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foone · 8 months

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you know what'd be a fun idea for a trek fanshow? Star Trek: Mission Logs. You just put a couple people in starfleet uniforms, and have them read off summaries of episodes in an increasingly incredulous tone. Like Drunk History: Star Trek Edition.

"so the captain says that while on the way to the inauguration ceremony, they diverted course to Vulcan as their first officer needed SO MUCH to fuck that he was a week from death, but then when they got there, he got stood up, and then fought the captain TO DEATH but he was ok?"

"so it turns out when they disappeared during the battle with the borg, they went back in time and found out that the first use of warp drive had been undone, so they had to personally help Cochrane rebuild his ship, and they were there for first contact!?"

I say "drunk history" because I imagine the people at the starfleet HQ have to drink heavily to handle the kind of reports they keep getting in from starfleet captains.

"So after a miserable first contact, the commander, doctor, first officer, and science officer disappeared, and their security officer found that the boardgame the barkeep was playing had pieces that represented them? and they were somehow mystically imprisoned inside the game!"

"so the captain says that they detected a ship trapped inside a black hole (!?) and when they tried to rescue the ship, they got damaged and then discovered they were that ship, trapped inside without realizing. Fortunately they found the crack in the event horizon and escaped." (the lieutenant then passes out after finishing the entire bottle of Bolian vodka)

"So while they were on a vital mission to locate the aliens who had blown up florida and were planning to destroy the entire planet, they found a... Cowboy Planet!?" Everyone yells "COWBOY PLANET!" and takes a shot.

"So while testing a weapons upgrade, a crewmember's case of flu was accidentally turned into an infectious de-evolutionary mutagen, causing the crewmember to turn into a spider, and the rest of the crew to undergo similar changes." "stop, stop, STOP! you made that one up, admit it!" "no, really! Their counselor turned into a frog." "ok, now I'm just not going to believe anything you say."

"so a former captain of the ship was visiting when they tried to rescue a ship flying directly into a supernova, but got 'pulled in'!? and ended up in a REVERSE TIME UNIVERSE? naturally, everyone quickly de-aged to children, and the elderly former captain had to take command" "Spelk, you're not even trying this time, that's not even remotely plausible"

"So it turns out that the terrorist who took over the paradise planet was the first officer's (half-)brother, and he uses his magic hypnosis to cause the crew to mutiny and join his mission to travel to the middle of the galaxy... and find god!?" "Did... did they find god?" "oh yeah! turns out he was evil. Don't worry, the first officer blew him up using a klingon warbird." "he blew up god?" "yeah!"

"So this is a little different, it's not a mission log... it's a repair log." "That doesn't sound like it'd be very weird..." "Oh, just you wait. So, they had to get refueled because all their dilithium had been stolen." "Stolen?" "Yes. By a man from AN ANTIMATTER DIMENSION" "So a man in an antimatter dimension discovered there were two dimensions, and his matter counterpart went insane and obsessed with killing the anti-matter version of him, but meeting outside the dimensional corridor would destroy both universes" "both... universes? So if the captain didn't stop these guys, everyone in our entire universe and some other one would be gone?" "YEP!" "did he stop them? well, I guess he did, since we're still here" "oh yeah. trapped 'em in the dimensional corridor forever." "so they're just out there in some weird in-between-the-universes place, just fighting, for all time? and that's the only reason we haven't blown up?" "YEP!" "and this all came out in the logs... because they put in for repairs?" "yeah. to replace the stolen dilithium" "are you sure the captain wasn't really into dabo or kotra and wagered the dilithium crystals on a "sure thing" that didn't pan out?"

"So this one is a report of some people (with pictures!) who don't exist." "They don't exist?" "Nope! never did. They weren't born." "So, we have pictures of them, because?" "Well, the ship crashed, and the stranded crew had kids... then they uncrashed." "uncrashed?" "yeah! so it turns out when they approached the planet, they got thrown a couple centuries back in time, and met their descendants. then when they tried to leave, the ship would crash, restarting the loop. but it didn't." "it didn't?" "yeah, one of the crew was secretly in love with another officer, but she wasn't going to survive the crash, so despite the crew attempting to recreate the crash to continue the existence of their past-future-descendants, he sabotaged the ship into not crashing" "wait, into not crashing? he did sabotage to make everything... work perfectly?" "yeah! they were trying to crash, remember? So they inadvertently didn't crash, undoing the existence of all of their descendants, so they never existed. But here's their pictures!"

"ooh, I found a really weird one! It's not a mission report, medical file, or even another repair log" "So what is it? Another weird artifact?" "no no no, I sent those off to the SCP division. This is a SPY REPORT! About a dead Romulan!" "So this report is on a spy saying that the Romulans had gotten access to some secret information about the then-upcoming Intrepid-class starships. Very minimal info, but this was found in a Romulan database when the ship was just undergoing initial design stages" "Here's the weird part: The database file with the information on the Intrepid was timestamped 2351, but Starfleet didn't even start initial design work on the Intrepid until 2364!" "So they used time travel? to get... basic information on one single starship class?" "Kinda? See, there's a P.S. on the spy file, added later when it was declassified. The leaked info in the Romulan database was discovered in 2371, but the file was updated in 2378, with an explanation." "and?" "Remember when the U.S.S. Voyager was lost?" "oh yeah, they turned out to have just been stuck on the other side of the galaxy, right?" "Yeah! And while they were there, they found a microscopic wormhole, and successfully used it to communicate back with the Romulans... but discovered it was a TIME WORMHOLE" "oh, so they were talking to the Romulans back in 2351?" "Yep! They figured that out and then decided not to transport through the wormhole, as they would have gotten home 20 years before they left, but they sent some messages back to be delivered later. They didn't come through" "why not?" "well... turns out the romulan guy (Telek R'Mor) died before Voyager ever launched, so he never got a chance to deliver the messages. but he DID inform the Tal Shiar about some design elements of the Intrepid class, years before it was launched" "that must have confused them" "yes... the report is basically just two spy agencies completely confused about what to do about the intelligence they had, and confused about why they had it"

"ok ok ok, enough artifacts, mission logs, spy reports, medical reports, repair logs, how about a really weird one: A SENSOR REPORT!" "why is that one weird?" "well, look at the timestamp. Both of them." "so one timestamp is 2372, and the other is... negative 16 billion?" "yep! This one is a scan of the big bang. And slightly before it." "... before?" "Yeah! They did a scan, and then THE BIG BANG HAPPENED, and then fortunately they got out of there before the universe fully existed, as that would exceed the ship's safety tolerances" "so... why were they at the big bang?" "well... you know the farpoint encounter, and that godly being the USS Enterprise ran into?" "oh god (uh, no pun intended)... but yeah, vaguely" "WELL it turns out there was another one of those godly beings who was suicidal and imprisoned in a comet, and-" "wait wait wait. there was a god trapped in a comet?" "yes. apparently they're infinitely powerful but weak to comets. ANYWAY. he was suicidal and trying to hide" "hide? WHAT DOES A GOD HAVE TO HIDE FROM?" "well he was hiding from the other god! the one at farpoint! that one was the one who imprisoned him. because he was suicidal." "so the god was in the comet, and the other god put him there, and someone let him out? and then he hid?" "yes! and where does a god hide?" "at the big bang?" "slightly before, but yes! and he took the ship along with him, so that's how they were able to scan the big bang. because of getting involved in a weird game of hide-and-seek between a suicidal god and a jailer-god" "so what happened? how did they get out of the whole god-war thing?" "well... usual stuff. they put the god on trial to see if he could be allowed to die, but compromised on making him human and a crew member" "so they had a former god on their crew?" "briefly. then he died." "he died? after settling for human?" "yeah, it turned out the jailer-god changed his mind and decided to rebel against god-society and started by giving the former-god some deadly poison to let him finally die, like he wanted" "well, at least that seems to have ended... well?"

"oh no, there's a follow up! see, it seems the dead god thing lead to a god-civil-war and it seems that caused a bunch of supernovae in 2373." "wait... supernovae? plural? like, outshined-the-entire-galaxy SUPERNOVAE? that must have killed billions, or trillions!" "yep! it was a massive disaster and caused a real crisis in astronomy because we had no idea why it was happening, but it suddenly stopped, thankfully. But yes, it was started because the crew accidentally freed a suicidal god from a comet." "oh god..." "literally!"

"don't worry, though... that's not the weird bit" "HOW IS THAT NOT THE WEIRD BIT?" "OK I PROMISE I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP... but after the first supernovae of the 2373 Calamity, it turns out the captain (of the ship that killed the god) discovered another god... in her bed" "her... bed?" "Yeah! it turns out the other god wanted to have a child. with her." "... that's weird but what does this have to do with the supernovae?" "he wanted to end the war, and figured the best way to do it was to get her pregnant with a god-baby"

"NOPE! That's it! I'm out. that's not real. you're making it up. We don't live in a universe where one captain caused death across the universe by sparking a god-war and then only ending it by having a baby with a god. I'm out. I have a Warp Dynamics test to study for anyway."

"wait! wait! I didn't even tell you about the time she turned into a lizard and had babies with her pilot" "NO! I DON'T CARE HOW MANY WEIRD THINGS YOU MAKE UP, THERE ARE NO LIZARD BABIES"

"no, I swear, it really happened! Look, they went infinitely fast and occupied every point in the universe!" "THAT'S NOT HOW SPEED WORKS" "it is! and it turns out going everywhere at once infinitely fast turns you into a lizard!" "*sigh* Are there any reports on unhearing that?"

I imagine they sometimes decide to go HARD MODE on the report readings, where they have to put aside all the ones with "Voyager" on them. They're just too easy.

"So I've got two reports here, and I want you to pick between them. One is the second weirdest transporter visitor log, and the other is a report on why a science officer is 30 years old... except his head, which is 495 years old!" "I'm going to cut you off there, because I know your tricks: those are both the same incident." "Yep! You got me. Am I really that predictable?" "You are. Also, second weirdest transporter visitor log? You phrased that very specifically..." "I wanted to rule out all the transporter accidents and strange misuses of the transporter, and focus solely on WHO was transported. This was the second weirdest person." "I'm not going to take the obvious bait and ask who it was... but I will ask: who is the weirdest?" "Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln. President of the United States, a predecessor to the unified Earth government... he died in 1865." "WHY WAS HE TRANSPORTED? Who was time traveling back to the 1860s? and if they were in the 1860s, why were they beaming up Presidents?" "HARDMODE: No time travel! He was transported out of open space in 2269, because he had been recreated by the local mineral beings on their lava-planet" "why... why did the lava aliens recreate a 19th century Earth president?" "To study GOOD AND EVIL!" "Like you do, I guess?" "Yeah... anyway, the recreated Lincoln got killed by a spear, thrown by either Genghis Khan or Kahless the Unforgettable" "THE FOUNDER OF THE KLINGON EMPIRE?" "Yeah! he got recreated too. And teamed up with Genghis." "No. no no no no no you made this up" "It's real! Check it out, there's a message here to the diplomatic department, asking for the proper protocol to accept a 19th century US president abort a quasi-military vessel. And there's a video clip! Hit play on that..."

"Man, video quality was terrible back in 2269" "Yeah, they were using analog tapes back then. Don't ask why. Retrotechnology studies are so complicated even without timetravel messing everything up. So yeah, apparently the answer is 'dress uniforms, security guys, whistle'" "oh yeah. You can't welcome a 19th century Earth president on board without a whistle. Where's your sense of ceremony!?"

"So I really have to go, my Intermediate Klingoneese class starts in like 5 minutes, but just tell me one thing: Who was the 2nd weirdest transporter visitor on the logs?" "Oh! Samuel Clemens." "Who?" "Mark Twain! Earth author, wrote Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn?" "What? How?" "Yeah, a crew found a time portal that went back to 1893, while trying to figure out why the head of one of their crewmembers was in a cave on earth, and accidentally sent him forward to 2368, and beamed him aboard." "Did they wipe his memory afterwards or something?" "NOPE!" "So the 19th century Earth author Mark Twain, who I'm now remembering wrote a novel about time travel, didn't he?" "yep!" "So he wrote about time travel and HAD PERSONAL EXPERIENCE WITH IT?" "Yeah! thanks to snake aliens, eating humans in the past"

"Yeah I'm gonna go ask my teacher how they say 'You deserve to die for your lies' on Qo'noS" "I think it's... Hegh nep qotlh SoH? maybe 'urmang instead of nep?" "I'M OUT, petaQ!"

(a transcript of a twitter thread I made from back in July 2020)

#star trek #star trek voyager #star trek the next generation #star trek deep space 9 #star trek enterprise

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laurfilijames · 28 days

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Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Hurricane. Power outage. Oral sex (F receiving). Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: A hurricane rolls in and knocks out the power, allowing Will to make good use of the time waiting it out with you.

A/N: I've had this idea toiling around in my head for a bit, and when we recently lost power at our cottage, I decided to go for it. I have no experience of hurricanes so I apologize if this isn't accurate, though I tried to remain vague. A big thanks to @rhoorl for the Florida hurricane knowledge and to @ramadiiiisme for supporting this idea through to the very end 💗

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The sight when you reached the top of the stairs stopped you in your tracks, admiring Will standing by the large window of your living room looking out at the wrath of weather outside, his expression content and thoughtful.

You set down the pile of various candles you had collected from every room in the house, smiling despite feeling a tangle of nerves in your stomach at the potential strength of this growing hurricane.

“Should you be standing that close to the window?” you asked, causing Will to smirk and glance over his broad shoulder at you.

“She’s starting to really ramp up out there.”

You sighed in response, dreading the thought of it getting any worse, the rain already accumulating to the point that the drainage systems on the street couldn’t keep up with it.

Will remained in place, staring back out at the palm trees swaying wildly, the bend of their trunks impressive, seeming completely unbothered by the storm and almost calmed by it.

Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and brought your hands up to his chest, feeling him take a slow breath in as he covered one of your hands with his.

“I like watching Mother Nature do her thing,” he explained, his voice soothing and even. “She’s angry, letting it all out.” He squeezed your hand as you rested your cheek on his back, already tired of watching the sheets of rain and extreme wind bully everything in their paths.

“I know what that’s like,” he finished, exhaling another slow breath that you felt fill and deflate out of his lungs.

Will turned and gathered you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his somber admission now an afterthought. “So, what did you manage to scrounge up?” he asked, his tone lighter than before.

“Oh, just every candle I’ve ever bought or been given,” you smiled, turning your head to look at the array that was spread out on the kitchen table. “It might look nice when they’re all lit up, but the combination of scents might be a bit offensive.”

Will laughed, his body moving against yours with the motion of it, and you smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim grey of the storm.

“I just hope the power stays on a bit longer,” you wished out loud, knowing however many candles you made glow wouldn’t be enough to outshine the encroaching dark from the storm let alone the fact that it was creeping later into the night.

“Hmm, yeah, the air conditioner is hardly keeping up as it is,” Will explained, his hand smoothing up your back where it dragged your shirt along with it, the stickiness of your skin and clothes already beginning to feel intolerable.

The lights flickered and the sound of the power surging through the house made both of you part slightly to glance at your surroundings, the warmth from the light of the lamps that were turned on illuminating your belongings for the last time before everything went dark.

Will chuckled while you groaned, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. “Well, sweetheart, it looks like you’ve got a superpower.”

You shot him a glare as you walked over to the table, starting to distribute the candles throughout the kitchen and living room, but not lighting any yet since some light was still coming in from outside.

Will sat on the couch, grinning as he watched you, almost seeming like he was pleased and entertained by the situation.

“How long before you turn on the generator?” you asked, testing your luck even though you knew what the answer was going to be.

He shook his head as he laughed again, “Not until I need to. We might have a ways to go here and I’m not wasting gas in the first few hours of this.”

His eyebrows crept up his forehead as he spoke, his voice stern and amused all at once. “You’re going to have to be patient and trust me.”

You sighed and nodded, flicking the Zippo lighter you held on and off a couple of times before walking into the living room to join him, knowing that out of all the people to have by your side during an emergency, Captain William Miller was the best and most capable one.

He had already spent hours checking the house to make sure everything was secure, gathering supplies like gasoline and food and water, and hauled sandbags all morning with Benny and Frankie that they distributed out to the neighbours, even making a point to check in on some of the elderly ones.

“C’mere,” he purred, beckoning you over to where he sat comfortably, his long legs spread wide with one arm draped over the back of the couch.

He looked at you adoringly as you moved toward him slowly, his smile growing to pull out the creases beside his mouth that couldn’t be kept hidden in his beard, and you matched it with your own sly grin, suddenly forgetting everything that was happening around you as you became pleasantly distracted by the man sitting before you.

You straddled his lap, pulling up the hem of your flowy skirt as you did, seating yourself directly on the bulge in his workout shorts that elicited a low moan from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his eyes flickering over your chest and then up to your lips. “We’re going to have to ride this thing out.”

It was said with such implication that despite the heat, you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your back and down your arms, and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you squirmed on his vast thighs.

“And what are your suggestions for…riding… it out, Captain?”

Will shrugged and smirked, his eyes glowing the same way his skin was from the humidity that hung heavily in the room, his hands groping at your hips.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks, loving the way his dark blond facial hair felt against your palms, and pulled him into a kiss while arching your back to get your body closer to his at the same time, both of you breathing out in the relief of your lips meeting.

Will set the pace, starting off with slow rolls of his tongue with yours, his hands carding up and down your body languidly, reminding you that there was no hurry in any of your actions and that you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted with each other.

You slid your hands down the thick column of his neck to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against them, landing on his chest where his body heat poured off of him, the cotton of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his form.

It took everything in you to maintain composure, thankful for Will reminding you to slow it down whenever you found yourself moving your hips faster, his hands pressing and digging into your flesh to force you to keep the steady rhythm that he started.

The slick that already saturated your thong teased you the more you ground your aching core against him, feeling his hard cock straining against the material that contained it, the excitement and anticipation of having him buried inside you intensifying by the second.

The skin on your chin and lips were already raw from how long you had been kissing, the steamy makeout session only made better by dry humping each other until you both were on the verge of finishing how you were, your whines and moans growing while your movements decreased to be as light as possible in an attempt to prolong this intoxicating tease.

Will kissed and sucked at your neck and chest, having already exposed more of you by tugging the neckline of your shirt to the side with eager hands, his breath fanning over your sweat-coated skin when he sighed deeply through his nose.

“Fuck me, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

He huffed out a laugh, but his admission only spurred you on more, grinding harder on him until his humour faded out and was replaced by ferocity, growling as he pressed his lips against yours again, the sweat that saturated his beard transferring onto you.

The storm was still going strong in the background, sheets of rain pummeling the house and striking the window with a sound that mimicked waves crashing the shoreline, the nerves you felt about it shifting into a frenzied arousal that you directed onto the man beneath you.

Your hands struggled to get under his shirt, the material so stuck to his stomach from his sweat that the skin on your palms dragged along his abdomen, the tackiness making it difficult for you to peel it up over his head.

It hit the floor with a slap, the weight of it evidence of how much the heat and you were affecting him, and you smiled against his lips at the sound of his breath hitching as you slid your hands down his chest to land on his solid pecs while your lower half continued to torture him.

You touched him everywhere you could reach, smoothing down his stomach and back up again, cradling the sides of his neck and then over his shoulders, and finally up to his hair where you let your fingers rake through it until you knew you had made it stick up in a spiky mess, deepening your kiss as the sensation made him press harder into your mouth.

The window rattled from the force of the winds, disrupting you enough that you broke your kiss and turned to look at it, the thought of it possibly shattering filling you with worry as you were reminded of your vulnerability.

Will placed his hand on your chin, his thumb smoothing it while his other fingers tucked up under your jawline, guiding your head back to face him where he silently assured you that everything was fine, his eyes reflecting a surety and vow of protection that no amount of reinforcements on the house could ever match. He adjusted the pad of his thumb so it sat on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to part it from the upper one, and it surprised you to see how quickly his expression changed, his eyes darkened so much by lust in a matter of seconds that the look in them rivaled the clouds spiraling outside.

He kissed you desperately, his hands falling to your waist where he lifted your shirt upward, only pausing the union of your mouths long enough to remove it from you, your braless chest grazing against his when you leaned into each other again.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin despite the humidity clinging heavily to the air around you, your nipples hardening and feeling incredibly sensitive each time his body brushed against them, your needy moans pouring into his mouth the more his hands roamed over your mostly bare form.

You could hardly handle it anymore, desperate to feel him deep inside you, moving your hips back slightly so you could access him, tearing the front of his shorts down where you reached in for his cock. Will was helpful, lifting his ass off the couch so his shorts could slide down his thighs in order to expose all of himself, his expression serious with brows furrowed and knitted tightly together as he watched you grip him in your hand and began stroking him tip to base, smearing the precum leaking from it all over his silky shaft.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you back to sit directly on top of his groin, guiding your motions as you rocked your covered pussy on his bare cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he hissed, holding your skirt up so he was able to watch you grind along his length, pressing his cock flat against his lower stomach where drips of cum spilled onto the smattering of flaxen pubes.

A slow sigh of approval passed your lips as you continued to languidly ride him, your eyes closing as you lost yourself in the sensation and moaning when you felt Will capture one of your breasts in his mouth and spin his tongue around your nipple.

You could feel him growing more impatient, his lips moving faster along your chest where he eagerly worshiped your tits, his fingers clawing at the thin material of your skirt as if he was ready to rip it to shreds to get at you, and his breathing became more laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly while the exhalations from his nose ghosted against the crests of your breasts.

“I need in there,” he growled, his head shaking to the side a couple of times like there was no way he could handle another second not being inside you, his fingers slipping into the crotch of your saturated panties to pull them to the side before running his index and middle fingers through your slick.

Your mouth pooled with saliva as he drove his long digits in and out of you in broad strokes before bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his other hand angling his cock to line up to part your folds while you lifted yourself up on your knees to allow him access to enter you.

You sank onto him slowly, letting him fill you inch by inch until you encased him completely, his blue eyes locked with yours with an appreciation held in them that made your heart beat faster.

Remaining still, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands holding onto either side of his face, deepening your kiss as you relished in the fullness he provided without moving.

When you parted, Will gave you a soft smile that made you melt, his fingers coming up to trace along the side of your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, the surety in his words clear, although his expression was a thrilling mix of adoration and something waiting to be unleashed, the suspense of experiencing either rough or gentle treatment exhilarating you.

“I love you too, Will,” you breathed, not daring to look away from him.

A strong gale slapped the side of the house, reminding you that the hurricane blasting outside wasn’t to be forgotten, but Will immediately drew your attention back to him, his hands smoothing up your back to hold you against him in a firm, but soft way, his lips pressing onto your shoulder and across your collarbone to your neck, alternating between kisses and nips that told you his control was beginning to falter.

You started moving on him, riding him in careful waves that felt so incredible you weren’t sure how long you could keep it up, knowing that whether you moved slow or fast, you would be reaching your climax in no time.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, resting his back against the couch to watch you, locking his hands on your hips to force you down hard each time you lifted yourself up and almost off his cock.

He was completely enamoured, looking at you as if anything could be happening outside that window and he wouldn’t care to notice, his eyes dancing over your form in a struggle to choose which part of you he wanted to see the most.

Finding the perfect spot that made you thrum with ecstasy, you rolled your hips and bounced up and down, your swollen clit hitting the base of his cock in a shattering blow each time, your skin tingling from head to toe as your orgasm built.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” Will asked, his words breathy as he admired you sliding on him.

“Yes, fuck!”

Will thrusted up into you a few times, your cries growing loud enough they almost drowned out the noise of the hurricane, your nails digging into the flesh on his shoulder as you approached your high.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Will interrupted, though his voice was soothing. “Not yet.”

His eyes were big and bright despite the dark grey that had fully consumed the room, and although you were taken aback by him edging you, you couldn't deny the trust you had in him to look after you.

“Sit down,” he ordered, nodding to the space on the couch beside him as helped move your legs off of his.

Will stood and removed his shorts that sat halfway down his legs, stepping out of them before moving to kneel on the floor in front of you, his thumbs smoothing on your knees in a way that contradicted the way he forcefully pressed on them to encourage you to spread your legs for him.

He kissed his way up the inside of your right thigh, a low growl coming from him as he inhaled deeply when he reached your core, and then moved over to your other thigh, peppering wet kisses slowly away from where you needed him most until you were squirming where you sat.

“Will…” you breathed, shifting your hips to try to bring yourself closer to him.

“Let’s get this off,” he grunted, his patience thinning as your skirt was preventing him from taking everything he wanted.

He reached behind you, his fingers easily finding the zipper and pulled it down, keeping steely eye contact while wiggling it off your hips with the help of you shifting from one cheek to the other until he peeled the flowy fabric off of your body.

The creases on his forehead were pronounced as he continued to look up at you as he tugged at the waist of your thong, sliding it down to expose your dripping cunt that his eyes were now fixed on as he guided the wet piece of cotton to your feet.

Will hooked his arms under your legs, letting them relax on his biceps, his tattooed forearms wrapping around your thighs to hold you securely. He pulled you toward him, bringing you to the edge of the cushion so you were flush with his face, his nose brushing your folds before his tongue swiped through the mess he had already made.

A long moan toppled out of you as you raked your fingers through his hair, lifting your hips slightly to get even more contact with his talented tongue that licked at you slowly and precisely in an effort to wreck you.

He picked you apart minute after agonizing minute, continuously bringing you to the peak only to stop you there each time, the violent storm outside going ignored and nothing compared to the one raging inside you.

As always, Will was completely focused on his mission, working you with the expertise he had come to master over all the hours spent learning your body, knowing the exact amount of pressure placed on the perfect spot that would send you soaring.

Not once did his hands leave their hold on your legs, completely unselfish in his art and not even considering touching himself, his generosity and the thought of his leaking, rigid cock left waiting for attention adding to your demise.

You pleaded over and over, his name like a song with the storm as your instrumental background, desperate for release as you ground against his face, your heels digging into his waist as he in turn dug his mouth harder into your cunt.

He had you where he wanted you, and pushing your tolerance a little further, Will unraveled one of his arms from around your leg and slipped his hand between the sofa and you, fingering you slowly while he sucked at your over-sensitive clit, the precise hook of his fingers making you clench around them like a vice.

And then he stopped.

You cursed loudly, whining and squirming as he sat up and looked at you with a satisfied expression, his face glistening from your pleasure.

A stray branch from a tree flew by and struck the house, drawing both of your attention to the window, but Will was quick to recover where your focus belonged.

He stood, a slight hitch as he straightened his long legs, his body that had been put through so much physical turmoil over his years of service known to cramp up if left idle for too long.

Will gripped at your knee, pushing it toward the back of the couch so your body was forced to spin and lay down, crawling between your spread legs until he was positioned over top of you with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders.

He kissed you intensely, moaning into your mouth as his cock nudged where he had left you aching for relief, savouring you like he had gone without the press of your lips on his for days.

His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers as he brought your arm above your head, laying his body completely on yours so he covered you entirely, protecting you with all he had.

He was heavy, but comforting, his weight assuring and a reminder of his strength and unwavering love for you, and at the same time it came as a warning of the crushing power he could choose to have, like he was a hurricane all in himself and you were in his path of destruction.

Will paused in kissing you as he adjusted his hips, looking down between your bodies to watch his cock easily push through your tight folds, a shaky breath exhaling from his parted lips as his brows knitted tightly together at the sensation of being back in your embrace.

You looked to the side to see out the window as another blast of wind surged against the house, only to have Will squeeze your hand that he still held in his, his voice calm and even.

“Hey, focus on me,” he ordered, his eyes a turbulent blue when you met them. “Look at me.”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he began to move inside you, the feel of him stroking your walls in long, slow drags making it difficult to keep your eyes open.

Your free hand ran along the flexing muscles of his back, clawing at his sweat-coated skin as he found a pace that brought you right back to the point he had left you at more than once, your head tipping back into the couch as you were dragged into the throes of pleasure even more intensely than before.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart,” Will promised, his voice intoxicating and comforting all at once. “I’ve got you, you can relax…”

He spoke against your neck before moving his mouth back to yours, kissing you gently before probing his tongue in, the tempo of his thrusts deepening now that he knew you were succumbing to everything he was giving you.

He moved on you like the wind moved the rain, pushing and forceful, seeking his own release as he rolled against you with fervor and breathy moans were exchanged between your mouths as you chased your highs together.

Your whole body tensed, convulsing and giving up all control as he fucked you through the shattering orgasm made even more powerful thanks to how he had edged you, feeling yourself release on his shaft that alternated between being buried deep inside you and pulling out almost completely.

Will pressed his mouth hard on yours before breaking the seal of your lips, allowing his laboured breaths and rough grunts to sound out as he fought to follow right behind you, the cadence of your contracting walls coaxing out his end.

You could feel him pulse inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed that was always generous in its quantity, his pace remaining steady though his rhythm began to break.

Drops of sweat from his brow landed on your chest, his harsh movements shaking the accumulated moisture off of him, continuing to buck into you erratically until he had nothing left to give.

He crashed against your lips again, transferring even more sweat from his efforts onto your skin, his hand releasing yours where he brought it to your head and smoothed it over your hair, kissing you slowly but purposefully as he gradually let the rolling of his hips fade out.

After a minute, Will pulled out of you, reaching for some tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to you, taking some for himself for you to both clean up. He stood with a grunt, looking down at you with an extended hand to take the soiled tissues from you, the muscles in his cheeks flinching wildly as he clenched his teeth together.

Will paused for a minute, looking out at the tempest scene, all of his veins raised as blood pumped strongly through them, his muscles accentuated beautifully from his efforts, and you couldn’t help but fall even further in love for him, his face stoic and almost unreadable, but only you knew how much emotion lingered beneath.

He sighed as he moved again, stretching his weary limbs while stalking to the kitchen, and you wondered if he had any idea how much you worshiped him even as he did the simplest of things.

You laid there listening to him rummage around, looking out the window at the ever-present hurricane, the room almost completely dark as night had successfully consumed the sun along with the storm.

Will returned with two glasses of water and set one on the table, passing the other to you.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” he drawled, smirking as he spoke. “The eye hasn't even passed over yet, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

The wink he sent you went straight to your core, your anticipation of whatever else he had planned for you enticing you and almost had you hoping this hurricane would last for days.

You returned his smile as you brought the glass to your lips, sipping it as you watched him sit on the couch beside you and grab the lighter off the coffee table, flicking it on so the warm flame illuminated his dewy, gorgeous features in the otherwise dreary dark. He lit the two candles that you had placed there earlier before grabbing his own glass and downing the contents of it, seeing the way his throat moved as he swallowed making you thirsty for more.

He sighed when he finished drinking, running his hand over his face to rid it of the sweat, and looked back over to you still laying where he had left you.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up your naked form until they landed on yours.

You shook your head ‘no’, giving him a sated smile, thinking how you would happily give up air conditioning and electricity permanently if it meant sharing more moments like this with him.

Will gave a nod and laid down beside you, helping you shift so there was room for him to lay with his front against your back, spooning you comfortably where you both were able to face the window.

His arm draped over your waist and tucked under yours, his hand cupping your breast, and tangling his legs with yours, brought his groin as close to your bum as he could.

He hummed against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your damp skin, and you smiled when you felt he was hard again, his cock pressing between your cheeks.

“You’re going to outlast this hurricane,” you giggled, squirming so your bum rubbed along his shaft, making him growl against your skin.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach and around to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart where he slowly pushed inside your tight walls.

He kissed your neck, the sensation of his beard on your skin making you moan and shiver, his hand returning to your breast where he tugged and pinched at your peaked nipple.

“We're going to need to pace ourselves, here,” he warned in your ear, beginning the slow drag of his cock out of you before slamming it back in, the conflict he felt between wanting to keep you safe and seeking to destroy you playing in his mind.

---

Comments and reblogs are the lifeline of fanfic, so if you enjoyed reading this story, please consider sharing your thoughts with me and others! 💗

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #will miller smut #will miller x female reader #triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will 'ironhead' miller #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #triple frontier fic #will miller fic #charlie hunnam characters

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fluoresensitive · 3 months

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FLUORESENSITIVE TAGS' LIST, JANUARY 2024

sound and color: afro/slash hood futurism; missy elliot and sun-ra, janelle monae's archandroid and alice coltrane

i saw things i imagined: surrealism, color and texture, fantasy worlds

i am king: knights and quests, arthurian legends, joan of arc and brienne of tarth

the turning wheel: images n quotes that remind me of an ursula k le guin novel, images and quotes that remind me of spellling

dark and hungry roots: fae + goblins + creatures, they're in the woods and they want your name

she screams!: catch all horror tag, blood and guts and slashers

laughing before god does: a more specific gore and fleshy gross horror tag, inspired by cao hui

kate bush's wuthering heights: love so intense and passionate it extends beyond the grave; i hated him, i never loved him more; you want them dead, you want them beside you, you know,

one of those crazy girls: mad and bad women, women with murderous intent, final girls, whatever didn't kill her had better start running

ain't no grave: ghosts + hauntings + the absence of something is still a sort of presence

desperado: the yeehaw agenda, cowboys

age of pleasure: sensuality + black joy and pleasure

les fleurs: black girl cottagecore, flowers and frilly dresses, sunshine on brown skin

does the poison drip through?: family dynamics, siblings + parents + ancestral rot, you need a shovel to bury your brother, does your mother love you all the time

i who bend the tall grasses: angels and demons, religious ecstasy, a god who devours

fear not!: angels and saints, gabriel comes to you with a thousand eyes and a message

my skin my logo: black skin, brown skin, brown leather, black braids, black days! these are black owned things! black faith (can't be washed away, not even in that florida water!)

the black gothic: the hood, the church, and the holy grandmother's house. daughters of the dust and eve's bayou and the work of toni morrison, deana lawson and gordon parks

pure/honey: it's giving cunt, it's giving sex, it's giving ballroom and pearls, sequins and rhinestones, eleganza!

oh bondage up yours!: black punk + leather and studs

i been on: (tell me who gon take me off!) ostentatious displays of wealth, logomania + dapper dan, gold ass watch, gold ass rangs

not yet lost all our graces: succesion-core, old money, lace-edged socks and penny loafers, your daddy's rich and your ma's good-looking

this house is empty now: haunted houses + haunted places + empty houses

what the water gave me: mermaids, sirens, and things under the sea

put me back in it: tender, love and passion + sensuality + you're in love and you're gonna shout it from the roofs

geyser by mitski: longing, needing, yearning so hard it hurts your stomach and makes you ill

secret life of plants: nature tag!

commes de garcons: fashion tag, looks, i know that's not the french way to spell it.

the more general tags like 'on writing' and 'on horror' are pretty intuitive, but just in case.

on horror / on writing / on literature / on womanism / on blackness on sundays, she picked flowers / my writing /my mewdboards / my mixtapes / my collages / recs

#🦢#tags' list #save; reference

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julianalvarez9 · 7 months

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JUPITER'S DIARY / CHRISTIAN PULISIC

SUMMARY: You're a YouTuber, vlogging your little getaway to the States to visit Christian's family, when you decide to reveal the news on your last day in Florida.

inspired by this 🥺

MENTIONS OF... pregnancy ¡! allusions of smut, allusions of trouble with conception ? (if i missed something, please lmk!)

WC: 952 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE: just some tooth rotting fluff to get through this sunday kjasajk lmk what you though about it!!! feedback is always appreciated. also, lmk if ya'll want the socmed au version of thissss

"This is why you brought me here?".

Christian's seated at the couch, right in front of the massive window you spent all the trip admiring. Not only the view it brings is breathtaking, a clear lookout of the little town your fiancée has taken you to, but the light that enters the room works great for the camera set-up you're trying to sort out.

"C'mon, you know it's gonna be fun," you cheer, taking a seat by his side before briefly explaining what the video's gonna be about. It's simple, really, just a few questions asked by your followers about the trip, if you've enjoyed it; the normal stuff. Except, it's not just that, and you're gonna use this as an excuse to film Christian while you tell him the good news you two have been dying to hear for what feels like the longest time.

"So, today's our last day here," you said to the camera, clapping your palms, and turning to face your boyfriend. He's already looking at you, little stars shining bright in his eyes, and you have to stop yourself from spilling the news too soon.

You've already thought this through, and if you can pull it off, you're absolutely gonna love having this memory stored in your SD card forever. "What would you say was your favorite part of the trip?" you ask him, taking his hand in yours in a reassuring manner.

He's not uncomfortable, by any means, but this -being in front of a camera-, isn't quite his natural habitat like it is yours. Your touch visibly soothes him though, displaying the smile you adore so much. But maybe he's too relaxed now, recognising the spark of mischief he has going in his soft, brown eyes.

After knowing him for such a long time, not only as lovers but as friends before then, you can accurately predict everything he's going to say or do, so you wrap a hand to stop him from speaking his dirty thoughts out loud. "Not that!".

The glint in his eyes tells you he's thinking about your -more than unholy- session the first night you spent in his place, although he denies it profusely, palms facing the air, feigning innocence, "that's not what I was gonna say!".

Truth is, you two have been trying to conceive your first baby for a few months now, but it has been difficult with everything going on recently: between your move from London to Milan after Christian changed clubs, to how busy your schedule got after you launched your clothes' store, finding time hasn't been the easiest task.

"The barbecue with my family yesterday," is Christian's final answer, after a few seconds of thinking, "Or, maybe, going to see Messi play". That would've been, certainly, the highlight for you, too, so agreeing with him comes naturally. "Yeah, that was a good one!".

Although your hands are shaking, you hope your voice isn't. "Do you want to know what my favourite part of the trip was?" you ask, and he's quick to nod, wanting to know what was your favorite part about visiting his hometown. "Yeah, baby, tell me".

"Well, my favorite part of the trip was finding out that I'm pregnant".

It feels like Christian's eyes would jump out of their place if it was possible. He doesn't say anything, but his hold over your hand tightens, and you know he needs reassurance.

You had thought you were pregnant so many times before, only to be welcomed by a negative sign and a lingering disappointment as the months went by. "I found out a few days ago," you start to explain, "I was feeling a bit under the weather lately, and then I realized that my period never came, so…".

You take the pregnancy tests that were hiding under a random cushion by your side, and give them to him, while you continue explaining.

"I thought it was due to stress, and the moving, and everything, but I took one anyways," you point out the stick with the faintest second line out of all of them. The tears were overflowing his waterline now, but still, he remained calm, listening to everything you were telling him.

"I've been taking one every day. This is today," you point out the stick with today's date marked in the end. The second line in this one is much stronger than the one present in the tests you've taken for the last few days.

"We're gonna be parents?" is the first thing Christian asks, voice choked up and a single trail of tears paint his cheek. It was obvious that, after so many disappointments before, he would need confirmation that this was it; that was real. "Yeah, baby, you're gonna be a dad".

The way Christian brings you against his body makes you squeak , and soon enough he's leaving kisses all over your face. You don't know who's the one crying, and you don't really care; only able to feel the salty tears amongst the incommensurable amount of love you feel in your heart. "You just made me the happiest man on Earth," he whispers in your ear, and you're too choked up by the tears to tell him that he's not the only one feeling like that.

It's been rough for the past year: not only for him, both in his career but mentally, but for you too; seeing the man you love the most hurting, undoubtedly hurt you too. But now, with a new chapter opening up for you two at Milan, you feel like things are finally starting to look up for both of you.

Or for the three of you, in a couple of months.

#football imagine #football fanfic #football x you #football x reader #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic x reader

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scoonsalicious · 2 months

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Unwanted: Chapter 3, Unbidden - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, minor discussions of sex, drunk!Bucky, minor violence, FloRida's Low (that song slaps, okay?), minor anti-Winter Soldier sentiment, an unnecessary Ted Bundy reference just because. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.1k

Previously On...: You and Bucky had a heart-to-heart after you came back from your mission with Steve, and Bucky asked a very interesting question about the nature of your relationship with the Star Spangled Man.

A/N: I just finished writing Chapter 9 ahead of schedule, so here is Chapter 3 a little bit earlier than I planned on posting it! Consider it in honor of Sergeant Barnes' 107th Birthday! This is my favorite chapter; I had so much fun writing it, this part in particular (even though it took me a million tries before I got it to where I wanted it). Sam is finally given some page time, and I adore him, so I hope I've captured his essence sufficiently. I sort of love writing drunk!Bucky. Part three is where things are going to take an interesting turn for Bucky and Pocket so I'm looking forward to posting that soon!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @jmeelee @cazellen

Slapping your American Express Black Card onto the polished mahogany bar, you made sure the bartender was giving you his full attention. "Everything my group orders tonight goes on my tab, got it?" you told him. "If Tony Stark tries to pay for a single thing, tell him it's already covered and if he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me." The bartender nodded, taking your card and depositing it with the other open tabs behind the bar. It was going to be a very lucrative night for the bar.

You'd all come to Gino's, a downtown dive of place you all loved, to celebrate Bucky's clearance for missions. As a part of his presidential pardon for the Winter Soldier's crimes (completely unnecessary, in your opinion, because Bucky hadn’t been the one to commit them), he had been required to undertake 12 months of court-mandated therapy, and now that he had ten months under his belt, his therapist had signed her approval for Bucky to engage in real Avenger work, provided he was accompanied by another member of the team at all times for supervision. He'd be leaving tomorrow for a classified location with Steve and Sam; they'd be gone for about a week, so you'd wanted to commemorate the event and leave him with some positive memories before he left.

You rejoined your group in the far back, where you'd commandeered the largest corner booth and the surrounding tables. "Tonight's on me," you declared as you approached, "so drink up and eat well." Your friends cheered their thanks; Thor even banged his giant fist against the table in appreciation. You did a mock curtsey before coming to stand behind Bucky where he sat, draping your arms around his neck and shoulders and bringing your head down alongside his.

"Having a good time?" you asked him.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, leaning back into your touch. "With you by my side? Always," he replied, his voice laced with affection. "But you didn't have to do this, doll. Pay for everything, I mean. We could have all gotten our own."

Letting go of his shoulders, you moved around to sit next to him. "Bullshit. My best friend is going on his first Avengers mission, this is the least I can do."

"Listen, man," said Sam Wilson, also known as The Falcon and, if you were being completely honest, one of your favorite teammates after Bucky, "I know things might have been different when you were younger, but in the 21st Century, when a lady offers to buy you drinks, the polite thing to do is just say 'thank you' and get hammered."

Bucky laughed and chugged down the beer he'd been previously nursing and took the bourbon you'd brought over for him from the bar. "Thank you, Pocket. Though, I don't think I'll be getting... hammered on anything here."

"You're most welcome, Buck," you said, patting his cheek, the stubble tickling at your palm. "But if you are looking to get hammered, I believe our resident God of Thunder has brought a little something extra you could sip on in between beers." You nodded your head toward Thor, who sat a few seats down, pouring a splash of Asgardian something from a flask into Steve's tumbler.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Maybe I'll take him up on that." The super soldier got up and, squeezing your hand, made his way over to Thor, who gladly poured a generous splash of spirits into Bucky's glass of bourbon.

You watched him for a moment as he sat and drank with Steve and Thor, a warm feeling building in your chest at the sight of him looking and doing so well. He'd made so much progress since he first arrived at the Tower and you were unbelievably proud of him.

"You've been good for him, Pocket," Sam offered with a raise of his glass. "But I gotta know, when are you two gonna stop tip-toeing around each other and make things official?"

You let out an agonized groan. "Not you, too, Sam. Why don't you and Natty get together and write some fanfic about it? That's about as close to reality as it'll get."

"What are Wilson and I collaborating to write smutty fanfiction about?" Natasha asked as she sat down in Bucky's vacated seat, passing you a shot glass.

"Za nashu druzhbu!" You toasted in unison before downing the sweet liquid. To our friendship!

"A Redheaded Slut shot? How very Natasha," you teased.

"Don't try to change the subject," Sam interjected. "Romanoff: (Y/L/N) and Barnes. They go together like Netflix and chill or what?"

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Absolutely! Oh my God; I'm so glad you see it, too. They're just screaming 'Let's fuck already,' right?!"

"I don't know that they haven't started already," Sam said, obviously pleased to finally have someone to talk about this with. "I've never seen Metalhead as content as when he's with Pocket. Figure she's gotta be doing something to keep a smile on his face, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, setting Natasha off into a barking laugh.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" you sputtered. "I'm sitting right fucking here!"

Sam gave you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Baby Girl. 'M just calling it like I see it. And with you and Barnes, I see it."

"She's going to stick to the story that nothing's going on between them," Nat began.

"Because there is nothing going on between us," you interrupted.

"But I think we all know something is brewing between those two," she continued, as if you hadn't said a thing. "I mean, do you really think they're just sleeping in the same bed every night?"

"Hold up, hold up." Sam raised his hand to stop Nat. "You're telling me those two share a bed? How long has this been going on and why am I just hearing about it now?"

"Oh my god," you said, putting your head in your hands and wishing the floor would open up and suck you into a hell dimension. It had to be better than sitting here listening to the two of them talk as if weren't in the room.

"You didn't know?!" Nat's expression was incredulous. "Essentially since the moment Barnes moved into the Tower. They alternate whose bed they sleep in, but it's literally every. single. night."

"That's it," you murmured, though you were sure they weren't paying you any attention, "I am never telling you another thing, ever, Natalia." They weren't embarrassing you, per se. You felt no shame about your closeness with Bucky. It was more that you hated that they were making assumptions about him. You could take ones made about you; you'd been doing that your entire life, but Bucky was different. He was... fragile wasn't the right word, but it came close. You wanted to protect him from everything negative, including your friends gossiping about his alleged sex life.

"Guys, please," you said, loud enough to catch their attention. "I know that, whatever I say, it's not going to convince you that I'm telling you the truth, but I don't want Bucky to hear it, okay? You're just going to make him uncomfortable and he'll retreat into himself, close up. So, save it for when you're by yourselves, alright?"

The sincerity in your words caused Sam and Nat's gazes to soften as they looked at you. You hoped that, despite their ribbing, they understood that your concern for your shared friend was genuine, and that, of the three of you sitting at the table, you knew Bucky best.

"Alright," said Sam, "I'll drop it. For now. But know I've got my eye on you, Pocket." He gave you a shrewd look. "Don't think you can keep your secret from Ole Sammy forever."

You shook your head, annoyingly amused.

The evening moved on pleasantly: conversation and alcohol flowed, and you felt yourself loosening up as the shots you'd drank with Natasha worked their way through your system until you were sporting a pleasant buzz. Bucky eventually came back to join you at your table, eyes glassy and with a giant, dopey grin plastered across his face.

"How's that Asgardian liquor treating you, Buckaroo?" you asked him with a grin of your own, knowing full well he was sauced.

"'s real good, Pocket," he slurred, propping his head on his fist and gazing at you with a dreamy expression. "'s nice and tingly, like the sun is shining on my insides."

"I'm happy for you, Buck," you said with a laugh, shooting an amused glance over Bucky's head to Nat, who responded with a smirk of her own. "That's real good."

He put his arms around you and pulled you into him, almost tugging you off of your chair in the process. "No! You're real good. Sho good to me, all warm and fuzzy and pretty. Just wanna keep touchin' you, you know? 'Cause you make me think of happy things." He paused to nuzzle his face into your hair. "You're m'favorite person."

"You're my favorite person, too, Buck," you said, stifling a giggle, amused by this new soft, silly side of him.

"Me?" he squeaked--actually squeaked. You nodded and then let out a surprised squeal as he pulled you into his lap, holding you almost tight enough to be uncomfortable, his metal arm clinging you to his chest. But then he pulled his head back to look you in the eye, his face suddenly serious.

He slurred, leaning in closer. You could smell the sweet scent of the Asgardian liquor on his breath. "Don'tcha dare tell Stevie, though, doll" he hiccupped, "'cause he'd be real put out if he found out I was your fav'rite."

"Well, then we won't tell him," you assured him, casting a bewildered glance to Nat. She subtly shook her head, as if to say she was just as confused as you as to why Steve would care if Bucky was your favorite person.

Bucky nodded solemnly. "Good. Don't want 'im feelin' bad, but 'm not sorry. 'S not my fault, either. He had ages and he didn't do nuthin'. That's on 'im. Not on me, not on you. On 'im." He began petting your hair in long strokes, seemingly distracted by the feel of it and losing his original train of thought. "Mmmm, you're so pretty. M'pretty little Pocket."

"Why, thank you, my handsome soldier," you replied, tapping him playfully on the nose while wondering what the hell he had been going on about concerning Steve. You hoped he wasn't so drunk that he didn't remember this conversation in the morning, because you were going to press the shit out of him for details.

Oh, but then... the next song from the jukebox caught your attention, and you looked up as the opening bars of Flo Rida's Low filled the air.

"Oh no," moaned Nat with a trace of laughter. "You're gonna dance, aren't you?"

A broad grin broke across your face. You loved dancing to anything, but this song was your kryptonite. "I can't help it," you told her, "it calls me, I come. Let's go!" You stood up, taking Bucky's hand and trying to pull him along with you, but the super soldier just shook his head and refused to move. Apparently he wasn't that drunk. "Fine. Sam, Nat, dance with me."

"I'm coming, Baby Girl," Sam said, taking Nat's hand and dragging her to meet you.

As soon as you had the space, you began to move, the music pulsing through your veins, syncing perfectly with your heartbeat. You swayed your hips in time with the infectious rhythm, your body moving effortlessly to the beat.

You felt Sam come up behind you, placing his hands on your hips as he began to dance with you, bass thumping in your chests. You and Sam had danced together countless times before; he was one of the only ones in the Tower who enjoyed dancing as much as you did, so the two of you had had plenty of practice moving together. Your movements may have been completely innocent, but they gave the appearance of something much more intimate-- it was just the nature of the dance. You could feel the heat of Sam's body pressed against your back, the way his hands gripped your hips protectively. It was all in good fun, a playful dance between friends, until you felt Sam's hands fly from your waist as you were about to get low.

You spun around, finding Bucky standing where Sam had been just a few seconds before, Sam now several feet away, anger wearing heavy on his face.

"What the hell, man?" Sam barked at Bucky. "What'd you shove me for?"

Bucky, his face flushed and eyes narrowed with a combination of intoxication and something dark, took a step towards Sam. "Didn't shove ya, Wilson," he slurred, his words blending together. "Ya just...got in the way."

"Got in the way? Man, we were just dancing. How was I in your way?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, his metal arm flexing by his side. The atmosphere shifted, thick with tension, as if the air in the room had suddenly turned molasses-slow.

"Okay, boys." You stepped between them, hands down and palms open, trying to create as much distance between the two as possible. The last thing you wanted was a drunken argument devolving into some kind of brawl. "It's getting late, and we've all had a good amount to drink." You gave Sam a pointed glance. "Bucky, will you take me home to the Tower? I'm pretty tired and I think I'm ready to call it a night."

Sam nodded in understanding-- it would be a hell of a lot easier to get Bucky home in his current state if he thought he was escorting you, instead of the other way around.

"Yeah, 'course, Pocket," Bucky said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. You were able to call out your goodnights to the rest of the team and, leaving instructions with Nat to close out your tab at the end of the night, began making your way to the door. Bucky stumbled a bit, his balance compromised by the alcohol in his system. You wrapped an arm around him, steadying him as you both made your way outside.

Outside the bar, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the noisy atmosphere inside. Bucky leaned heavily against you, his arm draped around your shoulders for support.

"Fuck, Barnes. You're heavy," you groaned under his weight.

"Fuck me, Pocket," he slurred, head tilting to the side. There was that look in his eyes again. The same one you'd seen the day he'd gotten his new arm. You couldn't identify it, but it made the hair on your arms stand up straight.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I said." You could feel his warmth seeping through your clothes, his presence comforting even in his intoxicated state.

"You good to stand on your own for a second, soldier?" you asked him. "I need to hail us a cab."

Bucky nodded and you carefully eased yourself out from under his arm, scanning the street for a taxi. The bustling city night was alive with lights and sounds, creating a tapestry of urban energy that seemed to match the frequency of the electricity that ran through your brain.

God, did you love this city.

As you raised your hand to flag down a cab, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bucky, his hair in disarray, falling into his eyes and his lips slightly parted as he breathed in the cool night air. Even drunk and disheveled, he still looked so handsome. There was a softness to him in the moment that made him look younger, and for a second, you could imagine that beautiful, carefree young man who had been drafted to cross the sea to fight someone else's war, and had paid for it with even more than his life.

A taxi screeched to a stop in front of you, interrupting your reverie. You hurriedly opened the door and helped Bucky inside, sliding in beside him. The cab driver gave you both a curious glance before pulling away from the curb. Once you gave him the address to Avengers Tower, that look got more and more frequent as he kept checking his rear view mirror.

"Hey, eyes on the road, buddy," you snapped at him, probably putting more aggression into your voice than you had intended, but the way the cab driver was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

The ride back to the Tower was quiet, the low hum of the taxi's engine serving as a backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Bucky slumped against you, his head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your skin. The city lights blurred past outside the window, casting a hazy glow over both of you.

"Listen," the cabbie eventually began in his thick New Jersey accent, "sweetheart, ya seem like a nice girl, but I don't think ya know what you're dealin' with, here. That man right there's the Winter Soldier. He's a murderer, a nasty one. The kind that likes to take a sweet thing like you and do horrible things."

You rolled your eyes. If they were going to keep telling stories about the Winter Soldier, the least they could do was get the details right instead of making him sound like Ted Fucking Bundy.

"This nasty murderer is my best friend," you said, each word clipped and infused with the anger you felt on Bucky's behalf. "So, maybe you should stick with getting us to our destination instead of trying to lecture me on something you know absolutely nothing about."

The cabbie fell silent, his eyes darting nervously between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. You could tell that he was regretting his decision to say anything, realizing that he had struck a nerve. Or, you thought with an amused chuckle, afraid that you were just as nasty as the Winter Soldier. But you couldn't blame him entirely. The reputation of the Winter Soldier was notorious, and it was only natural for people to be cautious. You just wished they knew the name Bucky Barnes, and the actual man, himself, just as well.

You sighed and shifted your gaze to Bucky, still unconscious against your shoulder. It wasn't fair, you thought, how people judged him solely based on his past. Yes, there were dark chapters in his history, but he had fought tooth and nail to regain control over his life. He had redeemed himself in countless ways even before he had officially joined the Avengers.

As the taxi approached Avengers Tower, you leaned over and gently shook Bucky awake. His eyes fluttered open, confusion etched in his features for a brief moment before recognition set in.

"We're home, Buck," you whispered softly, trying to soothe away any lingering unease from your brief conversation with the cab driver. "Let's get you upstairs." You threw a handful of bills in the cabbie's direction, not even bothering to wait for him to give you your change; you just wanted out of his cab and away from his prejudice.

Bucky nodded, rubbing sleep from his eyes. With your help, he stumbled out of the taxi and leaned on you for support as you made your way into the building.

"'m sorry 'bout that, doll," he drawled as you passed the security desk, sending a quick wave to the night guard.

"Sorry for what, Buck?" you asked him. He was silent as you made your way to the elevator bay, waiting until you had pressed the button to summon the elevator car.

"'bout the cabbie." He avoided looking at you while you waited, and it was like a punch to your gut-- he'd heard everything that ignorant man had said. The elevator doors dinged open and you helped usher him inside.

You took a deep breath as you pressed the button for your floor, the retinal scanner making quick work to prove your identity and verify your security clearance. "Buck," you exhaled, "you have nothing to apologize for. That man was an asshole and an idiot."

Bucky leaned back against the elevator wall, his head thumping against the cool metal. "But he was right. I am a nasty murderer."

You could scream. You could strangle that cabbie with your bare hands. Bucky had been doing so well, had been having such a good night, and one person's careless remark had ruined all of it.

"Barnes," you said, turning to face him. "Look at me. Do you think I'm stupid?"

His eyes grew wide at the insinuation, even in his drunk state, he was with it enough to be taken aback by your question. "'bsolutely not, doll. You're the smartest person I know. Smarter than Stark, even, 'cause you can admit when your wrong." The compliment left you trying to hide a smile.

"Okay. Do you trust my judgment?"

"With my life," he breathed. The elevator opened to your floor, and you helped Bucky out into the hall and down the corridor toward his room. The soft glow of the hallway lights illuminated his features, casting a warm, intimate aura around the two of you.

"So, if I'm not stupid and you trust my judgment, trust me when I tell you are not what that man says you are. You are a good man who had too many horrible things happen to him. And despite all those horrible things, you are still the kindest, funniest, most gentle man that I know."

As you reached his door, Bucky turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Pocket. Thank you for taking care of me, and for being my friend," he murmured, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion.

A small smile played on your lips. "Always, Buck," you replied softly. "Now let's get you inside."

With a gentle push, you opened the door to his room and guided him over to his bed. Bucky collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the softness beneath him. Once you'd pulled off his boots, you knelt down beside him, tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

As you straightened up, Bucky reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his intoxicated state. His gaze locked with yours, a mix of vulnerability and longing flickering in his eyes.

"I don't want you to leave," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

"I'm just going to hop over to my room to change into pajamas," you assured him. "I'll be right back. Promise." You smoothed his hair, trying to tame it from where it stood up in all directions.

"'kay," he said through a yawn, "but don't take too long. I got somethin' I need to tell ya. 's important."

"Okay," you told him, planting a kiss on his head. "I'll be just a minute." You hurried across the hall to your own room, changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth in record time.

Re-entering Bucky's room, you were extremely curious as to what he'd wanted to say to you. "Alright, Buckaroo, I'm back. What did you--"

You smiled to yourself. Bucky was fast asleep, light snores emanating from him as he lay sprawled across the bed. You couldn't help but find him adorable in his slumber, especially with his hair sticking up in all directions.

With a soft sigh, you walked over to the side of the bed and gently sat down, watching Bucky's peaceful face. It was moments like these that reminded you of how much he had been through, how much pain and loss he had experienced. Despite his tough exterior, there was a vulnerability about him that tugged at your heartstrings.

You leaned in closer, unable to resist the urge to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered on his skin for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth radiating from him. The desire to protect and comfort him overwhelmed you, making your heart ache with affection, and something else that you couldn't quite identify.

Pulling down the covers, you climbed into bed next to him, snuggling up to his body for warmth. He grunted and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. It wasn't long before you drifted off into a slumber of your own.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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thelightsandtheroses · 2 months

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3. we can get away, palm trees, beach views ...

Let's Get Lost Chapter 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to past drug addiction, references to food and alcohol, discusison of TF canon events, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2500 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from I Want You Around by Snoh Aalegra.

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You can hear the birds outside when you wake up. Soft, lyrical songs coax you awake and you hear yourself groan slightly.

There are thin lines of light streaming through the gaps in the shutters and you’re surprised you can’t hear your daughter. She’s usually awake by now.

“Clara’s still asleep,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s got to be a record,” you whisper back drowsily, quietly shifting yourself so you’re propped up by your pillows.

Frankie is bolt upright in bed, a book loosely clasped in his hands and you can see that the reading lamp by his side of the bed is turned on. Despite the dim yellow light you can still take in every detail of his face, the freckles adorning his neck, the laughter lines, his stubble.

“Mornin’” he says, meeting your sleepy gaze.

“Hi, what time is it?”

“About six?” Frankie stifles a yawn.

“Why aren’t you asleep still?”

“Just woke up early. Couldn’t - y’know …”

You look at the book in his hands, he’s a lot further ahead now than you remember him being when he placed the bookmark in last night. You notice his worn eyes, the way he looks like he’s been awake for a while.

“How’s it shaping up?” you ask, indicating the book and leaning slightly over your pillow barrier.

For a second you’re not here, you’re back in Florida a few years ago and this is your usual morning routine. All sepia lighting, soft kisses, lingering touches and hot skin against you.

You remember awkward giggles about morning breath, the way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for years when it had only been a matter of hours.

You return to reality with the sound of Clara’s soft snores.

Frankie smirks at you. “She gets that from -”

“Do not finish that sentence, Francisco.”

He raises his hands with an easy grin. “Full name, huh? So, do you want to try her for a bit at the kids’ club this afternoon? Get her used to it more before we’re deep in all the wedding events?”

“She’s been really excited about that and meeting the other kids,” you say. You often wonder how two introverted people produced such a gregarious child. You imagine maybe Frankie was that confident as a little boy; you can see it - all round cheeks, mischievous grin and open eyes.

“She just takes everything in her stride,” Frankie whispers.

“She’s strong.”

“Like you.”

“I meant, like you,” you say.

Frankie shakes his head but there’s the slightest hint of a twitch on his lips.

You could reach over and touch him - it feels natural.

You can remember what his lips felt like on yours - the way his hand would so carefully and lightly move down your waist in a movement so delicate you used to think of it as his fingers dancing down your body.

It’s just proximity, it’s just the proximity.

You need more pillows for the barrier.

You lean back against your chair, listening to the steady sound of the ocean in the distance.

You spent the morning exploring in the local town with Lia and Sophie. At first you felt slightly guilty to not be spending time with Clara, but she was excited about a morning with her tios before heading to the kid’s club. It is Lia’s wedding break after all and you want to celebrate with her.

It had been a really good morning; you’d found a great cafe, wandered around tourist destinations and most importantly had enjoyed your time with Lia and Sophia. The three of you kept laughing and joking and any doubt you had that you would feel out of sorts for being the only one of them who was an ex swiftly vanished. In fact, you hadn’t discussed men once. It had been great.

All of you have now met up for a late lunch back at the hotel before you drop Clara off at the kid’s club. You’re sitting opposite Frankie who today has bought out one of what you used to semi-affectionally dub his ‘loud shirts’. Frankie’s style has always ranged from simple, casual basics to the occasional louder shirt that you feel would be associated more with a PI than an ex-army pilot. It’s Frankie though. You seem to remember those shirts were pretty soft too.

You take a sip of your drink, enjoying the sweet and refreshing taste of the coconut flavoured cocktail.

Frankie catches your eye and smiles briefly.

You’re finally starting to feel a little relaxed; that nagging anxiety to check your emails or to just be ‘on’ all of the time is starting to abate.

Santi stands up and raises his glass. “Okay, I wanted to call out that we’ve got the team back together and it only took Benny here getting married for that,” Santi says cheerfully, “and it’s a double celebration today because we need to mark that Frankie got the official confirmation yesterday he’s getting his licence back.”

You watch Frankie’s face colour up with the attention.

“No fucking way,” Benny exclaims, “finally, Frankie! I’m so fucking pleased for you.”

He’s got his licence back? you think immediately, proud that he’s achieved this goal he was working towards. It’s another sign of his sobriety, of his recovery.

It stings though. He didn’t tell you. He couldn’t do this while you were together either.

He didn’t tell you. He could have told you this morning - did he not want to? Or is it just that in your new co-parenting role you don’t get to know these things immediately anymore. You’re not his girlfriend or fiancée, you’re not one of his best friends, you’re not sure where you stand anymore.

He meets your gaze and nervously nods at you, wringing his hands slightly as Benny swallows him into a one-armed hug, delicately balancing his drink with the other hand.

“That’s great news, Frankie, well done,” you say, your voice sounding clipped and cold even to you.

Will frowns at you and you feel your palms growing sweaty with embarrassment as you notice Santi shaking his head. You tighten your grasp around your oblivious daughter who immediately fidgets on your lap.

You’re doing this all wrong.

You shouldn’t be here anyway.

“I - it’s time I need to drop Clara off. I’ll uh - I’ll, um, see you all later.”

You feel Frankie’s eyes on you the whole time you’re walking away.

“Fucking really, Santi?” you hear Frankie say as you walk away.

You're not hiding. Not officially. You watch the waves ebb and flow in the near distance, scrunching your toes on the sand just past the terrace from your room. There's the faintest sound of laughter, of people enjoying their time on the beach.

You shut your eyes. How did you get the lunch so wrong?

The door closes behind you and you turn around instantly, caught in the headlights as you see Frankie standing there.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, hesitance clear in his voice. “You just walked off? I thought we’d take Clara to the club together.”

Another failing. Why do you keep getting this so wrong? "I - I just - crap."

He pulls the terrace door to and sits on the sand next to you, hugging his knees. "It's not a big deal, sw- it's not a big deal. Just - what's wrong?"

“You didn’t tell me,” you finally say, trying so hard to hide the hurt in your voice. Frankie doesn’t have to tell you things anymore, you know that. You just thought that maybe he’d want to.

You’re friends again, right?

Frankie looks down at the sand and exhales a heavy, poignant sigh. He seems to be stopping himself from saying something, probably that it is none of your business. You watch him open his mouth then close it a couple of times and wait patiently.

“I know.”

“Do you not want to tell me things anymore? I mean, I guess you don’t have to but I thought -”

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confides.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the past few years with this single mission. Get sober, get my licence again, get my life, or at least something like it, back.“ He pauses, looking at you and then away from you quickly. A question pops into your head and immediately dissipates - no, you can’t go there.

“Well, you’ve done it,” you say gently, placing a hand on his sandy bicep. He’s all sun warmed skin and you can smell the hint of sunscreen as you sit next to him too.

“I never thought about - about what would happen once I got those things,” he admits. “I guess, I didn’t want to jinx it, I didn’t think I’d even get it back.”

“You don’t know if you want to fly anymore?”

Frankie lives for flying. The passion you remember in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he talks about the technicalities, the detail of the science and data behind flying. He used to read flight manuals to Clara when she was sobbing with colic through the night, right before the relapse and Colombia. Every time you see a helicopter or a plane, you think of him.

Can you remember him talking about flying recently though? Can you remember that passionate, bright look in his eyes at any time recently other than when he’s with your daughter?

“The last time I was flying - I crashed it. Tom ended up dead,” he says, barely above a whisper and once again looking away from you. “It’s all on me.”

Automatically you squeeze his arm in sympathy, in the only consolation you can give right now. “Not in the crash though, you said -”

“If I hadn’t crashed it, if I had just said no to the extra weight, if I -”

“Stop, stop, Frankie.”

He looks over at you, finally meeting your gaze with wide, brown eyes. His eyes are a swirl of emotion; pain, achievement, memories you can never know, regret. There’s so much regret in his eyes now.

It’s funny, you stood in an airport baggage hall just days ago thinking he’d entirely glowed up since the break-up, but his eyes are telling you wildly different stories now.

“You can’t change the past; you can’t go over what ifs. It was - it was a tragedy but it wasn’t your tragedy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” he asks plaintively, “And I robbed a kid of their father, of my friend, if that’s true. Do you realise that? Can you even imagine that weight?”

“You were all grown-ups, all making your own choices that led to that exact moment. I know, I know there’s a lot about that time I don’t know, probably never will, and I don’t - I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to, or can’t, but know this, Frankie, you are a good man.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth, I’d feel safe in any aircraft if you were flying it. ”

He swallows, looking away from you for just a moment.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

He nods.

Your hand has slipped into his and he squeezes. It feels so familiar, so right at this moment.

“If you don’t want to fly,” you add, “that’s okay too.”

“I don’t want Clara to have a deadbeat dad.”

“She won’t. She doesn’t.”

“I don’t want know what I’m supposed to do other than fly.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

It’s only later as you return to your hotel room that you realise you said we, that you made you and Frankie a unit again.

You still mean it too.

You feel awkward about what’s going to happen at dinner. Even though you’re walking in alongside Frankie, even though you know he’s going to demonstrate that the two of you are just fine, all you think about are the disappointed looks at lunch.

To your surprise, it hurts worse than leaving your daughter with a sitter.

You can only imagine what they must think of you right now.

They must think you’re becoming that stereotype of an ex - resentful and bitter and you don’t know how to say it’s not that at all. It’s that for some reason the confirmation you weren’t the first person he’d want to tell anymore cut a deep hole in your heart.

It’s hypocritical and stupid and risks ruining everything.

There’s a revelation low in your stomach you cannot let rise yet, you cannot voice because it really will ruin everything and you’re not ready for that. You’re not ready for this - things have just started to stabilise again.

You’ve prepared for dinner though. You chose one of your favourite outfits, doused yourself in your favourite perfume and spent time on your appearance for dinner. It’s armour.

Lia smiles when she sees you. “You look gorgeous,” she says in greeting, rising up and hugging you as you join them at the large table you’ve all now mentally claimed as your own throughout your stay.

She draws you in next to her. “How’s Clara? Did she like the kid’s club?”

“She did and she likes the sitter too.” You feel terrible about having a sitter on holiday but it’s novel to have a dinner with all of your friends in the evening. Besides, between you and Frankie, you’d both extensively researched and interviewed the hotel sitter so you felt as at ease as you could under the circumstances. It’s a family holiday yes, but two hours at the club and a sitter for a dinner hardly makes you and Frankie bad parents.

“That’s so good. It’s great having you and Clara both here, you know. I know work’s been a lot recently but I’ve missed you. I’m just - I’m pleased you made it.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else,” you say candidly. “You’re my best friend, Lia.”

“Ditto, just like, don’t tell my sister that?”

“Guide’s honour,” you say with a wink.

You’re grateful for Lia, she’s one of your closest friends and somehow she knows just what you needed to hear. You vow to be there more for her this week - it’s her wedding after all!

It doesn’t escape you that Frankie’s been sat with Santi and some distance from you and you are next to Lia. You wonder whose idea this seating arrangement was - Will’s perhaps, or maybe it was Sophia. You know they must be worried about a repeat of their wedding.

You take a long sip of your drink. On the other end of the table, you can hear Frankie’s soft laughter. You can’t help thinking about your conversation with him earlier, the slight tingle in your stomach when you spoke this morning.

You broke up for a reason. You know that.

It was the right thing at the right time and it hurt that all that love you had for him, that you think he had for you, was changed by everything that had gone on them.

It has to go somewhere though, doesn’t it? It can’t just stay stagnant; you’re supposed to move on.

It’s just, you think that maybe you still love Frankie a bit. Maybe you never stopped.

This is a hideously unwelcome revelation, it’s inappropriate, it’s clearly unreciprocated. You’re supposed to just be co-parents.

There’s no just with Frankie though, there never has been.

You feel nauseas. It’s starting to look like once again you and Frankie are going to end up ruining another friend’s wedding. Your best friend’s wedding to make it worse.

Only this time, it will be entirely your fault.

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fox-bright · 4 months

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OKAY SO I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE WHOLE SENDING CREMAINS TO THE MOON THING If you haven't heard about it, a bunch'a dead people (cremated) (just a teaspoon or less of each) are going to the Moon, where they will stay forever. They left this morning, riding up on a United Launch Alliance rocket for Peregine Mission One, technically out of Pittsburgh, PA but launched as usual from Florida. There are five NASA payloads on the mission, so Science is Happening. That’s cool, I’m all for it. But I, and it turns out the Navajo Nation, are not very cool with the Elysium and Celestis parts of the deal, which is sending a hundred something dead people’s remains up there. I’m against it because while I’m all for scattering cremains in nature—returning your carbon to the cycle—and I’m all for cemeteries and tombs, this won’t be either; there’s not any breaking down, there’s not any cycle, and there’s no hallowed ground. The Navajo Nation, in the letter they wrote to NASA in December, is against it because to them the Moon is sacred. You don’t just drop corpses on sacred things, basically. They weren’t asking to stop the mission, just to be consulted about how to handle it with grace; their request was denied. NASA couldn’t have done anything for them, anyway, because this isn’t a NASA mission even if they’re sending payloads up. So the Magical Flying Husband and I good-naturedly Got Into It on the topic, on Saturday, and we still don’t quite agree. To my mind, it’s gross and tacky to throw a Space Rubbermaid full’a cremains up there. There were already the remains of one single person on the moon, as Eugene Shoemaker’s ashes went up with the Lunar Prospector thirty-something years ago. He was a scientist who trained Apollo astronauts about what to expect when they reached the Moon; a geologist with his eyes on the stars. Having him up there doesn’t oog me out. Having a bunch of randos who only get to go there because their families have the money for it, that oogs me out. And then there’s just the pure metaphysical aspect; we put gates around our cemeteries for a reason. We make specific places out to be the resting places of the dead, so that we can say here are the dead and here the dead are not. Most of the religions or belief systems which have the dead remain in the home, on altars or in special (holy!) rooms within the building, also have requirements for attendance on those lost relatives. Incense, prayer, attention. You can’t do that if you lawn-dart Grandma onto the Moon. So throwing a bunch of bodies into a place where they will never degrade, without marking out land as “this specific place is where our dead go,” is either a hugely expensive method of littering, or it makes the whole Moon into a cemetery.

So the MFH and I have this discussion, back and forth, and then we realize we don’t really have any data. How many people are going up? Who are they? What’s the deal? So I looked it up. There are two companies sending cremains on this trip, Celestis and Elysium. Both of them have (frankly, tacky) websites selling you the ability to send Grandma to the Moon.

Celestis starts you at about three thousand US dollars to put some ashes onto a payload that goes up, and then comes down again; the equivalent of tying her to an Estes rocket that you launch from the park, only this is a proper spacegoing rocket that gets up there. She just doesn't get to take the whole ride.

Further Celestis packages allow you to put Grandma into orbit, send Grandma to the Moon, or send Grandma out into Deep Space.

(Reading that aloud is the point where the MFH's ears really quirked. It is very difficult and very expensive to get something properly into Deep Space. That offering is bullshit, and can't not be bullshit, and this is where the MFH decided probably this whole thing was more than a little scammy.)

The Orbit Grandma package is particularly romantic; the orbit she'll be put into is a degrading one, so that after some time spinning around our gorgeous blue marble, she'll reenter the atmosphere and become a visible shooting star.

(The MFH said "Is there going to be a big enough payload to be visible with the naked eye? What amount of matter is required for that?" and then we had to do Math about it. Of course, it's not just Grandma who would be on that bus, it's another hundred people or whatever; the image appears to show a hundred or more thimbles of cremains stored separately in basically a large cube container. So maybe the size of a soccer ball? I think it would be visible. It is, however, impossible to say "look there, and you'll see Grandma!" so while it would be visible to someone, it's not going to be something you can make sure to see.)

Elysium offers all the same packages, with slightly different names. But unlike Celestis, Elysium has a little row at the bottom of the page with photographs of previous launches. They've done this before, they're saying, and Grandma is safe with them.

So I looked up the launches, and found a Wikipedia page on them. And oh my god. That's where my ears quirked, and then I started cackling, and the whole slightly-fractious discussion with the MFH absolutely dissolved into macabre jokes.

Because, yeah, there have been two previous launches. One of them failed to reach orbit. A payload of Grandmas was put onto the next one, to make up for the failure.

The second launch, which was to be a Shooting Star trip for the god knows how many people that the first launch failed? That one made it to orbit! All good, right? Now Grandma can orbit for a while, and then immolate for a second time, this one much more spectacular and high-velocity than the first?

ABSOLUTELY not.

Because of licensing issues.

(image: two columns of text describing Elysium launches: ORS-4 Elysium Star I, launched on a Super Strypi, was destined for reentry failed to reach orbit.

SSO-A Elysium STar II, launched on a Falcon 9, was destined for reentry and made orbit successfully. "Orbit was to decay in 2 years, but satellite was locked into the Lower Free-Flyer dispenser due to license timing issues." )

Grandma is stuck in the dispenser. Grandma's in a gacha-gacha that just spins around and around and around and around, never releasing its prize to her glorious conflagration.

Because of licensing issues.

I'm siding with the Navajo Nation with this one, either way, but I have to wonder if those folks are actually getting to the Moon as planned.

#space #people are stupid as fuck #bad science #moon #Luna #rocket launch #NASA #how the fuck do I even tag this dystopian nightmare

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Just a Boy and His Ceramic Bird

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

TW:none

Summary: You and Bradley share a special tradition.

Word Count:1.2k

The tradition started as something funny, a little inside joke between you and Bradley when you first moved in together. You bought the little porch goose at a thrift shop on a whim, mostly to get a laugh out of Bradley.

But over the past couple of years, its become a staple of your home. Through several moves and a couple hurricanes when he was stationed in sunny Florida, the goose has stuck around. It's the first thing you pack and unpack when you relocate, along with all the fun outfits you've collected for it.

No one ever really noticed it before, that is until he was stationed in San Diego permanently. As your house became the hot spot for get-togethers, the jabs from the team became more frequent. They always teased that having a statue of a goose wearing silly clothes is an old lady thing, and Bradley let it roll off in good nature.

It became a running joke amongst the aviators, even resorting to them having a poll to see what it should be named. They landed on Tonka, some long-winded story behind how they came up with it. Apparently, they had gotten on the topic of geese honking, which led to Jake saying something about Honky Tonk, and thus Tonka was born.

You and Bradley just refer to it lovingly as Goose.

See, what the squad doesn't know is that the little ceramic animal earned a special place in Bradley's heart. It became a symbol of his father, an ever-present memorial to the dearly departed man.

So you and Bradley keep it clean and change out its little costumes. You have everything from a fourth of July outfit to a flight suit, and swapping them out has become an act of closure.

You notice Bradley tense under your arm when Jake makes another snide remark.

"I'm just saying that having a lawn statue designed for 80-year-old women is very on-brand for Rooster." He remarks, and your stomach lurches.

Before your sweet boyfriend can say anything, you chime in.

"Actually, it's mine."

That little statement is all it took for them to hone in on you, now the center of the relentless teasing. You don't mind one bit, though. It's a small price to pay for Bradley to enjoy his little secret in peace.

That night after everyone leaves, Bradley pulls you into a tight hug.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

You shake your head and place a gentle kiss just below his ear, the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon bringing you comfort.

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. They don't need to know the truth, that's our little thing."

Bradley doesn't know how he got so lucky. At first, he felt stupid about the whole thing, but from the very beginning, you were adamant that it wasn't as silly as he thought. You insisted that if it made him feel better and was important to him, it's important to you too.

It was you who started the habit of fist bumping the figurine on your way in the door and blowing it a kiss when you leave. He knew then and there that you're the one.

A few weeks go by, and as the anniversary of Goose's death approaches, you switch it into its little flight suit, complete with a helmet and nametag.

It's not until Phoenix really looks at the outfit that the puzzle pieces come together. She has a secret meeting with the rest of the group and fills them in.

The next time they're over, you and Bradley are entirely taken by surprise. She hands you a gift bag, and you take it hesitantly, unsure of the special occasion. The second you remove the tissue paper, tears coat your lash line.

It's a little pair of aviators, and you look up at her as Bradley takes them from you.

"Are you pregnant?" You ask, and horror covers her features.

"Oh god, no. They're for Goose. I figured out why you keep that thing around when I remembered that it was his dad's callsign."

She laughs as you pull her into a tight embrace, and Bradley just stands there stunned.

"Well, go put them on him!" She exclaims, giving you a light shove toward the front door.

You slip them over the statue's eyes, and your heart melts. It's so perfect, and you know Bradley loves them.

That evening he cries when he goes outside to look, overcome with raw emotion. It feels so trivial, yet he can feel his dad in the air around him.

At Christmas, you're not surprised to receive some accessories for goose and let out a loud laugh at the Hawaiian shirt bob had made.

What does surprise you is Jake's gift. Bradley opens the large box and halts when he sees what's inside. You peek over to see what it is, and your eyes shoot up to look at the blonde pilot.

He looks sheepish as he rubs the base of his neck, and you wait for an explanation.

"I know the one you have is kind of like having your dad around, so I figured it's only right you have your mom too. They should be together."

You jump to your feet and all but tackle the man in a hug, caught off guard by the sentiment.

"Who knew Jake Seresin was such a thoughtful sap." You tease, but no one misses the slight sniffle as you sit back down next to Bradley.

He mumbles out a small thanks before everyone resumes exchanging gifts. A little bit later, Jake gets another beer in the kitchen, and Bradley follows him.

"Hey," He says, and Jake turns to look at him.

"I just want to thank you properly. It sounds dumb, but having that little goose is like having a piece of my dad. Now having one for my mom too.." He trails off, and Jake claps him on the shoulder.

"I get it, man. I'm glad you like it."

Bradley shakes his head and exhales before continuing.

"Really, Jake. It means the world. I can't tell you how special it is to me. I know we give each other a hard time, but you're a good guy."

Jake can tell Bradley is getting worked up and gives him a short hug before pulling back.

"Come on, bird boy. Can't have you getting soft on me." He teases, and Bradley laughs.

Leave it to Jake to provide comedic relief during a heartfelt moment.

The two of them return to the living room, and you give your boyfriend a knowing smile as he sits down. Your hand squeezes his, and he kisses your temple, a silent exchange of love and appreciation for each other.

This is everything you could ever want, a found family laughing in your living room and your man by your side. It's just you and your little goose family against the world.

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @chair-things @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @dempy @wellshit6

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun imagine #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader

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rickgrimeswifey · 1 year

Text

Overheard gossip - Spencer Reid

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A/n: When I post this I am an official Spencer Reid slut as this is my first ever written fic about him... part 2 here

Category: Blurb

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Season: 3

Warnings: Sexual themes, THE EMBARRASSMENT GIRL... I-

Word count: 0.6k

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It was around 1PM, the team was out on a case somewhere in Florida and Penelope was in her room working as usual. Y/n that also was a part of the team didn’t go along for the case, Hotch had told her to stay here since she had been going through some stuff recently. It wasn’t anything too devastating, Y/n was just on edge because her patience and brain wasn’t at their best state. Hotch found her too unstable to go along and investigate this serial killer. This job had drained her and she just needed some time away, at first Y/n was mad at Hotch’s decision but she realizes he just does it out of worry.

Y/n had finished her paperwork and went out to buy some lunch for her and Penelope. Something easy and that’s fast to finish eating. She skipped knocking on Garcias door before entering, she was sitting quietly in her seat searching for something through her computer. Y/n adored the work she did, no one could compare to their Penny.

“I got us something to eat for lunch.” She smiled looking at Penelope who turned to look at her.

“Well aren’t you a dear…” Penelope smiled, not taking her eyes off the screen longer than necessary.

Y/n got a chair to sit on at her friends desk before she spoke up again;

“You know I’ve been thinking about something.” She confessed as she opened up the bags with food and began placing it out on the table in front of her.

“What is that?” Penelope mumbled lost in her work, she was clearly doing something important.

“Have you ever thought about Spencer’s sexlife? I mean for a genius I bet he’d be extremely skilled at eating a girl out, I mean that he’d be a natural or more like supernatural. Or like that his dick would be huge.” Y/n said casually with a smirk on her face before dramatizing the last word.

When she had finished packing up the food she looked at Penelope who was staring at her with her mouth agape, there was something in her eyes. Y/n didn’t know what it was but it looked like panic. Why would she panic by what she’d just said? Y/n was almost positive that Garcia would’ve been someone who agreed with her.

“Are you still there Reid…?” Penelope asked nervously, making Y/n widen her eyes so much that she was afraid they’d pop out of her skull.

There was a cough heard on the phone line before Spencer's almost shaky voice was heard. “Y-Yeah… I’m still h-here Garcia.”

Y/n gasped covering her face with her hands. She felt like she’d die out of embarrassment, had Spencer just heard her say all of those things?

“I found some people that worked at graveyards but were fired in the past five years…” Penelope spoke up after a long painful minute of silence.

“Great! Uhm I’ll call you if I need anything else… b-bye.” Spencer’s voice cracked before he quickly hung up.

Y/n removed her hands from her head and looked Penelope in the eyes. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for her to burst out laughing. Y/n frowned while blushing like crazy at Garcias action.

“It’s really not funny at all, I’m never going back to work after this!” She remarked, wanting to sink into the ground and never come back up.

“Well, Y/n L/n you gotta learn to keep your mouth shut when you see that I’m working then.” Penelope laughed like crazy while wiping tears from her eyes.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #penelope garcia

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comphy-and-cozy · 4 months

Text

Bad for Business II - Mikko Rantanen

Pairing: Mikko Rantanen x massage therapist!Reader (f) - part of Bad for Business universe

Summary: Mikko learns to accept that his teammates are your clients, too.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY); unprotected sex, risqué/voyeuristic/public-adjacent sex, a little bit of everything: size kink, praise, dirty talk. Jealous/slightly toxic Mikko, secret relationship, morally gray professional decisions. Once again I am here telling you to not fuck your clients (or have sex in your workplace). Also do NOT have sex in a sauna!!!!

Mikko is buzzing with excitement as he pulls into the parking lot. Putting the car in park, he takes a swig of water from his Avalanche-branded bottle and sets his phone to Do Not Disturb. With a quick glance at the clock, he notes that it’s 3:55pm. It’s a Wednesday, and after a string of travel, and a few grueling practices—including one earlier today—he finally has the day off tomorrow. He’s looking forward to a chill night tonight and a relaxing morning sleeping in. If he’s lucky, he’ll have a pretty massage therapist in his bed; at least, that’s what he hopes to lock in after his 4:15pm massage.

On his way into the spa, he casts a glance at the silver Audi in the space beside him. The parking lot is far from full, so it’s hard not to notice the vehicle that he knows isn’t yours. He thinks he recognizes it, but can’t place who it belongs to until he sees the Florida plates as he passes by.

In the spirit of being good-natured, Mikko is prepared to greet him, clapping a hand on his back, making a little small talk, maybe asking what his day-off plans are. Everything a good friend would do. Except that when he arrives to the suite, he sees Ross leaned against the countertop, talking quietly to you.

In the two months you’d secretly been seeing each other, Mikko had quickly had to come to terms with the fact that you rubbed your hands all over his teammates’ bodies for a living. Did he like it? Fuck no, but he had accepted it—mostly. But this, seeing it in person, happening live in front of him, makes him rethink all of his pledges to remain polite.

By all rights, it’s not an unusual interaction in your place of work; Mikko has made plenty of post-massage small talk with you. But, then again, he was trying to fuck you. And by the looks of it, Ross is too, pressing a gentle hand against the back of your arm and speaking in a tone that’s at least an octave lower than his usual speaking voice.

Ross flashes his handsome smile at you, his fuck-me eyes far too obvious, and Mikko’s fist clenches involuntarily. Blood boils low in his chest when he sees you return a smile, your hand pressing gently against his bicep, and he has to take a breath and tear his eyes away to prevent himself from mauling his new teammate in the entryway of the high-end spa.

“Same time next week?”

“Already got you booked,” you reply with a smile. “See you then.”

“Can’t come soon enough,” Ross says, his saccharine smile dripping with charm. Mikko doesn’t miss the quick wink in your direction before he’s forcing himself to offer a nod at his teammate as he makes to leave. Fuck the small talk.

“Mikko, hi,” he hears your voice say, and he glances up to find you looking at him, seemingly unbothered by Ross’ antics. “I just need a few minutes to get the room ready for you.”

“M’gonna go in the sauna,” he grits, swallowing the rage that’s simmering just beneath the surface. “Unwind a little bit. Take your time.”

The humidity and the steam is an instant comfort to him, his muscles relaxing in the damp air. With a groan, he scrubs his face with his hands before letting his head rest on his palms, elbows digging into his thighs. The image of your hand on Ross’ arm, the nauseatingly syrupy smile on his face, the way he was practically fucking you with his eyes—all of it flashes through his mind, each thought more infuriating than the last.

You’re supposed to be his girl. Unofficially, at least. Though, if Mikko thinks about it enough, your budding relationship is still a secret, so everyone else thinks you’re single. Doesn’t change his sudden desire to slam Colton into the boards a little extra hard at practice, though.

A soft knock on the door has him looking up. Your head pokes in, and you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the white towel drawn taut between his thighs. You know what lies between those thighs now, have felt it on multiple glorious, life-altering occasions, so there’s an involuntary reaction in your gut. It makes you swallow thickly, quickly darting your gaze away to the floor in an attempt to maintain at least some level of professionalism. “You ready?”

Mikko looks up at you, and you see the scowl on his face before it disappears in a split second. He glances behind you, then rises to his full—read: huge—form and takes the few steps to close the gap between you. His hand reaches for yours, thumb affectionately rubbing over the back of your hand.

“I’m not—I’m not misreading this, am I? We have something going, right?”

Oh, we’re doing this. A small panic settles into your chest, paranoid at one of your colleagues walking by and hearing. You toe your shoes off, tearing your hand away from his to remove your socks and step fully into the sauna, closing the door behind you. It’s unhygienic, and frowned upon, but you can tell that something’s bothering him, so you do it anyway.

“Mikko, we shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“We do though, don’t we?”

There’s something about the look in his eyes that makes you give up the attempt to move the conversation elsewhere. Already, there’s a fine sheen of perspiration spreading across your skin, probably damp to the touch. “Yeah, Mikko. I like you. I thought that much was obvious.”

He smiles then, an expression of—relief, maybe?—settling across his features. Before you have a chance to ask him what’s up, he’s closing the gap between you and seizing your lips in a red-hot kiss. It’s enough to send the air whooshing out of your lungs, hands moving to his arms that have wrapped around you to hold yourself steady.

“You think Ross could kiss you like that?”

All at once, everything clicks into place, despite feeling like your brain has suddenly melted into a warm, pleasant liquid, sloshing about in your head (this is a normal occurrence after he kisses you, you’ve learned). He’s jealous.

“Mikko, he’s a client,” you say, doing your best to hide your amusement. “I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s my job to touch people.”

“It’s not you I’m concerned about.”

This time, you don’t hide your reaction, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “He’s being friendly.”

“Trust me, he wants to be much more than friends,” Mikko’s voice is low. You notice the way his eyes trail down to your chest, down at the skin peeking through the two unbuttoned buttons of your polo. “He was basically undressing you with his eyes.”

“Like you are right now?” you quip back.

There’s a brief flash in his eyes, like he’s temporarily been pulled out of his jealous rage. His shoulders slump. “M’sorry. Jus’ hate seeing other guys look at you ‘cause they don’t know you’re mine.”

It’s sweet, actually, the sentiment. You’ve been contemplating the dilemma of your relationship and the impact it could have on your career—dating a key member of one of your client groups certainly doesn’t seem like the best idea for maintaining integrity in your profession.

“Mikko, you know we can’t be public about this. Not yet. I like you, but I’m not going to sacrifice my career for you.”

It should be disappointing, but all it does is turn Mikko into titanium steel beneath his towel, the firm independence of a woman who worked hard for what she has. It’s hot, hotter than if you were desperate enough to sacrifice all of it just to get fucked.

“I would—I would never ask that,” he says instead. “Just don’t get mad at me if I accidentally slash him with my stick.”

Your eyes roll again. “Okay, Mr. Tough Guy. Let’s get you onto that massage table, yeah?”

You’re turned to leave, stepping toward the door when you feel warm hands wrap around your elbow. He whips you around to face him, cheeks flushed in the heat.

“I may not be able to stop your hands from touching other people, but I sure as hell am gonna be the only guy touching you.”

Mikko’s lips reclaim yours, tugging your hips toward him as he walks backward. When he hits the wooden bench, he transitions you seamlessly to straddling his lap, your scrubs instantly growing moist when they touch the dampness. Any protest you might have building in you dies on your lips when his large hands grip the globes of your ass, pushing and pulling so your core runs over the bulge that’s mere inches away from exposure.

“Better get these off before I rip a hole in ‘em,” he warns, tugging impatiently at the waistband. “Need you, baby.”

Once you’ve slid off his lap, he’s pawing at your waist to get you naked. The hot, humid air kisses your skin, mingling with the dampness between your thighs. Mikko mumbles something in Finnish, all but ripping off the Egyptian cotton towel wrapped around his waist. His cock is hard, drooling at the tip, standing proudly now that its cover has been removed. “Gotta have you.”

Your mouth opens to protest, to tell him anywhere but here, where there’s no lock on the door and anyone—client or colleague—could walk in at any moment. But then two thick fingers are teasing between your legs, his other hand gently coaxing you forward again, and instead of an objection, you let out a soft sigh.

“C’mere, kultaseni,” he coos. Sweetheart. “Let me feel that pretty little pussy.”

Mikko’s never been like this, so talkative, but you really, really like the way it sounds rumbling out of his broad chest, the depth of his voice and the thickness of his accent somehow making him feel even larger. You like it enough to crawl back into his lap obediently, eager to do anything to hear more of it.

He smiles easily, a smug chuckle sounding from between his lips; the sound is so delicious that you find yourself leaning forward to taste it. His tongue is quick to find yours, allowing you to explore the seam of his lips where his smile blooms, enjoying the way you feel seated in his lap again.

Of course, he teases you, his fingers brushing gently against your folds the only warning before a digit is dipping into your heat. He curses, leaning forward to nip at your collarbone as he pushes through the tightness of your walls, gently working you open to—hopefully soon—accommodate something much larger.

One finger becomes two becomes three, and he’s got a mark blossoming at the junction of your neck and shoulder, dark pink and sure to be a mauvey-purple come tomorrow. Your chest is heaving now, panting in the moistness of the air as he works you to a frenzy.

“You ready to take it now, baby?”

Your nod is desperate, as is the way you sit up to make space for him when he lines himself up with your entrance. He eases the tip in, shallow at first, dipping in and out in slow and steady movements. Gradually, he slips deeper, working his sizable length into your tightness until you’re wrapped snugly around him.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “S’big, Mikko.”

“Yeah?” his quiet reply lilts eagerly, almost hopeful. “You like that?”

Your reply is more of a slurred moan, walls fluttering dreamily around his cock that throbs in time with the beat of your heart. He smirks against your chest, pleased at your inability to speak coherently already—and he’s barely even moved.

Under the coaxing of his strong hands on your waist, it isn’t long before you’re bouncing in his lap, tongue tucked between your teeth as you do your best to temper your moans. You’re thankful that the thick walls of the sauna keep noise inside, but toeing that line feels like playing with fire.

When Mikko tugs your top off, bra falling unceremoniously to the floor, your nakedness feels stark. Something about being nude in a place you shouldn’t be invokes a sense of wild freedom in you, drawing energy and adrenaline to your hips as they keep their frantic rhythm.

“Colton fucking wishes he could get this treatment,” he growls, eyes glued to your tits as you ride him to high heaven.

“Can y’not talk about another dude while you’re balls deep inside me?”

“Why? Just want to remind you that he can’t make you feel this way,” Mikko smirks, large palm massaging one of your breasts leisurely. “Have you mumblin’ nonsense on it. Cryin’ out my name, not his.”

With a flex of his hips, he’s pushing deeper into you and you let out an involuntary cry. No, you think, you’re pretty sure there’s no one else out there that can rest fully in your guts and still have you crying out his name.

“Who else you think can fill you up like this?” he questions, thrusting again for emphasis. It’s enough to have your eyes rolling, fucked completely stupid on his dick.

“Nobody,” you gasp, and you mean it. “Jus’—jus’ you. Only you.”

He hums, smug when his thumb moves to press your clit, the pressure enough to make you shiver. You feel the way your muscles flex around him, the brush of his tip against your g-spot with every bounce in his lap.

Your skin is on fire, less from the heat of the sauna now and more from the flame that he builds inside of you, your body hot to the touch as your sweaty skin slides against his. It’s impossibly warm, each gentle circle of the pad of his finger against your clit stoking the coals and sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

“Need you t’come,” he pants. “Please, baby.”

Thighs burning, you let your hips find their rhythm, drawing closer to that ethereal climax. You can barely even remember your own name, let alone register that you’re inside a sauna, inside your place of work, riding one of your clients like your life depends on it—which is why you let out a loud cry of Mikko’s name when the wave washes over you. Your mouth presses into the crook of his neck too late, panting hot against his skin while he weakly resumes the thrust of his hips, pushing himself over the edge and spilling into your sated, satisfied cunt.

Mikko’s thumb rubs gentle, soothing circles against your hip while the two of you catch your breath. A groan escapes your lips when you realize that you’ve yet again broken your own promise to yourself and defiled yet another surface at your place of employment.

“You gonna charge me a cancellation fee if I say let’s skip the massage and I’ll take you to dinner instead?” his voice is low, murmured softly against your shoulder before he presses a kiss to the skin.

Ten minutes later, you’re walking through the lobby, coat over your shoulders and keys jingling in your hand. Hannah, the receptionist, watches with her jaw dropped as Mikko’s fingers thread with yours, holding the door for you and offering a polite nod in her direction on the way out.

#mikko rantanen fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #mikko rantanen x reader #hockey romance #mikko rantanen smut

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iovesia · 1 year

Text

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐘 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘.

dark!kevin lomax⠀x⠀wife!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you've finally had enough of kevin's lies and secrets, and you ask for a divorce. unfortunately, some secrets come back to bite as kevin threatens to leak compromising footage of you.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀extremely dubious consent. heavy angst. hate sex. p in v. forced breeding. blackmail. revenge porn. infidelity. forced established relationship.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ this is a dark fic, i can't stress this enough so please read the warnings. i know a lot of y'all requested the blackmail/sextape trope with kevin, so i kinda combined all the asks into this fic— hope you enjoy ♡ !!

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

THE MUFFLED MELODY OF the record player echoed through your dark, and empty apartment. You rested the wine glass against the side of your head, letting out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes. The lifeless walls, that were painted in all the wrong colors, had begun to repulse you over the last few weeks. You spent most of your days trapped alone in this apartment, trying to keep yourself busy with any menial tasks.

Whether it be repainting the walls several times (only to receive no words of acknowledgement from your husband), or filling up the place with random plants— as a poor attempt to bring any form of life back into the soulless place you now called home.

At first, you couldn't bear to tell Kevin how much you despised New York. You missed the warm Florida sun, you missed the cool breeze on your face and the quiet roads when you'd drive to work in the early mornings— Hell, you even missed the tiny condo you and Kevin used to live in. It was small, there was hardly any hot water, and the neighbours were noisy as all hell, but it was home. And Kevin was actually around enough for you to be able to call him a husband.

"Jesus Christ," you mumbled to yourself, glancing upwards. The moonlight shone through the curtains, illuminating the clock hanging above the ashy fireplace. 3:07 am. You take a final swig of your wine, chugging down the last few drops, before slamming the glass hard enough on the coffee table that you almost smashed it.

The sound of keys jingling and the door creaking startled you from your thoughts. A murmured "damn" whispered from a masculine voice, as he tried to be as quiet as possible. You kept your eyes firmly focused in front of you, and almost as if on cue, your husband stumbled into the living room.

"Why are the damn lights off— Shit!" He jumped when he flicked the light switch on, revealing you sitting across from him, cross-legged on the leather couch. "Baby, you scared me, I thought you'd be ‘sleep by now," he lets out a small laugh, the southern twang leaking into his voice.

"Did you have fun?" Pain bubbles up in your throat, scalding, and you swallow. You knew where he was. It was the same excuse every night ("Sorry, baby, I have to stay late tonight at the office, this case is a real-pain in the ass"), and part of yourself wished you could just delude yourself into believing his web-of-lies. Yet, deep down in the crevice of your broken heart, you knew he was with her.

The red-headed Italian beauty, Christabella Andreoli. You'd been formally introduced once, at one of Kevin's bosses extravagant parties that he'd dragged you along to. You hardly missed the way she eyed your husband hungrily.

Her slender hand wrapped around his upper arm, her long maroon nails digging into his suit. With a cheshire grin hanging on her lips, she began to pull him away from you. "Hope you don't mind if I just steal him for a moment, just some shop-talk," she winks and you watch them disappear among the numerous figures of suit-cladded businessmen and lawyers.

That was your first red flag. Kevin promised you —crossing his heart— that she was just a colleague, who was a natural flirt.

"I don't know if I'd count shifting through endless piles of New York's city health codes fun," he smirks, taking slow strides closer to you. The couch dips as Kevin takes a seat next to you. He presses numerous little kisses along your shoulder, down to your neck. “I missed you, ba—”

“Just stop it!” You snap, rising from the couch as you slapped away your husband's hand. “Christ, Kevin! How stupid do you think I am?”

You watch as Kevin’s face contorts to confusion, his brows furrowing as he licks his bottom lip.

“Baby, what are you talking about?” He stands from the couch, still completely oblivious to the painstaking heartbreak written on your face. Kevin’s hand reaches for you, and again you slap it away, completely repulsed by the man who you used to crave.

“I want a divorce.”

THAT WAS TWO DAYS AGO.

After wailing, and shouting till the early hours of the morning, you locked yourself into your shared bedroom. Kevin begged and pleaded with you to open the door.

“Baby.. baby, please talk to me,” you ignore his muffled pleas. Sitting on the floor with your back to the door, you sob hysterically in your hands— all the more crushing bits of Kevin’s heart.

“Open the door, honey..”

At some point during the sunrise, the joyous early morning leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, Kevin had left the apartment. You wandered through the empty apartment, noticing the dishevelled couch where he frequently resided after a fight.

Since the fight, you’ve been seeing Kevin more in the last two days than the entire year you have been living in New York. When you once prayed for an ounce of his attention, you now avoided him like the plague.

Every attempt to touch, hug, kiss you was met with running in the other direction. You couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes— those dark, brown puppy dog eyes, knowing that he did all those things with another woman.

“Baby, nothing happened! I promise you!”

“Promises mean shit if you never keep them!”

THREE DAYS LATER, you had pondered the idea of looking into divorce lawyers. You prayed someone in New York would be willing to go against Kevin Lomax. His infamous reputation of having never lost a case, unsettled even the elites in the business, so your search was nearing fruitless.

But, Kevin is your husband (soon to be ex), surely he would grant you this last gift of mercy by just signing the papers— without the courtroom hassle.

You waited impatiently in the elevator, watching the numbers light up with each passing floor. Your heel clicked anxiously against the floor, as you held the pile of divorce papers to your chest.

It was going to be over. Five years. Five years completely down the fucking drain. All because your husband couldn’t keep it in his goddamn pants. Or so you thought.

The silver doors finally opened, revealing the equivalent of the devil incarnate.

Christabella Andreoli.

“Mrs. Lomax, what a ple—”

“Don’t. Just.. don’t,” you interrupt, shutting your eyes as painful images of your husband and her begin forming in your mind. Christabella awkwardly clears her throat as she moves to the side, allowing you to pass her. “Do you know where Kevin is?” you ask, venom laced in your voice.

“He’s on the top floor, I’m going there now.”

“Great,” you quip with faux enthusiasm. “Do me one last favor —aside from fucking my husband— and hand him this.” You push the papers into the redhead's arms, her eyes staring at you with a similar confusion as Kevin did.

“Mrs. Lomax, I have no clue what yo—"

YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE KEVIN sitting on the couch as you arose from your slumber. Kevin’s oversized law school hoodie and undies were the only thing covering your otherwise naked figure— an unfortunate habit you haven’t managed to break yet. Embarrassment bloomed in your face, hoping he wouldn’t notice (he did). You rubbed your tired eyes, shifting away from the lawyer. The pile of divorce papers lay sprawled across the coffee table, with the thick line at the end left unsigned.

“I’m not signing these,” Kevin sighs, running a hand through his black, slicked hair.

“Kevin, we’ve been over this. I want a di–” you were rudely interrupted by Kevin reaching for the remote and switching it on. The TV static appears for half a second before cutting to what looks like CCTV footage. Labelled in the bottom right corner, this was footage of Kevin’s office floor.

Squinting your eyes, the colour drains from your face as he fast forwards. Slowly fast forwarding to you entering his office, after hours, and the CCTV caught everything through his glass office doors. Every last second from you coming inside, kneeling down, and wrapping your lips around his cock.

Conveniently enough, the camera frame ends just above your head, preserving Kevin’s anonymity.

“What the hell? Where did you get this?! Why do you have this?!” The questions blurted out all at once, fury bubbling in your chest. Kevin was always one to fight dirty, but you never thought you’d bear victim to it.

“Security team is very amoral if you haven’t noticed.”

“So they actually gave you this footage?!”

He smirks, pausing the TV on a particularly graphic frame. “Money talks. And I know those underpaid security people have no problem giving footage to whoever talks the most.”

“You know what? Keep this sick shit if you want, I’m done. Sign the papers, don’t sign them, I don’t care! I’m getting a goddam lawyer,” you whip around, hurriedly rushing towards your shared bedroom.

Kevin’s footsteps trailed behind you, loud and faster as he boomed “So that’s your big plan?”

You ignore his words, reaching for the first small suitcase you could find. Kevin enters the room, and slams the door behind him. You were too distracted looking for shirts to hear the quiet click of the lock.

“You think I’m gonna just let you leave?”

“Let me?” You barked, fists clenching and damn near smoke coming out of your ears. “You’re a cocky asshole if you think you’re letting me do anything. I’m leaving you, Kevin. We are over—”

A pain shocks your wrist as Kevin snatches it into a tight grip. You struggled against him, and with a huff, he pushed you onto the bed. Hastily, you try to crawl off the masterbed, only for Kevin to snatch your ankle and pull you back towards him. You feel his weight on top of you as he straddles you, both his hands pinning your hands down.

“Baby, I made a lot of mistakes..” the dark-haired man mumbles, his eyes piercing into you.

“K-Kevin, you’re hurting me—”

“But, you’re not leaving me. No, no, no, baby,” Kevin's lips met your neck, making your chest tighten as you kicked your legs to try and get him off you; but to no avail. “You think you’ll find a single goddamn lawyer that’s gonna help you when that tape gets out?”

You freeze.

“What did you say?” your voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear you.

“All the judge will see is visual evidence of you being a cheating whore— fucking another man in your doting husband’s office, no less,” Kevin smirks against your jaw as he continues his kisses. “Or at least that’s how I’ll make it look..”

“You sick bastard!”

“You’ll lose the rights to everything by a landslide, and you’ll be left with nothing,” Kevin sighs, faux-sympathy laced in his devilish voice. His head moves back and hovers directly over your face, his brown puppy eyes piercing into your teary, fury ones.

“Nobody’s gonna believe that,” you murmured, trying to sound sure, but deep in the pit of your stomach.. He was right. Kevin had all the money, power and connections to screw you over.

“Baby, they’ll believe whatever I want them to believe,” he rests his forehead against yours, ignoring the tears that are brimming your waterline. You struggled once more, desperately wanting out of his grasp.

“Baby, baby.. please,” Kevin’s hand trails down your torso, his cold wedding ring touching against you, making you twitch. Another devastating reminder that the man you love, the man you married, was holding you down and blackmailing you.

“You’re fucking evil—” A choked sob escapes your lips, simultaneously as his hand dips under your waistband. “Oh my Go—”

“Let me make it up to you..” his honey voice echoes in your ear. Your voice dies in your throat when Kevin’s fingers start to toy with your clit, and you hate the way your body reacts to his touch. Arching your back, you continue to squirm out of fear.. and desperation. Your body betrays you as you feel yourself getting wetter. “Let me make you feel good, baby, hm?”

“Fuck you,” you spit angrily, not before being interrupted by a measly gasp as his fingers continue working against your bundle of nerves.

“I love you so much, sugar,” Kevin pressed his soft lips to yours, only you kept yours in a thin line. Two fingers were plunged into your wet cunt, and you let out a small gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue in and capturing your lips in a passionate embrace. “There’s no line in the world I wouldn’t cross for you.”

“I-I hate you,” you mewled weakly, biting on your lower lip to ignore the feeling in your core. Kevin merely chuckles, eyeing the way you bend to his will as he rubs your desperate bud faster.

Suddenly, the tearing sound of your undies made your heart drop. You purse your lips, stopping the involuntary moans from leaving your lips. The tip of Kevin’s cock slides up and down your cunt, before parting your pussy lips.

“I-I hate you.. Oh fuck— K-Kevin..” you whimper, his cock stretching your pretty pussy deliciously. His slow thrusts were agonising, and made your head swirl, a warmth blooming from your lower region.

“I’m gonna be around more, baby, I promise you,” he pants against your ear, his hot breath hitting your face. Stray tears fall down your cheeks and Kevin kisses them away. One of his hands letting go of your wrist, trailing down to the back of your thigh. He presses one knee up to your chest, allowing him to thrust his cock even deeper inside you— you swore you could feel him in your stomach. “I’m gonna make you so happy.”

Your toes curled with each thrust and your fluttering walls clenched at his words, only making you more ashamed by the minute. His laboured breaths mixed in with your own as he continued nipping your neck, leaving small love bites.

“It’s gonna be you, and me.. and a baby.”

Your eyes widened at that, and immediately you tried to sit up, only for Kevin to push more of his weight down on you, keeping you firmly in your place. You were practically speechless, your bambi eyes frozen in shock. “Kevin, wait— don’t come inside—”

“Sh, sh,” he coos. “I’m gonna fill you up, mama. Don’t you want that?” You mewl at his sudden harsh thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. Blinded by your tears and the overwhelming pleasure washing over your body, you nod weakly.

A sick grin hung on Kevin’s lips as he poured into you, and you let out a sinful moan as you clenched hard around him, mixing your cum with his. Panting, you don’t resist when Kevin traps your lips with his.

“You’re the only woman I’ll ever want,” he whispers your name sensually, you can’t help the chills that arise on your skin.

“And, I’ll be damned to hell before I let you leave me.”

໒꒰ྀིྀི ੭ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ꒱ྀི੭ — taglist : @desoolate @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom.

let me know if anyone wishes to be added !!

#dark.josie #nsfw.josie #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax imagine

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magicaguajiro · 6 months

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Swamp Witch Travels: Finding Sacred Space

Myakka River and Paynes Creek State Parks

As I dive deeper into my practice of bioregional animism, I look to parks for sacred space and places to connect with spirits of all kinds. In Florida we live in cities divided by nature preserves and swamps, and we are also incredibly blessed to have an amazing State Parks system. These parks offer us peaks into ecology and history of the Land that reveal to us some of Its Mysteries. Here are a few things I’ve learned as a Folk Witch.

Make an offering when entering. For ancestral reasons, I use tobacco. Use what you're guided to. Introduce yourself, your intentions, etc. Also, pick up trash and be respectful. Don't wander in places you don't know, or take things you don't have knowledge on. It’s usually best to practice Leave No Trace but when have Witches been known to follow rules… Do as ye will. But always ask and give something in return.

There are different spirits!

Trees, plants, rivers, hills and even entire forests and parks can have their own spirits. At parks like Myakka and Payne’s Creek, there are platforms you can climb for an aerial view of the park. This is a great place to connect with the Genus Loci of a place! (For more on Genus Loci, I recommend Folk Witchcraft by Roger J Horne) Some spirits will want to talk to you, some won’t. Respect their choices and don’t expect anyone to talk for free.

Protection is Key!

Protection is important for witches and animists. Many spirits and natural places are dangerous, for example some Rivers are known for drowning and can be seen as having a harsh and dangerous spirit. When protecting myself day to day I wear spiritual jewelry from my Cuban traditions. Shark and gator teeth serve as great protection from water spirits and in general. My spiral shell ring is protective and I often use it in ritual. Bodies of water are also great places to bless things and hold rituals of cleansing and power! Not only spiritual protection, but physical protection is needed as well. In these swamps, we have gators, sharks, panthers, bobcats, bears, snakes, PEOPLE and even more things that would gladly expedite your role in the food chain. I’m not saying be afraid of animals, rather have respect and recognize you are in their domain. Carry bear spray, don’t wander too far off known trails, and be careful of other people.

I once heard a saying, the Swamp knows everything about death, and doesn’t consider it a tragedy.

Enjoy the Scenery, and Learn!

Take it all in and take your time! If you need to escape heat and mosquitos check out the visitor centers and gift shops! I justify spending a bit too much here on considering it an offering to the Land. Try talking to the people who work here or making friends! This is a great way to learn Folklore and secret places to explore.

On Remembering Ancestors of the Land

In working with the Land, you must honor the Ancestors of the Land. These are the spirits of all the people who lived on the Land before you. For me, this begins with my Ancestors and the other Indigenous groups of the area. In Florida, the tribes who remain today are the Seminole and Mikasuki. We should look to Indigenous tribes for wisdom on how to approach and respect the Land, but that doesn’t mean read online about it and go appropriate it. It means go and actually talk to real life people. You can and certainly should also honor other people, including any folk saints or historical figures who may serve as tutelary spirits or otherwise.

And always remember to say Fuck the Colonizers!

Happy Witching Friends, May the Dry Season bring us all Renewal!

#witchcraft #florida #bruja #brujeria #witch #bioregional animism #florida witch #santeria #swamp witch #traditional witchcraft #espiritismo #taino #taino spirituality #atabey #folk magic #folkloric witch #folk witchcraft #folk witch

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emilybeemartin · 7 months

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Inktober Days 10-12

Day 10: "Fortune"

On the farthest-flung spit of the Florida Keys are a handful of islands bearing the second-oldest surviving European name in the US, recorded by Ponce de León for the abundance of sea turtles and the lack of fresh water (Florida’s name is considered the oldest). Shallow straits create a ship trap that has claimed hundreds of vessels from the age of sail, including loaded Spanish treasure galleons. Old lighthouses stand as memories to the effort to guide ships through lucrative but risky channels. Rising from Garden Key is a hexagonal fortress—Fort Jefferson, the largest all-brick fort in the US, which housed Union prisoners during the Civil War. Under the turquoise water are some of the most intact coral reefs in the continental US. The water teems with sea life, and in addition to several year-round seabird species, the islands serve as stopovers for migrating birds. It’s a treasure trove lousy with natural and historical abundance. A vast fortune of biodiversity and human history.

This message is not brought to you by Visit Dry Tortugas LLC—it’s brought to you by a too-romantic ranger who’s a sucker for lonely maritime outposts and would desperately like to visit this unusual little member of the National Park Service.

Day 11: "Wander"

Some parks more than others seem to invite visitors to wander. It’s the twists of a path, dipping in and out of the rises in a landscape. It’s the light filtering through dark forests, promising something new beyond the branches. It’s the shoulders of a massive mountain standing like a beacon, or its invisible summit covered in clouds. Mount Rainier, like so many other protected places, seems to beckon—come. Explore. Take it in.

But stay on the path—alpine habitats are fragile.

Day 12: "Spicy"

Olympic was the first park I fell in love with, and it was a twenty-year long-distance relationship. A National Geographic article I read in high school painted a picture of verdant rainforests dripping with moss, wild windy coastlines, and high snowy peaks. I desperately wanted to see these places myself, stand under the towering cedars and breathe in their spicy scent. My desire to visit was so strong that the summers I worked in Glacier and Yellowstone, I would constantly plot the drive west, hoping the travel time would somehow get shorter. It was eleven hours. I could do that in a long weekend, couldn’t I? Take one of my precious few days off and just blitz to the coast?

The plans never worked out, which is probably for the best. Instead, after two years of Covid-cancelled plans, my husband and I decided to make the trip together from the east coast. It was infinitely better than a snatched day and a half all alone. For a week, we explored the glaciated mountains, rocky beaches, and primordial rainforests. After two-thirds of my life spent pining after this park, it was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more.

#31 days of national parks #inktober #dry tortugas #mount rainier #olympic #inktober 2023

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eatmangoesnekkid · 10 months

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Simple Ways to Increase the Aura of Your Home: One of the main purposes of home is to help our bodies recover from overt chemicalization of our world. The world is flooded with a constant force of harmful chemicals that degenerate physical and mental vitality, therefore our home life should be a passionate haven where those heightened chemical variances are limited to non-existent. Therefore consider eliminating or greatly reducing chemical cleaning products and chemical beauty products which will enhance your digestion, your gut microbiome (the main factor that effects our the 7 systems of the body, hormones, mind health, and quality of life) and thereby increase your home's frequency. You want to create a home that supports the healthiest fullest expression of your gut microbiome, the center of your reality. A well-loved microbiome supports an essential resource that grows your life force energy. It supports healthy hydrated longevity that gives you more choices in life, mainly because it supports you in procuring naturally expanded human experience. A healthy gut microbiome helps you to master ways of thinking, feeling, intuiting, and perceiving. Be intentional in actively welcoming in details of beauty all around your home— plants, books, art, well-made candles, music and the musical, macrame, hanging fabric or beads, color, etc. Invite in the sacred and the edges of the universe into your home--pour libations, chant, sing mantras, and whatever other ritual, divination, cosmic and grounding aesthetics, and ancestral intelligence. Clear clutter in closets and underneath beds and chairs and clean often and with thoughtful detail and intention, place special attention to windows, doors, toilet bowl, refrigerator, sinks, floors, and corners Dance around your home while infusing love into each room; more and more love and tactile loving acts Take out trash often -unpleasant smells distill unpleasant energy Resort your refrigerator daily or every other day-no spoiled food Open windows daily first thing in the morning, even in Winter briefly Ritualize washing your floors and walls every new season with a quality lime or orange essential and water solution, Florida water, and some of concoction that clears energy Mind your recurring thoughts --if you have been thinking in negative ways, no worries--just open windows an air out the energy and clean up around you Air out your bed linen daily Replace plastic with glass It's a living energy .....pray over your home Refresh water on most fresh flowers daily Light an oil lamp, ghee lamp or candles nightly Find a place for everything, and put everything in its place. Get into the habit of donating what you don't use or no longer matches your frequency often Create more white clear space Keep something sacred items by the front door that help clear energy e.g. hanging bells on the door knob Invest in quality kitchen supplies Home is a safe oasis where we repair our energetic relationship with living in an overly masculine, exhausted, mentally chaotic world. How does your home reflect the nourishment and nuturance of feminine energy? How does it inspire rest, regeneration, love, passion, creativity, arousal, playfulness, joy, prosperity, or living more inward-facing rather than externally-focused? India Ame'ye

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pimosworld · 6 months

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The story of us chapter 8 part II

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Chapter summary-The boys carry out their plan and try to stay afloat.

CW-18+,MDNI, angst, mentions of abuse, ptsd,mentions of drug use, violent ideations, addiction issues,fluff,protective tf boys.

WK-3.6K

Notes- This chapter is written in the boys pov. The story will be coming to an end soon but I will continue with one shots about their lives when this is all over.

[Series Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter VIII part II Keep you safe

I’ll be at your house in 5

Will: What are we talking about?

Mike

****

As Santi drives distractedly to the Miller/Morales household he thinks about all the ways he’s tried to avoid the inevitable. In the weeks following the dramatic exit of your ex, you were all he could think about. He was never one to face his emotions head on and he certainly wasn’t going to entertain this idea of them all dating you.

Just like the weather in Florida his emotions would take a drastic turn as jealousy turned into envy, watching his brothers one by one succumb to the pull that was you. Even Will, his last line of defense, couldn't resist the feeling of finally being happy. Santiago was a glutton for punishment, he had been his entire life and this situation was no different.

No amount of avoidance or distraction could keep him from thinking about you. He didn’t know where to begin. What does he say? Why can’t he call you? Why can’t he return your calls? All these unanswered questions only seek to cloud his judgment. Instead of doing the obvious like his brothers managed to do he opts for stalking?

It’s not really… in his mind, he’s just driving by your work and all your favorite lunch spots and taking the long way home to pass by your house. Of course this is all easier to him than simply picking up the phone and telling you he’s been madly in love with you since the day you met and he wanted to tell you before the other guys but since they did it first he’s been stubborn.

On one of his routine drives by your house in which he swore this time he would stop and knock on your door. The bouquet of flowers he bought placed in his passenger seat are practically laughing at him. The incentive to actually get out of the car. He rounds the last corner to your street, the late afternoon slightly blocking his view but not enough to see the eye sore of a truck parked just a few houses down from yours.

A myriad of emotions flash across his mind…anger,frustration,annoyance. He’s white knuckling the steering wheel, cursing himself for thinking you may have taken him back. The irreparable damage this would do to all of you and of course he had seen it coming a mile away.

Except…you aren’t home, the tell tale sign of your Jeep not in the driveway because for some reason you refused to use the garage. He knows you always loved the natural light that spilled into your living room from the front window and Frankie constantly reminding you to turn on your porch light when you get home. The blinds are closed and the light is off.

He creeps by slowly passing your house as he pulls alongside the truck to see that asshole in the front seat staring down at his phone illuminating the light on his smug face. What the fuck is he doing sitting outside your house?

He wants to confront him, he should confront him and scare the shit out of him for even being within 50 feet of your house. All the things he should do and all the things he would’ve done in the past somehow overtake him. Instead in an uncharacteristic way he continues driving. The fool doesn’t even notice him. Some part of Santiago knows he’s not stupid enough to hang around too long.

He’s probably doing the same exact thing that landed him in your street in the first place. He should call you and tell you that your crazy ex is parked outside your house…but how would he even begin to explain why he knows that?

Instead he drives home and stews, pacing his living room until he’s sure a permanent track will be etched into the ugly brown carpet. The only thing that snaps him from the monotony is the sound of his phone off in the distance. He brakes from the track to take the few short steps to his kitchen when he sees your face light up on his phone screen. A picture you took of yourself with his phone because you couldn’t believe he didn’t have pictures assigned to contacts. He thought it was stupid to go through all that…he knows what the people look like that call him. Now he is so grateful to see your face when you call.

The sweet moment is quickly broken when he doesn’t even have time to say hi. Your panicked voice rushed out on the other end. Something about Mike being at the bar and you think maybe following you home. Shit… he’s telling you to stay where you are, he’ll come get you. He has to after all since this is all his fault. He should’ve confronted him, scared him a little or at least told you to be careful. His own stubborn reasons for not doing so surely put you in danger from this psychopath who can’t take no for an answer.

He should’ve told you when he picked you up or maybe even when you were in his bed. There were more important things to be said in that moment and none of it matters now…because Mike is a dead man.

****

“Nice to see you too.” Will greets him at the door as Santi barrels into the house to sit at the dining room table.

“We need to take him out.” Frankie sits beside him at the table. He tries to make eye contact with him but the man is all wild and frazzled.

“Who?”

Santi looks up, finally staring directly at Ben, a permanent smile etched on his face because he knows exactly who.

“The man finally gets laid and he wants to go on a killing spree.” He flips off the younger Miller as he huffs out in frustration

“Not a spree, just one man.” He grits out between his teeth. He doesn’t know why he’s so annoyed at the situation. It’s not their fault…maybe a small fraction of him thinks it’s all their fault for not getting their shit together sooner and realizing what they wanted was right in front of them.

He takes a deep breath to compose himself and his thoughts. He tells them everything, all of the messy details. Starting with the fact that he’s been in love with you since the day you walked into all their lives. He tells them about the days he’s been checking on you “stalking” Ben points out but continues nonetheless. He tells them about seeing him sitting in his car down the street from your house and not doing anything about it. He fights down the bile threatening to rise up in his throat at the thought of something happening to you because he didn’t step in.

He doesn’t feel guilty about last night but he can see from an outsider viewpoint that it may have looked like he took advantage of a vulnerable person. They don’t judge him for it. They have all had some questionable moments with you in the weeks after you broke up with your piece of shit excuse for a human being ex.

It’s quiet for a while once he’s finished talking. All the men just taking in the information and processing it in their own way. Will disappears to his room for a moment and Frankie just shoots him a look of sympathy. He put all his cards out there and it probably sounds insane. They have so much blood on their hands, what’s one more person? It’s just not that simple. They’ve all left that life behind,the life of killing and not looking back. Since Tom's death things were different, so many innocent lives lost and not enough money to wash away their sins.

Will returns a brief moment later with a manila envelope in his hands. He slaps it down on the table in front of Santiago who has his hands buried in his salt and pepper curls.

“I’m in.” Santi looks down at the envelope as he slowly opens it revealing its contents.

“Iron head you're supposed to be the voice of reason.” Frankie leans in trying to read the details as Santi’s face turns even more into a frown if that was possible.

Apparently Will had spent the last several weeks looking up any and all information he could find on your ex. His dodgy past with substance abuse and not being able to keep a job was boring useless information. The fact that he had an ex wife that you never mentioned who just so happens to have an active restraining order against him was not surprising either. His missing ex girlfriend was what made Will dig deeper.

He can see the moment Santiago gets to that piece of pertinent information. The multiple domestic abuse reports that fell on deaf ears because law enforcement either doesn’t care or they never had enough information to put him away. The investigation took place in a completely different state and ultimately went nowhere when they didn’t have sufficient evidence to place the blame on him.

He moved to Florida when her family wouldn’t stop “harassing” him. A fresh start in a new city, with an unsuspecting new victim.

They’ve made people disappear for much less and he can only assume the worst about the poor missing girl. People like him didn’t deserve due process.

“Did you verify all this information?” Will just levels Santi with a stare.

“You know Will, he double and triple checks everything.” Ben may be his annoying little brother but he always had his back.

“When were you going to tell me?”

It’s awkward and quiet for a bear as they all look at each other. Santi knows the answer, he just doesn’t voice it out loud. He wasn’t going to tell him. He’s spent the last several weeks saying how he doesn’t want to be involved and he doesn’t think this will work so why would they include him in this new revelation.

“Look man, I didn’t even know what I was gonna do with this information.” He sighs as he scrubs his face with his hand. “I didn’t want to tell Honey and freak her out,I couldn’t tell Ben for obvious reasons.”

“Hey I’m not that rash.” Anymore.

Frankie grabs the papers, skimming the rest of them over, his anger and frustration has reached a fever pitch and he can’t hold back anymore. “I’m done sitting around doing nothing. I know you have a plan so just lay it out.”

****

From this moment forward you have to be kept in the dark, at least until it all blows over. They’ll spend the next week making sure their alibis are air tight. They had a lot of people who owed them favors and they were about to cash in on them.

Years ago the six of you went in on a safe house that went mostly unused except for the occasional restock of clothing and supplies. That would be their home for the next few weeks after Mike has his accident.

Santiago had warned him that last night how easily they could make it look like he disappeared. With everything they now knew about him it was going to look that much easier. He owed a lot of people money, various gambling debts around town and his constant need to get high. Or perhaps someone from his ex’s family decided he needed to pay. They were going to make sure he did and couldn’t harm anyone in the future, most importantly you.

Will and Frankie got to work on their alibis and preparing the house for their departure. Ben went scouting all of Mike's normal hangouts to get an idea of his routine. Santiago ordered surveillance to be set up at your house and the Millers so they could keep an eye on you and watch for any suspicious activity.

The plan was full proof, as was everything else they set out to do. Four delta force soldiers against one sap was going to be child’s play. Their main concern was keeping you in the dark, especially after Santiago slept with you. There was no doubt your mental health was going to take a hit but they couldn’t risk you being involved in any way.

****

5 days

“Hurry up!”

“I’m going as fast as I can paint. It can only dry so fast Fish.” Will puts the finishing touches on the drywall he promised you he’d finish.

“She’s still at work anyway.” Ben’s mouth is full of lasagna and he can barely get the words out as he eats straight out of the dish you left in the fridge.

Santiago shoots him a dirty look as he secures the last camera pointing towards your living room. Ben idly flipping through the tracker app in his phone that they placed in your Jeep a few days prior. They still had about an hour before you were set to leave work but they didn’t want to risk running into you, sabotaging the whole plan.

This was the last step before heading to the safe house a few hours outside of town. Mike had been disposed of rather easily, their original plan to have him get in a “car accident” went completely out the window when Will tracked down his old booky. You don’t get second chances when you owe someone one hundred thousand dollars…especially when you’ve been dodging them for three years.

The boys still wanted confirmation, which meant they would still need to lay low for a bit. At least until the cops questioned you, which they assumed would be one of the first places they asked. It would take a few days for his job to alert someone that he stopped showing up and then if anyone cared about him at all they would report him missing. The first place they always go is a current or recent partner.

It needed to look genuine that you had no idea of his whereabouts.

Frankie is jotting down the information to log into the surveillance on a pink post it he found in a drawer. He scoffs at the ridiculous password encryption Santiago chose.

“Can you make this password any longer?”

“Ya I can. Do you think it should be longer?” Pope’s so preoccupied he doesn’t hear the sarcasm that was dripping from Frankie’s question.

“Fuck…we need to go now!” Ben scrambles to put the food away, almost dropping the whole tray in the process. “Her car says it’s at our house.”

Santi jumps down from the counter as Will heads to the garage to put the paint supplies away. Frankie’s looking over the room but at this point it doesn’t matter, they don’t have time to clean up their mess and you were gonna know they stopped by either way. This was their plan after all to make sure you knew they were safe and they still care about you.

The boys pile out of your house as Frankie locks up, making sure your porch light is on.

****

“She’s waving at the camera.” Ben smiles at his phone as he watches you safe and comfortable in your living room. “Hi Honey.” He waves back as Santi peers over from the seat next to him.

“She can’t see you dipshit.”

“I know that asshole.” He shoves his arm as he leans against the window in the backseat of Frankie’s truck.

It’s going to be a few hours before they’re at the house and it’s going to be a long week if they keep at each other's throats like this. Ben has always been the more sensitive one so they all know to keep a close eye on him. Santi had agreed to let him be in charge of watching your whereabouts to help ease some of the pain. He’s starting to regret that now that the younger Miller is obsessively checking in on you and they’ve barely left town.

Santiago’s phone buzzes in his pocket, he pulls it out quickly as the soft light illuminates the inside of the car. Frankie looks in his rear view as he sees Santi chuckle to himself.

“Everything okay hermano?” Frankie says in a hushed tone.

“Sí, I just got an email notification to reset the password for the surveillance.”

Ben flips him off with a wide grin on his face as he resumes his obsession with watching you. “That was from Honey, in case you were wondering.”

“I’m switching seats with Will when we stop for gas.”

****

7 days

The four of them haven’t spent this much time together… isolated since Colombia. That ended well. The house was in a remote enough location that they were able to spend time outside without being seen. There’s not enough fresh air in the world to quell the storm brewing amongst the men.

Anxious and restless nights at the reemergence of feeling like they're on a mission. You’re not there to comfort them or talk them off a ledge when they wake up in a cold sweat after a nightmare. The sweet soothing sound of your voice would usually be enough to stave those thoughts for weeks or months.

Frankie hasn’t felt this close to using in a long time. Where would he even get drugs anyway? Just the thought of it has his blood run cold.

Ben has bags under his eyes from staying up and watching the surveillance for any signs of trouble, any signs that you’re in danger. At least that’s what he tells his brother when he asks if he’s been sleeping.

Santiago’s maladaptive daydreaming is the only way he’s coping. In his mind you’re all on a beach somewhere exotic, relaxing in the sun and enjoying fruity cocktails that he no doubt told you he didn’t enjoy but secretly he loved them. You were going to spend the rest of your life traveling and pursuing your real dreams with the money they went to get back in Colombia…the money you didn’t have.

Will works on the house. It’s the only thing he can think of doing to keep his mind occupied. He fixes the shutters that were damaged in the last hurricane, he quiets the hinge on the back door that makes his hair stand on end when someone goes in and out. He stains the wood on the floor length mirror in your room that came with the house. He remembers the look on your face when he first showed it to you. He would give anything to see your face right now.

*ping*

DF4L

Honey🍯: Hey

Fuck

He steps out into the living room at the same time as Santi and Frankie. All their eyes scanning the open layout for any sign…

“Where’s Ben?” Santi takes in Frankie’s frazzled state but he doesn’t have time to deal with him right now.

“I don’t know, he was in his room last time I checked.” Frankie says nothing as he fidgets with the phone in his right pocket.

Will heads to the opposite hall to check his room and Santi heads to the front to search for him outside. Frankie waits a moment then heads to the back patio. He can see the tall blonde staring out into the open woods. He approaches him slowly afraid he might startle him with any sudden movements.

*ping*

Honey🍯: I don’t know what’s going on but if you’re having second thoughts about all this just please let me know.

He notices his slight movement as he stares down at the phone. His finger hovers over the call button but he knows he can’t risk that. A simple text back wouldn’t hurt.

“Don’t do it Ben.” Frankie’s hand reaches out to steady on Ben’s shoulder. He can feel him trembling beneath his touch. He steps up a little closer as he trails his hand down his arm, pressing his chest to the back of him. He drops his head down taking in a shuddering breath as Frankie gently takes the phone from him.

They stay there awhile just holding each other as the two other men look on from the back patio.

****

“I’m already pushing it with four bouquets, I’m not leaving a note too.” Santiago’s not sure who caved first but both Will and Frankie had pleaded with him to leave some sign of life so you didn’t have a complete meltdown. Ben hasn’t said a word to any of them since your text went unanswered.

“Just write something short pendejo.” Frankie is watching your location closely as he talks to Santi on speaker phone.

He knew where you were headed as soon as you left the house. The place where you always went to think or grieve. He was hoping it wasn’t the latter. The sun was just beginning to set now which meant you’d probably be leaving the beach soon. That still gave Santi plenty of time to leave a “short” note along with the bouquets he picked out since they all couldn’t decide on one to share.

Ironically the only thing they’ve managed to share peacefully in the last several years was you.

“Pinche cabrón, wants me to write a note.” He reaches for the pink post it on your counter. Santiago is usually great with words but right now the words he wants to say…he wants to tell you in person.

****

Santiago can breathe a small sigh of relief as he drives the gravel path up to the safe house. This would all be for nought if you started to doubt their affections for you.

His reprieve is short lived as he enters the home to see the other three men crouched over a small laptop on the wooden dining table.

“The cops are there.” Will speaks matter of factly as he keeps his eyes glued to the screen.

Now the real countdown begins.

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