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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling.

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago.

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again.

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear.

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore?

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers.

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns.

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him.

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human.

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle.

Fuck.

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy.

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him.

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders.

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless.

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging.

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue.

Fuck.

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it.

Holy shit.

He wants you.

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this.

Unfinished.

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him.

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you.

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes.

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours.

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense.

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you.

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it.

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently.

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going?

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.”

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you.

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks.

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth.

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that.

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where.

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed.

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else.

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone.

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance.

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way.

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes.

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you.

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move.

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips.

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same.

Soon too.

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak.

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin.

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel.

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right.

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm.

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care.

You only know that you want more.

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up.

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position.

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation.

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.”

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync.

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you.

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means.

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him.

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible.

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one.

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now.

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways.

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him.

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.”

You don’t ever want him to stop.

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you.

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume.

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs.

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived.

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach.

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles.

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything.

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago.

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help.

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?”

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?”

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.”

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit.

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen.

“Of course I am.”

“How?”

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?”

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.”

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off.

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.”

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.”

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary.

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table.

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space.

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him.

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.”

“That’s fucking bullshit!”

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.”

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer.

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do?

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it.

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over.

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it?

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?”

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became.

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?”

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?”

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage.

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door- and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down.

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over.

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks.

Is there some truth in it?

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it?

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?”

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!”

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.”

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable.

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know.

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame.

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin.

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”.

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam.

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides.

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.”

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before.

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-”

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat.

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?”

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be.

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never?

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?”

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?”

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.”

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?”

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap.

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?”

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself.

That is what you want. With him.

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.”

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough.

It was everything.

Everything.

Wasn’t it?

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this.

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away?

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?”

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you.

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all.

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them.

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether.

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out?

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out.

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over.

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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nishisun · 1 year

Text

DOCTOR’S PET — MATSUKAWA ISSEI.

paring: optometrist!issei x reader

summery: you should’ve known something was up when you stumbled across that sketchy advertisement... dr. matsukawa is a fucking nut job.

warnings: nsfw, dub-con, fingering, vaginal penetration, manipulation, uses of vibrator, he’s like in his 40’s, reader is in her 20s. PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE BELOW.

a/n: suprise! i am not back, but i realized that i had 14 drafts so i am queuing them because i will soon deactivating this blog, but i’m not sure yet. i’m not sure if this work is finished, so i apologize for any cliff hangers my works have! this was originally written back in late 2020, so excuse the writing if it’s horrible. thank you for the support i received in this blog! i do plan on creating a new blog so this work may be transported to that one if it seems familiar, but i will also make note of that to avoid confusion.

It should not have gotten to this.

Seriously. You’d think that as medical school enrollments expanded the system would do the best they could and resolve the physician shortage by adding more residency slots in the Miyagi Prefecture. That wasn’t the case at all.

In fact, all the residencies and medical internships you’ve applied for haven’t gotten back to you. It’s been over a month now, and the only emails you’ve received from them are ‘I’m sorry to inform you’ letters and ‘waitlisted’. Not even one acceptance letter. It sucked.

Just when you lost hope, you stumbled across an article for one that was unrealistically near you.

‘Medical Internships Available for Upcoming Optometrist! Miyagi’s Hospital Center: Medical Training Program ran by Dr. Matsukawa Issei, MD. Location: Dr. Matsukawa’s Office.’

It sounded way too good to be true... and it was only a 15-minute drive from your place..? Out of mere curiosity, you clicked on the advertisement without a second thought and ah — there it was; a catch.

Only one person could be accepted.

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, so you filled the application anyways and hoped for the best.

And for some odd reason, you were actually selected.

You don’t know how, but you actually got chosen. Now here you are, in front of his office in your car. You take one last anxious look in your rear-view mirror, reassuring yourself that you looked somewhat presentable before gathering your belongings and heading to the entrance.

“Here goes nothing.”

Once you push past the doors, you couldn’t help but notice how empty the lobby was. There weren’t any patients waiting, and the T.V used for entertainment purposes was off. Maybe the office was closed? You brush these thoughts off before turning your head to be greeted by a lady. She seemed young, about the same age as you or a little bit older.

“Hello?” she calls, she doesn’t bother looking up at you as she continues to type away on the computer. You turn your head around swiftly to face her, offering an awkward smile.

“Oh! Uh, Hi! I came for Dr. Matsukawa’s internship program?” The woman makes a face that you can’t read — confusion, you might say? Either way, she does an excellent job concealing it as she rolls a pen and a few papers your way.

“Fill these forms out for me and I’ll tell Dr. Matsukawa that you’re ready for him.” she explains, giving you a tight lipped smile.

You take the papers and pen, taking a seat on one of the many comfortable chairs in the room. You finished filling out the form rather quickly, getting up to return the papers back to the front desk, until you suddenly hear bickering. It sounds like the lady that was at the front desk not too long ago and oh, a male voice too. Although you shouldn’t, you let your curiosity get the best of you.

“Hey, is everything okay here — oh.”

It’s the doctor himself. He raises an eyebrow at you, his attention that was once on the lady was now at you, then looking down at the folders he was currently holding, rummaging through them. He looks back at you, using his pointer finger to gently lift up his glasses.

“You must be L/N?” he clears his voice, as if he wasn’t just arguing with the lady next to him seconds ago, waiting for you to reply.

Dr. Matsukawa is extremely attractive.

The hell? Since when did you have a thing for older men? Is that wrong to say? He looks like a very busy man, even though there were no patients currently in the office. There’s a huge height difference between him and the lady and the way he has to look down at you leaves you with no choice but to close bite on your bottom lip.

Your eyes wander down to his lower body, meeting the dress shoes he was currently wearing, and from there, your eyes take in the tight black pants and the way his fitted navy blue shirt outlined his abs slightly, his white lab coat topping the outfit.

“Ms. L/N?” The man calls out again, his fingers gripping the stacks of files in his hand a bit tighter as he gave you a concerned look. Your head jerks up immediately to face Dr. Matsukawa, your stomach doing flips when you make eye contact with him. “Ms. L/N Y/N is your name. Am I correct?”

You gulp, eagerly nodding your head. “Uh, Yeah — Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” You stammered. You break eye contact with the doctor, eyes drifting to the lady standing next to him.

Dr. Matsukawa flashes you a bright smile before giving you a firm nod, lifting his arm to direct you to another room. “You can follow me — Is everything alright, miss?”

“Y-Yes!” You mindlessly shake your head, struggling to move your feet from where they’re planting. You’ve suddenly realized how unprofessional you’ve been acting and it’s because of the extremely hot doctor in front of you.

“Please, take a seat.”

He’s taken you to a.. patients room..? You were expecting an office. You’re assuming this is where he’ll be discussing the activities you’ll be doing today. You take a seat in the medical recliner, examining the room as he brings out your information in a folder. “Your files show that you’re a really good student, who has a great amount of experience on leadership skills and opportunities,” he affirmed. He looks up at you, shifting in his seat as he continues to look over your papers.

“Uh, Yes, that’s true. I can name some—“

“Let’s get straight to the objective for today, shall we?” The way he suddenly interrupted you by slamming the folder together causes you to flinch, there’s a sudden mischief in his eyes that cause your throat to dry up, and now he’s staring at you. Like boring his eyes on you waiting for a response. You swallow hardly before nodding, causing him to grin. “I’ve already reviewed everything I need to know about you. I don’t want to waste another minute.”

He’s nice. Weird, but nice. Which doesn’t help because his odd (yes, odd) behavior was turning you to someone who you weren’t, which was shy. You’d like to say you’re a pretty confident and outgoing person who’s able to maintain eye contact and keep a conversation going with others, but for some reason, this man in front of you was different.

“I’m going to be running some test. I hope that’s fine with you?” He announced, leaning foward while adjusting the nobs on the lamp. You should be asking questions, you should, because you didn’t know this interview would require “tests”. You don’t even care to at this point, you’re just grateful you got selected, so you nod your head. “Perfect. I’ll start by checking your eyesight.”

“Uh, Dr. Matsukawa, forgive me for overstepping , but what do these test have to do with the internship?” The doctor hums in acknowledgment, leaning down so he can get a good look at your eyes through the lens.

“Can you see the dot?”

You squint your eyes so you can see the so called ‘dot’ he’s talking about more clearly “Yes, I can, but—“

“This was mentioned and is definitely part of the internship Ms. L/N. Did you not read the form?” He sighs, writing some notes down in his paper and you can’t even feel guilty because you’re too distracted at how big his hands are, huge knuckles and veiny. How can someone’s hand be so attractive?

“Well, I did but I just didn’t really see where it said that on the form, so I didn’t think that you’d be running some ‘tests’.” You quote his words from earlier, nervously chuckling. He sighs again.

“I’m going to test your eye pressure.” He stands up, holding an object similar to a pointer. He moves towards you, pointing to the red dot on the wall across the room.

“Keep your eyes focused on the dot and try not to blink. This won’t hurt, but it may feel uncomfortable.” You nod once again, resting your hands on your lap as Dr. Matsukawa squats in front of you so he’s eye-level with you. He gently places his hand in your knee, causing you to flinch.

Seriously, get your shit together.

“Are you alright? He basically snickered, you’re pretty sure he can feel the warmth radiating at your core.

You nod your head, eyes locking into the dot, cheeks heating up and turning into a bright pink shade. Dr. Matsukawa positions the equipment right in front of your eye before pressing a button that activated the device to blow a puff of air into your eye, causing you to blink.

“We’ll try again.” He maintains eye contact, refocusing the device on the center of your eye as his hand that was on your thigh slight reaches higher, going under your pencil skirt causing you to flinch again.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, letting out an extremely nervous sigh.

“I’m going to hold your head so you don’t pull away. Is that alright with you?” He explains, giving you so soft smile.

You nod your head rather keenly. Your heart flutters at the contact, the grip on the back of your neck not too tight but strong enough to prevent your head from moving.

He starts the device again, watching you fight the urge to blink. He smiles when you don’t blink, removing his hand from the back of your neck.

“Good girl. You just need someone to keep you in place, yeah?” his other hand rubs your thigh and you couldn’t help the whimper slips out your mouth at the nickname.

Dear God help you. It’s like this man knows that you find him attractive.

“Yeah..” you answer, he stands up with the equipment, writing some notes down on his note book before closing it.

“We have one more test and that’ll be all for today.” He leaves the room for a short period of time and comes back with the other lady from before, she’s carrying a box and places it right next to you.

Dr. Matsukawa follows behind the lady, taking a seat across from you. Why the hell did they look like they were about to dissect your body?

“Do you know what’s inside that box?” he beamed, you turned your head to look at the box the lady had placed next to you, tilting your head and slightly squinting your eyes so you could get a better look at the text.

‘Magic Wand — Vibrator Sex Toy.’

What. The. Fuck.

Dr. Matsukawa grins when he watches the harsh breath you take, the lady next to him staring to the side with a bored look.

“W...What’s that for?” You eyes remain staring at the box.

He grins, “You do know what this is used for, right Ms. L/N?” You stare back up at him, swallowing hard.

“Is... Is this why you put these restraints on me?” Your eyes are filled with pure terror, your breathing becoming uneven when Dr. Matsukawa chuckles darkly. What was going on in your head when you willingly let him tie your hands up?

“No need to fret,” He attempts to touch you and you only flinch in response. “What, you can’t handle getting touched by a vibrator?”

You cringe at his word choice, shaking your head when he takes a closer step at you.

“Also,” He’s hot in your face, your breath hitches when you remember that you two aren’t the only ones in the room. You look over to the lady with a pleading look, but she only looks away. “I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at my most naughtiest places, Ms. L/N.”

“No... No! It’s not like that I swear!—“

He swiftly faces away from you and you bite your bottom lip. “But of course, if you’re not comfortable with this, I won’t force you. I’m not into stuff like that anyways.”

It’s only then you finally remember to breathe, you shift uncomfortably when he places a hand in your thigh.

“But you’re a good girl, right? You know how to follow directions.” It takes a while to register his words, you’re too busy in your own world, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this position. You don’t even notice his hand was cupping your cheek.

“You see,” he starts, “I don’t want to hurt you.. I just want to study you. That’s all.” He assured with that charming smile that could get you to obey his every order.

So you nod.

“Perfect!” he gleams, “Nina, would you mind stepping to the side for me?”

She follows his request, clipboard in her hand. You give her an unsure look and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. You don’t blame her.

“Nina over here took her test 3 years ago,” He announces, “Took it like a pro, isn’t that right, Nina?”

She glared at Dr. Matsukawa, before nodding, “Yeah.”

“She’s a very hard working doctor and very successful, too. You should see her when the office is open! Handles the patients so well.”

He continues to ramble and proceeds to remove the object from out of the box, placing a battery and flicking the switch on.

“Wait!” you yelp, he switches off the vibrator and gives you a confused look. “What— what does this have to do with the internship? And what were the eye test for?”

“I’m going to review your vision before and after you achieve an orgasm.” he deadpans.

Your head cocks to the side, in fact, you feel light headed and you wonder how he said something like that so casually.

“You see, I’ve noticed that you’ve been holding your breath quite a lot every since you’ve gotten here, and I can’t help but wonder if you’ll do the same while your vagina is being stimulated.” you blankly stare, waiting for him to continue. “If this is true, and you do hold your breath while you orgasm, you could temporarily lose eye sight, or receive blurred vision due to the pressure that would be building up in your eyes.”

Help. Someone help. This man has lost his fucking mind. And the lady, Nina, why the hell is she not saying anything? Did she seriously go through this too?

Your jaw gapes as well as your eyes, staring at Dr. Matsukawa with a frightened look. Maybe you shouldn��t have applied for this internship. And then the dam finally breaks.

Honestly, you’re surprised you didn’t start crying when he restrained you. You’re absolutely too frightened to even fight back at this point, and even though he said you didn’t have to, you’re too afraid to speak at the moment. If you knew you’d meet crazy doctors like this, you would’ve quit med school.

“This causes your blood vessels in your eye to burst and trigger a small hemorrhage and temporary vision loss.” You let out a sob, “But don’t worry, it’s temporary.”

Like that was supposed to help.

He gently pats your head before placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it, baby.”

You face the floor as he rubs his thumb softly over your cheek. You find comfort as he cups your cheek, it’s almost as if it’s only the two of you there.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you, dear. I’m just so very excited because I’ve never met someone so... Inspiring,” You lift your head up to face him, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “With such leadership skills you have, I’m truly greatful you accepted this internship. I honestly find a strong interest in you, too.” His hand travels down your sides, pushing you closer to him.

“Really?” it’s barely above a whisper, breath hitching when his lips softly brush against yours. He nods against your lips, just about to bring them in before he hears a soft ‘tch’ coming from Nina.

“Ah, no need to be jealous, Nina. You’re still in my top 3.” He pulls away from you to grin at Nina, who doesn’t respond. She’s awfully quiet. You don’t know why, but those words sent a pang to your heart. Top 3? Does he have affairs with all his co-workers? Just how many girls has he done this to?

He turns back to gave you once again, delicately trailing his fingers on your sides. “You think you can be a good girl for me?”

You bite your lip, looking up at him and it’s the way he’s staring at you with such adoration — like he’s the only person you can count on.. You just want to make him proud. So you nod.

“Yes.”

You can see the way his eyes light up, and you can’t help he smile to yourself. It finally feels like you’re being useful for once.

“If you ever need me to stop, call out ‘strawberries’”

“Okay.”

Dr. Matsukawa grabs the small vibrator once again, turning it on to the lowest setting, testing the power of it in his finger before lifting your skirt up and placing it against your panties.

“Hah!” you gasp out, your hands pull hard against the restraint, causing Dr. Matsukawa to grin.

“Subject 5 has been restricted for a approximately 10 minutes now. An increased blood flow towards her genital has been detected after realizing what was about to happen to her.” Nina speaks into the recorder.

Subject 5, really?

He moves the wand from your clit, down to your folds, as he watched you writhe underneath the restraints.

“Poor baby,” he pretends to pout, “I don’t think you’ll be able to fully enjoy yourself being l restrained like this. You need to comforting, isn’t that right?”

“Mmm! Mhm.”

He chuckled to himself, before helping you remove all of your clothing, discarding your panties as well as your bra. Your nipples began to harden as the cool air got in contact with them. As he was pulling down your panties, he kneeled down and inspected the slick covering your pussy.

“Subject 5 has increased vaginal discharge, signifying that her body is preparing itself for sexual intercourse.” Dr. Matsukawa calls out before licking a long stripe on your pussy. Your hips buck, causing Dr. Matsukawa to chuckle as he rubbed the side of your thigh.

You weren’t one to get embarrassed easily, but it’s not everyday a hot doctor almost 2x your age sees you naked.

Your head bolts up when you realize Dr. Matsukawa was doing the same, removing his lab coat as well as his right-fitted navy blue shirt, to reveal nibs insanely fit body.

“You’re drooling, Ms. L/N.”

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cleolinda · 5 months

Text

Weekend links

My posts

I am so sick lmao. I mean, I'm fine; it's not covid, it's just some kind of sinus bullshit that turned into a bad sore throat very quickly, and we've managed to treat it early. But I am very tired, and now (being sick myself) I can't even go visit my nephew in the hospital. Now that he's getting decent care (document the care or lack thereof you get, if you can), he's improving a lot, although I don't know when he'll be able to come home.

As such, the most/only interesting thing I've written is a Patreon Future Vision tier newsletter about what I'm working on. I do have a finished short story I can post later in the month, once a contest regulation has expired. I'm just thrilled that I finished something, honestly.

However, my queue got ahead of me--I had a couple clusters of posts that I intended to do my own posts about (see below), and then. Well. We'll circle back around to those at some point.

(All I said was "It is my wish for you and all of us that the bullshit stops soon" and it got 900 notes, so apparently we are all Going Through It right now.)

Reblogs of interest

Christmas on Tumblr is the best way to experience Christmas:

Sasha the Christmas Tiger: yes good

The Reindeer Gifs

"The posting on this website is gonna be inSANE when Henry Kissinger dies on January 22nd, 2024." Well...

I realized a while ago that the massive dysfunction spiral I went into from, like, 2016-2022 was autistic burnout (surgery and covid: not helping!), and I had these two posts queued as a springboard for talking about that. OOPS:

Autistic burnout: a guide

Autistic burnout recovery

Something else I meant to write about--posts on physical health, mobility, and/or chronic pain:

If you are dealing with deep fatigue and chronic pain: "you can exercise. you just need to vastly vastly change what the word[s] exercise movement activity mean for you."

If you sit hunched over, do this stretch for your back

@hybridcalisthenics shows us how to work up to a deep squat

Black, gay and graying gracefully in love

Two important statements: "This is a high quality and deeply unpleasant piece of art" and, conversely, "It’s beautiful but I don’t like it."

I just really liked this Cerridwen art

Video

I don't understand how this is a painting

🎶 You know they were watermelon 🎶

The first cat video ever (1899)

This joyous wet dog

This very loud unwet dog

Majestic garden Fox enjoys Zoomies in the Snow

They're not making laundresses like they used to

The sacred texts

Nothing this week unless you count Sasha, and I do

Personal tag of the week

A fine new addition to the teacup voids tag

#weekend links #odds and ends #linkspam

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morallyinept · 1 month

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i am a fic writer, and admittedly I don’t read others works as much as I probably should because any free time I have is usually spent writing if not one of my other hobbies. i do try though. but you both write AND read a colossal amount, how?! how do you consistently write so much? you publish so many fics and I cannot wrap my head around it. what’s your process and what keeps you motivated? i’ve been struggling with motivation for a number of reasons lately and one of them is because of sort of feeling like a waste of space here on tumblr. I have friends and readers and moots that I’m grateful for but…I don’t know. i wish my blog was more like yours sometimes. i feel like i post and then I’m just a ghost and people forget i’m here.

Hey Non! 🖤

The short answer is, I have no life 😝 Kidding, I'm just super organised, I think. But there are some other factors...

I'm a pretty fast reader, (I was a freelance proofreader for a while) so I can read pretty quickly, and I utilise my lunch breaks at work, or the downtime before bed to read too. Chronic insomnia also helps! 🥴

I'm big list lover (as you might've seen) and I really utilise my likes to bookmark stuff I want to come back to and add to the Fic Rec List. I try to update it weekly (or bi-weekly if I'm busy) so things don't get lost in my likes. I also use my rec list as my own way of tracking what I want to read in future/have already read. I then try to reblog it once I've read it (something I'm trying to be better at, admittedly).

With regards to writing, a lot of my stuff is written in advance, so stuff I post is queued up from weeks/months ago when I wrote it, except things I write on a whim when an idea comes and I wanna post it quicker. I write a bunch of GIFLETS usually in a day, for example, as they're pretty short and will give me weeks of fics to post.

Writing is my passion, so I write a lot. I've been writing since I could write my own name pretty much.

I joke about having no life, but lately I've had additional free time due to having a back injury, (I'm ok!) so I've been resting and able to write more than I usually would, so I'm taking full advantage of that too with forward planning. That will slow down considerably though when I go back to work in a few weeks.

I utilise my free time, and writing is my main hobby, alongside doodling. I do make time for other things though. I don't spend 100% of my free time constantly writing. Again, it comes down to organisation, I write notes (a heck of a lot of notes!) and keep WIPs in order etc...

Scheduling/queuing posts is something I do a lot too, so it proabably looks like I'm always online posting and reading, but I'm actually not. It's all stuff I've queued up ready to go and can forget about.

I probably spend around 1-2 hours a day updating my queue, designing banners/posts etc... and then responding to comments/re-blogs, ASKs etc... and that's not all at the same time, it'll be spread out throughout the day too. Some days more than others, and other days not at all.

Same with writing, I'll spend time doing it daily or dedicate a sole day at the weekend if I have no plans, and limit myself too so I don't burn out or forget about other things, like adulting. (I should probably mention I'm single and live by myself, so I have plenty of time to do my own things without worrying about spending time with a partner or anything. I do make time to see my friends and family regularly though.)

What keeps me motivated? Well, you guys, for one. Readers and interaction. Music. Pedro, of course, and my own thoughts (thots). But being organised really helps me so I don't burn out.

But I just wanna mention that I too, struggle with motivation. I've had writer's block a few times lately and have often considered my own place here too at times. And you're not a waste of space, I can assure you. Everybody brings something different to this fandom, I think. And that's a good thing. Variety is the spice of life, afterall. ✨️

Primarily, writing for your own enjoyment should come first. I know that's easy for me to say, but I honestly don't give a damn about the number of notes my posts get, I much prefer the engagement personally.

I write for me, because I enjoy it. But I get that everyone's reasons are different, and I know it can feel disappointing and leave you pondering "why bother?" When you don't necessarily get the engagement you hope for.

I guess it stems also a little to that old saying you get out what you put in. On outward appearance, it seems like I put in a hell of a lot, 😅 but it really comes down to me just being a little regimented and utilising my time as best as I can, I guess.

I could wake up one morning in the future and decide I don't want to do this anymore, so I'm enjoying doing it for now. Plus, I suppose the more followers and engagement you have, the more it could become difficult to stay on top of that too... I guess it's a balancing act to some degree.

I think it's important not to compare yourself though. Everyone has their own lives outside of Tumblr, and some may not be able to post as much as they want to, and that's perfectly okay. Being here isn't a race. You're not on a deadline, so don't put unncessary pressure on yourself.

Your own blog/corner of the internet is yours and unique to you. Be proud of what you've made it into. 🥰

Hoo boy, I rambled on a bit! 🫣 Oops! But I hope that answers your questions, lovely.

Love you! 🖤

#jett's asks #pedro pascal fandom #writing

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greaseonmymouth · 4 days

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tagging games

hokay so I've been tagged in a bunch of these over the past few months weeks, by different people, so let's have some memetic fun

1. fanfic writer's bingo

I was tagged by @mslanna !

well, i did get one bingo! I have never commissioned fanart but I have received it. i debated whether to tick off that last square - 'wants to be a professional writer some day' because eh, i could take that or leave it? i do write original fiction and i have at times dreamt about getting it published, but also, i don't actually care. i write because i enjoy writing and getting paid for it i think is highly likely to make me hate it, so.

2. get to know you better game

I was tagged by @love-lays-bleeding !

get to know you better game! answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better.

last song i listened to: Danser Med Drenge - Alt for at beholde dig. it's on my Carl x Assad playlist but also Danser Med Drenge are just genuinely enjoyable in general

currently watching: 9-1-1, Grey's Anatomy, and Station 19. clawing at my face waiting for new episodes for all three shows. aside from that, nothing really, though I think I'll watch Dead Boy Detectives when it drops

currently obsessed with: 9-1-1, Afdeling Q.

3. nine people to get to know better

I was tagged by @foxesonstilts ! some repeat questions, but we'll manage.

last song: TV-2 - De første kærester på månen. this is also on my Carl x Assad playlist which makes no fucking sense because this is a song about teenagers in love and first heartbreak HOWEVER it is a banger and when spotify queued it up after my playlist finished, I was like, you know what, I'll just put it on the list.

favourite colour: considering how many blue items i own it must be blue. honestly though i love a lot of colours and am also partial to green, yellow, orange, pink, red, purple

currently watching: see above

sweet/savoury/spicy: all of them? they each have their time and place but most of all they belong in my mouth

relationship status: single and not willing to mingle

current obsession: finding a pair of hiking boots/shoes. i had ordered a pair THREE WEEKS AGO but UPS lost my parcel so i finally got refunded today but i'm leaving on holiday in less than a week and i still need fucking hiking shoes and i'm losing my mind

last thing you searched: "outdoor sport store london"

4. 20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @palavapeite !

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

117 on my main, but not all of them are fics and not all of the fics are written by me, or just me (some are fanbinding posts, some are fanart, some are collaborative works). including my other two accounts, we're talking 224 works in total.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

on my main, 867,037 words, but that includes about 120k not written by me.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently: Afdeling Q, BBC Shetland. though for the latest yuletide I went back to Volstovic Cycle for a stint and i wrote my first ever Ocean's 11 fic after years and years of only reading.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

that's 4 Harry Potter fics plus one Avengers/Batman crossover I wrote in 2012 on a whim after seeing the Dark Knight Rises and which became unexpectedly popular for a bit. I still love that fic though:

How to become a superhero and gain a family (minus the picket fence) - 7k, Tony Stark & Bruce Wayne, Steve/Tony. 2,758 kudos

the HP fics are:

Don't Blame Me (It Was All a Blur Last Night) - H/D, 7,468 kudos I'll Tell You a Secret (Just Don't Tell) - H/D, 5,209 kudos Here Now, Gone Yesterday (or Back to the Future) - R/S, T/J, 3,078 kudos Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) - H/D, 2,607 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments?

yes, usually. I stopped responding to comments on my HP fic a while ago because I couldn't summon the energy to engage with them, and more recently I turned off all comments for HP fic so that I wouldn't have to bother at all. I'm glad people are still able to enjoy these fics, but I need some distance.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I've written some dark fic in the past and I think what comes closest is this old thing I wrote for HP nextgendarkfest back in like 2011, in which some of the nextgen characters (including Harry's sons) were criminals who staged their own murders to cover up a heist they did but it implies that Harry was on to them, nearly caught them in the act, and was devastated about it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

almost all of them??? most of what I write has a happy ending because I want happy endings, damn it. if by happiest you mean 'least complicated' or 'unadulterated joyful' or something like that, then maybe...I don't know, god, I could name at least 50 fics like that just off the top of my head.

You know what, let's do the most recent one:

Et Afdeling Q Julemysterie - this is pure fluff and happy ending and it makes me smile like a fool in love, so.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not in a while - I used to get some nasty comments on this one old HP fic that had a nextgen teenage character working out his sexuality, and some people took offense at the character being asexual/not being asexual enough/turning out to not be asexual in the end. like, make up your mind about what the problem is at least? I also got nasty comments on another HP fic which featured aromantic polyamorous Harry in a V relationship with Ginny and Draco (and Ginny herself was in a V relationship with Harry and Blaise) for various reasons, including but not limited to people not understanding that one can in fact be both polyamorous and aromantic at one and the same time. by the time i posted the everybody is trans HP fic I was anticipating nasty comments so I turned comment moderation on for that fic.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

sometimes. in the past I would include it (and hate writing it) because I thought you had to, but these days I only write it when I feel like it. more often than not it's some kind of character moment rather than a horny thing, though I do usually try to approach the smut writing from the angle of 'what would this character enjoy about having sex with this other character? what are their focus points? what are they horny for? what are their coherence levels? what are their sensitivities? how well do they know their own body? their partner's body? how do they communicate? etc. etc.' you'd think that leads to some very unsexy smut writing but if i'm honest i think those bits of writing actually wound up being both the horniest writing i've ever done AND the most true to character (according to my interpretation of the characters anyway).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

a few - crossovers don't hold a lot of appeal for me in general, so when I've done crossovers there's usually been a 'what if?' spark that set if off.

aforementioned how to become a superhero fic, Avengers/Batman crossover, in which Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne are longtime friends.

it's pure filth that i hide (time for genocide) - Volstovic Cycle/Pacific Rim crossover (or possibly just fusion?). Volstovic Cycle characters pilot jaegers and fight kaijus, no pacrim characters appear.

Dragons - Volstovic Cycle/Harry Potter crossover (...or...fusion?) I can never remember the difference between crossovers and fusions. Harry Potter characters ride dragons á la Volstovic Cycle, no Volstovic Cycle characters appear.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! the full list of translations (and podfics) of my fics is here. I've had fics translated into Russian and German.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes. @palavapeite mentioned this but we co-wrote an absolute deranged behemoth of a 'social media' fic (really, it was a 'livejournal' fic, but same difference) back in like 2008/2009 and it was honest to god some of the best fun I've ever had writing something and also, it was a work of ART.

I have since participated in fests like big bangs and reverse big bangs where I've written or made art, which is not quite the same as co-writing. I once ran a collab fest where I co-created a comic with three friends, which we cowrote and each drew various bits for, which was a lot of fun. and! with @gkkri we co-wrote (and illustrated) a R/S fic (but really it was a Sirius & Regulus fic in R/S disguise) back in 2017 as our last hurrah to the Remus/Sirius fandom as we were both feeling like we hadn't anything left to say for this ship and let me tell you, that co-writing process was like a dream and I'm still really proud of what we made.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't have one??? I'm a multifandom person, I enjoy a LOT of ships for various reasons and I don't think I have an all time favourite? some ships I cycle back to over time and some ships I never even write for, just read a shitton for. like I enjoy Steve/Tony still even though I haven't written any fic for them in over a decade? and I mean, despite my misgivings about JKR and general HP fatigue, I will never not love Remus/Sirius. and so on and so forth. the beauty of fandom is that there are so many great characters and dynamics out there to love

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

er, wellllllll there's this one Matt/Foggy wip languishing in my gdocs drive that I'm not convinced I will ever finish, but I really want to. I'll cycle back to it eventually probably. I also have this one Space AU for Caius/Al that I have officially abandoned, but I still think about it!! and yet!! that wip is probably approaching a decade old at this point. I don't know man.

I only have one active fanfic wip atm and that is my current Afdeling Q wip and I WILL finish it, I swear to everything that is beautiful in this world.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a lot of strengths and I'm not too humble to admit it, but I think my number one strength these days is that I Do Not Care what other people think anymore, I will write whatever I damn well please, the way I want to. if other people like it: great! if they don't: okay!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

plot sjkdgkfljsgd especially of the crime solving variety. I will never ever be a crime fiction writer. I'm also not great with action-type of plots because....well, I like reading plotty stuff but when I'm writing? I don't care, I just care about my characters and their dynamics and arcs and development and I will hang it on the thinnest scaffolding possible I can get away with to make the story go.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

the kind of another-language-dialogue i see in fic most often seems to be weirdly pointless or out of character, just dropped in (usually by a monolingual English speaker) who thinks it adds flavour to the character, when really, that character has never once in canon slipped into their other language in dialogue. because, well, most multilingual people don't? speaking as a multilingual person I'm far more likely to say something like 'shit what is that called in English' than just say the word in Danish. i mean, tell me you don't understand codeswitching without telling me you don't understand codeswitching.

as a counterpoint to this actually i read a Buck/Eddie fic the other day where Eddie had lines in Spanish, and that I had no issue with because a) he speaks Spanish in the canon b) with his family 3) who also speak Spanish. in the fic he spoke Spanish with his family, who also had lines in Spanish. that author did kindly provide translations but tbh I didn't check the translations because the other thing about this fic was, it was clear from context what was being said without the translations because the dialogue followed canon-levels in this regard.

generally though, my preference would be for the tried and tested "A line of dialogue here," said character A, in Language. "The dialogue continues." it gets the point across.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

band RPF. before that I was writing fanfiction without knowing it was fanfiction or what fandom was, for stuff that Didn't End The Way I Wanted It To or similar. but first actual fandom writing? band RPF. it's backed up on a secondary ao3 account now, but this shit was first posted on forums and livejournal a billion years ago.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

listen. 224 fics written (that I know of, because the heavens only know what's been lost to the sands of time at this point) and you want me to pick ONE favourite? absolutely fucking not. also, recency bias is a thing.

i don't know man. let me pick at random:

Of Gilded Wallpaper and Meddling Dragons - Temeraire, 5,068 words

No Archive Warnings Apply, William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay, William Laurence, Tenzing Tharkay, Temeraire, John Granby, Iskierka Augustine Little, Romance, Fluff and Humor, dragons being dragons, bisexual awakening, agony aunt!granby, an excessive amount of gilded wallpaper, laurence blames the weather for his being hot and bothered, Laurence POV, tharkay brings sexy back

Summary: Laurence and Temeraire have been living with Tharkay for a scant two weeks when Laurence sends Granby a letter that essentially boils down to hi John how did you know you're gay also plz help I am in trouble.

5. animal crossing picrew

I was tagged by @dejlige-dage !

i have never played animal crossing but this was fun

i am tagging: YOU. if you've read this, you're tagged.

#memes

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orangeinecstasy · 9 months

Text

lucky: one word, pt. two ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟrobert keating

✧: part one

paring: robert x fem!oc

summery: luck brings them together once again, but after the honeysuckles preform a song about robert, will his perspective on kate change?

a/n: hey everyone! so i originally uploaded these to wattpad, but i wanted to have a bit of a platform change. please let me know what you guys think. my requests are currently open so pleas feel free to send in an idea you have. enjoy!

wc: 2.02 k

*reblogs, likes, and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Looking into Robert's blue eyes, it truly felt like the world had stopped moving, but that was quickly interrupted by the bartender setting down my drinks. You've got to be fucking kidding me. Right now, the universe, right now?! I glanced down at the drinks and back up at him.

"Shit, I'm sorry I've got to go, but meeting you was really wonderful. Stay lucky!" grabbing the drinks. I leave the bar before he can respond, cursing myself as I do.

However, that was a couple of months ago. I stood outside the band's latest venue, having a last smoke before we went on. Sometimes I thought of that blue-eyed boy, but I never went out of my way to try and find him. There was something almost beautifully sad about not knowing him, and there was a crazy part of me that wanted to keep it that way. Wanted that wonder between the two of us.

Taking the final drag of my cigarette, I throw it onto the concrete below me, stub it out with the toe of my boot, and then walk back into the club's venue.

"Hey, you good?" Fawn says as I walk in, her arm wrapping around my shoulder. "Never better!" I smile, giving her arm a gentle squeeze before gathering everything I need for tonight's show.

"Let's fucking do this, lassies!" Willow yelled out, pumping her fist into the air as the four of us walked on, the crowd erupting in cheers.

Settling behind the drum kit, I look in the cup holding my drumsticks, ensuring I have a couple extra. Even though I had played hundreds of shows, there was still that feeling of nervousness that would build in the pit of my stomach. So many people think that the singer or the guitarist is the "most important band member," but when you truly think about it, it's the drummer. We have to control the tempo, one of the few critical parts of a song. If we slip up, even for a second, the whole set could be ruined.

Still, I take a few deep breaths as I slip in my in-ears and grab a pair of my sticks. I look down at the drum kit, then at the crowd before my sticks come crashing down on the kit, starting the first song of our set.

After we played the second to last song in our set, Kira paused, the spotlight encapsulating her amber skin in an incandescent glow, "Hey guys! Tonight, for our last song, we're going to perform a new one that our amazing drummer, Kate," she moves out of the way allowing me to come into a better view for the crowd. They cheer, "She wrote about this guy she met at a pub. Lucky boy, if you're still out there, she's single. We hope you like it!" The cheers continued as Kira made the announcement. After a beat or two, the cheering calmed, queuing me to start our newest song, Lucky.

"One, two, three." I strike my drumsticks together as I count before starting our final song. The energy that flowed throughout me was like nothing I had felt before. A part of me was really nervous about performing a song I wrote by myself because most of our music was written by the four of us. But that feeling faded as I got into my favorite parts of the beat. But sadly, like all things, the song came to an end.

My breath was heavier than usual as my eyes stared down at the drum kit below me. I took out one of my in-ears to hear the crowd yelling the loudest they had yelled the whole night. I slip my sticks into my back pocket before pulling my shirt up and allowing it to rest on my shoulders, exposing my mind drift and the black bralette I was wearing underneath. Honestly, I didn't care that much; anything to help me cool off before saying our final goodbyes.

I grabbed Kira and Willow's hands, the four of us taking our final bow of the night. "Thank you, everyone!" Fawn said into her mike as we split apart. "Hey, can I borrow that for a second?" I ask Fawn, and she nods, handing me the mike. "I just want to thank everyone for responding positively to our newest song Lucky. It truly does mean the world to me. I love you all. Have a great night!" smiling, I set the mike back down onto its stand before looking into the crowd to see who I should throw my stick to. Then I saw them. Those eyes that I will never forget. The eyes of my lucky boy, Robert.

Once I snapped out of it, I realized that I had been standing there about to throw my drumsticks for an awkward amount of time. Laughing at myself, I throw the sticks to a pair of girls, my eyes quickly flashing back at Robert's before finally walking off the stage.

"Guys…" I say as I start to remove my other in-ear and detach the cords from my exposed body, "I think I just saw the lucky boy in the crowd. I could be going fucking crazy because we just played a song about him, but I swear I would notice those blue eyes anywhere." I set my in-ears down, my hands pushing through my curls as my brain tried to wrap around what I had just seen.

"You're fucking joking!" Willow yells, clapping me on my bare back because I have yet to fix my shirt. "That's crazy!" she laughed, shaking my shoulders as we returned to the dressing room. I love it when my friends think it's the funniest thing in the world when I have a crisis.

I huff, my hand falling from my hair to my side as I lean down to rummage through my bag, grabbing my cigarette and lighter. "I'm going to go out for a smoke. I'll help pack up in a sec." The girls gave a unanimous okay as I started to walk out the door. "Don't forget that we're meeting that band that Kira is friends with after the show!" Fawn called out from the dressing room as I opened the back entrance door. "Okay!" I shouted back quickly before stepping outside into my much-needed alone time.

Lighting the cigarette, I hate a long drag off of it, letting the smoke fumble lazily from my lips. "It couldn't be him. Not in a fucking million years. You're just being crazy, Kate. Get out of your head." I mumble to myself, taking a couple more long drags off the cigarette before a few fans come up to me, asking for pictures and autographs, so of course, I obliged. "Okay, my loves, I have to go. Thank you so much for coming to the show!" throwing my cigarette on the ground, I set it out, waved goodbye to the fans, and went back in through the back door. As I walked in, I could hear the chatter of my bandmates and some unfamiliar male voices coming from the band room, which made me realize that I still hadn't fixed my shirt from half taking it off at the end of the concert. Welp, those pictures will follow me across the internet, I thought as I fixed my white t-shirt back into place before entering the dressing room.

"Hey guys, sorry for being late. I got caught up taking pictures." my hands reach for one another, returning to that nervous habit of twisting my now infamous horseshoe ring. "You're all good! Guys, this is Kate, our drummer. Kate, this is Ryan, Josh, Eli, and-"

"Robert." I cut her off, my eyes slightly widening as my eyes met his. "I cannot fucking believe this." I start laughing to myself, and after a few moments, so does Robert.

"I think they've gone a bit mental…." Ryan says, looking over at Willow with a confused look which she simply shrugs at, not knowing what's going on either.

"This is the lucky boy. Robert is Lucky." he stands, still slightly laughing to himself as he walks over to me, arms wrapping me in a slightly unexpected hug. "It's nice to see you again, horseshoe girl," he said low enough so that only I could hear. "Well, the two of us are going to go for a smoke. We'll be back soon." Robert said as we broke away from the hug, his hand now holding onto mine as he quickly dragged me out of the room before anyone could interject.

The two of us stepped outside into the light night Dublin air, making a slight shiver run down my spine. "I assume we didn't just come here to have a smoke." my eyebrow cocks, as I look up at the taller cigarette between his lips, a lighter following closely behind it. "Hmm, that's debatable." he chuckled, handing me the already lit cig, which I took a long drag from.

"What a fucking crazy way to meet each other again, huh. First, at a pub where we have matching rings. Now at my gig where you were pretty much forced to hear a song completely written about you. At the same time, I stood on stage for five minutes half naked." an embarrassed chuckle leaves my lips, the realization of what the two of us truly experienced setting in, making me unable to look him in the eyes.

"I mean, I'd be more than interested in seeing you half-naked again. Fuck, even fully naked." he laughs, trying to dissolve some of the tension between us as he takes the cig back, taking a few quick drags off of it.

"Phffttt, I think you might have to do a little more convincing than that, love." I nudge his arm gently. "Well… You know what they say about bass players." the two of us erupt in laughter, like old friends who had just shared the most personal inside joke.

"You are a fucking Wiseman." I take the final drag off the cigarette, then step it out.

"But seriously, I know this might sound crazy, but don't you think this is the universe telling us something?" he turns to face me more clearly, the ocean-blue eyes looking into the deepest parts of my persona.

"If I'm being frank, I think it might be. Maybe it's time to test our luck, hmm, Bobby?" I smile up at him, our bodies naturally moving closer until his arm is wrapped around my waist, mine around his neck. "Yeah, I'd like that." he leans down, and I can hear my heart in my chest as our lips finally connect. We melt into each other, and it feels like time is standing still.

We slowly pull away, both of our faces slightly flushed. "We should probably head back." I rub my nape gently, and he nods in agreement, taking my ringed hand into my own.

We walked hand in hand back into the dressing room, and the conversation between our bandmates paused. "Well, look who it is, the lucky couple," Eli says, which causes the room to start filling with laughter.

Even though it was all fun in games at the moment, when I looked up at Rob and he looked down at me, I knew that I was the luckiest girl in the world. So maybe wearing a horseshoe ring for all those years was a good idea.

#inhaler dublin x reader #inhaler band #inhaler dublin #inhaler #robert keating #bobby skeetz #eli hewson #elijah hewson #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson

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dreaminghour · 6 months

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WIP Whenever - QuiAni Modern AU

story context: Anakin a college student who develops a little bit of a crush on the tattooed self-defense instructor he meets at a workshop — so he signs up for his karate class and declares his interest by giving Qui-Gon a link to his OnlyFans. Cue the angst and fluff.

author's backstory: so I've been working on a modern AU for these two for a couple months now, I wasn't satisfied with the one-shot I had written... and maybe a week or so ago I figured out out it needs a chapter two and started writing it 🤣 Keeper can tell you that this has been plaguing me for a while so I'm glad about this development.

oh and here's an excuse I have to share this edit I made ages ago 🥰

600~ words of texting (possible flirting) after Anakin is dropped off as rain interrupts their 'friend date' getting coffee. scene break after the jump.

As soon as he was through his front door, Anakin pulled off the damp sweater he was wearing and took his phone from his pants before those came off as well. He hung both sweater and jeans on the towel warmer in the bathroom and quickly sent off a text.

Let me know when you get home :)

It was another twenty minutes, while he was deep in focus editing photos from the night before, when his phone chimed with the reply.

Safe and sound! Just need to dry off before Bishop will let me near him.

Bishop? Anakin texted back.

My cat, was Qui-Gon's reply.

You have a cat??? Anakin shot back, but his phone remained stubbornly quiet. After a moment he went back to editing.

It wasn't until he was done queuing up his posts for the week that he finally got his answer: a photo from Qui-Gon showing a little Siamese cat curled up in his lap, fast asleep. He melted a little, not only because of how small the cat looked in Qui-Gon's lap, but just thinking about the entire scenario. Did Qui-Gon take the picture just for him? Was the photo from another day? He put the phone aside until his heart stopped hammering, tried to focus on pulling up his schoolwork instead.

He lasted five minutes before he finally sent: So pretty! Does he like meeting new people?

I think he'd like meeting you :), Qui-Gon replied.

Anakin nearly combusted.

Qui-Gon sat down on one of the benches on the other side of the room from where his friend was testing a guitar, and pulled out his phone. He soon found himself rereading his texts with Anakin. He flicked open Anakin's 'family friendly' gallery and began to scroll before he stopped himself and flicked back to his text messages.

Do you have any pets? he asked.

He put his phone away.

It was a while later, as he was packing a refurbished bass guitar into his trunk, that his phone buzzed again.

Not at the moment, but I grew up with this three-legged mutt.

And attached was a photo of a much younger Anakin (he assumed) with a blonde bowl-cut holding a sleek looking dog who was trying to lick his face off. Qui-Gon chuckled and thought a moment before replying.

Adorable.

He didn't check his phone again until he'd dropped [friend] off, unloaded his equipment, and was back in the car.

You can't just say things like that!

You made me blush in front of my classmates

Now they're teasing me

Truth be told, the thought of Anakin blushing just because Qui-Gon had said a childhood photo of himself was adorable made heat rise to Qui-Gon's cheeks as well.

I'm sure you can handle it, Qui-Gon replied.

The afternoon was a blur, getting himself changed for class, heading to the dojo, so he didn't have time to check his messages until after class had ended and he'd helped wrap a students sprained ankle. Once student and parent were out, and Jango was setting up for his class, Qui-Gon pulled his phone from his locker.

No new notifications.

He opened his messages with Anakin and asked: Busy day?

He didn't get a reply until he was just zipping up his jacket and waving goodbye to Jango.

Yeah, been in the robotics lab all afternoon working on a project

Wbu?

Qui-Gon replied: Went to the music store with a friend and then had classes, nothing unusual.

He walked to his car and then added: Now I'm on a tight schedule though because Bishop won't stand for a late dinner.

Oh so HE'S in charge, I see, was Anakin's near immediate reply.

Are you surprised? Qui-Gon asked.

No, just making note of who's good graces I need to be in

Qui-Gon laughed out loud at that, and the entire drive home he imagined what Anakin's robotics lab must look like.

#quiani modern au #dreamys wips #quiani #qui gon jinn #anakin skywalker #star wars #wip whenever

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uravitypng · 2 months

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⋆˚✿˖° 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ⋆˚✿˖°

i post and reblog 18+ content often! i also will occasionally reblog darker content, but if i do it will be tagged.

please be 18+ to interact with me! you also need to have your age in your bio/pinned post! give me some indication of your age! you will be blocked if i don't have your age somewhere.

dark content will be tagged as ' cw : dark ' if anyone wants more specific tags i might do that. block the tag if you'd rather not see any dark content

characters i write for that need to be time skipped will be even if not explicitly stated (obviously) if that makes you uncomfortable please do not follow me.

a lot of my fics are written with a chubby reader in mind because i feel like we do not get enough representation in fics and its always good to have more, sometimes it will be explicated stated sometimes it will just be implied and sometimes i won't allude to the readers weight at all and they won't be a chubby reader.

besides the reader being chubby i do not describe the readers body other than that, for example not mentioning skin tones or hair length.

i do not write any character x character content or for male readers. i wouldn't do male readers justice. if i wrote character x character it would be a threesome with the reader. i do write gn readers sometimes but mainly i write fem readers. i won't write any angst and unhappy endings. all you angst writers are built different i swear (affectionate) if i do write angst it will end in comfort and fluff due to an original misunderstanding.

please try to refrain from asking for a part two for my fics. i'll post a part two if i feel like it but i'm glad you enjoy my content enough to ask for more.

please reblog my writing! that's the best way to support me, leave comments, let me know about the fic, it honestly makes my day when people leave a tag or a comment complimenting my writing.

i currently write for: hq, bnha, bsd, jjk, tokyo rev, kimetsu no yaiba( but i write for bnha, hq, and bsd more!)

you can request things but i might not do them! you're always welcome to message me but please do not do anything that you feel would make me uncomfortable or something you consider inappropriate. please do not send me requests for events i have closed. i do not want to get a request for an event i did weeks/months ago.

i love getting tagged in things so please do not hesitate to do so! all the fics i love are under the tag ' ♡ recs ' this is for longer form content. shorter form content i reblog i still recommend but they will not be tagged as recs.

all my queued posts are under the tag ' ₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ queue - avity ��࿐ '

do not steal, repost, copy, or claim my writing as your own. do not feed my writing to any ai or third party programs

#♡ rules #new rules post made 26th of feb<333

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steelycunt · 1 year

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ten books 2 know me!

thank for you the tag @pancakehouse @fruity-individual @serethereal @rollercoasterwords !

-> skulduggery pleasant, derek landy.

starting with this one because this WAS my childhood i was. i never read percy jackson never read twilight read [redacted] and it wasnt even good but my dad thought id like these so he bought me the first skulduggery pleasant one day...oh man oh boy...these were. i was eight queuing up outside a whsmith with a schoolbag full of books for the author's booksigning...also he was so nice ta derek x

-> giovanni's room, james baldwin.

cannot get into this too much before i start wailing and biting and stuff but well. giovanni's room is my favourite book of all time i read most of it. last year in june laying on brighton beach while the sun was going down and i have never recovered from and will you bring me home again / yes. i'll bring you home again since and fear i never will. also! first james baldwin book i read who has come to be an author whose writing style i adore and carry in my mind whenever i try to write something myself.

-> young mungo, douglas stuart.

not the first book i ever cried at but. first book i ever experienced disgusting full body sobs while reading and fierce competitor also for. my favourite book. had to reread so much of those final pages because i couldnt concentrate with all the crying and after that i am so excited to never have to experience the physical chest-aching worry that i did for the duration of reading this. also i think the very quiet way love is written here through. very trivial small things is something i loved very much and that has stayed with me!

-> wuthering heights, emily bronte.

read this when i was about eleven, and then again a few weeks ago with my mum (whose favourite book it is) and it was still so. absolutely sickening i just think its excellent xx and without it we wouldn't have kate bush's 1978 single wuthering heights so xx think on that xx

-> the autobiography of malcom x, alex haley.

when i was a child my younger sister joined a sunday league football team and my dad used to give her a tenner every time she scored a goal. to even things out since i refused to get up at the arsecrack of dawn to contract hypothermia on a frozen football pitch, he started giving me books exclusively on malcolm x to read and would give me a tenner every time i finished one. this one was the first i read and was indeed the first book that ever made me cry at the end xx

-> my brilliant friend, elena ferrante.

so many of these are recent reads because it was only jan 2022 that i made a genuine effort to get back into reading for leisure and mbf is no different but well. the way friendship is written here is just unhinged and incredible and the series in general so far has been. there is nothing like it i fear

-> the raven boys, maggie steifvater.

gansey unfortunately.

-> macbeth, william shakespeare.

okay i know i know but. when you are studying it in englit class for your gcse it might as well be a book innit. anyway of all the texts i did for english both at gcse + a level macbeth is still my favourite and probably the most effort i ever put into an english essay. special shoutout to frankenstein which i can enjoy in hindsight but unfortunately it fucked me on the exam so out of bitterness it doesnt get a place here x

-> the secret history, donna tartt.

i did inhale this book but also it gets a place purely for being my first exposure to donna tartt's writing and style in general which is so very distinctive and has. undoubtedly had an effect on me for better or for worse we shall one day see but for now. who can say!

-> foster, claire keegan.

it is a little pamphlet of a book at eighty six pages but. i read it just over a month ago and havent properly stopped thinking about it since it was just everything quiet + mundane + understated that makes my brain start sparking and whirring and. im bringing it on holiday in the summer so i can read it again in the appropriate season xx

tagging. but no pressure. @gaewaren @dykefever @emerqldv @fastasyoucan1999 @forlorngarden @writteninverses @boyjoan !!

#also it doesnt quite earn a place but the enemy series by charlie higson? no one ever seemed to read those but that was my fucking last of #us. that was my mazerunner. that was my dystopian YA (bar the hunger games okay yeah i was a hunger games girl wasnt everyone)#considered putting the beatles in their generation on here but managed to avoid it thank god. also no future by matthew worley #which was a dense slog into british punk as a politics and youth subculture but also well i learned a lot about my favourite topic #tag game #reading tag #will b fun to see how i would do this a little while on from now. like what maintains its spot + what gets bumped n stuff

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carisi-dreams · 4 months

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I cannot get the mc!au out of my head! I had this idea about a month ago and finally found time to jot it down.

If you're new to the mc!au, start here. (This is basically a SVU/SOA crossover.)

If you're already a fan of this 'verse, this takes place sometime not long after this and this.

Part 2 is written and queued! It's cold and dark and I love this verse, so if you're still reading my writing please come talk to me about it and/or prompt me! I also miss mc!nick...

Warnings: SOA typical mentions of violence, weapons, profanity

Feet squeaked on linoleum as people passed back in forth in front of your office door and you barely glanced up now. Sonny would, no doubt, not love the idea that you sat in your office with the door half open most days, but you were no princess in a tower. So, it was only the change in pace of them, measured rather than hurried, and a knock at the door that you had tearing your eyes away from the notes that you were typing on the screen. Your brain was still mentally finishing the sentence you were in the middle of typing when the expression on Sophia’s face gave you pause.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she said in reply to the inquisitive expression on your face when you arched an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

“Who?”

She shook her head and half shrugged. “Didn’t give his name. And no, he’s not wearing a kutte of any kind.”

You hadn’t even had time to fully form that question either. No kutte and no name. Your heartbeat picked up and your attention was no longer split between her and the screen in front of you. There had been too much bad news, as of late. Too many deaths. Too many…people. Growing up you’d known everyone who was in your dad’s circle - at least the major players of club members and even some club allies. Now, it was like a sea of new faces every time you looked around and there was always a storm blowing in.

“Do you want me to send him in…?” she interrupted your train of thought when you didn’t respond. “Or send him to the club house?”

“No kutte,” you repeated. She shook her head. “Send him in,” you said after another beat. Maybe this was stupid, but you hated the idea of finding everyone suspicious now. It could be a former patient, old high school friend, or someone trying to recruit you to work in another hospital. “Can you push the door wider and ask security to stroll by?” you asked lightly as you turned your body to face the door squarely.

“Of course.” She nodded. “For what it’s worth, he looks normal. Around our age, maybe a few years younger. Handsome. Seems a bit nervous.”

“Nervous,” you repeated. Nervous could mean harmless or nervous could mean sent to kill you and now having regrets. Great. “Hmm. Well, let’s see what this is about then,” you said finally.

She nodded again and pushed the door fully open before turning on her heel. As her footsteps receded down the hall you opened the second drawer of the file cabinet to your right under your desk. You glanced at the hall and then pushed the reusable shopping bags aside in the drawer before your fingers brushed against cool steel. It didn’t hurt to be prepared and you were pretty sure Sonny was one crisis away from going on a murderous rampage or having some kind of violent breakdown. On the upside, you were already at the hospital if things went…sideways.

The gun was loaded and you drew it into your lap to rest on your right thigh. Finger off the trigger, of course, and resting on the barrel. You contemplated for a moment before flicking off the safety and letting your finger rest on the barrel again. The less fiddling the better. You knew that from the size of your desk and way you were sitting whoever was here to see you would have no idea that you were armed. The element of surprise proved life saving more times than not and as heavy footsteps got closer you schooled your expression to one of professional neutrality.

A tall, and yes, handsome, man knocked on the door gently even as he met your eyes. He smiled tentatively and you let your eyes sweep over him to catalogue details to memory before you nodded at him.

“Come in,” you invited with a bland smile. You remained seating and gestured to the chair on the other side of your seat. “Mister…” you let your voice trail off.

The man pulled back the seat and sat down carefully, like he thought the seat was wired with explosives. Interesting. He really was nervous. But obviously so, which had you relaxing slightly. A hired killer, even a shitty one, was smart enough to not be this obvious with their tells.

“You can call me Daniel.” His voice was deep and rich, like molasses. “And you’re-“ he said your first name and maiden name and you smiled. Barely married and you were already used to being Mrs. Carisi or Sonny’s old lady. When was the last time someone had said yours and not connected Sonny’s - either spoken or unspoken - in the same sentence?

“Yes, although my last name is now Carisi as of several weeks ago.”

You held up your left hand and fluttered your fingers for a second. There was no sign of the name registering anything like shock, or fear, or even disgust in Daniel’s expression. Huh. He just smiled politely and congratulated you.

“I’m sure you’re wondering who the hell I am and why the hell I just showed up rather than emailing or something,” Daniel continued.

“Something like that,” you said dryly. “It’s not typically good news when unknown people show up to visit me.” You paused. “If you’re here to leave Sonny a message, I have to tell you, I would not recommend it. You seem like a nice enough person and he’s really not in the mood to be fucked with.” Neither were you, for that matter. You had a feeling he could figure that out on his own.

“I’m not here to leave Sonny a message,” Daniel said slowly. He looked confused. “I don’t know your husband or know why I’d come to you if I had some kind of message for him.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” You leaned back in your chair and relaxed by one more increment.

Daniel shook his head. “No, this is my first time. I just pulled into town this afternoon. I was planning to email you, but I was afraid I’d lose my nerve so I decided to drop in instead.”

“Okay, so what did you want to tell me?” Your curiosity was sufficiently piqued, but when he reached a hand into his jacket pocket you tightened your grip on the gun. When he only pulled out what looked like a photo, you relaxed again.

“My name is Daniel Parker,” he said. “My father passed away years ago and I finally got my mom to tell me more about him.” He dipped his chin to his chest and dropped your gaze. “She’s not doing too well. Been telling her for years to stop smoking.” He shook his head and gave you a long suffering smile before continuing on. “I didn’t see him much growing up because my parents weren’t together. My mom called him all kinds of names and kept me from getting in touch with him. I didn’t even know that this is where he lived. We, my mom and I, live five hours away.”

You kept silent and tried to keep the confusion off of your face.

“I have this picture from when my parents were kind of trying to make it work, I guess. I’m five in the photo.” He laughed and glanced up at you. “You may or may not see the resemblance now since I’m 28, but I look just like both of them in the photo.” He paused as if unsure how to proceed before offering the photo to you.

You took it gingerly, something about this moment had you back on edge, and shot him a searching look before glancing down at the photo.

It was a bomb went off in your brain and you barely stifled an audible gasp. Your ears were ringing as if a loud noise had gone off and you brought the photo up closer to your face even as you wanted to toss it away from you. There was what looked like a younger Daniel in the photo, the smile and ears were the same. An ugly scar over his eyebrow in the photo had faded to something nearly imperceptible on the man who sat in front of you. It was, however, obviously the same scar. That wasn’t the shocking part. Your eyes barely skimmed across the face of the woman except to know that she didn’t look familiar at all. But the man, the man on Daniel’s other side was your father.

“Get the fuck out,” you ground out. You tore your eyes away from the photo and finally dropped it onto your desk. “Now.”

“Wait, wait,” Daniel hurried to cut you off as he threw up his hands in defense. “Please. I know this is shocking. I can…only imagine what you must be thinking or feeling. At least let me explain and prove to you that I’m telling the truth. Please.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to get the fuck out again, but he continued on.

“If this is true and these are really my parents, that means we’re siblings.” At the expression on your face he hastened to amend his statement. “Or at least, we’re half siblings. Related. I’m an only child and I—I just wanted to meet you and introduce myself and learn more about my d—“

“He’s not your dad,” you interrupted harshly. “If this is true. He—I don’t know if what you’re saying is true or not. Even if it some how is, he is not your dad. He was my dad.”

“Okay,” Daniel held up his hands in surrender again and slumped into himself. “Give me five more minutes to tell you about myself and then I’ll leave. And it will be up to you if you want to contact me again, okay? I know this must be upsetting…”

You laughed harshly and then pressed your lips tightly together. The collar of your shirt was suddenly chafing and the footsteps squeaking on linoleum passing by the door put your teeth on edge.

“You have five minutes.”

#mc!au #mc!sonny #reader b #sonny carisi au

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