Mama Ortiz

Hot & Smile

One of my fav 🤤

Imagine this…

You spill out of the narrow passage into a half-collapsed barn, relatively safe, but your hearts are still pounding like someone’s right behind you. Dust, the smell of gunpowder, ragged breathing.

Apple slams the door shut first, braces himself against it, then whips around to face you.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he hisses. His voice is sharp, furious, barely holding together.

“You were told, crystal clear, not to go in there!”

You wipe the blood from your temple and meet his stare head-on.

“If I hadn’t, they would’ve gotten the coordinates. And then everything would’ve gone to hell.”

“And now everything did go to hell because we had to drag you out,” he snaps, stepping closer.

“If you’d just followed orders, I wouldn’t have had to…”

“Then you shouldn’t have come,” you cut in sharply. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Silence, taut, electric. He stares at you for a second, then another. His jaw is clenched so hard it looks like he’s either about to explode or break something very expensive.

“I couldn’t,” he bites out.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Why?”

He opens his mouth and stops. The word gets stuck somewhere between anger and something far more dangerous.

“Because…” he exhales.

And doesn’t finish. Instead, he lunges: fast, instinctive, like a fight. His hands grip your shoulders, hot and rough, no warning, no permission.

The kiss is brutal, desperate. All adrenaline and fury that’s been looking for an exit for far too long.

You freeze for exactly half a second, then you kiss him back. Just as hard, just as hungry. Your fingers twist into his jacket, pulling him closer like there’s still not enough air between you. Your heart is slamming in sync with his.

He pulls back for a breath, forehead pressed to yours, breathing wrecked.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re impossible.”

You smirk, still far too close.

“And you still came.”

Imagine this…

A half-lit basement, damp stone. The air smells like mold and fear. The chain around your ankle is heavy a reminder that you’ve been here a while.

Too long for “command will figure something out.” You’re just starting to accept that maybe they won’t when noise erupts outside.

Not clean. Not professionally quiet. The kind of sound made of dull impacts, sharp curses, bone-on-concrete crunches like someone picked a fight with a wall and lost.

You freeze.

“…what?”

The door flies inward, literally.

Gus March-Phillips walks in first: calm, like he’s stopping by a bar to pick up an order. Gun lowered, eyes sharp, already moving.

Apple’s right beside him, all motion and fury.

Lassen follows predator-quiet, like the basement itself let him in.

Somewhere behind them, Freddie is yelling something aggressively optimistic, and judging by the sounds, Hayes is once again creating a small, personal apocalypse.

You blink, then blink again.

“…”

“…”

“Are you…” you blurt out before your brain catches up, “…some kind of rescue squad straight out of a women’s fantasy magazine?”

Silence. Exactly half a second.

Apple snorts.

“Told you we’d be appreciated.”

Lassen flicks a glance at the chain on your ankle.

“Who’s got the key?”

“German,” you shrug.

“He’s probably outside right now having a deep philosophical moment on the floor.”

Gus has been watching you the whole time. Not the chain, not the room. You.

“You okay?” he asks, like there aren’t bodies and chaos behind him.

“Depends on how we’re defining okay,” you scoff.

“Honestly? I expected backup. An army. A plan. Paperwork.”

“And instead you got us,” he smirks slightly. “Disappointed?”

“I’m just trying to figure out,” you tug at the chain, “is this heroism or a group suicide pact?”

Gus steps closer, crouches, checks the lock. His fingers move fast. Confident.

“We didn’t have time to wait.”

Click. The chain drops onto the stone.

He looks up at you, close now.

“And this is also called: we don’t leave our own behind.”

More noise outside: Hayes clearly found someone who hadn’t yet been briefed on how the night’s going to go.

Apple gives your shoulder a quick pat.

“Up you go, liaison. Field trip’s over.”

You stand, still stunned, still with that ridiculous feeling that reality just cracked slightly off-center.

You look at Gus and can’t help yourself.

“Alright. I admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That if I ever get captured again…”

“…this is exactly the lineup I’m hoping for.”

He smirks.

“Try not to get used to it. We don’t usually repeat tricks.”

Imagine this…

The hatch of the cargo hold opened with a dull clang, and out of the darkness crawled Nicole covered in flour and crumbs, disheveled but looking ridiculously self-assured, wearing that unmistakable expression that said: I am exactly where I'm meant to be and the world can try to argue with that if it dares.

"You've got to be kidding me," Gus drawled, straightening up slowly, hands on his hips, staring at her like she wasn't his kid sister but some particularly bold smuggler's prize catch.

Nicole, completely unfazed, brushed off her skirt with queenly dignity, smoothed her messy hair, and flashed him a smile so breezy it almost made him look out of place.

"Oh, hi, big brother," she said with exaggerated sweetness, as if greeting him at a family dinner instead of on the deck of a warship about to head into an operation. "I am, by the way, the best surprise you're going to get on this mission."

"'Best' is putting it mildly," Freddy cut in, grinning and clapping her on the shoulder like an old comrade. "Where'd the barrel come from?"

"Long story," Nicole shrugged, wearing the expression of someone who had seen a few things. "Let's just say you're not just hauling ammo anymore you've got a little liquid comfort coming along for the ride."

Lassen let out a low whistle, shot a quick glance at Gus, and smirked.

"I already love this mission."

"And who's this?" Hayes asked with open curiosity, taking in the unexpected sight of a girl on board and not bothering to hide the approving look he gave her.

"Nicole," she said, turning toward him, her hair catching the lamplight. "Kid sister of this grumpy man here. And you're cute," she added with such disarming sincerity that Hayes actually blushed, and Larsen choked back a laugh.

And right at that moment when the mood had tipped into near-chaos he walked in.

Apple.

Tall, composed, face unreadable no anger, no surprise, just the cold focus of a man who was used to keeping every detail under control. His eyes swept over her, quick but sharp, like the steady aim of a marksman, and lingered a fraction of a second longer than they should have.

"She's not staying," he said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Nicole lifted her chin, folded her arms across her chest, and stepped closer as if she were throwing down a gauntlet.

"Try and make me leave," she said softly, her smile just a little too daring to be dismissed as simple flirtation.

Silence fell over the hold. Apple started toward her, slow and deliberate, every step ringing against the deck, and the crew without a word suddenly found something to busy themselves with, while keeping her firmly in their peripheral vision.

He stopped close enough that Nicole caught the scent of salt and steel and something else, something that was entirely him, controlled and dangerous.

"You have no idea what you're walking into," he said quietly, almost a whisper, just for her.

"And you have no idea what I can do," she shot back, her voice sharper than he expected.

They stood facing each other, too close for a casual exchange, and the tension between them was thick enough to cut.

"Well, here we go," Gus muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes, knowing this mission had just gained a new headache the size of the ship.

The silence lasted just long enough for everyone to trade glances Freddy and Lassen hiding grins, Gus exhaling in irritation while Nicole and Apple stayed locked in place, like a duel about to break out.

Then Hayes, leaning casually against a crate, asked in that innocent-but-pointed tone that always got people talking:

"So... Apple already knows her?" His brows lifted, his gaze flicking from Gus to Nicole to Apple again, genuine curiosity in his voice. "Didn't even say hello."

The question hung in the air like a well-aimed bullet. The crew was stifling their smirks when Apple finally looked away from Nicole, as if conceding the round at least for tonight. Without another word, he turned and left, leaving behind the distinct impression of a storm that hadn't yet broken.

"He's like that with everyone," Lassen said, waving it off, though amusement colored his voice. He shot Nicole a quick look just in time to catch her theatrical shrug the picture of indifference.

"Not quite like that," Freddy chuckled, hefting a crate and nodding at Hayes like he'd just confirmed a theory. "He looked at her like she was a problem but the kind you solve with your hands, not an order."

"You two talk too much," Gus grumbled, grabbing his sister by the elbow, but Nicole slipped out of his grip like she'd practiced it a hundred times, and perched on an overturned crate with an air of total entitlement, as if she had every right to be there.

"Relax," she told him with the most angelic look she could muster. "I'm just here to spice up your boring little nautical routine."

"A spice that's going to give us all migraines," Gus muttered, but when he saw the rest of the crew clearly enjoying the mere fact that Nicole was on board, he gave up, realizing there was no shoving her back into that barrel.

You can read the full story of my fanfic here…

Imagine this…

You came back from your evening run, kicked off your shoes, and flicked on the hallway light only to jump a foot in the air.

The sudden glow revealed a man sitting in your living room, next to the open window, calmly smoking.

“Jax,” you exhaled, half in shock, half in relief. “How the hell did you get into my house?”

He didn’t answer just tilted his head toward the open window. That smug little smile of his said it all.

You sighed. Of course.

“And whose kid is that?”

Your stomach tightened. Clearly, while you were gone, he’d gone exploring probably looking for you and found the sleeping child instead.

“Jackie,” you said, walking over and snatching the cigarette from his fingers, snuffing it out without asking. “He’s my friend’s son.”

“And what’s he doing here?” Teller’s eyes stayed locked on yours, sharp and searching, like he was trying to read between every line you weren’t saying. (Gif)

“She leaves him with me sometimes… It’s a long story.”

“She trying to get her life back together?” he asked, standing abruptly, a flicker of something darker in his voice.

“That too,” you admitted with a sigh.

“And what about your life? Doesn’t she care about what that looks like? Are you even sure she’s your friend?”

“Listen, babe…” You placed your hands gently on his chest, instinctively trying to calm him. “I don’t have all the answers, but Timmy loves me. And I love him. It’s not that simple.”

“She needs a good smack, that one,” Jax muttered, gripping your hands tightly in his.

“You mad at me?” you asked, a little smile tugging at your lips.

“Damn right I am,” he said coolly. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“What for?”

“Because I deserve to know everything about the woman I’m gonna marry. Especially about who’s sleeping in her bed while I’m gone.”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed. “Your real competition is, what twenty years away from growing a beard?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow morning, I’m picking him up on the bike. Gonna take him for a ride.”

“He’d love that,” you admitted, heart melting a little at the thought.

“Then that’s settled.” Jax headed for the door, then turned back with a wicked glint in his eye. “By the way, I’ll be sure to tell him it was you who kept us from meeting sooner. Pretty cold, keeping a boy from his dreams.”

“Nooo!” you laughed, chasing after him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Then maybe you should think about what you’re willing to offer me… to keep my mouth shut,” he said, winking as he disappeared into the night.

🔞Imagine this…

Jackson came home late that night. But instead of his usual bedtime ritual a hot shower and lights out he walked straight into an erotic ambush. You were waiting for him in the kitchen, dressed in nothing but lace lingerie and a sheer, barely-there robe.

“Hi, baby,” you purred.

“Hi,” he replied with a grin, already sensing a show was about to begin. He dropped into a chair, eyes locked on you.

You swayed your hips slowly, teasingly, running your hands over your curves hips, breasts, everything he craved. The dance was suggestive, magnetic. Jackson didn’t even blink.

“Wanna get undressed?” you whispered, brushing your breasts across his face as you stepped closer.

“You first,” he said, his voice low, his restraint doing dangerous things to you.

Smiling, you didn’t argue. You slid the robe off your shoulders, inch by inch, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.

“Your turn,” you murmured, kissing him with just the faintest touch, your tongue tracing the shell of his ear.

He was clearly enjoying your little game. With slow, deliberate movements, he peeled off his cut and handed it to you.

“Nice,” you smiled, taking it and placing it neatly on the table.

Turning your back to him, you bent forward ever so slightly, tugging your panties down inch by inch until they slipped to the floor. You stepped out of them and turned, climbing onto his lap, straddling him.

That wicked grin of his widened. Mischief danced in his eyes as he tugged off his shirt. You ran your fingers down his bare chest and abs, letting them settle on his belt buckle. But the moment your eyes met his, everything paused heat hanging in the air between you.

Then suddenly, he stood, gripping your ass with both hands and lifting you onto the table, dragging you closer.

His jeans dropped to his ankles. Then… slowly, deeply he was inside you, pulling a moan from your throat. A few slow, deliberate thrusts, a kiss that tasted like sin, and Jackson snapped.

You knew one thing for sure: by the time he was finished with you, walking to the bedroom on your own wouldn’t be an option. But really, who needed to walk when your president was right there?

Imagine this…

“Excuse me, sorry…”

You weaved through sunbathers sprawled on the scorching sand, trying not to kick sand into anyone’s face, while also very urgently getting away. Why? Well, maybe because you just stole a certain man’s clothes while he was swimming in the ocean.

A certain very large, very British, very shirtless man.

“What the hell…” Henry squinted from the water. “What are you doing, you little, wait… THAT’S MY CLOTHES!?”

(Photo)

“Y/N!!!”

His voice boomed like thunder and you turned around just in time to see Henry Cavill himself charging out of the waves like Poseidon with an attitude.

“Not a chance!”

You grinned, flipping him the bird high above your head like a damn hero.

…Only your badass moment didn’t last. Because Henry started running.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, before sprinting off the beach, your feet cursing the soft sand for slowing you down.

“STOP!” He was getting closer. “I swear I don’t even know what I’m gonna do when I catch you!”

“Aaah!”

Your foot caught, and you went flying face-first just as Henry tackled you from behind, his arms locking around you as you both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

“Gotcha, thief,” he growled, pinning your wrists down.

“Get off me, you oversized bear! Let go!”

“Oh, now you wanna talk?”

His face was just inches from yours, lips curved in a wicked smirk.

“You think this is funny? Leaving me to walk home half-naked?”

“Well,” you huffed, trying to free your wrist,

“It’s not like you have anything to be shy about.”

That made him pause.

“Oh? You like what you saw?”

“NO,” you snapped. “You egotistical…”

But you didn’t get to finish. Because his mouth crashed into yours, shutting you up the Cavill way.

When you finally caught your breath, he grinned.

“Guess someone wants a repeat of that night.”

“Oh please,” you snorted.

“That night was a mistake. I was drunk and out of my mind. You took advantage of me.”

Henry arched a brow.

“Really? Drunk? Taken advantage of? That’s funny, because you were very much in control when your naughty little hands were down my pants.”

“Maybe I was just trying to find something in there. Ever think of that?”

“Oh really?” he grinned. “You couldn’t find anything, but you were moaning in my ear, ‘God, it’s so big’? Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.”

“If you don’t get off me, I’m calling for help.”

He chuckled darkly.

“And tell them what, exactly?”

“That you’re trying to rape me,” you blurted.

He leaned in, eyes twinkling.

“Well now I am tempted. You’ve just talked yourself into it. But not here.”

Before you could protest, he stood and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down, caveman!” you shrieked, pounding your fists against his broad back.

“To my place, darling,” he said with a smirk.

Imagine this…

The room reeked of cheap whiskey, sweat, and fear. Jax sat in a leather chair, one leg stretched out, his boot rocking lazily on the toe. His face: calm, unreadable. But those eyes… those same eyes that had seen death too many times they were narrowed, sharp as a blade. He was watching the man across from him like a predator sizing up a dying animal.

The guy rubbed his palms together, nervous.

“We… we didn’t mean to. We were forced into it. It wasn’t my idea,” he stammered, like that would somehow fix what he’d done.

Jax said nothing. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest. The silence was suffocating. Finally, he spoke: low and slow:

“You still did it. You came after my brothers. You crossed a line.”

The man went pale.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Jax tilted his head, voice ice-cold.

“Say sorry to a tombstone if you’re lucky.”

His hand moved toward the gun on his belt, deliberate, steady… And then the door opened. You walked in like the world wasn’t about to end. Heels clicking softly on the floor, carrying a tray with two glasses of bourbon. You set them down without a word, the soft clink of crystal cutting through the tension like a knife.

Hair. Lips. Hips in denim. And just like that, Jax forgot he was here to kill someone.

You nodded politely and turned to leave…

“Wait,” Jax’s voice stopped you.

For the first time all night, it was soft.

“What’s your name?”

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting his.

“Y/N,” you said simply.

He smirked that slow, cocky Teller smirk eyes never leaving you as he turned back to the man.

“You know what?” Jax drawled. “Live. But don’t think for a second you earned it.”

The man flinched.

“Thank your pretty daughter. She’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”

Jax stood up, grabbed one of the glasses, took a long drink and looked back at you, hungry and unapologetic.

“And she’ll thank me for that later,” he rasped, lips curving into a wicked grin. “Won’t you, sweetheart?”

Hey guys!

Okay but real talk: how obsessed are we with The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare?

Imagine this…

The sunlight is just starting to slip through the curtains of his Soho apartment. Alex wakes up and immediately reaches out… but the bed beside him is empty. The sheet is cold. You’re gone.

His eyes snap open. He sits up, elbows on knees, runs a hand down his face, and shakes his head.

“Seriously?..” he mutters, voice rough and low.

He grabs his phone, finds your name, hits call. A couple of rings. You pick up.

“Well hello, mister,” you chirp cheerfully.

“Are you serious right now? You ran off. Out of my bed, like… who even does that?” he grumbles, voice still raspy from sleep… and something unsaid.

“Sorry, Captain Morning. Some of us actually have jobs,” you laugh.

“What, and I’m retired?”

“No, you just looked too damn good sleeping. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. It would’ve been a crime against aesthetics.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he growls, though there’s a grin tugging at his lips.

“I wanted you to stay. I wanted to… wake you up my way.”

“Ooooh,” you purr, teasing, “now that sounds like something I already regret missing.”

“Well, who knows. Maybe you’ll get another chance.”

“Or maybe you’ll get another chance,” you shoot back.

There’s a pause. And then your voice softens just a little:

“By the way… my legs are still shaking.”

He freezes. Closes his eyes. Breathes in slow and deep.

“Jesus, Y/N…” he says hoarsely.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I’m being a responsible adult now. I have a Zoom in ten minutes. Time to be a Serious Woman.”

“And now I’m supposed to pretend I can focus on anything when all I see is you. Last night. This morning. You.”

“Tough luck. Men like you are supposed to suffer gracefully.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I show up at lunchtime with coffee… and very serious plans to ruin your very serious plans.”

“Just don’t forget the coffee. Everything else is negotiable.”

He smiles. Wide. Hopelessly. Like a complete idiot.

“Alright. Go live your life. Catch you later, Mr. Serious.”

“Catch you later, Miss Shaky Legs.”

Imagine this…

Somewhere on an occupied coastline. Evening. The wind smells like gunpowder and freedom.

He appeared behind you without a sound as always. Not a ghost. No. Ghosts don’t smell like tobacco, metal, and something you almost wanted to call home.

“You trying to go out a hero again?”

His voice rasped at your back that half-mocking tone he always used when he didn’t want you to hear the worry underneath.

You don’t turn around. Just stand there, right at the edge of the cliff, watching waves lick at the sand below. One hand tight around the radio.

“I’m no hero,” you say quietly. “And I’m not suicidal. I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“I figured you were waiting for me,” he says, stepping up beside you. Close enough for your shoulders to nearly touch. Close enough to make your heart trip.

You finally look at him. That look scruffy, half-squinting, like the whole damn world bores him… except for you. There’s a crooked smile on his lips. That smile. The one that made captains surrender and codebreakers forget their own names.

“Maybe I was,” you admit.

And just like that, the air between you tightens. Like the moment before a shot is fired. Apple reaches out slowly, laying his hand on your wrist right where your pulse is thundering so loud, it feels like the whole damn country could hear it. His fingers are warm. Rough. He doesn’t rush it. He never does, unless someone’s dying or needs saving.

“Just tell me one thing,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “If I kiss you right now are you gonna stop me?”

You swallow. He’s too close. Talking too low. Looking at you too honestly. And you want it too damn much.

“Try it,” you whisper. “Find out.”

So he does. Slow. Like it’s something precious you’re not supposed to have. Like he wants to memorize the taste of your mouth before everything goes to hell again. You kiss him back with the same heat. The same ache. Your fingers tangle in his hair. His hand finds your waist. Bodies pressed flush. The kiss stretches out like a truce between battles. Like a chance. Like the kind of life you might’ve had if things were different.

He’s the one who breaks away first. Breathing hard. Forehead resting against yours.

“When the war’s over,” he whispers. “You and me.”

“You think we’ll make it that far?”

“No,” he says. “But hell if I’m not planning to.”

🔞Imagine this…

You stayed at that damn motel on the edge of Charming, alone. You just needed to get away. From the town, from the noise, the memories, from him.

But he found you. Jax bursts into the room at 3 a.m. No knock, no call. The door slams against the wall behind him. He stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling like he ran the whole goddamn way. Leather jacket soaked, hair a mess, his face unreadable except for the storm in his eyes: desperation, guilt, hunger. The kind that eats you alive when it’s been caged too long.

You sit up on the bed, heart hammering.

“Jax…?”

He doesn’t answer. Just slams the door shut and crosses the room in three strides. Grabs your waist. Pulls you into him like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he breathes out, rough and low. “You hear me? I can’t live without you.”

He kisses you. Hard. Hungry. Like he’s trying to wipe away every second you’ve been gone. His lips are hot, trembling, aching. You taste smoke. Mint. And pure, unbearable longing.

His hands yank your shirt over your head no questions, no hesitation. You reach for his jacket he throws it off himself, lets it hit the floor like it means nothing. Then he drops you both onto the bed.

“Tell me you missed me,” he growls against your mouth. “Tell me it was hell for you too.”

“I…”

“’Cause I haven’t slept a damn night. I’ve been a fucking ghost without you. And if you say ‘no’ right now I’m still not leaving.”

“Yes. Yes, Jax. I can’t either.”

He groans like those words just brought him back to life. His mouth trails down your neck, your chest, your stomach. His hands are shaking. He’s trembling with how much he’s needed you. Your legs wrap around his hips like instinct.

He thrusts into you fast, deep, and doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t want to. His groan is raw, low in his throat like he’s finally home.

“You. Are. Everything. You got that?”

“Yes, Jax. Always.”

He moves like he’s trying to erase reality, drive everything else out of existence. Every thrust like a heartbeat. Every word a mix of breath and growl:

“Not letting you go again.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re not walking out.”

“I won’t.”

“No more nights without you. Not one.”

Time disappears. He takes you over the edge more than once. His hands grip yours. Your neck. Your thigh. Like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he lets go.

~~~

When it’s over, you’re lying beneath him trembling, ruined, and completely whole. His face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath shaky and deep.

“I’m not going anywhere again, you hear me?” he murmurs. “Even if the whole fucking world’s against it I’m staying.”

You run your fingers through his hair, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re the devil, Teller… but I love you anyway.”