened to Ghost about that soda. It had you out of commission for a solid 24 hours which he relished in reminding you of his warning.

Laying on the floor... again unfortunately gave you plenty of time to think even with Riley licking your face every five minutes.

Mooreland, Oklahoma

Nothing good could come from dwelling on it, but you couldn't help yourself. Not when Ghost kept the map out on the table, the words "Safe Zone" mocking the both of you. Mooreland was a thousand miles away. Running towards a dream of safety, no matter how far was stupid. You had tried with Vivienne, only to be met with the teeth of a hundred infected and a painful loss. You knew better than to try again, tempting as it was. 

Ghost seemed to feel the same, despite his reluctance to toss the stupid map away. He was the kind of man who’s seen too much loss. It oozes from his body like water creeping into a sinking ship. 

“Ghost. Toss that thing already,” you say, voice cutting through the brittle silence.

His voice is distracted, eyes glued to the map except for you for once, “no. Could be useful.” 

You scoff, voice hardening as you brush hair from your eyes, “useful? We both know it’s useless junk.”

“I don’t know.” His fingers trace the ink lines almost longingly.

“You don’t know? Ghost, there are no safe zones. It’s a fantasy drawn up by someone desperate enough to believe it.”

He turned to you, brown eyes narrowed, “there you go.”

You frown, “what?”

“Doubting me again.”

Anger flares in your chest and you take a step towards him, socks brushing against the wooden floor, “we aren’t going to Oklahoma.”

“Stay then.” His words were icy, dismissive. 

Your breath catches in your throat, “stay? You want me to stay? You’re the one who insisted on me being your “ally”, now you’re more than ready to ditch me for some town in Oklahoma?”

His eyes stare into yours with a burning intensity, “if this is real, it’s worth it.”

“It’s not real!” You shout, anger boiling over like water left too long on the stove. You’re almost pleading with him to see reason.

“How do you know that?” He snapped, “maybe it’s bullshit, maybe it’s not. If it is real, we can actually have lives again. No more scavenging, no more hunting, no more fighting those… things.” His voice cracks on the last word, almost imperceptible, but you hear it nonetheless. 

You pause. He’s not wrong. If it is real. A life that’s more than running from infected is all you’ve wanted since the world fell apart. Not a second has gone by where the yearning ceases. You run your tongue over your lips and let out a sigh. Dying trying is better than dying stuck in Ghost’s old cabin alone. 

“Okay. I’ll go. On one condition.”

“Which would be?” His hands tighten on the map ever so slightly.

You cross your arms, grounding yourself, “what’s your name? Your actual name.”

His shoulders tense and he lets the silence stretch a moment too long, “that’s none of your-”

“Just tell me. You’ve nothing to lose at this point.”

Another few moments pass in a painful silence. His eyes shift slightly before he meets your gaze again.

“Simon.”

It was a silly question, even to you. But, you had to know. Calling this grown man “Ghost” felt ridiculous, whether it fit him or not. Now Simon, well that rolled off your tongue much better. Simon. Simon. Simon. 

You just stared at him for a moment, only looking away when Riley lets out a shrill bark, nipping at your ankles. You clear your throat as you both break eye contact. “Riley’s uhhh hungry.”

He huffs and runs a hand over his masked face, “Yeah… yeah.”

You try to ignore Ghos- no, Simon’s stare as you feed Riley. Simon was always staring, usually at you, but it was always laced with distrust and apprehension. This… feels different. Putting your finger on why was like driving blindfolded. Reading a person just by their eyes was a tricky thing. If only you could see his face. Would his feelings and secrets finally be barred to you? 

"We should leave soon. Maybe two days."

"I don't like this." Your voice is soft, almost scared.

He shrugs, "you agreed to it."

"Doesn't mean I like it." There it goes again. Your voice betraying your fear.

He stands, striding toward you with heavy steps. He stops before you, close. Very close. His hand wraps around your forearm, but he's gentle. There's no malice or danger in his hold. "We'll be fine."

"You don't know-"

He cuts you off quickly, "no, I don't. But, we're going to be fine. Trust me"

The words catch in your throat, coming out shakey "well... I don't."

"Then don't. It's okay." His voice is gentle, his thumb brushing your wrist as his hand drops away. Your stomach flips, making you feel sick. His touch is warm and soft, everything he's not, but you would be lying if you said you wanted him to stop.

---

The furnace-like heat was dissolving into a bitter, biting cold. Your feet drag against the dirt and stones of the path under you. You, Simon, and Riley had left for Oklahoma two days ago, and autumn was on its way and coming fast. The coat you had gotten from Vivienne wasn't doing much to keep you warm, especially when night crept up on you and the cold tried to sink into your bones.

Simon, stoic as always trudged along with determination. How he was able to pack up his life, leave where you had assumed he'd been for the past five years and toss himself into danger and uncertainty remained a mystery. Though he seemed like the kind of man to have experience with that. Cozying up and living a happy farm life wasn't the norm for a man who called himself Ghost.

"Simon?" you called out, tentatively, watching his back.

He didn't slow his stride. "Don't call me that."

You frown, "It's your name."

He glanced at you over his shoulder, gaze locked onto yours, "Doesn't mean you can call me that. I told you because you asked, not so you could use it."

You quickened your pace to match his, breath puffing in the cool air. "You're awfully dramatic, you know that?"

He scoffs dryly, "And that's coming from you?"

"You're so mean, Simon." you tease him, smirking proudly.

He stopped abruptly, turning toward you with a glare sharp enough to cut. "Call me Simon again and I'll knock you out and go to Mooreville on my own."

You crossed your arms. "Fine with me."

A beat of silence. "...And I'll take the dog."

You tilt your chin up in defiance, "Now you've gone too far."

He laughs. Genuinely laughs. A sound you've never heard from him. It’s soft and unguarded. It echoed through the empty woods like a sound that didn’t belong.

"You were going to ask me something?" He prompts you with a nudge to your arm.

The question feels like it's suffocating you, curling up and making home in your throat. You two had your fair share of playful banter, something not quite friendship but certainly not acquaintances, but never had you asked him about himself, nothing about his past or who he was.

“How did you end up… here? Not really common for a guy like you to be in the middle of nowhere Georgia.” 

“Was stationed down here before everything. Found the cabin a year after Atlanta was overrun.” He spoke like it was nothing. For a man who refused the use of his own name, his honesty surprised you. You expected a shut up or mind your business, not an honest answer. 

Tension lays over the both of you like a thick, heavy blanket. How far could you go before you asked something too personal and he shut down? 

“And what about you, North Carolina? How did you get down here, hmm?” He asks, a slight edge to his tone.

You keep your eyes facing forward so as not to meet his steady gaze. “Don’t know exactly. Started walking and didn’t stop, I guess.”

He scoffs, “it doesn’t take five years to walk from North Carolina to Georgia.”

You shrug, the motion small. “Yeah well… Stopped off a few times.”

He tilts his head slightly, sharp now. “With Vivienne?”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto his, “I already told you, she’s none of your business.” The words come out colder than you intended.

“You also said you were friends.” His tone is flat, testing. He’s fishing, but for what—you can’t tell.

You exhale through your nose, jaw tightening. “Fine. I met her six months after the start and we were allies until…” You trail off, the weight of the memory pressing down like fingers on a bruise. 

“Hmm. Right. Infected.” His tone carries no sympathy, but no coldness either. He states it like a fact. You suppose that’s exactly what it is. Vivienne was infected. No way around it.

Opting to break the tension as best you can, you give a small teasing grin, “she was a lot more fun than you.”

He leans in slightly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but you don't miss the way the fabric of his mask shifts over his lips and how his eyes crinkle… he’s smirking. “I can be even less fun if you want.”

You glance at him, one brow arched, “I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world @angeldemon28 @iminlovewithjasontodd @i-like-foxs @dravenskye @lilynotdilly @thatghostlykid @lostintransist @nicolebarnes @vybzwithjaz @night-shadowblood-writes2 @jimihendrixenthusiast76

[meiguicha]

Area student discovers fate worse than death, attractive man paying attention to them

Phainon x Reader - Uni AU

Your first society event, and it just so happens that you accidentally sit on the foot of an attractive stranger while competing in a spelling bee, can it get any worse? (yes it can)

//i love that stupid man's ahoge i love it so much i wanna chew on him a little bit. this chapter ended up so long how

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Though many cite the many benefits of living outside college accommodation, you will happily say that at the very least, you don’t have to pay to enter a club with yours. Because yeah, you have to pay an entrance fee to join clubs in your university and it sucks, especially since most of them have the worst form of communication called ‘none’. And with your second year here, you thought it only fitting to re-join your society and provide your ‘generous’ help. 

Pulling along a trolley of snacks and drinks from your RA’s room, you toddle along the path towards one of the many common rooms. The weather is still cooling down from the high of the summer noon, and the thought of lazing in the air-conditioned room while playing board games is starting to sound more than just heavenly to your ears right now. 

Your hands engage in a little olympic-level gymnastics to get yourself inside and after you lug the honestly, amazingly heavy trolley in, the members in the room rush to empty everything and arrange them into a suitable formation. Nithya, your friend, enters right after you, sending you a wave before she joins the rest of your fellow members in arranging the array of snacks.

With that out of your hands, you scan across the room to find the two tables littered with the many games hand-picked for the event. Not everything is here yet, but with your RA’s approaching form from beyond glass walls coming ever closer, it's safe to say that the timeline for this event should be right on track. 

At least, that’s what you thought, until said RA of yours opens the door with a panic reserved for only medical emergencies…

“Guys, they didn’t print out the right poster.” Anya holds up a stack of papers, pointing at the date as her voice titters between calm and frustration, “I’m not sure whether anyone knows it's happening today so I’m going to head out and put the correct ones up.”

Well, you guess you can blame only one person for that but naming names would be a bit too rude. 

“I’ll go with you, it’d be better with more hands,” You offer, already grabbing your lanyard and phone to head out with her. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! But it’s just one or two places.”

Your head tilts. “Are you sure?”

She nods, and something in your chest sours for just a moment before one of your fellow members pulls you away with a question. 

Dearest observer, let’s not waste your time talking about how long it took for people to arrive, all that needs to be known is that you saw a few familiar faces and then the gaggle of newer students arrived so that is that. Nor will you drone on about how amazing you are at some odd game or how much mango juice you drank— No, that isn’t what’s entertaining. 

The surprise spelling bee is what you’re really here for, the surprise spelling bee that lets you win a $25 frozen yoghurt gift card. $25, $25! Do you know how much that gets you? A lot! Well, a lot for broke university students. 

And thus, with Anya standing amidst at least 2 dozen very, very competitive university students, phone in hand, the spelling bee starts with 7 people failing on their first word. 

Well, she did say that apparently people can’t even write their own damn essays anymore so you don’t know why you expected them to be able to spell. 

As you wait for your turn, you notice a pair of men sitting on the extra chairs. They’re about the same height, the blond has these sharp eyes and the general aura of a warrior king of old while the other is…? Are those purple shorts? You didn’t even know they made shorts in that colour but you know what, at least he’s taking a risk with his fashion. Peak fesyen if you will. 

Nithya gets her word, ‘languor’, a re-used word from last year’s spelling bee. She, of course, gets it right with little issue and glides across to the other side to join the rest of the passing candidates. 

Your name is called, and you can thankfully avert your focus from fesyen guy. You’re given your word, ‘extrapolation’, which arguably is interesting for the beginner round but otherwise, you still spell it right despite your initial shock. 

Giddily, your hands squeeze together as you stride across the room, sitting next to Nithya before noticing something that really shouldn’t be there. Reaching down to check what you sat on, the very feeling of your fingertips touching a shoe is enough to cause every hair on the back of your neck to stand at attention, as if caught red-handed. 

You don’t know whether you even want to turn around but, it’d be rude not to, right? Right????

Despite how much you would rather the earth to come swallow you up right now, you make that cautious turn as you apologetically smile, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

And lo and behold, who is it but fesyen guy. 

“Don’t worry, it's fine.” He chirps back at you, this almost too-sunny expression on his face and these wide blue eyes— you never thought you’d say this in real life, but please someone get him some brown contacts— crinkle at the corners in delight. 

Why is he so cute? You didn’t even know it was possible for men to actually look so cute? He’s like a dog! Like a cute smiling dog! *pop fans always compare their idols to animals but this guy? This guy? This guy is a dog! He’s a smiling samoyed one hundred percent and–

In your terror, you turn away before your face can pull some expression you don’t want him to see. Vaguely, you think you can hear whoever is next to him say something before a laugh escapes  your lips, and you can only dig your nails into your palms, hoping that maybe you didn’t actually sit on some cute guy’s foot. Nithya sends you a side-long stare, and before she can say something, the next round starts. 

Oh horrifically the next round starts. 

While the both of you get through this round, fesyen guy and warrior king guy do too. In fact, you’d dare say that the latter of the two guys is way more well-read than most anyone else in this room and that thought is both horrifying and comforting to know. Well, you keep calling them that but Anya called out their names at one point and you’re pretty sure their names are Phainon and Mydei. 

Pretty sure, like 67% sure. 

And well, maybe blame the nerves but you’re given some bullshit word you’ve already scrubbed clean from your mind and before you know it, you’re out of the last quarter semi-finals. To be completely fair to yourself, you didn’t even expect you’d make it this far, not when the words that now plague the remaining five people sound like they came from some poor medical student’s flashcards. 

Still, Nithya snags second place and immediately decides that the correct course of action is to run to you.  

She triumphantly displays her $15 dollar voucher, intertwining your hands together as she shakes them side to side, “And they say that math doesn’t help you spell.”

“I think you’re the only person to use math for spelling,” With a breath through your nose, you shake your hands together faster in return. 

Her smile only grows wider, clearly more than amused at this turn of events before she’s pulled away for photos of the top three. Maybe this says something about you, but you only realise that who you think is Mydei has apparently gotten third place and the image of this tall muscular dude standing awkwardly beside two shorter girls is oddly too funny for you. 

Staring at her with the kind of look that can only be described as humoured pride, you’re scarce to notice the presence that comes to stand besides you. Whoever it is holds up their phone to take a photo, a kind of sniggering smile on their face and oh god its fesyen guy. 

He’s close, he’s so fucking close you swear he can smell the terror in you. The fine hairs on your shoulder prick up at attention and maybe you shouldn’t have worn a tank top because wow when did it get so cold? Why are men so scary? 

As if a child stealing from the cookie jar, you shiftily glance to your side then back at your friend, to your side then back at your friend, to your side and–

Where did Nithya go?

Your feet swivel around in your haste, eyes desperately looking for the familiar sight of short hair and a golden clip only to find nothing. Quietly, you shimmy yourself out of this precarious position to retreat to the table of snacks and drinks. Yet, as you do so, your unfortunately very sweaty, very wet hands drop your lanyard with a pathetic smack onto the wooden floors. 

Damn it, why did the heavens curse you with sweaty hands?!

With a kind of desperation saved only for public embarrassment, you fall to your knees to swipe it back into your hand only to grab at a hand instead. You don’t even have to look up to know whose it is and in your deepest of hearts, all you can do is look helplessly into the heavens, eyes wet and wide as your mentally quivering lips break.

Refusing to look up, whether out of shame or fear or humiliation, you don’t know, the voice that comes from ahead of you is uncharacteristically gentle, too kind, too friendly, “I got it.”

Dead in your throat, your voice refuses to even listen to the thirty million signals your brain is tossing at it as you slowly meet his eyes, staring blankly with no hope of response.

He’s cuter up close. Dog cute. If he was a dog you’d pick him up and carry him everywhere like a baby.  

“Your lanyard is cute, what character is it?” The man before you tries to fill the awkward silence, offering you a gentle smile and even goes so far to hold your lanyard back to you. 

A breath of facade mirth but real fear leaves your lips, breathlessly you squeak out, “Pochacco.”

He tilts his head, a 45 degree angle as if changing the angle of his brain would help him understand. The smile on his face, once a sociable tilt, grows just the slightest wider, one that barely betrayed a kind of unsettled geniality. It's too open, too blatant and something inside you flinches at the sheer display. Averting your gaze, you look up, away, anywhere but his sunny features, and your eyes notice the tufts of hair standing defiantly, and though waving in some invisible wind, you almost believe yourself going delusional when they form a heart for but a split of a second. 

As if burned, you snatch your lanyard back and bow your head, replacing what your traitorous throat won’t speak. You do eventually find Nithya at the snacks table, carefully hovering a plate beneath her mouth as her eyes widen at your return. 

“You abandoned me.” Pushing your bottom lip out in an aggrievedness she sees right through, she lets you cling onto her as you continue your sorrows, “That was so scary, don’t leave me alone like that again!”

“He seems nice. What’s there to be scared about?”

“I don’t know! It was just scary,” As you sniff away your pretend grief, she shoves a cookie into your mouth. 

Distantly, you can hear more and more people filter out of the room, and by the time the remaining members of the now very starving society emerge from their fest, there are only stragglers left. Well, if stragglers count as two idiots and a gaggle of equally starving boys. 

Still, with so few people left and the main crowd attractor finished, Anya decides that it's time to pack up. Comparatively, cleaning up is way less time consuming than setting up, what with less food to stuff into a trolley and more hands willing to take said food.  

Some of those who do remain come up to offer small bouts of ‘thank you’s’ but take their leave as usual. It isn’t some fanfare that really requires much discussion, and if you’ll be honest, you barely remember the actual process and before you know it, you’re crammed in an elevator with your RA, her trolley and the two idiots. 

Which, well, doesn't sound too bad, right? Right? 

Wrong! Your RA shoves at least a kilogram of snacks and the last bottle of mango juice into your hands and when you walk down the long and treacherous hallway to your room, you realise with a horrible trepidation that a certain figure ahead of you is looking far too familiar for your own tastes. 

Those purple pants, that yellow shirt, that is the mark of a man unabashed by society and of one who scares you more than ever. If you don’t look at him, he won’t notice you, that’s the rules of the game and by right he should follow them. 

And yet as dim lights shine from above and that smell of musty carpet fills your senses, this hallway you have walked through countless times seems to grow longer and longer, and that figure from afar only seems to grow closer and closer. It's like there’s a new disease plaguing the world and apparently it's called ‘walk slow-ism’, as it turns out not even this peak of fashion icon is safe from it.

A thought pops up in the stew of your cognition, and your steps grow faster in response. In a swift and totally not at all nervous pace, you speed past Phainon to your room and promptly fumble with your god damned key card again. Your fingers dig into your lanyard only to drop the actual thing itself, leaving the card clasped between your steadily sweating fingers. 

Letting out an audible huff, you bend down to pick it up only for the bag of chocolates to fall. As you pick that up, your hold on the mango juice starts to slip and oh god have you lost your ability to hold thirty million things in a singular hand already?! 

Just as you’re about to call it a day and just leave everything on the floor, a hand starts to pick up your fallen objects. 

This is it. This is how you die. In this shitty student accommodation hallways with an unopened bottle of mango juice and flip-flops. 

“Hey again.” He smiles, and for some reason, and you wish you were exaggerating when you say this, that voice of his registers in your ears a lot more soothing than you remember it sounding, “Need some help?”

“Yeah,” Breathlessly, you squeak out. Realising the curtness of your response and probably how shocked your expression must be (you’re certain you look like you saw a car crash happen right in front of you), you squeeze out a smile. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

The man before you only tilts his head, a soft breath of mirth escaping his lips upon your response. 

Without wasting a second, lest you really die in flip flops, you unlock your room door and push it open, turning on the lights and tossing your lanyard onto the kitchen counter. Tentatively, you accept the items in his hold and for a brief moment, your hands brush over each other. Just that is enough to get your heart banging against your ribs like a prisoner with a tune, you can’t be this weak (y/n)!

Suddenly, an overwhelming shyness overtakes your speech, one that dominates that fear and turns your softened speech all too formal. “Thank you, sorry for troubling you,”

“Don’t worry about it.” He only beams, so bright that he could very well outshine the sun itself. 

“Anyone would’ve helped, it's only right.”

You’d be surprised buddy. 

Still, you can’t help the amused huff from leaving your lips, nor the softening of your gaze, “Good night,”

“Wait!” Reopening the door to more than just a sliver of dim hallway light, you tentatively look up (why is he so tall?) to meet his eyes. 

He places a hand behind his neck to rub, a light tinge of blush dusting his ears and his cheeks, and now that you really, really look at him, Phainon really does seem to flush quite easily. Like a school boy confessing to his crush, he shyly admits, “The event was really fun, you all did really well.”

That’s it? What’s there to be so shy about? 

A wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thanks, we’ll be having more so feel free to join.”

“Yeah.” He blinks, once then twice. You can almost see the gears in his head rotating, and when they make that full round, the very energy around him shifts. Lighter, happier even, he straightens up and that smile only seems to grow fonder. “Yeah, I will.”

“Have a good night.” 

The genuine endearment in his words, in his voice and in his eyes, it still scares you and yet still you offer back a smile of your own. Shutting the door, you turn on your phone to look for the photo of the campus samoyed you’ve been seeing all these days. 

He really does look like a dog when he smiles like that. Well, just thinking about that little idiot has you longing to pet him again. Maybe you’ll have to make him a purple bowtie the next time you have the leisure to.

[lilbuckaroo52]

LOSING MY MANHOOD PART SIX..

Now a couple of weeks went buy.. and laying low at work.. just because i don't know what my ex-wife had told my friends and co workers wife's with her latest treat of outting my little side.. So iam heading home and stop to buy a can of chew and tall boy beer.. like I always do.. my debit card didn't work.. and I know I have thousands in my bank account.. I rush home to to ask my wife if she knew what happened?? She of course said yes I do.. your not longer on any financial account or have any control of money.. What.. i screamed.. she slapped me and told me to mind my manners.. Right now.. you have officially became a child.. I froze.. I'll be taking care of all your needs... come see your new room.. FUCK.. WHAT DO U DO TO MY STUFF.. she grab my ear and said.. Excuse me lil man.. you wanted this.. here it is..

A twin sized crib with rail going up 5 feet.. a huge white changing table.. with diaper stacker on both sides.. a diaper genie that was up to my waist.. and a baby blue toy box that had lil Jimmy on it.. OMG.. IT JUST GOT REAL.. ok let's get that nasty bottom soaked in the tub my lil button.. was marched naked across the hall.. where the common bathroom where the really big tub was.. Nothing but baby bath toys and sesame street towels.. I asked if she would take the cage off so I could scrub my Button, now she was calling it.. since it was getting smaller since I couldn't manhandle it any more.. no babyboy.. mommy knows what's she's doing.. you've gotten me pregnant 3 times and raised 3 kids without your help.. thank u very much.. so it 430 ish in the evening and walked to my new room and diapered and dressed for night time.. was given a huge bottle and locked in my crib.. the room was pitched black from new blinds and a series of night crib toys began to light up.. then the mittens appeared and locked on my hands.. I got groggy fast.. Melatonin, sleeping meds and muscle relaxers.. I was out by 5.. this was my new routine.. my pay check was deposited directly into her account.. my new carpool picked me up every morning.. she sold my truck and motorcycle.. I was done.. every 2 weeks on Saturday.. she would drive me to a kid's hair salon and get a little boy hair cut.. afterwards we would come home and I would get a Neir Bath.. had no more body hair.. and it was just getting worse..

My youngest moved out and headed to college and it wasn't even 24 hours that a new highchair was in the kitchen and playpen was in the living room.. that night as I was being spoon fed.. a friend of mine just walked into the kitchen.. I was pissed.. yelling at him.. how did u get in here..

My ex quick walked from behind and strapped a binky gag around my head.. She went on to explain to me why.. well my lil button.. you haven't had a dick in over 5 years.. how do you think I keep my mind in order.. Your new Daddy here has had a key to my house for more than 5 years now.. the reason why I need you to listen to me is.. iam pregnant again with his child.. and He wants me to move to Chicago where his family is.. I cried.. and cried.. baby.. it's ok.. you can have the house and start over.. I want a man and your just a diapered lil toddler.. and that's ok.. He's transfer papers kick in next week and nobody will know what what.. your a good person but.. I don't want to be your mother anymore.. iam going to take off the gag.. and put you to bed.. ok.. nod if your ok with this.. I nodded.. John my friend of 20 years just said sorry man.. we've been into each other a long time and I won't tell any of the guys about your diaper thing.. I just stood there.. she wiped my face clean from dinner and said .. let get you tucked in with your favorite jammies.. good nite jimmy.. John said as I waddle by him in tears .. mommy holding my hand.. we're all going to have something special between us.. she changed my bumper with ease and tenderness.. gave me a nite nite baba.. and locked me safe in my crib for the night..

[fluentmoviequoter]

Christmas Magic

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

requested here! & inspired by Finding Santa (2017)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(event planner)!reader

Summary: Your Christmas charity dinner is threatened when Santa quits at the last minute. Tim Bradford is the only person you know who is free days before Christmas, but it will take some magic to make him agree to put on the suit.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst, quick mention of harassment, mistletoe and magic. 3.5k+ words.

I rented the center, tables with chairs are being delivered at noon, and catering arrives at 4. Got that. Santa, gifts, check, check.

You turn away from your computer to make a note about contacting the pediatrics hospital administrator. With your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, you’d nearly forgotten that you were supposed to be listening to James, the older gentleman playing Santa at the fundraising event you’ve been planning since September.

“I’m so sorry to cancel on you last minute,” James says.

Barely managing to catch your phone as you jerk in shock, you repeat his words in your mind. “Cancel? James, I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been fighting this rotator cuff for years and it finally won out on me. I know it’s last minute, but I can’t safely perform the Santa duties.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumble, pressing your forehead into your hand. “I understand, and I hope you feel better. I’m just not sure where I’m supposed to find another Santa days before the event, this close to Christmas.”

“If I hear of anybody who’s available, I’ll send ‘em your way.”

“Thanks.”

You end the call and stare at your computer screen. There is absolutely no way you can find someone – someone decent, at least – to play Santa Clause in three days. The event is on December 23rd, Christmas Eve-Eve, and it was hard enough to book James so close to Christmas Day.

“Oh, I’m gonna need a Christmas miracle,” you whisper as you reach for your mug.

A bell jingles outside, and you close your eyes. If only an angel capable of playing Santa were getting its wings.

“Are you okay?” your assistant, Holly, asks from the doorway.

“Not even a little bit,” you answer with a stressed smile. “We need a new Santa.”

“In less than a week?” she exclaims, setting a stack of papers on your desk. “How are you going to do that?”

“I have no idea. I could do open auditions, but then we’re just going to get all of the crazy people desperate for a Christmas gig in here, and I can’t sort through applications or anything with everything else going on,” you ramble before taking a breath. “Any chance you have a cousin, brother, dad, or a neighbor without a criminal record who could help me out?”

“My folks are traveling for the holidays and all of my neighbors are girls. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. We just… we have to think of something. Preferably by the end of today.”

“If anyone can pull together some Christmas magic it’s you,” Holly assures. “I’ll go make some calls and let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Hols.”

As she leaves, you open your phone and scroll through your contacts. Each name makes you a little more discouraged. Most of them are busy with families, out of town, completely unqualified, or you haven’t spoken to them in so long that you can’t justify asking for something like this, even if it is for the kids.

“It’s all I want for Christmas,” you whisper as you near the end of your list.

One name jumps out at you, but you hesitate to contact him. He might have to work or be coming off of a hectic holiday shift on the 23rd. But you’re running out of options, so you text Tim Bradford to ask if he’s free. The phone rings a moment later, and you answer immediately.

“No, don’t- Chen!” Tim scolds.

“Uh, hello?” you greet.

“Hi!” a woman replies. “My name is Lucy Chen, I’m Tim’s rookie. You asked if he was free on the 23rd and I’m calling to say that he absolutely is.”

“Good, good,” you reply, chewing your bottom lip. “I actually have a really big – huge – favor to ask him, so maybe I’ll call him back later.”

“What is it?” Tim asks.

“Uhm,” you hum, trying to find the right words. “I need someone to play Santa at the charity event for the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles and UCLA’s pediatric department.”

“I… can’t,” Tim says after a moment.

“He means he won’t,” Lucy adds.

Your shoulders drop as you murmur, “Okay. Bye.”

After you hang up, you realize that Tim Bradford is your only chance. If he really won't do it, you either have to put a woman in the Santa suit and hope for the best or disappoint every child and parent in attendance by announcing at the last minute that Santa can’t make it. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, but at least the diner down the street has good hot chocolate that will help you get your mind off it for a few minutes. You wave at Holly on your way out, then try to think of exciting, merry, and bright things rather than the coming disappointment as you walk to your favorite diner. As you enter, you notice three men sitting in the booth closest to the door, but they’re the kind of men you know you wouldn’t invite to be in the same room with wealthy women or children, let alone both at the same time.

“Robbery in progress at Vicksen’s Diner,” dispatch alerts. “Callers report three armed men, and one is blocking the main entrance.”

“7-Adam-19 responding, code 3,” Tim radios before hitting the lights and sirens.

“Vixen’s Diner?” Lucy repeats. “They must really like Christmas.”

“V-i-c-k-s-e-n,” Tim corrects. “It’s the last name, the family has owned the place for decades. The call you intercepted earlier?”

“What about her?”

“She’s probably there. It’s her favorite place and they have Christmas specials right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Focus, Chen,” Tim snaps as he turns the sirens off. “We’re approaching the rear exit without a sound, understood? Our priority is to get these people safe, then and only then do we go after the robbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy agrees.

“I don’t have any more cash,” the owner explains again. “It’s the twenty-first century, genius, most of our business is card or tap-to-pay.”

“And it’s Christmas,” you add from your booth. “Just go.”

“Not until I get something!” the man screams.

“How about a one-way trip to jail?” someone adds. “We already called the police.”

“Then pay up or they’ll have a body,” one of the other robbers says, turning their gun toward the customer.

Someone clicks their tongue, and you look over to see Tim Bradford and who you assume to be Lucy Chen standing behind the counter.

“LAPD,” Tim says. “Weapons down, hands up, or your Christmas is going to be even worse.”

The man closest to the counter tightens his grip on his gun, then curses and drops it as he raises his hands.

“I recommend you follow his lead,” Lucy tells the man beside you.

“Open the door,” Tim dares the final man. “My partner out there would love to lay you out.”

All three men surrender, and you watch Tim as he cuffs and zip-ties them while his rookie calls for backup.

“You said you had a partner out there!” the men complain.

“I lied,” Tim says as he stands. “You should know what it’s like.”

Three more patrol cars park outside, and officers take the would-be thieves out of the diner as Lucy checks on the owner and the other patrons. When Tim walks to your table, you lean back and look at him.

“I really need your help,” you explain. “It’s one night and you’d get paid.”

“It’s not about the money,” Tim replies. “Are you okay?”

“Then what is it about?” you press. “We both know you’re great with your nephews even if you hate to admit it. It’s only a few hours of asking kids what they want for Christmas, a few pictures, and then- then I’ll buy you dinner, whatever you want.”

“Why are you asking so close to the event?”

“Because I already had a Santa, but he tore his rotator cuff and backed out on me at the last minute. You know I wouldn’t ask something like this unless I really needed it.”

Tim nods, though he’s wondering why he is the one you’ve chosen to show your persistence and desperation to. Surely, you know other men capable of wearing an uncomfortable polyester suit and saying ho, ho, ho.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tim points out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. One of them pushed me out of the way, but-“

Tim moves closer to you and bends to look into your eyes. His gaze moves over your face before catching on the slightly red area against the side of your neck.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod and smile before you push past him to exit the booth. “I have to get back to work and find a Santa or break hundreds of hearts. Be safe, Tim.”

Tim watches you walk toward the door, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she gestures wildly toward you.

“I’ll do it,” Tim calls. He tells himself it’s because you’re so persistent and seem stressed, but deep down, he knows there is more to it than that.

“You don’t have to,” you say as you face him. “Don’t do something that’s going to make you miserable just because I need help.”

“I’ll do it,” he repeats. “Text me the details?”

“How ‘bout I just pick you up on the 23rd? Around noon?” you reply.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you say with your hand on the door. “You’ll never know how much this means to everyone… to me.”

Tim nods as you leave to return to work, and Lucy claps silently.

“Get in the shop, boot,” he demands.

“You look nice,” you compliment when Tim opens his door the morning of the event. “The red suits you.”

Tim swallows as he looks at you and says, “You don’t have to butter me up, I already said yes.”

“I’m just calling it how I see it,” you assure him.

“I thought this thing didn’t start until 4,” Tim muses as he locks his door and follows you to the car.

“It doesn’t, but we have to get the Santa suit fitted. If you want to leave after and come back at 3, you can take my car.”

Tim shrugs and buckles his seat belt. When you turn the radio to a Christmas station, Tim immediately switches it to a football show. Your jaw drops as you turn toward him.

“You don’t like Christmas music?” you ask incredulously.

“I just don’t think it’s okay to give someone 23 birds,” he explains.

“My car,” you argue when he reaches for the control.

“My Santa debut,” he replies.

You give up and back out of his driveway with an exaggerated scoff.

“Why do you want me to be Santa anyway? I get that you had to ask people you know but I’m clearly not jolly enough.”

“Why is that?” you inquire. “I can understand not loving the music or the commercialism. The rest of it, though, that’s what I don’t get.”

“Just… don’t love the holidays. Reminds me of the things I don’t have anymore, I guess.”

Glancing at Tim, you wonder what it feels like to be someone’s for the holidays. Yes, it’s hard to be jolly when you miss someone, but for a moment, you wonder what it would be like to listen to carolers and decorate the tree while being in love.

“What’s this event like?” Tim asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “Been working on it long?”

“Since September,” you answer. “It’s geared toward the kids, but we have to do something to get the parents in too, so there’s raffles, a silent auction, dinner, and an area where they can sit with each other while someone else watches their kids.”

“So, it’s for donors?”

“At first,” you explain. “The donors are welcome to come anytime between 4 and 7. Then, we make everything absolutely perfect and bring in the kids from the hospitals at 8. They get more time with Santa, more gifts and games and treats. I know we have to raise a lot of money, but it’s not worth it if the kids don’t get to have fun with it too.”

“You’re really good at this,” Tim compliments, looking at you. “I didn’t know how much you put into all of this.”

“Now you regret saying no at first, huh?” you tease.

“That depends on how good the cookies are.”

“Then why are you so nervous?” you ask as you pull into the event center’s parking lot.

“I’m not-“

“It’s hidden well, but it’s there, Tim. You know you’re good with kids, so don’t let the size of this get to you.”

“I’ll try.”

“And if you get overwhelmed, Santa can always take a cookie break. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

You wish Tim luck as you drop him off with the wardrobe designer you hired, then begin transforming the space into a winter wonderland.

“Are you okay?” Holly asks as you finish constructing the games for the children from the hospital.

“I came to ask the same,” Santa says from behind you.

You turn quickly and smile at the sight of Tim in the suit. His beard has been set aside while he takes a break, but something about seeing him this way feels right.

“I’m fine,” you assure them. “Rich people are hard to please, I’m used to it.”

“Nobody should get used to people screaming in their face because the caviar is room temperature,” Holly argues.

“Is that what it was about?” Tim asks with a humorless laugh.

“He got over it. I actually saw him eating the caviar later,” you say. “Besides, this is the part of the night I’m here for.”

“You’re an excellent Santa,” Holly tells Tim. “The kids went on and on about you.”

“Told you,” you sing song.

“Do I give gifts to every kid?” Tim asks you.

“Yes, give them as many as you want because we have more. The red candy cane paper is more girly gifts, blue snowflake paper is for boys, and the gingerbread paper is gender neutral,” you list. “The elves also have a list of what we have, so if a kid asks for something specific, someone can check for you.”

“You should’ve been a cop,” Tim muses. “I wish my boot could keep things this streamlined.”

“You need to get back to the Northpole,” Holly says, glancing at her watch. “Not that this isn’t adorable.”

“Tim,” you call as he walks away. “Thank you.”

“It’s the only thing you’re getting for Christmas!” he replies.

Holly smiles as she moves to your side, and you glare at her.

“A gorgeous man wrapped in a Santa suit,” she muses. “You got every girl’s dream gift.”

“He isn’t mine,” you remind her.

“Christmas seems like the perfect time to change that.”

“Excuse me?” a young girl asks.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling as you squat beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Sally,” she answers. “Will you go with me to see Santa?”

“Of course!” You offer your hand and lead Sally through the crowds of happy children and grateful parents to get in line to see Santa. “What are you asking for this year?”

“I want a Hug-Wave,” she says softly, wrapping both her hands around yours.

“What’s that?”

“It’s twin stuffed animals, and when you hug one, it sends a hug to the other. I want to give my brother one so I can send him hugs when I have to stay in the hospital. He’s coming to see me on Christmas, but I miss him.”

Your eyes tear up, and you smile at Sally as you move forward in line. “I’m sure Santa will bring you one,” you assure her. “Look, we’re next!”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Of course, Sally.”

As you walk onto the red carpet platform, Tim looks at you before looking at Sally. You mouth her name, and Tim calls, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, Sally!”

“You know my name?” she asks softly, stopping beside his knees.

“Santa knows all of the good boys’ and girls’ names, and you, Sally, are on my nice list!”

“Do you want to sit on his lap?” you ask Sally.

She nods but keeps her hand firmly in yours. You move to Tim’s side as he pulls her onto his leg and blink to get the tears out of your eyes as Sally tells Santa about the hugging stuffed animal she wants to stay close to her brother.

“I think you and your brother would love that, Sally,” Tim says. “I’ll tell my elves about your wish, and we’ll work on that.”

“Thank you, Santa,” Sally says before pulling her hand from yours and hugging Tim.

You wipe your face before taking Sally’s hand and leading her to pin the nose on Rudolph, where she plays with kids like she didn’t just tug your heartstrings. Turning to check on everything, you notice that the Santa chair is empty, and the elves are entertaining the children in line. Less than a minute later, Tim returns and continues to visit children and parents alike.

“Psst!” someone calls.

You furrow your brows as you turn, and when you see Lucy, your eyes widen in shock.

“Santa asked me to bring you this,” she whispers as she slips a large gift bag through the door. “Care to be an elf for me?”

“Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll take it to him now.”

“It looks amazing in here!”

“You’re welcome to stay, Lucy.”

You walk toward the North Pole area and tap an elf’s shoulder to take the gift to Tim. He excuses himself after the last child and walks to your side with the bag in his hand.

“Where’s Sally?” he whispers in your ear.

You look up at him and feel your tears building again as you say, “Tim–”

“I’m Santa tonight.”

You locate Sally sitting at a table with her parents and brother and eating a cupcake. Following behind Tim, you press your hand over your mouth as he kneels beside her and offers the bag. Her parents look at one another in shock as she removes the bears from the bag, then mouth their gratitude to Tim. Sally passes her brother a bear, and they begin hugging them to hug one another, and you decide this is the Christmas miracle you hoped to see.

Tim exits the small dressing room in the back hallway and doesn’t see you before you wrap your arms around his neck to hug him.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his neck. “For being Santa and for giving Sally the gift.”

Tim tightens his arms around your waist before you pull back. “It’s the least I could do,” he deflects with a shrug.

“No, it isn’t,” you insist. “I talked to Sally’s parents. They can barely afford gas to go back and forth to work and the hospital right now because one of them has to stay with her full-time because of her treatment. That’s why her brother can’t visit much.”

“Is she…”

“The doctors are hopeful that her current treatment is working,” you assure him. “They’re expecting to send her home sometime in the spring if she continues improving. Tim, you made their entire year.”

“You deserve some of that credit.”

“You pulled off a Christmas miracle, it’s all yours.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me why you chose to ask me to be Santa?” Tim asks with a smile. His hands are still on your waist, but you’re dreading the moment when he steps back.

“Because I knew you could do it,” you answer. “You’re the only person I know that is kind and generous, selfless without letting people know it, and even if you get mad at me for saying it, you are kind and a big softie. You’re special, Tim Bradford, and a gentleman, and the closest thing I’ve seen to magical in a very long time. That’s why I asked and kept asking.”

“Well, you’re the closest thing I’ve seen to Mrs. Claus… ever,” he replies lightly.

“Without the time to bake and ‘Mrs.’ you mean.”

Tim shakes his head and asks, “Who helped you decorate?”

“Holly, mostly. Why?”

Lifting his chin, Tim gestures to the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s tradition,” you begin.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Tim interrupts.

He moves a hand from your waist to your cheek and kisses you. It feels like fireworks, warm hot chocolate, and every good and magical thing you can think of all at once. You move your hands to Tim’s jaw and move together, then pull back to thank him again.

“Thank you for calling Lucy and getting Sally’s gift here so quickly.”

Tim’s brow pinches as he says, “I didn’t call Lucy. I thought you got the gift here for her?”

You shake your head, then ask, “Well if you didn’t order it, and I didn’t order it, which Santa asked Lucy to bring it?”

Tim hesitates before he says, “It couldn’t…”

“There you are!” Holly calls as she enters the hallway. “I could not find this entrance, geez. Oh, hey, mistletoe!”

“You didn’t put this up?” you ask her.

“Me? No, I don’t even know where to buy mistletoe. That made me sound so single.”

You look at Tim, who smiles and whispers, “Christmas magic,” as he leans in again.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Starting at the End Chapter 1

Summary: Lily Crawford has been receiving disturbing letters from a worrisome fan. On the advice of an acquaintance she goes to Winchester Private Security and seeks out Dean Winchester to keep her safe. Will this troubled ex-marine be able to save her, and can she save him too?

Series Warnings: Angst. Smut. Fluff. (as usual, of course!) Discussion of war, loss, trauma, PTSD, grief. Stalking. Obsession.

Chapter Warnings: Talk of stalking and bad, dangerous exes.

Pairing: Dean x ofc (Lily Crawford)

Word Count: 3,467

A/N: This is my Dean "Bodyguard" AU. (Technically he calls himself Private Security and not a Bodyguard, but 🤷‍♀️) I've never written a bodyguard AU before, so I hope you all enjoy this one. It's been a while since I've written an ofc, so I hope you like Lily. I'm enjoying writing her. I know OC's aren't the fandoms favourite, but I really felt like I needed Lily to be Lily in this one. Hope you give it a chance anyway. ❤️

I'm gonna post the Prologue and Chapter One today because the Prologue is very short. But going forward, I'm going to do my best to post every Friday. There will be 14 chapters and a Prologue and Epilogue...so kind of 16 chapters all together. Enjoy!!

Series Master List || Main Master List || Dean Master List || Tag Lists

Pasadena California, 9 years later

The ancient analogue clock that hung on the police station’s wall was ticking away more minutes as Lily Crawford tried desperately to get the men in front of her to listen.

“I told you,” she repeated, “I have no clue who might be doing this. The letters started a month ago. They seemed innocent enough at first. They just,” she shrugged, “they just said he was a fan, and that he thought I was an amazing actress.” Lily looked at the floor, embarrassed.

Slightly flustered from having to try and explain her situation once again, she glanced up at the two cops taking her statement. The older man, a detective, was chewing on the end of his pen as he held a notepad in his other hand. He had black hair that was graying in just one tuft on the top, making it look a little like he was wearing a gray-haired toupee. 

The detective nodded a bit absently before tapping the wet end of his pen on the paper, pointing to the notes he’d already taken. “But then he got weird, huh?”

Lily crossed her arms and looked at the other man, an officer with a plain face, and watery blue, slightly bulging eyes. His face was placid and unbothered, and Lily was suddenly very annoyed by both of them. They’d had her repeat her story three times now, neither of them showing much urgency.

“Yes.” She answered the detective, pointing to the letters that sat on his desk. “The last two letters have referenced places I’ve gone, private get togethers that he shouldn’t have known about. And that last letter from four days ago talks about a Salvador Dali painting that’s in my house.” She felt a shudder run through her. “He shouldn’t know that.”

The detective shrugged and it made Lily want to scream. “Well, is it possible it’s an old boyfriend, maybe just trying to scare you? Or, you know, paparazzi can get a lot of photos, maybe there’s a picture of the painting out there somewhere and this person is just using the information to get your attention.”

She shook her head. “No, there are no random pictures of my house floating around on the internet.” Her voice was tight and the frustration was obvious.  

The detective heard it and became slightly defensive as he sat up. “Well look, Ms. Crawford, there’s not a lot we can do here. There haven’t been any threats made, or violent acts committed. There’s no proof of trespassing or anything else we can charge a man with. Writing letters isn’t illegal, even if he is a weirdo.”

“So, you can’t do anything until I’ve been assaulted or…worse?” Lily asked, her voice raised. It made the detective frown deeply. 

“We can’t do anything until some sort of crime has been committed, miss. I’m not sure what you expected us to do. Maybe you thought your famous name would make a bit of hoopla? Maybe make the media sit up and take notice? I know it’s been a while since your name has been mentioned anywhere.”

Lily felt her cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. “Are you saying you think I made this up!”

The detective waved his hands. “No, no miss. I’m sure that’s not the case.” His tone didn’t match his words; it smacked of disbelief. “Now, we’ll make a report that you came down, and you be sure to come back if you hear of anything that sounds like a threat.”

He was clearly dismissing her and Lily felt her heart plummet. They really weren’t going to do anything. She looked over at the younger officer, a little desperately, but he just smiled blandly. 

“I loved you in Cobra Strike Team. I think Part 2 was my favorite.”

Lily closed her eyes and stood up. She nodded at the officer as she turned away. “Thanks.”

Later that afternoon, Lily rushed through the doors of a brightly lit office and walked briskly to the desk that was manned by one very bored secretary.

Lily smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Lily Crawford. I’m here to read for Theresa?”

The receptionist didn’t smile back. She passed her a clipboard with a pen attached. “Fill this out and wait with the others.” She pointed to a door and Lily followed her finger.

She pushed through the door and entered a room with six other actresses all of whom looked a little like her. She was about to sit in the nearest chair when she heard her name called. She looked up to see her friend Tasha waving her over. 

Friend was maybe too strong a word. She’d acted alongside Tasha years ago in a terrible play they’d both been in to pay the rent, and they’d met up in countless audition waiting rooms just like this one over the years. They had a very similar look, medium height, curvy. Tasha’s hair was red and her eyes were brown, while Lily’s hair was more auburn and her eyes were a light amber color. But otherwise they looked very alike.

She sat down next to Tasha and gave her a little side hug. “Hey Tash, I wondered if I’d see you at this one.”

Tasha nodded. “Yeah, gotta keep trying, huh?”

Lily hummed noncommittally. “Guess so.”

“So how’ve you been?” Tasha asked. 

Lily wasn’t going to get into it, but the words just sort of fell out of her and she ended up telling Tasha about the letters. It was so frustrating and scary, she was hoping Tasha could give her some perspective and convince her that it wasn’t that big a deal. 

But as she finished Tasha’s eyes were wide. “Jesus, Lily that’s so fucking creepy! And the cops seriously said they wouldn’t do anything?”

Lily shrugged. “Well, they said they couldn’t, which I guess I get. I mean nothing’s happened.” She looked at Tasha hopefully. “It’s probably just a weirdo, right? He’ll go away?”

Tasha looked dubious. One of the other actresses, a strawberry blonde sitting across the room, leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing…you said some creepy guy is after you?”

Lily shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know if he’s ‘after me’.” She said, using air quotes. “I’ve just gotten a few strange letters.”

The blonde nodded and stood up, coming to sit beside Lily. “No, listen, my ex was a total stalker, and I knew he wouldn’t stop coming after me. I went to the police, but, of course, they didn’t care either. So, I found this guy online. He’s like a private eye, or like security, or whatever. I have no idea what he did to that loser, but he never came back into my life again. The last I heard he was living out in Boston somewhere. Sent him packing across the country!” 

She grinned. “The guy’s name was Dean and he was worth every penny. You should look him up. The place is called…” She paused to think. “Winchester Guards or Security, or something.”

Before Lily could say anything, a young guy stepped into the room. “Erin Tyler.” 

The blonde raised her hand. “That’s me!” The guy waved her forward and she stood to go, but then turned back to smile at Lily. “I just have to say that I thought you were amazing in Cobra Strike Team. Number three was the best, hands down.”

Lily smiled a little wanly. “Thanks. Break a leg.” 

Erin Tyler bounded out of the room, her nervous energy palpable. When did I lose that kind of feeling for this job, Lily thought. Did I ever have it?

Tasha grabbed up her hand. “I say you follow her advice. If the cops don’t have your back, somebody should.”

Lily shook her head. “I don’t know, Winchester something? Not sure how great that endorsement was.”

“You heard what she said though, dude got results.”

“But she knew who was after her.” Lily argued. “That was probably a pretty easy job. I have no idea who’s sending these letters, or how to find them.”

Tasha rolled her eyes. “Well, no kidding, Lil, I’m pretty sure that’s part of what you’d hire him for.” She pulled her phone out and searched for a minute. 

“Aha!” She said a little too loudly, turning her phone towards Lily. “I found him. Winchester Private Security. He’s got an office in L.A. It’s like a twenty minute drive. You could go right after the audition.”

The young guy came back into the room and called Tasha’s name next. She stood up and put a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “You should check him out. The last thing I want is to be part of a documentary about some psycho fan who murdered you and threw you into a wood chipper.”

The woman certainly had a way with words.

Two hours and one horrible audition later, Lily found herself walking up an old wooden staircase towards a door at the top of the stairs that said, “Winchester Pr  ate Secur”. A few of the painted letters had been scraped off the window in the door. The building was old, and seemed to also house a dubious looking law firm and an office for an exterminator on the main floor.

The Winchester office was on the second floor, next to another office that was obviously abandoned. She knocked, and then pulled open the door with the peeling letters. She stepped halfway into the room and looked around. 

Given the state of the building, the office was surprisingly neat. The furniture was threadbare and ancient, but it looked clean and comfortable. A beige couch sat along one wall and a few office chairs sat against the other. There were a couple of obviously plastic plants standing in the corners, and straight across from the door was a big, old, wooden desk with a leather chair behind it. There was also a coat rack and a little table on the right side of the room.

There was a door to the left of the desk that opened suddenly just as she caught sight of it, and a man stumbled out of it. A squeak of surprise left Lily’s throat and the man looked at her blearily. He scowled at her.

“Do I know you?” He asked, his voice was deep and gravelly and sounded as though he’d just woken up. It was almost five o’clock.

Lily shook her head. “No, I’m…hi, I’m Lily.”

The man nodded absently and reached into a drawer in his desk to pull out a small bottle of whiskey and pour some into the glass that sat on top. As he swallowed down the drink he threw his head back slightly and grimaced, and Lily suddenly realized that the man was ridiculously attractive. 

It sort of hit her like a bolt of lightning. His beauty didn’t really match his surroundings; he looked out of place in the drab office.

He was wearing black suit pants that fit him snugly, showing off powerful thigh muscles and a trim waist. A white, tank top undershirt was tucked into the pants and fitted nicely across his broad chest. His shoulders were bare and wide and heavily muscled. His bare arms were powerful and enticing and Lily couldn’t help but notice how beautifully shaped he was. He was tall and solid - strength evident in every line of his body.

But his face was something else entirely. It was stunning. He had short, light brown hair, and a few days growth of beard; his cheeks were a bit scruffy, but it suited him very well. He’d clearly been drinking, and his eyes were a bit red-rimmed, but it only seemed to highlight their gorgeous emerald green color. His cheekbones were high and his lashes were insanely long. His mouth was wide and his bottom lip was lush as he sucked on it for a minute as he swallowed another sip of whiskey.

He set the glass back down on the desk and then sat on the corner of it, before rubbing his hand down his face. He looked back at Lily as she stood awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Sorry, you’re who?”

Lily stepped further into the room, but left the door open behind her. “My name is Lily. I’m looking…I mean, I was referred here to find Dean Winchester?”

He held out his hand as though revealing something. “And you found him. Well done.”

Lily swallowed self-consciously, but before she could speak Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That’s how I know you! You’re Lieutenant Sarah Crosby, leader of the Cobra Strike Team!”

She smiled indulgently, trying not to cringe internally. “It was, ah…Susan, actually, Susan Crosby.”

Dean nodded. “Right, right. Loved those movies. You were so hot back then.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Um, excuse me?”

Dean waved away his comment and stood up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it…I mean, hey, you’re still hot, very hot.”

Lily felt her cheeks turning bright pink. “You know what, this was not a uh…not a good idea.” She turned to go, but Dean strode past her quickly and closed the door before she could walk through it. 

She nearly collided with him as she came to a sudden halt. She frowned at him and took a step back. 

He scrubbed his face with both hands this time as he turned to face her, running his fingers carelessly through his hair. 

“Look, I apologize, okay? I’m a little…” He trailed off as he caught her eye. She saw something a little raw and battered flash in his gaze for a moment, before he lowered his lashes and gave a humorless half smile. 

“It's just a shitty day. But, I’m sorry. You came here for a reason.” He raised his hand towards the couch. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me about it?”

Lily hesitated a moment as he moved away from the door and over to his desk. He opened another drawer and pulled out a folded white shirt. He pulled off the dry cleaning tag, and shook it open before sliding his arms in and starting to button it up. He sat in the squeaky leather chair behind the desk and nodded to the couch again.

Lily walked slowly over to the couch and sat gingerly on the edge of the seat. As Dean finished buttoning his shirt, he waved his hand to urge her on. “So, who was it that referred you?”

Lily thought for a minute, trying to remember her name. “Erin Tyler. She said you helped her with a bad ex.”

Dean nodded. “Oh yeah, that douchebag.” He shrugged. “It was an easy case; he was a coward, most of these guys are, and he just needed a push in the right direction, a gentle nudge out of his ex-girlfriend’s life.”

Lily nodded, deciding she didn’t want details. 

Dean continued. “So, you got an ex you wanna get rid of too?”

“Oh, no, it’s not an ex…I don’t actually know who it is.” She took a deep breath. “About a month ago, I started getting these…fan letters. The first ones were fine, you know, nothing too crazy, just the basic, like compliments and stuff.” She sped through her words, uncomfortable talking about this part of her career. 

“But the more recent ones were…well, they were sort of strange.” She said, trying not to over exaggerate or make them out to be more than they were. She didn’t want to be accused of freaking out over nothing. Men didn’t always get how vulnerable it could feel sometimes, being a woman. 

Dean nodded. “Okay, can I see the letters?”

Lily paused. “Oh, no I um…I left the bad letters with the cops. I have some of the early ones at home, but…”

Dean stood up and opened his belt and the button at his waist. Lily was about to start screeching when he started tucking his shirt into his pants. She was immediately relieved but stood up. 

“Look, I’m not sure this was a good idea. You know, I’m probably freaking out over nothing. I’ll go and you-”

“No you’re not.” Dean said as he tightened his belt and then grabbed the leather shoulder holster that hung on the coat rack. He spoke as he buckled it into place. 

“You know it’s not nothing. That’s why you’re here. You went to the cops and they did nothing, you came here on a whim, and you stayed in spite of the fact that I was hungover and let’s face it, pretty unprofessional.”

Lily listened to his explanation, slightly dumbfounded. Dean walked over to a small safe that sat on the table, and used his thumbprint to open it. He pulled out a beautifully detailed, silver etched pistol, with a pearl grip, and slid it into place as he continued.

“So, now you’re gonna drive us to your place so I can take a look at those other letters.”

Lily laughed a little wildly, completely off balance. “Um, no I’m not. I don’t even know you. I’m not letting a strange man with a gun into my house.” She said pointing at the lethal weapon that sat comfortably beneath his arm. 

Dean grabbed the suit jacket off the coat rack and shrugged into it, hiding the gun away. “Yeah, you will, wanna know how I know?”

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I don’t care what you think you know.”

“You’re scared.” Dean said over the end of her sentence. “More scared than you’ve admitted to anyone so far.”

Lily shook her head, denying his accuracy, but he pushed on, walking to her slowly. “And you’re embarrassed because when the first letters came, you liked them. You found comfort in them. They made you think that maybe there was still life in your career that has been stagnant for a while.”

Lily frowned and started to object, but Dean cut her off. “And then the letters got a little more personal, they started to make you feel a bit uncomfortable. They were too familiar for a stranger. But you convinced yourself they were still harmless, he was just being nice.”

He stopped in front of her and she couldn’t help but look up into his slightly hypnotizing gaze as he continued. “Then came the letters that made you know he wasn’t harmless, that told you you needed help. They were scary, they knew something they shouldn’t.”

Lily nodded, tears inexplicably filling her eyes; her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “He mentioned a painting in my bedroom.” She shook her head. “There’s no way he should know about that. I’ve only lived in the house a year or so, and I haven’t had anyone into my…” She blushed at what her confession would reveal about her love life. “No one has been in my bedroom except me.”

Dean nodded. “And now, you don’t want to go home at the end of the day. In fact your home has begun to feel hostile and unsafe.”

Lily dashed away her tears, embarrassed by them. “I’m always afraid I’m gonna open the door and…” She trailed off, frowning up at Dean Winchester’s perfect face. “How do you know all this?”

“Because I’ve dealt with assholes like this dozens of times in the last six years. I told you, they’re always cowards, and I’ll tell you something else, in the interest of being straight with you.” He paused. “These guys don’t just go away. They don’t get bored and fade back into obscurity. He’ll just keep trying to get closer to you.”

Lily shivered and Dean reached out a hand to cup her shoulder. “Now do you wanna hear the good part?” She nodded. “I’m really good at catching them. So, I’m gonna go to your house now. I’m gonna walk around and look in all the nooks and crannies and make sure there isn’t any kind of unwanted surveillance-”

“Oh god!” Lily gasped. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Dean just continued. “And then I’m gonna look at those letters and we’ll figure out a game plan.”

Lily sighed deeply, admitting that for whatever reason, she did feel safe with Dean, and thought she’d feel safer at home after he checked things over at her house. So she nodded and then frowned. 

“Wait, I don’t know what you’re charging me for all of this.”

Dean gave a slight grin and Lily noticed it made his face look a little younger. “Don’t worry, I know you must be running outta that Cobra Strike Team money, so I’ll go easy.”

Lily eyeballed him. “Ha. Ha.”

Dean’s smile grew a bit wider. “Come on Lieutenant Crosby, lead the way.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

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@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

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@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[sugurusladyknightt]

➺ suguru x gn!reader

my dearest beloved,

dig my heart out of my chest with your nails and feel the beating of it speed up and stutter in your grasp. make it messy. bloody and painful and perfect. i can love you better that way—without the bindings of my body. i can love you from within. without any restraint or limit. i can love you without bounds. i can love you in your whole.

tear me limb from limb and savour the flavour of me on your tongue. drink me in and stroke my face softly.

take me.

take me.

take me.

oh, take the whole of me and do with it as you please.

i am yours for taking if you'll have me. you do know this, yes?

chew me softly. chew me slowly. taste me. savour me. devour me, and i'll only think that of you as endlessly kind. have your fill of me and then some more. leave nothing of me for the scavenging birds to scavenge. leave nothing of me to the crows and vultures and mice and insects.

peel me back layer by layer, unravel me and take a peak inside. see me, understand and experience for yourself the depth of my eternal soul and its longing for you and all the wars it's gone through. rip my fresh from my bones, and suck me dry of blood. relish in all it is that i am worth.

moan and cry and whimper and groan and enjoy. claws and teeth and all. take pleasure in this the way i know i will. let me know you want to me as desperately as i need you. leave cuts a bruises in your wake, cover those old, painful scars of mine with fresh ones. beautiful ones. i'll sing you to sleep after, lulling you to a dreamscape where you'll be safe from all.

pry my lips open with your fingers. delve into my mouth; seek out my tongue. let me share your breath. as i breathe you in, and hold my face gently closer to yours as i do — feel my body go lax in you arms.

i want nothing to do with my fighting spirit.

feast upon me, my love. have your fill, take all that you want of me and leave nothing behind, i can only say it is the greatest gift to service you. i'll read to you softly when it's all done.

grind my bones bones into powder and carry me in the necklace that hangs close to your chest. keep me close to you.

i wish only to be yours.

if you'll grant me that privilege.

i'll wait for it forever.

you have ruined me for anyone else. you have ravaged my heart and pillaged my soul and you run rampant in my mind. don't tease, let me be yours.

allow me to be selfish. and forgive it. allow me ruin you for anyone else. for everyone else. allow me to be with you always. allow me to heal your hurt and you guilt from within. allow me to see you in full, in raw, in vulnerable, in the morning.

my only wish to know you, be close to you,

to love you

let the taste of i linger in your mouth, let me linger in your breath. you have so much a head of you dearest, let me fuel you and ready you for your day.

let us become one.

take me in my entirety. make me your own.

bestow upon me the greatest honour i can witlessly dream of; being yours.

wholly and truly yours,

----

pen smudges against the paper a little with the abrupt pause of his hand. this feels raw. raw like he hadn't expected it to be; going into this without a plan, only with a oath of honesty to himself. it's delicate and personal, the yolk of an uncooked egg.

he signs of with his name, fingers curling around the pen with practiced ease as its ink glides across the paper with grace. taking a deep breathe as he lets down the pen. his hand cramping a little but paying it no mind. shaking a little but all is well.

he folds the paper gently in thirds, handling it with the rivalling that of care a mother to her new born child. and he just stares.

stares at the now folded paper that sits at his desk. it's as close as he's gotten to expressing his emotions, his feelings that feel so much bigger than him, and this room, and the whole of the universe.

what he feels so deeply in his bones his marrow is familiar with this sentiment he's long struggled to put into words. evident from the crumpled papers filled with candied words and shallow ideas thrown thoughtlessly aside.

but still, he's unsure if this is the right thing to do. if it's wrong, he'll pray to whoever- whatever will listen that he's wrong in every lifetime.

the letter is still politely sat on his desk and he still rudely stares.

taking the neatly folded piece of his heart, finger tips of smudged ink holding it up to a small flame, and watching it turn to ash and burn away.

this is a bit too much for a confession letter, right?

---

i wrote this for suguru but a few other characters come to mind as well. + your favs

divider by @saradika-graphics

[moth-mortuary]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕝 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝔹𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕞

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Relationships: The Winter Soldier/Reader, The Winter Soldier & Reader Part: 4/? Language: English

✪ Masterlist ✪

The girl was soft, some youthful fat still clinging to her cheeks, a heart-shaped face with soft eyes and the distinctive features of someone who grew up in good conditions.

She talked a lot, fidgeted a lot, spoke with her hands. She would go crazy in his situation, hands tied and silence filling the aseptic room.

But she has no business being in his situation; only monsters end up in his situation.

Time passes, the lights dim.

He will not see her again. Better to close the memory in a sealed-tight container in his brain, less messy, more organised, no stray thoughts confusing his order.

The soldier closes his eyes and sits on the metal bench bolted to the side of his glass cube. Forget her. She had not accepted the job. He had told her not to.

Steps, an irregular heartbeat, something weirdly spaced, too much adrenaline in the body hosting that heart. «Contrary to popular request, I accepted the job.»

Fool.

«I spoke to some guards, and I guess I can give you this. They were kinda unprepared for the request.» A giggle, true, no, nervous. Fake, no, still true. Chatty.

She’s dressed the same way, not much must have passed; he doesn’t know. A t-shirt, graphic, literally, some sort of rat wearing a spiked collar, a messy font saying something the creases of the shirt do not allow him to decipher; jeans, worn, old, borderline unsalvageable, sneakers. A messy rhythm in her chest.

She’s carrying a package.

Files, missions, reports.

Bread.

What?

She takes it out of the brown bag, gets closer, scared, still scared. Unsteady heartbeat, fast, then slow, then fast again. No. Not adrenaline. Something else. The bread gets put on a paper plate, in the slot in his cage for feeding. Waiting.

«There, eat.» An order. A new handler? HYDRA? Hesitation. He should not hesitate. «Or don’t! You can choose.» A choice, not a handler. Softness, not HYDRA. «I just— I saw your dossier, and the photo.» What photo? Photos of his missions? Horrors, her heartbeat unsteady, something that had shaken her. Fear? No, she doesn’t beat to the rhythm of fear. «And you looked way healthier.» He’s functional.

«So, you know, I thought you could use some more food. Anyway, this morning, you knew I was there, didn’t you?». Such casualty, such disorienting honesty. She knows. «Could you see us through the mirror?». She knows and she doesn’t. She observes.

Us, two heartbeats, the older man beats at a sick rhythm, old, dying. She beats faster, like a mouse. Something small and full of adrenaline. How has she noticed? Sharper, a threat, she could be a threat. «Are we alone right now?»

Not what he expected. Is she scared of it? Good. Who wouldn’t be?

He nods. «Good.» Yes— what? «I contacted Sam Wilson.» The man in the tight car? «To get to Mister Rogers the news you are here, but— god, I don’t know what I was expecting but I wasn’t expecting that, he thinks you already are in hiding with Captain America, he’s adamant about it… I— I don’t know what I’m doing, shit, were you captured with him? Is he like, detained too?»

No plan, no plan is a bad plan, the girl is unprepared, not a threat. In danger.

«Fuck. Can I take a bite?» She paces the room, nervous, heartbeat spiking, doesn’t wait for a response, nobody ever does. A stress eater. Not poisoned, the sandwich is safe. He’s starving. «Sorry, I have another one—» «No.»

Silence. Her cheek protruding, mid-chew. «You don’t want it?»

When you are in a cage, you don’t get to want. How did he forget something as simple as that?

«You want… This one?» Observant. «It has the same filling— Oh, oh, okay, here, sorry about the bite.��

He’s starving. She’s no capturer, she’s buzzing, stressed, soft. Still chewing. Swallowing. Safe.

It tastes better than anything he has ever eaten. It’s the hunger speaking, but it speaks truths.

The food is gone in under a minute, clean, efficient. Still starving.

«Do you want the other one too?» He does, he really does.

Another plate, clean, new. Soft, she is carelessly soft.

Silence. Waiting. He’s starving. «What?» A laugh, soft, breezy, true. Not nervous. «Do you want me to bite that one too?» a joke, another laugh. Faltering. Silence. «Do you want me to?» A frown.

A nod. From the soldier. «Oh, um, okay.» A smaller bite. «There, started.»

She is not swallowing. A trap, he should have known, was the rest of the food given to him poisoned too? Was it—

Gulp.

She swallowed it.

«Oh no, shit, you are right this one has mayo.»

. Chatty. So chatty.

She sits on the chair, then on the floor, one file becomes two, then three and then four. She speaks a lot. He has to respond. No, he doesn’t have to; something else. Maybe he needs to. «Okay, this one.» Another file pressed to his glass. «Was that you?» another question. The same answer: Another nod.

December 16th 1991 Yes.

«Fuck dude, that’s bad.» No judgment, only a remark. Not toward him, a casual one. Not efficient.

If people had words instead of days to live, she would have been dead at two.

«Shit, I haven’t even offered you water.» She licks a thumb, ink staining it. A bad taste, bitter. He knows, but he doesn’t know why. A camping bottle, a cup. «Here. Should I bite the cup?» Another joke, not mocking, only teasing. Laughter, soft laughter. Freely given.

«A sip.» «Oh, okay, sorry. Lousy mouth.»

The water is safe, she sloshes it in her mouth and swallows it. Safe.

«Are we still alone?» A nod.

«Alright, man, I really don’t think you should be rotting in here, but if Steve himself is being detained, I don’t know what I, mind you not being a lawyer, can do for you.»

«Steve’s free. In hiding.» «What? Are you sure? Then I have to tell him, shit, I need a photo of you, a recording, something to give to Sam—» «He won’t come.» She freezes, truly, finally, no nervous fidgeting, no absentminded movements, true stillness. He feels better, something in her nervousness clings to him. Better like this. Undisturbed, empty.

«But… but it’s… It’s you.»

Something squeezes his chest. It’s him. That’s why no one will come. «He cares about you.» No, no, he doesn’t care about him. A cancer, a sickness, an illness.

«No.» «Why wouldn’t he?» she presses. Insistent, petulant. «He does, he screwed his whole career for you, he must—» For him, for him, not for him. «He won’t.»

Uneven beats, nervous, no, frustrated, no, something else. «Why. Because you think he wouldn’t? People are weird, dude. You don’t really get to understand their feelings most of the time.»

«Because I took the shot.»

———— The phrase rings hollow, an unspoken continuation lingering in the blindingly empty room. You can’t decipher it, you don’t know where to look for an answer. He’s written in an alphabet you don’t know. You don't understand who he is trying to convince, is it you? You doubt it, yet somehow it's truly difficult not to believe him, he doesn't look anxious, he doesn't look backed into a corner, he just looks empty.

And angry. Not blatantly, deeply, under layers of nothingness. So deeply angry. The pen clenched in your fist creaks, or maybe your joints do, it’s hard to tell, you are gripping too hard. «How many of those you killed did you personally know?» Sifting through files, your notebook, the worn cover, the bent rings, you refilled it for the occasion, back in the UK, back when you had still thought you would have taken notes on a criminal, a serial killer, cowering behind rows of medics and therapists. He snaps, like a rubber band just waiting for the last yank. «Some—» «Not as Bucky Barnes.» This time is your index knuckle, a low creak, the grating of bones. The quiet in a chaotic place, something misplaced and alien. His silence, your creaking, you two are like a haunted house. Chaotic, silent, tired.

«None.» Keep pushing, keep pressing until he cannot but tell you, you must, it's an itch you can't scratch otherwise. «And how many do you remember?» Stillness, calm, something misplaced. Wrong. «All of them.»

Your knuckle pops. Painfully and satisfyingly There you go. «I don’t think an unsalvageable man would remember even one.»

He hadn’t said that; you had heard it.

The pen scratches, you hum lowly, mumbling your own thoughts to not let a single phrase get lost in the labyrinth of your horribly messy mind.

His voice is soft, his words are not. «Quit it.»

The job? You are not even sure you still can. It’s such a small peep, not the order he gave you yesterday. "Don’t take the job." You are so stubborn. No, this one is fragile, almost shy. You don’t expect it to escalate. It does, but instead of roaring lowly in anger, it just grows heavier, tired. «Don’t make me think I could be good.» Until his words soften. «It hurts.»

Your heart shatters for the man; you don't pity him, but you ache. Deeply and freely. You bleed for him.

And yet you must press, because nothing comes without a price, and you have a job, and for how much he hates you for doing this to him, you have to. You know no other way to save him. «It wouldn’t stop. Even if I quit.»

You let him be at peace for a while, you try to stay still while scratching some notes on your notebook. You have noticed how much he relaxes when you just stop existing in the loud way you have always existed, but it’s hard for you. Your leg begs to be bounced, your fingers gather air in your knuckle pleading you to just pop them and after that keep twisting and cracking until your joints ache and your pads tingle. «Do you want me to go?» It’s an honest question, one you are positive will receive an honest answer. You don’t think he likes you that much, it makes sense, you are not exactly the quiet type, and he looks constantly dipped in silence.

Surprisingly, he shakes his head. This time, you don’t press further; you just acknowledge it with a nod and resume your work.

Your eyes grow heavy, you can feel his eyes on you, but it’s less and less unnerving by the hour. He’s empty once more, no more anger, not the speckle of bottomless sadness you had glimpsed. Only empty. Waiting.

«I think I should let you sleep.» You finally declare, getting up from your contorted position on the floor and popping as silently as possible your stiff back. He doesn’t respond. You collect your things, buzzing the intercom beside the door. You wave at him, a tight-lipped smile more focused on being quiet and not overly you than polite.

A couple of seconds pass, nothing happens, then a full minute goes by, still nothing, you try the door handle, then you buzz again. Nothing.

«They went to sleep.»

«You are not surveilled 24/7?» Well, that was rude, but something is gnawing at the bottom of your stomach and you are pretty sure it’s anxiety clawing its way back from where you had tried to bury it.

«The food. It has tranquillisers.»

«What— No! I would never—» «Not yours.»

Oh. Oh, this is messed up.

«Well that is fucked up.» You warned him, everything going on up there must find a way to get out. You simply cannot keep a thought to yourself.

The room fills with silence once more. You spin on your heels, then slowly slide your way to the floor, tiredly slumping down the walls.

«I guess we’ll just have a sleepover then.»

The thought unnerves you, and you doubt you’ll be able to close an eye, but the man doesn’t need to know this. «Do the lights turn off?»

Silence. You are probably annoying him. Scratch that, you are definitely annoying him, hell, you are annoying yourself. «Нет.»

Silence. You should maintain it. «Animals.» No inner thoughts, right.

. 1st day of the 1st week: morning. If you had not closed an eye, you would not find yourself opening both of them, back stiff, your shoulder being shaken. «Ma’am, ma’am, what are you doing here?» Oh, the kid from yesterday, the guard bringing the soldier his mixture of gruel and tranquillisers. You want to reprise him, to ask, “Do you know they are sedating him?” without caring about any consequence at all, if not for the hope of changing the way things are being done, at least to make someone face the objective cruelty of their own practices. But even though you still need to reboot properly, and you still struggle to keep your own thoughts to yourself, you know that stating what you now know could not be a good move. What if he was not supposed to know? What if your lousy mouth ended up making things worse for him?

«Ma’am?»

James’ eyes are already on you, of course they are, what were you expecting? But something is amiss, there is a certain tension in his jaw, something deeply unnerving given the fact it’s distressing to the Winter Soldier. His eyes dart to the younger man in uniform, you can feel the faint buzzing of metal somewhere in the room.

Something is really tense in here, and it’s not your creaking back.

You jump up, knees popping loudly, a surge of nervousness punching a laugh out of your mouth. «Well, I need to shower.» The kid follows your moves, a machine gun you had not noticed strapped to his torso, dangling between your bodies. «Ma'am, I’m sorry I left you here—» «No harm done, kid. I had a lovely pyjama party, now please, I really need to pee.» And with a quick handwave, you bid goodbye to the man in the cage and shove past the door.

You had not lied. You need to pee so badly.

. ”He has a mole on the left side of his forehead. He’s being sedated and kept in a locked container. Believe me, he is not free. Please, I really don’t know what I should do to help him. This is my phone number. I’m begging you to give it to Steve Rogers.”

Well, there is no harm in trying; you still firmly believe that if only Captain America knew, he would come barging through the door to rescue his friend. You simply have to tell him.

You are barely out of the most uncomfortable, cramped and cold shower you have ever taken that your phone starts ringing.

«Hello?» «You are in a very bad situation. Whatever you are doing in there, stop. I’m saying this for your own good. You sound like a sweet girl, and I get that you want to make things right, but there is nothing to be set straight in this situation. Please. Go as far as you can from that man.»

Silence engulfs you, something rings hollow in your ears, a piercing sound that makes you shiver. «Steve Rogers, I gather.»

«I’m sorry you find yourself in this situation, whatever your job is, drop it. I’m truly sorry.» Prick, you had known the Winter Soldier for less than a day and you are more set on helping him than his life-long best friend.

A coward and a prick.

«Yeah me too, I thought Captain America had more spine than whatever the fuck you have. Have a nice day, sir. I’m not quitting.»

«You should—»

The line cuts, your thumb stays pressed on the red button, something boils deep in your chest, so furiously that you almost think sleeping in the same room with the Soldier had made you cling onto some of his repressed and deep anger.

Alone in the world, he is alone in the world. «FUCK!»

>> ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5

Ao3 Link Wattpad Link

[barleyo]

Take Me to Church.

Priest! Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hello, my blessings! I hope you all can see what I was going for with this, I mean, Miguel is Catholic. I also hope this doesn't seem rushed! I'm not very well versed in religion, so I hope none of this comes off as blasphemous or disrespectful. Much love to all of you, and thank you for your continued support!

Wordcount: 3.3K

Tags: Dub-con, loss of virginity, manipulation, p in v, coercion, power dynamic, abuse of power, use of "Father" in a religious way, not an inc*stual way, HEAVY talk of religion (sin, penance, etc.), oral (f receiving), desk fucking, implied age gap

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a devout man, trusting God’s will above anything else, and leading the church to trust just the same. He led them onto a holy path, clear of temptation and sin.

He himself, however, was not free from these temptations. No matter how much he had prayed to clear himself of these thoughts, they still remained. He beseeched God to forgive him for what he had thought, what he had felt. 

Nothing seemed to stop his mind from falling into the gutter, especially not her presence. 

Lord, forgive him for his sins. 

Forgive him for giving into her allurement. 

(Y/N) had knocked on Miguel’s office door. Normally, she would refrain and not impose on his valuable time, but for some time, something had bothered her deeply. Having nobody else to turn to, she came to his door, tail figuratively between her legs. 

“Father O’Hara? May I come in?”

“Yes, my child, do come in,” he said, his voice kind, yet firm. 

She walked in, awkwardly closing the door behind her and standing by the door. 

“Please, sit.” He pointed to a chair across from his desk, and removed his small reading glasses that sat on the tip of his nose. He removed the small stack of papers that he had been going through off of his desk, turning his full attention to the woman. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Apologies, I don’t mean to take up any of your time, I can see that you’re busy–”

“Nonsense, child. I am never too busy to give assistance to one in need. So?”

“Right, right.” She took a deep breath, clenching her fists in her lap. She quickly started muttering something under her breath before looking up to meet his eyes. 

He looked at her with his deep, dark eyes, filled with curiosity. Part of her felt that he could see right to her soul, that he knew exactly why she was there. Perhaps he had known the second it started. 

“Come now,” he said, arms crossed over the desk while he looked at her, head slightly tilted, “you are safe here with me. Unburden yourself and your soul, dear girl.” 

“Father, I– I believe that I need to look for forgiveness from God.”

“And why would that be?”

“My mind, Father,” (Y/N) said, chewing on the inside of her cheek, pricking blood from the thin skin.

“Ah, a matter of the mind, is it?” His brows furrowed together, creating a small dimpling near his forehead. Shifting in his chair, Miguel straightened his posture, as if he were preparing himself for what she had to say after the fact. “Care to explain further?”

“They’re bad thoughts, sexual in nature. And, I just feel that,” she paused to swallow a lump in her throat, briefly covering her mouth while she did so, “that they plague me.”

He felt his chest tighten. She felt what he had felt, though, he doubted for the same reason. 

Miguel hummed, clearing his throat quickly. “Is that so? So, you have been having unwanted sexual thoughts?” 

(Y/N) clung onto his words, feeling her face flush when hearing him say it out loud. “Yes, but that isn’t all. I— well, goodness, I’m so embarrassed.” She held her face in one of her hands, looking down at Miguel’s own hands that laid flat on the desk, avoiding his deep gaze.

She felt one of them reach out to lay over one of her hands, even before she could see it happen. Her head tilted up to see his face morph into a look of reassurance. 

“Do not let shame stop you from seeking full forgiveness.” Letting his hand linger for a second longer than he knew was acceptable, he slowly inched it away and continued with a sigh. “Speak only the truth, and allow me to guide you into the comfort of God’s shining light. Go on, now.”

“I have given into these desires.” She hung her head, face contorted into an ashamed look, eyebrows knitted together and mouth in a tight, thin line. She sat and waited for him to respond to her confession, but heard nothing. “Father O’Hara…?”

Miguel felt his face grow warm. Unsure if the tightness he felt in his chest was jealousy or judgment, he simply kept quiet, thinking over the woman’s words. 

Finally, he spoke, with a slight cracking in his voice, straining out of his throat. “With a man?” he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“No–! No, Father, no, certainly not,” she rushed, trying to clear her name as quickly as possible. “Certainly not, no. It’s not that.”

“Then what have you done?” His heartbeat slowed once more, feeling a bit relieved. 

“It was only once, maybe twice, that I’ve done it– touched myself with these thoughts in mind.” (Y/N) absentmindedly rubbed at her temples while she spoke.

He felt a pang of guilt strike his chest as his pants tightened slightly. He knew it was wrong, he shouldn’t have been excited over this, but how could he control himself? 

“It’s perverse and explicit, I cannot go into detail, for my own sake, but just know that my actions have haunted me since, and I just don’t know what to do. Father, I need your help.”

She was weak in her flesh and desire, it would be easy to prey on her, to fulfill his own desires. She was malleable under his guidance, and he knew it. Miguel also knew that what he felt was wrong, but it did not stop him from hesitating to answer her plea, mulling over what to do with his influence. His heart and mind were fighting, passion and righteousness in an entanglement he wasn’t sure his body could host much longer. 

“Your sins will be forgiven, as they always will be,” he said, “but you must reach out to God to fight against the base desires that you have given into. We all sin, do we not?” 

“We do, yes,” (Y/N) answered, lips coated in shiny spit from her incessant chewing and biting as she tried to keep herself grounded.

Miguel felt his eyes dip to her lips, the clear sheen of saliva practically sparkling in the low light of his office.

“Right, well,” he shook himself out of it, “we all sin, and God makes no exceptions. As long as you seek out his light, his light will shine on you, and you will be forgiven, my dear. Believe in that, and believe in the love God has for you.”

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better. 

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

The second she left his office that day, he could not stop himself. His mind raced while he imagined what she was doing on her evenings alone. It drove him crazy. Had she gone back on what she promised? Was she sinning again, hands between her legs, panties to her knees, wanton moans escaping her spit-soaked, puffy lips?

He thought he was stronger than this, and yet there he was, praying to God for the strength to fight against his urges, urges he had for that sinful, tempting woman. A woman who returned the next week with the same problem.

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear. 

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“Quiet down.” He placed his finger over her lip, silencing her while he continued. “You have forgotten my words. You trail out of God’s light, do you refuse forgiveness? Do you enjoy this sin?”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off. 

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing him to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

Miguel didn’t answer her, instead slotting himself between her legs, kneeling before her and looking up to her through hooded eyes. He pried her legs apart with his hands, pushed her skirt upwards, and leaned in, exhaling against her clothed cunt. 

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but her hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

“There is nothing wrong with me absolving you of your sin, that’s all I am doing. I shall let your sin travel from inside of you to the outside. Do you not want to be free of your evil thoughts?”

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“God commands me to take no wife, we are both free from that. It is my duty to guide your soul onto a holy path, won’t you let me do that?” Miguel slipped her panties down to her ankles, waiting for her to answer him.

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body. 

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better. 

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

The second she left his office that day, he could not stop himself. His mind raced while he imagined what she was doing on her evenings alone. It drove him crazy. Had she gone back on what she promised? Was she sinning again, hands between her legs, panties to her knees, wanton moans escaping her spit-soaked, puffy lips?

He thought he was stronger than this, and yet there he was, praying to God for the strength to fight against his urges, urges he had for that sinful, tempting woman. A woman who returned the next week with the same problem.

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear. 

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“Quiet down.” He placed his finger over her lip, silencing her while he continued. “You have forgotten my words. You trail out of God’s light, do you refuse forgiveness? Do you enjoy this sin?”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off. 

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

Miguel didn’t answer her, instead slotting himself between her legs, kneeling before her and looking up to her through hooded eyes. He pried her legs apart with his hands, pushed her skirt upwards, and leaned in, exhaling against her clothed cunt. 

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but his hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

“There is nothing wrong with me absolving you of your sin, that’s all I am doing. I shall let your sin travel from inside of you to the outside. Do you not want to be free of your evil thoughts?”

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“God commands me to take no wife, we are both free from that. It is my duty to guide your soul onto a holy path, won’t you let me do that?” Miguel slipped her panties down to her ankles, waiting for her to answer him.

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body. 

A hot, wet feeling placed itself between her thighs. Miguel spread her legs as far as they would go while he delved into her, tongue working through her slick folds. 

“You are already wet, you really were thinking of this, weren't you?” 

He smirked and brought his head back down, placing wet, messy kisses from her inner thigh to her throbbing clit. He honed in on the nub, wrapping his chapped lips around it and swirling it around with his tongue. 

(Y/N) looked down and watched as his brown hair moved back and forth as he lapped at her cunt. Hesitating, she reached her hand out and gripped his hair, holding him in place, and rolling her hips onto his face. Her hips stuttered as she moved, moans catching in her throat. 

“F–Father, it feels– I feel—”

“I know, you are very close.” 

She looked confused, not sure what he meant. “Huh–?”

Miguel pulled her hand out of his hair and pushed her down on the desk, flat with her legs in the air. He spat directly onto her cunt, spreading it with his tongue. He craned his head back and locked eyes with her, replacing his mouth with his fingers, circling her clit quickly with his thumb.

“Do you feel that tightness building up?”

“Yes, make it stop, it feels odd, please. Make it stop,” she said, grabbing onto his wrist while her rubbed her. 

Miguel shushed her, placing his other hand on her thigh. “Just wait, (Y/N).” 

Thumb still focused on her bud, he pushed his tongue into her entrance, feeling her tight walls fight and clench against his prodding. He slurped at her walls and dripping arousal. 

“No, no– I–!”

Her hips involuntarily rolled against his face one final time before she felt the tight coil in her stomach burst. Her thighs squeezed over Miguel’s head and kept him in place as she came, legs shaking and mind blurring. 

(Y/N) let go of his head quickly, sitting up on the desk and pulling away from him. He wiped her slick from his mouth and chin, cleaning his face from the sheen of her cum. 

“Father O’Hara, are you okay? I didn’t mean to do that, I don’t know what came over me…”

“Hush, now. Save your words for what is to come,” he said, standing to his full height. 

He pulled her body back to the edge, pushing her down, flat on her back. Pulling himself out of his pants, he adjusted right at her entrance. Before pushing in, he took hold of both of her hands, holding them above her head. 

“This will hurt. You will bleed, but you must relax. Do you understand?” He saw her nod. “Good girl.”

He pushed into her, slowly inching his tip forward. (Y/N)’s hands clenched, fingers dug into her palms while he painstakingly forced his hips further. 

“Relax,” Miguel whispered as he dipped his head down to be level with her ear, “don’t squeeze so tight, just let me work you open.”

He bottomed out, sliding all of his length into her. 

“No, hurts s’bad, can’t take it ‘nymore!” She whined loudly, tears flowing out of her eyes due to the harsh stretch of his cock.

He was so big, and she was so small. He should have been careful with her, and he should have treated her like the fragile little thing she was.

It only made him fuck her rougher. 

His muscled hips pull out of her, tip barely staying inside.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it, I–”

“Yes, you can.”

He snapped into her. His thrust knocked the wind out of her lungs, having her choke on her words. (Y/N)’s hands immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, gripping onto them. To steady herself, she dug further into them, practically ripping the fabric of his shirt. 

The sound of her half-pained, half-pleasured noises send him back to his movements. He starts thrusting, quickly fucking into her heat. 

“You are taking me so well, you sure it’s your first time?” he asks, smirking.

“Yes, Father. I-I’ve never done this before,” she said through gritted teeth, “Dunno if ‘m doin’ it right.”

Miguel grunted and deepened his strokes. “Just let me do it, just gotta– gotta sit there n’ take it.” He allowed himself to kiss the tip of her cervix with his cock’s head, shallowly impacting onto the sensitive spot. 

His hands fall to her hips. He grips onto them and holds her in place, keeping his brutal pace. He eyed the thick, white ring of her arousal forming on the base of his thick length, watching it grow and shift as he pounded into her fluttery walls.

“S’happening again, fix it–! Please, Father,” she felt a strong pang of ecstacy crash over her.

“Mhm..”

A few scattered thrusts nudged her over the edge. (Y/N)’s walls clenched repeatedly over Miguel’s dick, squeezing him tightly with her velvety, slick cunt. 

“Fuck, c’mon now, relax.” His eyebrows knitted together as he massaged her hips, trying to get her to relax. “So tight, damn.” He finally pulled himself out and took to pumping himself in his hand. (Y/N) watched him fist his cock between her legs.

“Ah–”

He came onto his palm. The sticky, thin seed covered his palm. Miguel licked his cum off of his hand, watching as (Y/N)’s face heated up as he did. He cleaned it off, letting his tongue dart between his fingers to tease the girl before stopping and wiping the rest onto the girl’s cheek. 

“Come, down now,” he said, pulling her off of the desk. He chuckled as she stumbled over to the door, legs weak. 

“Thank you, Father,” (Y/N) croaked out, holding onto the doorknob. “But, what– if I keep thinking those thoughts, what do I do? Will I be forgiven?”

Miguel took his spot at his desk, wiping away at the wet spots left on the wood. 

“If you continue to be plagued by such thoughts,” he said, “do not be afraid to come back to my office. Remember, we all sin, but we can always fight for forgiveness.”

[metalnecklace]

Stubborn When It Comes To This

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Words: 9075 (this really got away from me)

Warnings: Smut (mdni), Plus size reader, Use of (Y/N), Probably some historical inaccuracies, Mentions of canon character death, Language, Oral (both f and m receiving), Fingering, Light choking, Spitting, Creampie, Unsafe sex (wrap it up, folks), Praise, Consent is sexy!, Pet names

Notes: This was supposed to be a super quick thing, I have no idea what happened

Summary: Javier Peña is frustrating, until he isn’t.

Masterlist

Arrogant.

If I could pick any word to describe Javier Peña that’s the one I’d use. Arrogant. Or maybe asshole. Bastard. Piece of shit.

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

I had been working with the DEA for about two years as a secretary, and usually didn’t have much issue. Luckily most of the men left me alone due to my larger frame, but not even that stopped the infuriating Agent Peña from being a thorn in my side. My entire time was spent blocking him from documents he wanted, no matter how hard he shamelessly flirted with me for the first few months before he gave up the charade. I knew it wasn’t sincere, and I knew I’d be the one getting in trouble if I let him have what he wanted.

So I said the one word he hated the most: No.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he sighed, exasperated. “Just give me what I want. Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

“Yeah, my job,” I grumbled, “and my sanity. Javier, we can't keep doing this.”

“You’re right, we can’t. So give me those files.”

I looked up at him, putting down the pen I had been writing with. “I can’t give you those files. I barely have access to them, so what makes you think you can?”

He chewed his lip, staring at me while I refused to budge. “Fine. But if Escobar gets away again I’ll know who to blame.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m to blame for your incompetence.”

He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching so hard his lips were in a pout. I thought for a moment he looked almost adorable, but shook the thought from my head the second it entered.

“You know what? That’s fine. You sit here like a good girl behind your desk and frilly little blouse, while I put my ass on the line so you can live safely.” He stood up to his full height, looking down his nose at me. I had never felt smaller, but couldn’t avert my gaze. “Can I have the files, yes or no?”

“Fuck you, Javi.” I gritted out between my teeth.

He grumbled something under his breath that sounded like mierda, then turned on his heel and marched away.

I grabbed a scrap piece of paper from my desk and spent the next fifteen minutes scribbling on it with my pen until it ripped through the surface. It was upsetting, the way he got under my skin like no other. I had never dealt with anybody like Javier Peña.

It had been a lot tougher to deal with him since Carillo’s passing. He no longer danced around the subject as much, and got straight to the point. Or demands, I should say. His patience was thinner and it seemed as though it was getting harder for him to keep his temper at bay.

I felt bad about my comment. He had never spoken to me the way he had, even when I had frustrated him so much in the past. But I knew he was still feeling the weight of Carillo’s death. It was no secret Javi blamed himself.

I had just gotten so sick of his attitude, I couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. Of course he had called me a good girl too. I was always dressed like a school teacher instead of the usual classy outfits the secretaries had. They always looked so poised, perfect, and sexy, whereas I always felt a bit frumpy when I tried to show off a bit more of my body. So I stuck to the knee length pencil skirts with flowy, frilly blouses tucked in and buttoned all the way up.

Perhaps what bothered me most was that he was doing the one thing that most of the women in that office were accused of. Everybody knew he slept around, either with informants or the other women in the office that allowed his company. When he wasn’t partaking in those options he could be found at the whorehouse or the bar. He did everything to get what he needed, who he needed. But the second any of the women indulged in the same they were shamed by the men around them.

On my very first day I could see Javier Peña coming from a mile away. The way his jeans wrapped around his legs and ass like they were made just for his shape, and the glisten of his skin shining underneath the top three undone buttons of his shirt. The pout of his lips, the warmth of his eyes. I could feel myself drooling just watching the way he sauntered down the hall to my desk. His fingers stretched out over the paperwork on my desk in front of me as he leaned in like we were sharing a secret. The pout on his lips slipped into a smile that made me glad I was already sitting down. That smile disappeared once he realized I wasn’t going to be giving him what he wanted.

He tried the sweet approach for months, but I never budged. It frustrated him, that was apparent, but I couldn’t afford to get in trouble because of him. I had been transferred to Colombia because I was well trusted in my position at home, and didn’t need to jeopardize that reputation because of some pretty boy.

Even though he was very, very pretty.

I didn’t see him for two weeks after my comment about his incompetence. It was strange enough for me to notice, since I usually saw him every few days if not every day. I hadn’t even seen him around the office, which meant he was either away or avoiding me. I figured it was the former since I doubted I was even a speck on his radar. Sure we pissed each other off, and I usually went home imagining what it would be like to go home to him, but to him I was just a pain in the ass secretary who stood in his way.

Eventually news traveled down the pipeline that Javi had been caught up in Los Pepes, which was a complete shock to me. I never suspected he would do something like that, but I assumed that just showed I didn’t know him well enough at all.

Without his presence the office seemed duller. I found I was just moving through the days, not realizing how much I had looked forward to our little arguments before.

When Murphy announced that they got Escobar, the first person I thought of was Javi. The man who had spent all that time, all those years, just to be sent home in the final hour. My heart ached for him, but I was mostly just glad the fight was over.

The fight with Escobar, anyway.

It wasn’t long before we were assigned to the Cali Cartel case. Some of the secretaries were leaving, but a select few got to be reassigned. I wasn’t sure where I was going to be assigned, but was told that I had specifically been requested.

Imagine my surprise to find I had been requested by Javier Peña himself.

I walked into his office, expecting to find a new agent, but found those eyes pinning me in place.

“Javi?” My mouth was gaped open, and I’m sure my eyebrows were raised comically high on my forehead.

“(Y/N),” he greeted me as though it was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re early.”

“You’re the one who requested me?” I asked, still shocked. “Why are you even here? I thought you got sent home.”

He chuckled and resumed looking down at the files on his desk. “I was, then they called me back. Turns out they need someone willing to do what it takes. As for you, yes, I requested you. Turns out you’re willing to do the same.”

He looked back up and met my eyes, his lips were quirked into a slight smile.

“I figured if you could keep me away from those files that long then I’d need someone like you guarding me.”

“Guarding you?” I was so confused.

“Yes.” He stood up and walked around his desk so he was standing in front of me. Whenever I had spoken to him in the past I had been sitting at my desk with him hovering over me. This time we were face to face, and although he was still taller than me it felt nice to at least be closer to eye level. “I need somebody to make sure I’m not bothered throughout the day. I have way more responsibility and people depending on me than before, and I can’t have people thinking they can interrupt me whenever they think their bullshit is more important than mine.”

I nodded, chewing on my lip. My heart stuttered as I watched his eyes flick to my movements before moving back up my face.

“That’s funny,” I finally said, “considering it was you who used to think their bullshit was the most important.”

His smile grew into a smirk. “Exactly. Which is how I know you’ll be perfect.”

My face heated at his praise, but I turned away before he could notice. “Great. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

I was stationed just outside his office door, and did my best to keep people out unless he told me otherwise. Although I was slightly annoyed to not only be working with him yet again, but to be working for him, there was a strong part of me that wanted to do my best. I wanted to do well for him.

To be good for him.

Javi was right, though, he did have more riding on his shoulders. There were times where he worked throughout the night, and I would walk in the next morning to find him in the same spot as he was the evening before with the same clothes. Other times he was gone for a few days, or even weeks.

I was usually quite swamped with whatever he needed me to do, but even though I worked for him I felt like I never saw him. Javi’s voice over the phone became a comfort, because then at least I’d know he was alive and well. Or at least physically well.

“Javi, are you alright?” I asked during a phone call one afternoon.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hung up, leaving me wondering what he wasn’t sharing. Not that he owed me any explanation. His work was exhausting, and he was putting every part of himself into it.

He finally caught one of the brothers, and the office decided to go out to the bar to celebrate the amazing victory. Javi didn’t seem to care that he made a huge step forward in not only the case, but also his career, and told everyone to go out without him. I watched his back, forever tense, as he dragged his feet into his office with his head down. He didn’t even acknowledge me when he passed by, but I tried to ignore the hurt that radiated through my bones.

I was dismissed with just a wave of his hand, and I went home to change. It had been a while since I had gone anywhere but work and home, and I couldn’t help but feel as though I wanted more. Every time I went home at the end of the day I longed for someone to fall into.

My closet was almost embarrassing, since I mostly had workwear that was not usually appropriate for a bar. In that moment I envied the other women at the office with their working outfits that looked so easy to transform to nighttime events. There were a few girls I had become friends with, but they were much smaller than me so I wouldn’t even be able to raid their wardrobes, and I was too proud to ask for fashion advice.

I swiped through skirt after skirt after blouse until I came across a dress I had tucked away toward the back. The tags were still on, but the little black number was perfect. It was slightly small when I squeezed myself into it, but only slightly. I just wouldn’t be able to sit in it. I also had to leave one of my top buttons undone, showing off the slopes of my breasts. The hemline was a bit shorter than the pencil skirts I usually sported, but it did the trick.

The mirror reflected a woman that I nearly didn’t recognize, until my red painted lips turned up into a smile. My eyes squinted a bit at the corners, showing my true happiness to be out of the office and ready to take on the nightlife.

I was on my way to the designated bar when I felt a pang in my chest, like a tug toward a certain building. Leaning forward, I asked the cab driver if we could make a quick stop. We pulled up outside the office and I slowly made my way inside. The lights in the hallways were dimmer than usual since the other offices were unoccupied, but one doorway was still bright.

Of course he was still there.

I stood in the doorway and studied him for a moment. Javi’s white shirt was a bit wrinkled, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons undone. His tie was laying off to the side across his desk, next to his arms which led up to where his hands cradled his head. He was clearly stressed, if the ash tray of cigarettes were any indication, along with the empty bottle of whiskey next to them.

For a moment I thought about walking over to him and smoothing my hands over his shoulders. They seemed so tense they were almost up to his ears. But I knew that wouldn’t be the right move. Instead I just knocked softly on the doorframe.

He jumped a bit, looking up to see who was there. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head once he saw me, and he dragged his gaze down my body and back up to my face. I could feel my chest heating up but stayed steady on my feet. I knew what I looked like, and felt better in my skin than I had in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, both confusion and shock etched across his features.

“I should be asking you the same question,” I said. “You know we’re celebrating your accomplishment right? If you’re not going to join us, at least give yourself a bit of a break.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair, his hands clasped together on his lap. “Just because I caught one of them doesn’t mean crime stops for the night.”

I shrugged. “I know, but still. Why don’t you relax for the night and let them panic a bit?”

“I haven’t seen you wear that before,” he commented, changing the subject to keep me from pressing. To my shock, his eyes shamelessly roamed my figure once more.

He used to flirt before he gave up, back when I was just a barrier between him and whatever he wanted. But even then, he would comment on my hair, accessories, nails, but never my body. Even when he commented on my clothes it was a throwaway comment about the patterns or adornments.

The way he was following the way the fabric of my dress hugged my waist, my hips, my soft tummy, had me blushing like crazy. It wasn’t subtle by any means, and certainly not what I was used to from Javi.

“Yeah, I bought it a while ago but never had a reason to wear it.” I smoothed down imaginary wrinkles as a way to distract myself from his gaze. “Figured now was as good a time as any.”

He hummed in agreement and looked back down to the papers sprawled out on his desk. I wondered briefly what it would be like to be those papers before tamping down that train of thought. My face was already burning from his attention, I didn’t need to make it worse.

“Well, I hope you have fun tonight. You’ve been working quite hard, you deserve a break.” He still stared ahead at the papers, as if it was too difficult to look at me again.

“Javi,” I said, causing him to drag his eyes away enough to finally look me in the eye, “you should really come.”

He nodded slowly, then looked away once more. “I’ll try.”

I sighed and wished him a goodnight, hoping I would see him again before the night was through. The click of my heels echoed throughout the empty hallway as I walked away from Javi’s doorway.

Although I occupied myself with my small group of work friends at the bar, I still kept a lookout for my boss just in case he actually attempted to make an appearance. After about an hour I gave up, realizing that he wasn’t going to grace us with his presence.

I had known that in the past he would only go out with either Carillo or Murphy, that he wasn’t the celebratory type, but I had hoped things had changed.

One of my coworkers approached me. I hadn’t really talked to him other than being the middle person whenever he needed to speak to Javi, but he seemed quite nice.

“I don’t normally see you out of work,” he said. His name was James, and he was slightly taller than Javi, but didn’t have an ounce of his charm.

“That’s because I’m hardly ever out of work.” I chuckled, bringing my drink to my lips. When I first ordered it I had to struggle not to cringe at the strong taste, but after another two it was going down like water. Dangerous, but much needed.

“I’d love to see more of you,” James said, not shy in the way his eyes took in every part of me. I felt myself struggling not to shy away, so unlike the confidence I felt when Javi did the same. “You’ll have to get the boss man to give you some more time away.”

I smiled. “Yeah, like that will ever happen. You know he needs the best,” I joked.

James stepped closer, his cologne invading my senses. “Well, he needs to learn how to share.”

“Who needs to share?”

My back straightened as though someone shoved a rod through my spine. “Javi?” I asked spinning to see him standing behind me, a smile directed at me, his eyes downright murderous toward James.

“Hello, (Y/N).” Javi brought his glass of, what I assumed was whiskey to his lips, and raised his hand to my lower back. I welcomed the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric of my dress while his eyes remained on the man in front of us.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming out,” James spoke calmly, as if he couldn’t tell the tension radiating between us. “I heard you weren’t the partying type. Well, anymore.”

Javi’s smile never wavered, but his eyes darkened enough that I noticed. “I wasn’t planning on making an appearance but somebody reminded me of how hard we’ve all been working.” He turned to look at me, his hand tightening slightly on my back. “If we don’t celebrate our successes we might as well let them win now.”

“You mean your success?” James wasn’t backing down.

“Teamwork.” Javi countered, looking back up at James. “I couldn’t have done it without my team.” His hand slipped around to my hip, pulling me into his space. James’ eyes flickered to the motion, his smile turning into a smirk.

“Wow. Looks like you’ve grown up a bit, Peña.”

“Someone had to.” His hand tightened, my chest felt on fire.

James glanced toward me, then the hand at my hip, before aiming his glare back to Javi. “Although it is comforting to see some habits haven’t changed.” He stepped back, turning to part from us, but not before throwing over his shoulder, “you two have a wonderful night!”

I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye before James was out of sight. Javi removed his hand from me and started to walk away, but not before I spun on him, ready for a fight.

“What the fuck was that?” I was shocked at Javi’s display, but mostly downright furious.

He shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“All of this,” I gestured between us, and to my hip, still feeling the warmth of his skin, “and the whole ‘someone had to’? Are you serious?”

His eyes darkened. “What are you trying to say here?”

“You have no right,” I hissed through my teeth in anger. “I may work for you but I don’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t even do anything. If you want to keep talking to James, be my guest.” He stepped closer, I could smell the whiskey on his lips. “But don’t think I’m going to stand by while that shitbag tries to pick you up.”

“Maybe I wanted him to pick me up, ever think about that?” I crossed my arms, then immediately uncrossed them when his eyes flickered to my cleavage on display.

“I did think about it, but thought you might want to know what kind of man was trying to do it.” He downed the rest of his drink then zeroed back in on me. “That man has been sleeping his way through the office and leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. I didn’t think you’d want to be one of them.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “So he’s you?”

His lips tightened into a thin line, his jaw clenching. “Right.”

It felt like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. I knew I wasn’t being fair, but I wasn’t completely wrong either.

“Javi, I’m sorry I-“

He held up his hand. “No, you’re right. I won’t be bothering you anymore, don’t worry. Have a good rest of your night.”

I didn’t bother trying to stop him as he set his empty glass at the bar and walked away. I sighed, finding myself alone, and when I looked around I noticed James was already chatting with another woman, her head thrown back in laughter. My night was ruined, so I went home.

Javi didn’t return to the office for another week. I had been told he was away looking for ways to keep Gilberto Rodriguez in prison, but he hadn’t left me a single note. He never even called me the entire time he was away. I worked away with what I had delivered to me by others, but Javier Peña never contacted me directly.

He had to return to his office eventually, but it only happened after Franklin Jurado was murdered. I knew Javi was beyond pissed and frustrated. But so was I, especially after he walked into his office without a single acknowledgment thrown my way.

I immediately stood and followed him into his office before he even had a chance to sit down.

“What do you need, (Y/N)?” He asked, still not looking my way,

“What do I need? What do I need, Javier?” My chest heaved while I tried to contain my anger. “What the fuck?”

He finally looked up, his face placid. “Unless this has to do with keeping that motherfucker locked up, then I suggest you save it for later.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, then walked out of his office, slamming the door behind me. I barely paused to grab my purse before storming out of the office, not giving a single shit who was watching my temper tantrum.

I marched myself to the nearest bar, ordering the cheapest whiskey they had. I wasn’t wanting to get drunk, just needed to dull the senses a bit. Calm the fires that licked at my heart.

Two drinks later I found myself feeling enough of the effects and bravery for what I wanted to do. I laid more than enough cash on the bar and clutched my purse to keep me steady as I walked out and in the direction of a certain apartment.

I had only been to Javi’s apartment once before, and it was only to drop off paperwork he had needed. He had barely cracked the door, not wanting to cross our work and home boundaries, which I appreciated in the moment. This time I was ready to run across those boundaries if he’d let me.

Javi never answered his door. I knocked over and over but no response. I sighed, realizing he probably hadn’t left the office. It felt as though I was doing a walk of shame as I made my way out to the street to try and flag down a cab.

The cab passed by the office and I almost asked if we could stop, but no longer felt the fight that had brought me to Javi’s apartment. Instead I just rested my head on the window and watched the lights pass by until we stopped outside my place. I trudged up the small flight of stairs and rounded the corner to find the man I had been looking for leaning against my door.

He was still in his navy suit from work, though his white dress shirt underneath was slightly wrinkled. His tie was missing which gave me room to see the expanse of tan skin exposed with his top three buttons undone.

I stopped in my tracks. “What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a huge deal. “It’s later. I figured you still wanted to talk.”

I glared at him, his expression still not changing as if he was already bored from what I would have to say. Instead of lashing out in my hallway I pushed past him to unlock the door. I walked in leaving it open, he got to choose whether or not he crossed that boundary. Sure enough, I heard the door close with a click and the lock slid into place. I was glad he took the same safety precautions as me.

“Take a seat wherever.” I waved toward my living room before making my way into the kitchen. I grabbed two glasses and thought about it before pouring myself more whiskey. Javi would appreciate it, but I probably needed to slow down. I poured myself a glass of water instead.

I brought his alcohol and my water out to the living room and handed him the former before sitting in the chair opposite him.

“So,” he started, “what did you want to talk about? Back at the office, I mean.”

I took a deep breath in and out. “You’ve been a real jerk.”

He didn’t seem shocked whatsoever and nodded for me to keep going.

“I’ve been working my ass off for you, even though I did not like you, and you’ve been so rude. You hardly give me the time of day, and the whole James thing was fucked up.” I felt like everything I had to say was falling apart. I was spiraling, no longer fueled by the alcohol and anger running through my bloodstream just an hour earlier.

“Okay,” he said. “You done?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.”

He stood up, drained his glass, and placed it on the table. “Alright. Sorry for being an ass. Hope you have a good night.”

My mouth dropped open as he turned to leave. “Javi!”

He stopped but didn’t turn back to look at me.

“You can’t just leave, don’t you have anything to say?” I stood up and walked over to stand in front of him. He wouldn’t look at me.

“I don’t have anything to say. I apologized, what more do you want?”

“Javi, come on. There must be something else going on. I know you’re frustrated with work but that doesn’t explain your behaviour-“

His head snapped up, his eyes locking on mine.

“You have no idea what I’m feeling so don’t fucking act like it.”

“Then tell me! Tell me, Javi,” I begged.

He grabbed my upper arms and pushed me back toward the wall. His hand came up to the back of my head to cushion it against the hard surface, causing my breath to catch in my throat. I couldn’t look away from the heat burning in his eyes, intense and focused directly on me.

“I have seen shit that would keep you up nights. Stuff nightmares are made of. And I’m so fucking tired. Half the reason I smoke as much as I do, no matter how hard I’ve tried to quit, are to stop my hands from shaking, and the only comfort I’ve found is either in someone else’s bed or at the end of a fucking bottle.” He softened his grip on my arm. “Until I met you.”

I opened my mouth to speak but the look he gave me was enough to stop me in my tracks.

“Ever since you walked through that door you’ve been the only thing I think about. Whiskey doesn’t taste the same, smoking has lost all its effect, and I wouldn’t dream of being in any bed but yours. If only you’d have me. I know I don’t deserve you. You’re so good, you’re the hope in this world. I don’t deserve to carve out my own comfort in you.” He pushed himself even closer. I could feel the heat between our lips. “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you. Craving you.”

He leaned in, his nose brushing against the underside of my jaw. My eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled my scent, sighing out and causing goosebumps to erupt over my skin.

“If you tell me to stop then I will, just say the word. I’ll walk away, I’ll move away if I have to. I’ll never bother you again.” His voice was raspy, a restraint pulled tight over his vocal cords. “But if you don’t stop me then I’m afraid I never will. I’m addicted to you. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“Javi,” I breathed, finally opening my eyes again to find him pulled away enough to observe my reaction. “I-“

He shook his head slightly. “Yes or no, querida. Do you want this? Do you want me as much as I want you?” His voice was a whisper, barely loud enough to hear, shared only between us like a secret though we were alone.

I nodded my head, then said, “yes, Javi. Yes.”

Kissing him was like coming home after a long day. The plush press of his lips quenched a thirst I didn’t realize was that strong within me. It was everything I wanted. Everything I needed.

His arms were strong as they held me against his body, pulling me in tighter and tighter. I couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t stop. Our lips slotted together perfectly, he pushed and I pulled, drinking him in. I moaned into his mouth, giving him an opportunity to slide his tongue past my lips.

We pulled away gasping for air, our chests heaving together. His eyes searched mine for any sign of regret or hesitancy. He never found it. The only thing radiating from my very being was want.

“Wow,” I sighed out, “that was… wow.”

He chuckled and leaned in to peck at my lips. “It doesn’t have to stop if you don’t want it to.” His lips smudged kisses across my jaw, then down to my neck. I moaned when he reached my collarbone, licking a strip up behind my ear.

“I don’t ever want to stop,” I said, slightly out of breath.

“Good,” he growled against my skin before sinking his teeth in enough to make me groan. “Me neither.”

“I need you, Javi,” I said, my voice turning to a moan at the tail end of his name.

“I know, lo se, hermosa,” he spoke between bites along my neck. “Show me your bed, baby.”

I pulled back as much as he would let me and led him by the front of his shirt through my hallway until we got to my room. Before I could turn around to face him again he had wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his front. His name left my lips in sighs and moans while his hands slid up my body to cup my breasts, all while his lips still continued exploring any inch of skin they could reach.

My ass pressed back against his aching cock that could be felt through his suit pants. He pulled his lips away from my neck enough to whimper in my ear as I kept grinding myself back against him. His thumbs rubbed against my nipples through the fabric of my blouse and bra, but soon enough he pulled away with a huff.

“You look so sexy in this outfit, baby, but I need to feel you,” he said, his eyes roving over my clothed figure. He reached up and flicked the frills at my collar with his fingertips, smiling gently at me.

“Thought you hated the frills.” I remembered him commenting on them several times.

He shook his head, disbelief in his eyes. “They drive me fucking crazy, keeping up that good girl image. You were always such a good girl with everyone.” He leaned in and kissed me, pulling away just enough that I could still feel his lips. “For everyone except me.”

I gasped as he bit my lower lip, tugging on it slightly. His hands started undoing the buttons on my blouse as he kept talking.

“Always so vulgar, dismissive, uncaring with me. Pushing me away, telling me no.” His lips followed the skin he uncovered as he continued to slowly unbutton my shirt. “But you can be a good girl, can’t you?”

He looked up at me, his big, brown eyes tugging at my heart. He smirked and shoved me backward onto the bed. I barely got my bearings before feeling his body following mine, caging me in. There was no way I could move as he pressed me into the mattress and continued kissing his way down my body.

“You’re going to be such a good girl for me. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes, Javi,” I moaned. “I’ll be so good for you.”

I had never planned on giving in so quickly to Javi but I melted as soon as I felt his lips on me.

“Good fucking girl,” he growled against my lower abdomen. His hands slipped down to my skirt which he peeled down my legs. “God, these thighs. They look fucking delicious.”

I went to close them, feeling too open for him, but he slapped the inside of one of them before I could. He chased the sting with a gentle kiss, then sucked a trail of marks inside my thighs up to my center. He practically ripped my panties off, bringing them to his nose and inhaling while his eyes were locked onto mine.

Lord, he was sinful. And I needed him bad.

“Javi,” I groaned, pressing my head back into the bed.

“Ask nicely, hermosa.” His hands slipped up my calves and thighs, pushing my legs apart enough for him to settle between them. He was on his knees on the floor, and my legs were over his shoulders. “I thought you were a good girl.”

“Please, Javi. Please,” I begged. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for, pleasure forming a steady haze in my mind. All I knew was that if he didn’t touch me I was going to go crazy.

“There we go,” he said before sliding his thumb through my slit. He ran it over my clit before moving further toward my hole. “Fuck, so wet. You’re absolutely soaked for me.”

I gripped onto the blankets as his tongue swiped over my clit. His name and ‘please’ were the only words I could say or think while his head was buried between my thighs. My back arched as his tongue was relentless on my clit, his hands warm and firm holding my legs in place.

“Are you always wet like this? Or is it just for me?” He asked, pulling away enough to circle me with his middle finger. I writhed on the bed, wanting more. “You don’t have to answer that, baby, I think I already know.”

His finger slowly pushed into me, and I moaned for him. “Javi, fuck, need you, Javi.”

“Lo sé, querida, but I need you to be patient for me.” He continued to fuck me slowly with his finger, then slipped another one inside. I practically lifted off the bed when he crooked them and hit the right spot. “There we go.”

“Javi, please,” I breathed, my chest heaving. “I want to cum.”

He smirked at me, then spit directly on my clit. My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the feeling of his spit sliding between my folds.

“Filthy, baby, you’re fucking filthy. You love this, don’t you?” He dove back in, sucking my bud into his mouth while he was rubbing against the exact spot I needed.

Lightning started to shoot through my veins, and I knew I was close. Just in time for him to leave my clit. His tongue traveled down until it was fucking into me between his fingers. My chest burned as a blush spread up to my neck as I opened up for him. His nose nudged at my clit once, then twice, until it became a steady rhythm.

He pulled away. “Ride my face, baby, use your hips.” He pushed his tongue into me then pulled back out. “I won’t break, I can take it, come on. Fuck my face.”

I groaned and reached down to fist his hair between my fingers. He slipped his fingers from my cunt and wrapped his arms around my hips, pulling me down on his face. His nose pressed deliciously against my clit and his tongue continued to lick into me. I started to buck my hips, testing out the waters until he used his grip on me to encourage more movement.

It wasn’t long before I was pulling his head as close as possible and grinding my hips against him. Javi moaned against me, the vibration racing through my body. My toes started to curl as his grip tightened into steel. A thrill ran through me at the thought that there might be marks afterward, that his fingerprints would be worn into my skin as a reminder of how I felt in that moment.

My orgasm hit me like a bolt of lightning as it shot through me. “Javi, Javi, Javi,” I chanted.

He groaned and finally pulled away once I fell limp. “Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum.”

I lifted my head to look at the man still on his knees for me. His face glistened with my juices, and my mouth watered at the thought of tasting myself on his lips. A blush continued to creep up onto my cheeks as I took in his disheveled appearance. He was still wearing his suit, which was extremely rumpled, and reminded me that I was still in my blouse and bra.

He leaned forward and kissed me, before he started to slide my shirt off my shoulders, then moved his hands to the straps of my bra. It was almost strange how delicate he was after the strength he showed while holding me to his face, but he was gentle as he slid my straps down my arms. One of his hands went up my back to the clasp, and he undid it with a simple motion. I gasped as he smirked at me while pulling the fabric off my chest.

I was always very conscious of my breast size. They were considerably larger from a young age, and something I had always tried to hide. The first time I hadn’t was that night at the bar. I thought about shying away from Javi as he uncovered them, but the look in his eyes made me freeze. His pupils almost completely engulfed the deep brown, and they were fixated on my fully exposed body.

“Holy fuck, hermosa,” he growled, reaching up to cup both breasts in his warm palms. “I knew you were beautiful, but seeing you like this? Unbelievable.”

His thumbs smoothed over my nipples, making me moan. The warmth of his mouth pressed on my sternum, then moved to my right breast.

“Javi,” I sighed, one of my hands coming up to the back of his head. His hair was still ruffled from when my hands were in it before, and he moaned when I gave a gentle tug to the curls at his nape.

He licked over my nipple, making my body jerk. “What do you need, baby?”

“Clothes, off, please,” I panted as he absolutely tortured my nipples with his teeth and tongue. “Need to see you.”

He pulled back, locking me in place with just a look. Slowly he started to slide his suit jacket off, maintaining eye contact even when he started undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt. My skin vibrated with a restless want, my fingers itched to reach out and touch the tan planes of his stomach that he revealed to me. I was practically salivating by the time he dropped his shirt to the floor. His fingers moved to the button of his pants but I reached out to stop him.

“Wait,” I said. “Let me. Please.”

He smiled and dropped one of his hands, the other coming up to smooth the hair out of my face. “Okay, baby. You go ahead.”

I continued on, beaming up at him, trying my hardest to be sexy but the euphoria running through my limbs made it impossible. My fingers were trembling at the thought of what I was doing, but I pressed on, determined not to let him see how nervous I was. A firm grip on the underside of my jaw caused me to pause.

Javi lifted my face so I could see his. “(Y/N). We don’t have to keep going. We can stop right here if you want.”

I shook my head as much as I could in his hold. “I don’t want to stop. Just nervous is all.”

He nodded. “Take your time, I’m in no rush as long as I’m with you.”

His words caused my smile to grow almost too large for my face. I could tell he meant it, his smile matching mine even through the dark look in his eyes. Even if I couldn’t feel the heat radiating from his body, and the hardness just on the other side of his pants, I would know how turned on he was.

I popped the button on his pants and slowly dragged the zipper down. “Such a good girl,” he cooed above me, keeping me going.

The dusting of hair leading down his pants was soft against the back of my fingers as I revealed more and more skin. Where I thought his underwear should begin was bare, and when I started to pull the fabric down I was met with the thick base of his cock.

I glanced up and his hand reached down and cupped my jaw, his thumb smoothing over my bottom lip and dragging it down until it popped back up. I felt like I was barely breathing as I refocused on the task at hand and pulled his pants the rest of the way down.

His cock was smooth as velvet and heavy in my hand. I heard him inhale sharply as I started to drag my hand slowly toward his tip then back down to the base. I lowered my head until my lips were perched at the slit, and poked my tongue out to catch the bead of precum that had gathered there. He hissed through his teeth as I hummed at the taste of him.

“Fuck, baby, stop teasing,” he grunted, reaching his hand to the back of my head. I waited for him to pull me closer to his length but he never did.

I parted my lips and slid the head of his cock into my mouth further and further until I could feel the weight of him settle on my tongue. The taste of him was heady, and flooded my senses. Salt, skin, warmth, and him.

Before I could continue pushing myself further, his hand came around to my throat and wrapped around firmly. He pressed back and I had no choice but to pull myself off his cock, and continued to follow his grip until he had me pinned on the bed. His hand squeezed once around my neck, enough for me to feel lightheaded for a moment, and then he pulled away.

Javi slowly tugged at his cock, now throbbing and fully hard, while he watched me. My mouth was still agape and my chest rose and fell steadily.

“I’m sorry, hermosa, but I need to fuck you.”

I couldn’t speak, too stunned at the ghost of his grip on my neck. I had never had somebody do that, but the way he had wrapped his hand around my throat caused a steady pulse to erupt between my legs. I wanted his hands back on me, wherever he wanted to put them.

He kicked off his pants and socks, then climbed on the bed next to me. I pushed myself up until I was laying on my back toward the top of my bed, my head on a pillow. Javi watched with his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’, trailing his eyes up my legs, my stomach, my chest, then landing on my face.

He moved so he was on his knees between mine, and brought his fist down to his cock once more. I watched, mesmerized by the sight of the wet head of his cock disappearing in his large fist, as he lazily stroked himself.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.

I obeyed immediately, bringing my hand down between my legs and circling my clit with my middle finger.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “you look so good. You’re doing so good for me, baby, so good. Fuck.”

“Javi,” I whimpered for him. “I need you. Please, I need you so bad.”

I was absolutely aching for him, electricity lighting up my nerves while he watched me pleasure myself all for him. I gasped at the feeling of his cock sliding between my folds and looked to see him thrusting his hips against me. He held firm onto the base of his cock, directing it to nudge against my entrance before sliding it up to my clit instead, over and over and over.

“Beg,” he said. He didn’t ask, he spoke calmly as if he wasn’t torturing me.

“What?” I asked, unsure that I even heard him right.

“I said,” he slapped his cock against my clit, making my entire body jolt on the bed, “beg.”

I thought about what that meant for him. After years of begging me for something as simple as basic files, and after years of me telling him no, he now had me in the palm of his hand. For a second I thought about saying no, then he slapped his cock down again. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes at the sensitivity, and I gasped when he pressed himself at my entrance.

“Please,” I whispered, “please, Javi. I need you, I need your cock inside me. Please fuck me.”

He sighed, pulling back. “You’re lucky my patience has run out. Next time you’ll have to do better.”

The thought of ‘next time’ raced through my mind, but that was cut short when he started steadily pushing in. The stretch of him caused my head to fall back into the pillow and a guttural moan was ripped from deep within my chest.

He stilled when he was settled all the way, and I wiggled my hips to feel more of him. He leant down and braced one hand on the bed next to my head, while the other gripped onto my outer thigh.

“Want to be gentle with you,” he said, his words coming out tight. “Want you to feel good.”

“Don’t. Don’t be gentle, please.” I panted underneath him, sweat starting to prickle at my skin. “Want to feel it, I want to feel all of you, Javi. Don’t hold back.”

He pulled out abruptly, and I whined at the loss of him. “I need you on top,” he said, helping me move so he could take my place on the bed. His hands guided me so I was straddling him. “You want to be good for me, right?”

I nodded, feeling my nerves creep up. He could see all of me, and I would be the one in control.

“Then fuck me like a good girl.”

He pulled my hips down into his length, and I threw my head back as he sunk further and further in. Once I was fully seated my entire body shuddered. His lips were parted with his tongue sliding out to wet them as he looked at me like I was his next meal.

“Look at you, baby, mierda,” his voice somehow came out incredibly sweet and syrupy, even though I could feel every ridge of his cock against my walls. “Ride my cock, that’s it, ride me like I’m yours, I’m all yours, baby, all yours.”

The only sound I could make was a squeaky, high pitched moan as my legs burned from bouncing on him. My hands were perched on his chest while his traveled up my body to grasp my tits. He held me firm and I used the opportunity to switch up what I was doing.

“Oh, Javi,” my voice came out lower than expected once I started to grind myself against his pelvis. His name continued to pour from my lips, getting more and more breathy until I was just shaping my lips around the letters.

“That’s it, good girl,” he continued his praise, which made me grind down even harder. “Such a good fucking girl.”

My orgasm approached steadily, less of a punch to the gut as the last one, and my thighs tightened around his torso. I continued to grind myself back and forth, my toes curling, his words and moans spurring me on. I reached up to one of his hands and pulled it off my breast, leading it up to grip around my throat. Finally I gasped out his name as my pleasure pulled me under, squeezing the air out of me until I slumped down over him.

“Oh fuck, such a dirty girl, cumming with my hand around your throat,” he growled.

He barely gave me time to recover, and pulled my upper body closer so he could bend his legs. “Stay still,” he grunted before pounding into me so mercilessly the only thing I could do was hang on to him.

My teeth latched onto his collarbone, and my hands scrambled until they found purchase on his shoulders. He was grunting and gasping while pushing himself in and out of me, my cunt deliciously trying to grip him while I sobbed from oversensitivity.

Javi chanted my name over and over while I continued to bite down on his neck. His hands reached down, one wrapping around my lower body to press me down onto him further, while the other gripped my ass. His body jolted, messing up his rhythm, and he held me even closer to him. I felt so incredibly full as his grip of steel held me firmly in place. His cock pulsed inside me before his hot cum started filling me up.

“Baby,” he whined against my temple, his voice gravelly and torn. “Baby, baby, baby.”

Eventually his body melted, his cock softening inside me. We made no effort to move, and stayed still just breathing together.

“I am never letting you go,” he murmured, his lips still pressed to my hairline above my ear. “You hear me? Never. You’re stuck with me now.”

I chuckled, then gasped when I felt his cock stir. “Sounds good to me.”

He helped me roll over so I was on my side, and he went to find a warm cloth to clean us up. I could feel his cum steadily leaking out of me, but was still a bit sad when he wiped it away. It helped when I saw the way he watched it drip out of me first, almost like he didn’t want it to end either.

We slept in each other's arms that night, and when I awoke to find my face still buried in his chest I couldn’t help but smile. He slowly woke up not long after me, and we laid in bed kissing each other slowly. Our tongues moved lazily together with our soft moans waking us up more and more. He pulled away and I reached for him.

“I can’t, we have to go to work.” He chuckled while gathering his clothes.

I groaned and rolled onto my back so I could watch him. He got dressed while I wished he would do the opposite.

“Can’t we just call in sick?” I mumbled, sleep still thick in my throat.

“Yeah, cause that won’t look suspicious.” He buttoned up his shirt, and started to roll the sleeves up his forearms a bit. “Bad enough I have to walk in there with the same clothes as yesterday.”

I smirked, and got up to get dressed. My smirk turned into a full blown smile, and it didn’t leave when we got into his car together, or when we walked into the office side by side with his hand on my lower back, and not when I sat at my desk.

And it certainly didn’t leave as I watched him continue on into his office with the top three buttons of his shirt still undone, showing off the purpling bruise on his collarbone.