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undercoverpena · 1 year

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v. a new day

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter five of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. smut. oral sex (man receiving), angst. bit of emotions are coming outttttt. Wordcount: 6.3k AN: apologies for the lateness, my personal life has just been throwing things at me and I didn't want the emotions to bleed in when i was editing. also, if there's errors, i'm so sorry, i have had no sleep. pls forgive me. as always, huge thank you to @yeyinde who allows me to ramble continuously and to @guyfieriii who is on her way to get me a magazine and send it to me. I adore you both.

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“I can’t believe you caught him?”

“Me neither.”

You lean back, eyes wide, twisting the cord around your finger.

“I did call you—last night. After we’d seen him. Rang your place, work...”

Swallowing, you smile. “I, um—“

Looking up as Peña steps out of his office, sliding his tie through the loop, eyes staring over you. Drinking you in. Making every part of you burn up under his gaze.

“—had a date.”

“Oh. How did it go?”

Biting your lip, you watch him. How his brows furrowed, letting your eyes descend down before noticing his tie. How it sat off-centre—all threaded in a rush.

You suspect he’s been ordered to attend a meeting. One likely about the day's events, one with a lot of Colombians, officials and higher-ups. So, you gesture.

The corners of your lips slightly rise, watching his smile slowly grow.

“It was good. Nice.”

Van Ness snorts. “You going to see them aga—actually, fuck this, I don’t think I wanna hear anymore.”

“Wasn’t about to tell you, Van Ness. Hey—I have to go, please be safe.”

“Always am.”

“Says the man catching Narcos—anyway, Stoddard is here, speak soon.”

“He best not be making you drinks…”

“Promise he isn’t.”

You place the phone down, standing up as Peña comes to a halt barely an inch away from you.

“That my name now? Stoddard.”

“Well, you’re struggling to sort your own tie, does seem a Stoddard thing to do, sir.”

He twitches his fingers at his side. Has been doing so since he guided Gilberto out to the flashing lights and clicks of cameras.

The significance of what they’d done—what he had done—crashed into him. Not knocking him off his feet, not even knocking him off his axis. But it kickstarted something.

It truthfully only slid over him when he slid into the seat of a car.

They’d done it. Proved that surrender wasn’t the only option—that they could be caught. Because they had caught one of them. The ones they all said were untouchable. Right in his fucking home, hiding away.

A new lease of life spreads as Javi swallows. A thrum of energy, one which has been missing since before he was sent back to the States, rippling through him as though it had never gone. Disturbing the regret he’d been feeling since…

They’d done it. The thought rolls around, his finger occasionally stroking his bottom lip—sometimes pinching his thigh as the streets flash past the window. Doing so even as his knee hits the door, needing to, just to be certain he’s awake, and not dreaming.

The truth it’s all a reality weaves into his muscles, the adrenaline bursting into his bloodstream—beautifully blending with the newly rejuvenated oxygenated cells that swim to his heart.

He knows there's a shitstorm waiting for him at the embassy. For what he’d done—but, then, they hadn’t really wanted him here for the accolades.

Stechner hadn’t vouched for him because he’d been a rule-follower. More someone to blame, to use.

And now, he’d shown them the sheer proof that it could be done—the surrender could be nil and void. They could get more.

That’s what he’d thought as he had hammered his knuckles into Martinez’s door, pulling on a string marked ‘do not touch’. Hoping he’d be forthcoming—that he’d trust him to work alongside him.

Javi hadn’t been sure if a speech on how much he wanted to do right would make up for what had already transpired. Less excuses spoken, and more acknowledged errors that he’d been determined—foolishly so. Blinded and only seeing through tunnel vision. Focused on the wrong thing; determined, but for what? None of it became clear even when he’d sat in his childhood home—or stood out in the field. The more he looked for answers, the less weight his reasonings had—the fewer excuses he could grasp at why he’d let things poison and ruin.

In the end, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to spout any of that. The sheer opportunity that Javi had brought it to him, had been enough.

Not sure any of his truthful ramblings would have made sense, anyway.

It was a true second chance. A hope which had been living in some recess, brushed off and placed front and centre at his feet. His hand outstretched, watching as Martinez shook his—a truce, of some sort, a promise. Maybe, in the smallest way, an element of forgiveness—not that Javi would allow it. It didn’t mean he’d squander or wreck it either, using it to stand a little taller and ensure his shoulders were a little more square.

It’s why he takes a moment when the car pulls up outside the building. Sitting, spreading his palms in long strokes over his thighs. Catching his breath.

He can already feel how things have changed. Already knows there will be faces turning when he steps inside, the burden of it meeting his shoulders again. Having temporarily moved it, placed it on the floor while he focused on what needed to be done. Now, the music was playing, and the true heaviness of what a second chance meant began to rest on his bones. The true power of doing good didn't just provide accolades, but gifted in moon-eyed agents and hopefulness he felt guilty squashing.

It begins when he steps down the embassy stairs, bodies stopping, turning. His cheeks warming, ears burning as they murmur and mutter. Focusing on it, while another part blindly wants to ignore it as he enters the office. It’s why the first clap doesn’t register.

It takes a moment, the applause slowly raining around him, covering him. Layering in thick noise that soaks into his skin and makes him feel cold, rather than joyous.

The worst thing is, deep down, he knows there’s an old version of him who would have smirked at all of this. Who’d have relished in it. Likely lifted his chin, and shook each hand—man or woman—rather than sinking his chin to his chest like he’s currently doing. Trying to shy from it, get through them all as they begin to move closer, ready to congratulate him—shake his hand.

A part of him knows he should be glad. Should be proud he has somewhat earned the notoriety he walks around with now. A slither of it, anyway.

Finding Stoddard’s hand, he’s the only one he shakes. Not sure what to do with the rest of his body as he lets his eyes move across the room, seeing the closing circle of those wanting to thank him, celebrate and pat him on the back. But, his eyes land only on the pair which pulls him to shore.

Yours.

The one person not clapping—leaning against your desk, head tilted to the side, doing your trademark smirk. The one Javi likes to think is just for him because he pulls it from you so frequently. The one which hits your eyes and shines like the sun on a cloudless day and warms him, even if he keeps trying not to let it.

His heart sinks, just a touch. It’s still floating on the surface of the day and is the only explanation for why it doesn’t fall to his feet. Because as he lets his eyes fall over you he realises it’s the first opportunity he’s had to think of you. To allow himself to think of you.

How he hadn’t had a chance to make sure you got home okay. The last sight of you had been in his office, lips swollen, eyes shimmering with post-lust bliss and your clothes a little off-pristine. Your hand on his wrist, sliding circles into his pulse—all thought-out and considered. You’re gonna get him, Javi. Your teeth chewed the skin of your lip as the words washed over him, a nervousness to you he rarely ever noticed—a slight discomfort in your forced expression.

But he hadn’t asked.

Swallowing, he releases the hand in his.

“–Where you going? C’mon, we want to toast you…”

Hearing Stoddard, but watching you. “Start without me.”

He never questioned the tight expression when you released his wrist, his hand grabbing at things from his desk—all set to walk out, to leave. Be safe, Javi.

It echoes through his ears as he crosses the room, watching as you take a deep breath as the gap between the two of you closes.

Javi could let himself feel it now—the spark and the concern. Could question it—let it fill him. He could find the words to ask why Cali undoes a part of you, why you always place one particular type of mask up when it's mentioned—when someone goes. Unpicking it all, seeing it all as though someone was showing it to him all on video.

Having been so laser-focused before, he’d missed it. Placed them all to the side, noticing the other things—the ones inflicted by others' words and actions, and not the looming one hovering over you as you worked.

Something had happened to you in Cali. Something that was left from the reports.

He tucks you away, hides you—keeps you purely for the times he can spare a second to truly think and consider you. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet—in the calm. A welcomed retreat, a safe haven. A person who populates a carved space in his mind, one you had barely needed to hack at to make. Because, in truth, he made it for you, found a place that he could store you in for when he felt safe enough to let you out, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Now just watching in slow motion as you try to hide what he assumes is relief.

It’s a gift, how you keep people out. One he would admire if he wasn’t on the other side of it and wasn’t able to recognise how quickly and smoothly you were able to slide up the veil which isn’t breachable. While he doesn’t know what monsters live in your wardrobe or which ghosts haunt you, he knows there’s a reason why you can’t tell him too.

A reason why you talk in riddles whenever bureaucracy is mentioned.

A discomfort which ebbs and flows, but never truly meets the two of you, even if it tries to. It did so before he fucked you on his desk. A look so similar to the one you gave him in his office, all soft eyes he wasn’t sure if he could ever earn deserving.

He knows people consider you to be a storm. A restless bundle of anger and lightning—thunder rumbling with every step of your heel.

But, as he comes to a stop in front of you, Javi realises he hadn't seen you like that, not since the first day when you'd tried to convince him you were. Not even as you slide around your desk, using the wooden furniture as a barrier between the two of you.

Ironic, really. When the two of you used one similar as a surface for relief, hours and hours ago.

Javi thinks you’re something more akin to a rain cloud—all set to burst and let whatever it is you hold close fall like raindrops. Maybe they’d be acidic, maybe they’d burn those unfortunate to be underneath, but he’d only care for the relief on your face.

The one he’s sure is hiding behind the smile he’s being presented with.

“Congratulations, sir.”

He slides his shades from his shirt, nodding at you. Thanking you.

Continuing, you clear your throat, “I think the Ambassador would like to see you.”

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes.

Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.”

“And, if I take one more, cariño?”

Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

Each time he swallows, he tastes your coffee.

Desperate to find a mug, to enjoy one more sip in some silence—even light up a cigarette, if he could be spared. But, it’s one thing, then another. Almost feeling the flutter of anxiety and adrenaline merging into something unheard of.

From the meeting to the note in his file, right to the press conference he had needed to lead.

As soon as it ended, he was led to the staircase—practically shoved off. His feet all heavy, legs like lead as he steps down, ready to hide in his office and release many heavy, simmering breaths.

That had been his plan. His only focus—until he finds you waiting.

Then he thinks of the file room, his place, his desk…

It knots all inside of him—that thrum of disbelief that blends so disastrously with the sudden acknowledgement he doesn’t deserve you. Something he thinks a lot, yet is finding it harder to fight off under tiredness and waning adrenaline.

It isn’t just whatever it is between you—the fun, non-committal thing neither of you are likely to acknowledge—but your mere attendance in his life.

The way you make things brighter, shine something that makes the edges a bit more colourful and meaningful. Not quite ready to allow it closer to the centre, to let it touch the parts of him still tainted in darkness and regret. He doesn’t think even your shine can do that alone.

Wiping a hand over his face, he moves towards you. Absently wondering when you’ve snuck in, having not seen you arrive or between his meeting finishing and arriving here. He’d looked for you, met Stoddard’s eyes and nodded for him to come.

Yet, here you are, shaking someone’s hand as Javi moves past another person, noticing that you’ve removed your jacket, so that he can see the outlines of your bra straps through the back of your blouse. He spots the clipboard pressed to your chest, hand wrapped around another mug—one he soon realises is the one you always give him.

It diminishes, the part of him which wants to protect you from him. From the disappointment he tends to bring and the fact he’s so thoughtless. That even under your occasional frostiness and many secrets, you’re kind… sweet.

It’s why he should blink, and turn away—not that he can tear his eyes away enough to solidify his thought of walking away. Your presence practically demands his attention, even if you’re talking to someone else. Your leg crossed in front of the other, a white pen tucked away behind your ear and hearing, as he moves closer, the Spanish flowing from your tongue. It’s crisp, and clear—rolling beautifully to his ear as the conversation nears an end. The man’s hand in yours, another placed on your arm—squeezing—bidding you farewell.

Something unfurls, and stretches its legs inside of him. Only settling when the man’s hand leaves your arm, leaves the close proximity and is walking away.

“You making friends?”

Shrugging, you smirk. “Apparently so. You looked good by the way.”

“I did?”

Nodding, you hand him the mug. “Yeah. Like you were supposed to be up there. You know, before you get into your head, it should have been someone else.”

He nods, taking a sip, wincing at the strong taste of alcohol—frowning at you as you smile wistfully.

“Thought you could do with something stronger. Also, you doing the conference is smart, I like it—takes the heat off Chris and Dan.”

He nods again, taking another sip. More prepared this time to coat his throat in amber, staring, wondering how you managed to sneak a mug of bourbon to him. Not that he should be surprised. You seemed to manage to do a lot, keep things turning, keep things organised.

“So, sir. How do you plan on celebrating?”

He takes a long drag, raising his brows that hopefully says, I think you already know, and from the smirk, you shoot him back, you do. The two of you fall into a walk, one where your strides match, where your eyes can be on the other but not walk into a thing or soul. Not speaking, not for a minute, your eyes taking him in—raking over him, assessing him for something (or nothing) he can’t be sure.

“Are you waiting for an invite for that or…”

Shrugging, he watches you take the mug back as he narrows his eyes. “Never been one to wait to be asked to be somewhere, cariño.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you comment, sliding closer as you press the button for the elevator. “So, what? You want to take me home and fuck the day away?”

He looks at you, flicking from your eyes to your lips. Watching as you swipe the tip of your tongue against your lower lip. Your body heat is almost smothering his skin—even through his shirt and jacket. “If I ever say no to doing that, cariño. I’ve got brain damage.”

Smirking, you nudge him, the ding of the elevator's arrival making you step back. “If we have a choice, I choose yours. It's fancier.”

“I don't know, I bet you have candles and decorative pillows.”

“That what makes a place fancy in your eyes? The amount of candles someone has.”

“I have no candles.”

Snorting, you shake your head as he presses the button for your floor.

As the doors close, he glances at you, how your expression is fixed on the metal doors.

“I’m glad you came back, Peña.”

He hears it, and conjures another set of words. Ones he heard, ones he had been meaning to acknowledge—until the phone rang. Until life hurtled a thousand things, and then he was flying to Cali.

Javi… I was worried. I was worried about you.

You turn your head, flicking your eyes over him. “Another night, I’d show you how unfancy my place is. Tonight, though…”

He knows. Knew even before the teasing had begun about his place or yours. His thumb strokes over his middle and index finger as he chews his cheek.

“Plus, someone must have come in and knocked all your files on the floor,” you say, a lightness to your tone, “Left your office in a right mess.”

The doors pinged open, only able to watch as you step out—not waiting for him, just leaving him behind, chewing his smirk.

The moment Martinez left his office, he just remained sat on the edge of his desk.

It had taken longer than it should to sink in. The power people had, the corruption, how it bled and rotted in every corner of the place. The enormity of it all, how without his sacrifice and him handing his notice in, it would have all been undone.

Martinez was the good one. The one who hadn't toed the line, hadn't stepped into the grey, hadn't even been selfish. Not like him.

He drained the glass, finished his cigarette—staring at a patch on the floor until his fingers wrapped around the edge, feeling marks along the wood. For a solid minute, he traces them, feels the lines, the deepness to them, until his mind wonders if they’re from you.

No, Javi. Just you. Only you.

It’s instant, the way he darts to his bottom drawer, rummaging through until he retrieves the file—the one marked with your name. The one he’d sourced before, now paying attention to the parts he had ignored then.

From the look on your face, you’re as surprised to see him, as he is that he knocked. A wine glass in hand, the red of it sloshing from side to side as he observes you process his arrival. That he even got out of the car.

“You… know where I live?”

He drops his hand from leaning on the door frame, wiping his mouth. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, you step aside—hands tugging at your cardigan to wrap it around yourself. “Some could call that stalking, sir.”

“Y’gotta stop with the sirs.”

“Do I?”

You smirk—it spreads up your cheeks until it hits your eyes, before your hand pushes the door closed behind him, keeping your eyes on him.

All he can think is how pretty you are. How beautiful you look, even if you’re all undone—nothing on your face, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts, the thickest socks on your feet.

“Drinking alone, cariño?”

It’s slow, how you lean against the door. Not letting the two of them head further into your place. “Some days justify it. Don’t you think?”

He does.

More than he wants to say—not wanting to spoil your evening. Taint your home with talks of work and bureaucracy. Things he suspects you know more than you’re likely to share. The thick lines through your file are all an indication of it.

You take a sip, and then another.

Adding nothing, just letting him stand there, and he half wonders if you expect him to plead his case here—or whether you’re assessing whether to eject him out of your place as quickly as you left his prior.

Mainly, he focuses on the fact it smells like you. Floral with a hint of darkness—your decor not all that different from his, just with additional touches. Some candles, some colour—some attempt at making the place feel like a home and not somewhere to rest your head.

It’s only in the growing silence does he hear the faint sound of music, something low, involving a guitar thrumming in the background.

“Are you lonely, Agent Peña?”

He places his hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall opposite you.

“No.”

You nod, rolling your lips. “Just in the neighbourhood then?”

He wipes his mouth as his other hand rubs his palm against his index finger in his pocket. Suddenly unsure why he was here—why he’d found your address and come.

Javi wasn’t lonely. Didn’t have the time to be. A sea of paperwork on his desk, the guilt weighing down on him, hearing the colonel's voice over and over—the once pleasant taste of liquor now turning bitter in the back of his throat.

“You forget I know where you live, so I know you’ve come out of your way.”

A laugh escapes and falls from his lips as he dips his head.

It all of a sudden catches up with him, how the day has been a range of emotions. The delicate way things had needed to happen, the thrum of adrenaline—the joy, the meeting, the conference…

Lifting his chin, he finds you still watching him.

No smirk. No smile. All soft edges and a comforting presence—waiting. For what, he can’t be sure, but he kicks off the wall all the same. Sliding his hand from his pocket, softly wrapping it around your hip as he places his forehead against yours, walking you backwards, taking the glass from your hand and placing it down.

He tells himself he needs a moment. A stolen one that doesn’t bleed and change into others. A break in from everything, for a second.

It only shifts when he wraps each finger on your hip, pulling you close. He keeps your shoulder blades against the wall, the guitar strumming increasing as much as his heart is beating. It’s all rhythmic, a remix of a song he isn’t sure of—but one he is tuned into all the same.

It takes his breath away how you look at him. How it’s harder to stop himself from falling into them, worsening as your hand cups his elbow. At first, it’s all shared breath and waiting. Neither moving, his forehead just remaining against yours.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft. Barely audible if his body wasn’t pressed against you, as he shakes his head, feeling your fingers slowly sliding in gentle circles around his elbow. Cupping him, keeping him as close as his hands keep you.

“What do you need?”

He says nothing. Afraid that saying ‘you’ is too much. Having hoped the action would speak louder than the words as he stares into you—mixing brown with yours to make a colour artists dream of.

“Hey,” you say again. More demanding, assertive. “Javi, what do you need?”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t attempt to. Embodies the former version of him—the one which had gone to the Colonel’s home, to begin with—the one who takes and takes and takes.

“You drunk, baby?”

He hears you swallow, before slowly shaking your head.

“Good,” he whispers.

Closing his eyes, he lifts his forehead before dipping his head, his mouth captures yours. Javi merges the taste of sweet wine, whiskey and his cigarettes together, creating a taste so intoxicating and delicious he’s not sure he ever wants to come up for air.

Just need you, he thinks as his tongue slips past your parted lips.

Only want you, he urges as he feels your other hand sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue able to taste that small whimper you do when he squeezes your hip.

It’s different—but then each time he kisses you is. It has been needy, and passionate. Another, it has been soft, almost meaningful. Now, this time, he’s able to feel how warmth consumes him as you kiss him more purposefully. He deepens it in search of more, kissing you more hungrily, full of need and want.

It’s only when he feels your hand skate over the back of his neck, fingers teasing the bottom of his hair, does he slow. In time, pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours—bruising your hip with his fingers as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Whatever it is…”

“We can’t fix it, cariño.”

It’s cold—the way he says it. Wishing he could retract it the moment he sees your brows scrunch. Instead, he shows no sign of letting up his grip on you. Hoping it’s enough to wordlessly explain that he needs you close, wants you—in fact. Needed to just be around you. Even if he shouldn’t, couldn’t…

He presses two fingers to the side of your cheek, curling them. Your mouth parts, words—likely reassuring ones, knowing what he knows about you—are all desperate to fall and heal over the cracks. But, he shakes his head, watching your lips close as quickly as they had opened, your fingers continuing to draw shapes at the base of his hairline, studying him—searching his eyes.

Then, like a light in a dark room, understanding spreads across your gaze. Illuminating everything, likely connecting the dots in that beautiful—but deeply fascinating—way you do.

“Martinez…”

“Cariño… not, not right now.”

Slowly, you smile, spreading your fingers in his hair—tugging on him, pulling him with far too much ease until his forehead presses back against yours.

“You did this… before.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Yeah…”

“Why’d you come, Javi?”

I needed you.

It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was more truthful than he cared to admit or accept. Which is why he didn’t say it—didn’t let on that the moment the walls began to tremble, he thought of you. Looked through the blinds, bitterly disappointed you weren’t there to be witty and sarcastic, smirk in that way that gets under his skin and make some flirtatious comment that makes it hard not to kiss you.

He could tell you that. Be honest.

Instead, he says nothing, staring into your eyes until he feels your other hand, the one which has been continuing to grip his elbow, squeeze.

“Okay. Lemme look after you,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Brushing your lips against him, before pulling away and then kissing him again. Testing the waters, looking for some form of permission as he grips your hips, giving it to you. He doesn’t protest when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw. Your fingers sliding around his arm, to his waist, to the belt holding his trousers up.

Holding the base of your neck, he stares into your eyes, feeling your palm brush suddenly over his cock. “You don’t have to, car—“

“Shh,” you whisper.

Slowly, he watches as you lower yourself to your knees, his throat going dry at the mere sight of you. Watching as you grip his cock. All teasingly slow, dragging it out—your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip as you continue to stroke him.

Eyes closing, he lets his head meet the wall. Needing more—almost asking for it.

It’s what you want, he assumes. Because as soon as he reaches the point where he’s going to ask, you wrap your pretty lips around him. Taking note of the way you run your tongue around the head of him before licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. Finding that your eyes don’t leave his—watching what you do to him, enjoying it.

It’s endearing.

A desire building, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch—how he wants an unrestricted view of such beauty—of you taking him down your throat, of your cheeks hollowing, even if your actions are compelling him to close his eyes.

You’re always pretty—but this is something else. You are on your knees for him.

Taking as much of him as you can, your hand working what you can't fit—his own hand tightening around your head as you wrap his cock in warmth.

He feels you smirking, your mouth pulling back as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, a hand grasping the back of his thigh as you hum around him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, cariño.”

The tip of your tongue slides over his slit, making him hiss again—making your name tumble freely from his tongue as he leans himself against the wall for leverage.

“I know,” you whisper, tracing your lips with his slick head, “Come down my throat, Javi.”

He grunts, nails digging into his palm as you take him down your throat. His other hand bites into your head as you take him deeper, his hips spluttering, thrusting against your tongue.

Your eyes have closed.

The window into your need to please him vanishes, and he wants to ask you to open them. To let him see. His finger strokes the top of your cheek, feeling the dampness from a tear at how deep you’re taking him.

How deep you want him down your throat.

His hand aids you, fucking into you as you hollow and moan—it vibrates all around him. It covers and smothers his own grunts and groans. The one you pull from him with ease, because everything with you he is slowly learning is easy. Not complicated—even if the situation is.

All he can think is you’re a fucking goddess, an angel—something he’s now one hundred per cent sure he doesn’t deserve.

He hisses out your name, feeling your hands clutch at him for balance, his moans filling the hallway of your place until he’s coating your throat in his pleasure. You lap up every drop of it, swallowing it—swallowing all of what he’s given you.

You don’t move, not for a minute. Him slowly pulling himself from your mouth, your hand wiping any spend from your lips to your tongue.

“You’re… fucking—”

“Something?”

He snorts, arranging himself before he fastens his trousers, shaking his head. His hand offers out to you, pulling you up from your knees as he adjusts your cardigan—as he places his lips against yours.

“I didn’t… this wasn’t why I came around.”

“Why did you… come round?”

His muscles tighten, swallowing as he stares at you.

Then you smile, placing a hand over his chest, palm flat, fingers spread. “You got anywhere to be, sir?”

Javi is frowning, before the rest of your words sink in. His hand captures yours, holding it flat against him as he shakes his head.

“Because you’re here, may as well let me toast you.”

Some mornings greet him loudly—sweat clinging to his skin, head hammering, and the world chirping.

The morning, it greets him gently, softly. The sun slides through open curtains, a calmer sound of occasional passing cars greeting his ears.

It’s only then that he registers he’s waking beside you. Your warm, soft skin curled against him—his own arm holding you close, keeping you close.

It takes a second for the sleep to flutter past his eyes, glancing at the clock on your bedside table—the one which ticks ever so loudly now he’s awake. It’s obvious the two of you have managed to catch a few hours, remembering how he’d brought you in here—thrown your decorative pillows to the floor with a smirk that you kissed immediately from his mouth.

He had told you he wouldn’t stay.

But, here he is. Now, though, he should move—even if he’s unsure if he wants to.

It’s never been his favourite thing, waking up outside of his own space. Never mind besides someone else. There were occasions and exceptions. He’s not prepared or currently capable of assessing whether you’ve slotted yourself there, either.

All he knows is… he likes it, being here.

Enjoying the fact he’s been allowed to steal a moment of this—of you. Letting himself enjoy it, the sound of your soft inhales and exhales, the way you fit against him—not in a way that looks perfect but simply feels it.

And it scares him. Just a little bit.

That thought returning, the one which bellows and beats the drum that you deserve better: than him, than what he can give you and the life you’d have being around him.

Pinching his nose, he knows he should go to the office. Should begin to unravel the highs and lows of the day prior. Make a start on the paperwork that is already mounting higher than he expected.

Instead, he turns his head. Selfishly admiring the way you sleep so peacefully, how he’d somewhat expected to find a creased forehead or a tightened jaw. A part had also expected to hear nightmares plague you, knowing there’s something there—living in your mind. A bad memory, a past which hammers at you to get out.

He’d half expected to have his own rear its head too.

Instead, he’s sure none had greeted the night air.

If anything, he slept peacefully, soundly. Almost oddly, for the most consecutive hours since way before Escobar was caught. He shuffles against the pillow, eyes widening when he realises and feels your head rolling ever so slightly on his chest. The smallest of movements that had rippled out into hearing you murmur.

Freezing, it dawns on him that he doesn’t want the bubble to burst. Studying, secretly praying he hasn’t woken you, as your lashes flutter and your lips don’t press back together. He’s a passenger, unable to stop the undoing as your brows dip, your fingers spread over his chest—

“J-Javi?”

It’s full of sleep, his name. And fuck, it has never sounded so nice.

He thought it bellowed or screamed as he fucked someone was good, but this… is something else. It takes a chunk from him, snatches it, and renders him thoughtless as you turn your head on his chest, looking up at him, blinking.

“Morning,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m… I should go, cariño…”

You frown, not like normal—smothered in sleepiness that it doesn’t quite form.

A string is plucked in his chest when your fingers slide over his chest, watching them rub at your face. A desperation rises in him to kiss you, to taste what morning and goodness is like—even if it's coated in unbrushed teeth and last night.

But, it’s his moment to move—his chance. To relieve you of his presence.

Not that he takes it. Instead, he absorbs the moment he was robbed of the first night he took you to his—of seeing you without armour or walls.

“If y’give me…”

“—cariño—“

“… like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” you say, words monotone and low as your hand slowly drops from your face to his chest. “I need… really need a shower. Then can come wit’you.”

As soon as you sit up, cool air brushes over the places you’d been against him—goosebumps appearing over his skin as you stretch. His hand lightly grasps your forearm, keeping you from sliding out the sheets completely as he whispers your name.

Lets it slide into the air of your home, around the two of you—the room he secretly wishes could pause time so neither of you had to leave.

Not ready to face the fallout from Martinez, the look of ‘what’s next’ on everyone’s face. Never mind the note clearly from Stechner.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, I need…”

His fingers move to your cheek, sliding over your jaw, only managing a half-breath as you flick your eyes to look over him—stunning him in a shade, he’s not sure truly has a name.

“W-what?”

“Nothing,” he lies.

Following your suit, he sits up, your sheet falling to his waist as he marries his lips back to yours. Fingers finding your chin, keeping you there, stealing another moment, and another. Doing so until your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking a line up and down his wrist.

“I need a shower…”

He snorts. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m normally in an hour or two later anyway—plus…”

“Plus?”

Your lips slide, less of a smirk but more than a smile. “I have to come and ensure you don’t fuck with my organisational system. No other reason.”

“Not one?”

“No.”

He tuts. “I can keep things organised.”

You scoff, light and airy. “Peña, you’ve been here five minutes, and your desk already looks like it’s amassed ten years of files, so—I’m gonna call bullshit. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully?”

“Yes.”

He allows a laugh to escape, light and airy, it falling from him with far too much ease. Pulled from some depths he hasn’t allowed himself to explore.

Sliding from him, you stand, grasping at a t-shirt that begins to mist over your body—hiding your skin, your curves and the marks he’s left from view.

“I… I should say, I don’t mind that you showed up at my place, Javi.”

He traces his mouth with his thumb, looking at you. “Javi, huh?”

You smile, rolling your lips as you sigh. “You wore me down.”

“Go shower, I’ll wait for you.”

Pausing at the door frame, you glance at him, half your body framed in shadow and the other in the morning light. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful in the earliest hours of a new day.

chapter six ->

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dahliaslove · 11 months

Text

⭑ GIVING DEWEY RILEY HEAD

⭑ author's note: english is not my first language so please be kind, but also this is my first time posting any of my writing so i do appreciate feedback! (just be nice about it)

⭑ warnings: oral, praise, dewey being a sap, reader being a sap, Dewey whimpers, fingering, there’s no use of y/n, dewey calls reader sweetie occasionally, a bit ooc because i got carried away

⭑ word count: 1.38k

⭑ pairing: Dewey Riley x f!reader

minors please do not interact!

Dewey’s hands normally nervously hovering around his side are now gripping onto the top of your head as he tries not to rut his hips desperately into your mouth. His eyes clamped shut in ecstasy and his mouth slightly parted open, letting out shallow pants intermingled with breathless pleas for release.

Tears cloud your vision as you gag slightly when his cock hits the back of your throat. You can feel the wetness between your thighs grow as you listen to Dewey babble out apologies and try to calm his twitching hips as much as he can.

"ah sweetheart—" he cuts himself off with a little whimper whenever you pull off his cock to gently smear the precum on his tip with a kiss. Moving back down, you slide your tongue around the underside of his shaft, lapping at a few prominent veins. You can hear his breaths coming out in shorts bursts above you while his cock twitches in the back of your throat.

"Feels so good, you're so good, I-" he bucks his hips up into your mouth and lets out a noise that has you clenching your legs together to relieve the pressure in your aching cunt. The second he cracks open his eyes and sees you reaching down to rock back and forth on your hand, he lets out a strangled moan and thrusts his hips up into your mouth.

You continue to bob your head up and down his cock, trying to find a pace in time with his movements, while still focusing on circling your fingers on your sensitive clit. Sensing dewey’s release was near, you removed your messy hand from your clit to pump the base of his shaft and cup his balls, bringing a high pitched noise out of his lips

It didn’t take long for him to still in your mouth, his release pooling in your mouth and down your throat. He lets out a low whine when you pull off his cock and he sees the string of spit connecting his now soft and sensitive cock to your lips. After leaning in to give Deweys cock one last kiss, you pull yourself up to sit on his lap and run your hands through his messy hair.

He’s never looked more pretty than right now and that’s saying something, his face flushed an adorable shade of pink and his hair sticking up in different directions even as you attempt to smooth it down. Taking a moment to come down from his sensitive state, he leans into the delicate and soothing touch of your hands scratching over his scalp. Now with his mind slightly clear, he cracks his eyes half way open and he pulls you into him to land a few sloppy kisses to your shoulder.

"Dewey, that tickles!" you laugh, feeling his lips curl up beneath his mustache against your shoulder.

“Y’know, you're always so good to me baby, how about I return the favor? I just wanna make you feel good, just how you like it, I promise” he murmurs into your ear, his lips stretched into a sweet grin and his voice slightly raspy after his last orgasm. Somewhat clumsy but soft hands trail along your thighs, before he gently turns you over onto the bed.

“I ever tell you how lucky I am to be with you?” he says with a bashful look on his face as he hovers above you, chocolate brown eyes shining in the yellow light of the lamp on his nightstand.

“We both know i’m the lucky one Dewey, but please get on with it.” You give him a warm smile, the pitch of your voice going slightly whiny at the end as you cant your hips in his direction.

He responds to you with a happy hum as he begins trailing kisses down your stomach.

“M’sorry sweets, you’re just so damn—“ he cuts himself off with a soft kiss to the area under your belly button “distracting.” Pulling back up, he finishes his sentence with a squeeze to the pudge on your hips and a love struck grin.

Lowering his head into your pussy, he starts off with a slow pace, languidly leaving sloppy kisses over your pussy at an almost agonizing pace and lightly sucking on your clit. It's not long until he's speeding up and he has your hips wildy bucking up into his mouth, his nose bumping against your clit and providing extra stimulation that has you choking on your own breaths.

With your noises spurring him on he reaches his hands down to your thighs to fervently pull you into him as much as possible. Faintly in the back of your mind you wonder if he can even breathe but that thought is discarded as soon he starts pumping his fingers inside of you.

“Oh go—god! Dewey. . . !” your hands grip his hair tighter and you toss your head back as you desperately try to meet the thrusts of his fingers. Tears prick at your eyes as soon as he moans against your clit, the vibrations adding to the almost overwhelming sensation and turning you into a writhing mess beneath him.

Arching your back, you feel the tightness in your stomach building more and more. He only crooks his fingers in your walls and burrows his face deeper into your cunt in response, continuing until your a sobbing mess and all you can remember is his name and all you can feel is the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm combined with the rapid movement of his fingers in between your legs.

“S’too much! i cant-“ you gasp out with tears fully streaming down your face now, it hitting you like a truck as soon as the stimulation from fingers and tongue feel like too much.

“Please just one more? i know you can do it for me.” Dewey lifts his head up from the sticky mess between your thighs and begs, his voice breathless and his eyebrows furrowed, as he sends you a puppy eyed look that has you sucking in a breath and nodding frantically.

Dewey doesn’t waste a second in burying himself back into your cunt and picking back up the rapid pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

You’re not sure how long he keeps you like this, all you know is that he keeps himself between your legs for a while, working you through orgasm after orgasm. Your head becoming a mess of incoherent thoughts that you babble out mindlessly along with pleasured cries of Dewey’s name. Mixed with these sounds are the occasional moans from Dewey and the bed creaking furiously as he greedily rocks his hips against the bed in an attempt to relieve some of the ache between his own legs.

Dewey only stops once you're a trembling mess and your hands are like harsh claws on the back of his head. He pulls his sticky fingers out eliciting a whine from you that turns into a low moan when you see him begin to suck his fingers off with a satisfied hum.

Once he’s climbed back over you he leaves a delicate kiss to your lips and then moves to your jaw to pepper more kisses, whispering words of praise as he does so. He only pauses to let out a hiss when his cock rubs against your upper thigh, sensitive from him humping against the sheets.

“You doing okay sweetie?” you only respond with a pleased hum, brain still foggy from Dewey’s mouth. “How about I run us a nice bath?” Seeing you nod again in response, he heads towards the connecting bathroom and turns the bath faucet on.

You crack your eyes open and stretch out your body on the bed, Dewey’s soft footsteps padding into the room moments later informing you that the bath is ready.

“You want me to carry you there?” The tinge of worry in his eyes makes your heart swell and you can’t resist the opening to tease him even with this feeling blooming in your chest.

“Somebody wants to show off their muscles, huh?” Immediately his skin flushes and you wonder how someone could get so flustered easily. He playfully rolls his eyes at you and helps you walk there instead with a content smile.

please reblog, like, or leave comments :)

#dewey riley x reader #scream 1996 #dewey riley smut #dahliaslove horror

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 3 months

Text

several sentences sunday

tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @wh0re-behavi0r @hippolotamus @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @elvensorceress @honestlydarkprincess @lover-of-mine

thank you lovelies! <3

im focusing on my summer sons fic right now and hoping to finish it soon, so sorry to all my 911 buddies who have no idea who these people are and don't care, feel free to ignore asdfghjkl

“You like my stupid fucking words,” Andrew taunts, slathering Sam’s stubbly chin with sloppy kisses and bites. “Admit it. You want to be wooed with pretty words.”

“Hmph.”

The sound is disgruntled but Andrew can feel Sam’s smile, so he pulls back to look at it. Absolutely devastating. Dripping with a lascivious tenderness. Melted at the edges. Wide and beaming.

Beautiful. All for Andrew.

He kisses that smile, his hands coming up to cup Sam’s face, their tongues dragging together with a loud scratch. “Take me to bed,” he mumbles into Sam’s mouth.

Sam deepens the kiss, licking over the inside of Andrew’s cheeks, and shoves his hand down Andrew’s pants, clutching at his ass and yanking the muscle to the side so that his hole is exposed and pulled tight.

Andrew absolutely hates the wrecked sound that bursts out of him, one which he will probably be teased endlessly about, but any shame is pushed to the back of his mind as his cock takes precedence, throbbing and leaking and very much loving this turn of direction, the hot pulse within it seeming to say to Andrew more ask him for more make sure he is buried in so deep he can’t leave.

His head spins as Sam starts to walk him backwards and then it goes blank as Sam drawls, “Sure thing, darlin’.”

For a moment Andrew is sure Sam heard his thoughts, but then it occurs to him that Sam is replying to his request to be taken to bed, and he shudders a bit in relief, happily letting himself be moved where Sam wants him and reveling in the wicked curl of satisfaction at being called darlin’ which isn’t something he ever thought he would like, but he’s pretty sure Sam could call him anything in that sweet, thick, rolling accent of his and he would love it.

The bed hits the back of Andrew’s knees with a soft touch and they both pause, Sam focused on kissing Andrew so deep and fast that his lungs scream and strain and nearly burst.

He rips his mouth away from Sam’s to get a breath and shivers as Sam moves to his neck, the hand still on his ass digging harder into the curve and brushing lightly over his entrance. The scream in his lung breaks free a little bit, dry and cracked and all too revealing.

Sam chuckles. “Not even wearing underwear. And you’re begging for me to take you. Been wanting this for a long time, huh?”

Andrew squirms and pinches at Sam’s bicep then decides to wrap his fingers around it because it’s really nice and firm and soft.

“Am I right? You been wanting this? Planned for this?”

“Didn’t I already tell you that?”

Sam hums. “Maybe I take back what I said. Maybe I wanna hear it again. C’mon, princess, say it. For me."

Andrew practically growls in response, even as his body turns liquid in Sam’s hold, pliant and open in ways he has never wanted himself to be before, but with someone like this–with Sam Halse who is a death wish wrapped in a body and has a sharp mouth and hands curled into fists to protect the softness of his palms and who is someone that wouldn’t ever rip Andrew open and leave him empty but someone who will help Andrew unleash himself and slip into his skin to make a home, well, Andrew can want to be pliant and open with him.

tagging @diazass @bvckandeddie @andrewblur @ghost-cowboy @shyaudacity @bigfootsmom @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @messyhairdiaz @rewritetheending @gayedmundodiaz @arthursdent @shitouttabuck and anyone else who wants to share!

#summer sons #andrew x sam #andrew blur #sam halse #summer sons fic #ryan writes #several sentence sunday

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bodycountgame · 11 months

Note

The way I, and i think lots of others, would devour your Hozier essay like please spare us some crumbs i beg (also Vinh my beloved......when I say that song choice has ruined me.. your mind thank you)

hahaha okay this been so hotly requested but i am incapable of coherent thoughts so please enjoy these rambling thoughts that i jotted down in the notes app while on the bus!

i feel like there is more to be said but also bus journeys are finite so i'm just doing what i can with the time i have lol. what are your thoughts??? please share with the class i Know you have opinions and i wanna hear em!

adegoke: movement

so adegoke's character playlist actually has a different hozier song on it (from eden) which i always imagined to be more from MC's perspective.

for adegoke, i love the idea of romance like the push and pull of the ocean currents, waves meeting and breaking, a rhythm. and movement just gives me that, i guess! adegoke is also a deeply creative person and movement really gives the vibe of the lover as an inspiration, a muse, which i think would be something that he would totally relate to. as a writer, love is at the core of his work - even when it isn't the subject it is what he finds grounding.

adegoke also loves to dance (and is an excellent dancer) so that particular expression feels so appropriate.

arthur: angel of small death and the codeine scene

this one is quite literal, i guess - arthur is a mean little weasel and it can be a challenge to find the sweetness in him. i think arthur defaults to an "i can make them worse" approach to romance which i think this sort of speaks to.

also his family are terrible and he often feels like a bit of a stray, i think.

atticus: NFWMB

this one has been pulled straight from his character playlist because its just So ???????? musically it just reminds me of him but i know nothing about music so i have no idea how to articulate it - the sort of unassuming and almost casual vibe contrasted with the utter devotion in the lyrics. the emotional intensity comes from the lack of fanfare, you know?

also like. atticus loves a hair pull, sort of sexy possessive vibes and a rhetorical question so the "ain't you my baby" really hits on that level as well lmaooo

avery: it will come back

this is another one that is already on avery's character playlist hahaha what can i say i'm a hozier bitch!

this choice is really about avery's complicated relationship with softness and intimacy, especially in a romance with MC which is Forbidden when she places such an emphasis on her professionalism. the way that she partitions different parts of her life is something of a defense for her after her difficult experiences in medicine - she's learned the hard way, she knows better, and yet she just can't help herself. i always think of avery's romance as being like a dam bursting; there's nothing for a long time until a little crack forms and then the dam breaks and everything falls apart. once she has a taste she can't be satiated, which i think this song speaks to.

charlie - sunlight

he just can't keep away, even knowing how totally disastrous it will probably be for him, but he continues on gladly because he thinks that being that close to the sun will feel worth it even after it's burned him. he's 'death trap clad happily'.

ellis - almost (sweet music)

i did a deep dive into ellis' who playlist on patreon way back when and (surprise surprise) this was one of the songs that features on their playlist. this was actually one that i didn't say too much about because its just a bop, you know??? there's the lyrics about their foolish heart, but otherwise this song just screams ellis at me and i never really know why its just a warm fuzzy good vibe and that's them all over.

florrie - take me to church

a song thats an endictment of catholicism And fucking???? all the ingredients to make up a solid florrie song. there are a few lines that give me big florrie energy (she's the giggle at the funeral / knows everybody's disapproval / my lover's the sunlight / get something shiny) but in general i imagine florrie would fare well being worshipped, i think that's a great dynamic for her, so this is reflective of that.

griffin - someone new

i don't think this one really needs much explanation - griffin falls fast and hard and often. he's my romeo, and every bit as naive.

beyond that, i do think that griff is someone who doesn't believe there's a Right Way to go about things and he's quite happy to muddle through life and always seems to land on his feet - a great person to help someone really uptight unwind hahaha

imogen - my love will never die

of all the characters, imogen is the one who is most likely to get on her knees and beg someone to love her.

also she loves flowers 💐

nyra - to be alone

this one is also pretty literal lmao i am many things but i am Not a deep thinker. she doesn't love crowds, and i think the thing that nyra would value most in a partner is having someone that she can be alone with, if that makes sense? one of those special people that you can hang out with and still have the regenerative effect of alone time.

when we meet nyra in body count she's in the midst of a really hard time in her life - we're at a real low point for her. she doesn't really feel like a person, she feels like a zombie dragging herself from one day to the next. she needs to work through that on her own (falling in love doesn't Magically Fix People), but i think that her relationship with MC would give her a few little sparking reminders to help guide her on her way.

rowan - jackie and wilson

again soz this is on her character playlist hahaha! this is an absolute rowan anthem for me - she is my roman candle of the wild. i mean obviously this song is so fun and that is Very Rowan, but the "better yet, she wouldn't care" particularly speaks to me. rowan is very much someone who can meet people where they're at with grace and understanding and help to build them up.

syd - work song

syd was the hardest person to match a song with, weirdly, but it was the second verse that really cinched it (and I was burnin' up a fever / i didn't care much how long i lived / but i swear i thought i dreamed her / she never asked me once about the wrong i did). syd is a hard person to Date because they are a fuck up! they don't always get things right or know the right things to say or make the right gesture. that said, if someone can work through the initial challenges with them, they would be rewarded with endless devotion (albeit expressed in their own funny little way).

vinh - in a week

lying down and dying together in a field to be eaten by animals is peak romance to vinh lmao. in general, i think once they find Their Person it will be someone that they can feel at home and happy with regardless of the situation, and there isn't much that they wouldn't be willing to endure as long as they had that.

#is this coherent? no!#but is it insightful? also no #music tag #is this just a hozier fan blog now #also if you need a good drinking game then read this post and take a shot every time I'm like its just SO them tehe x #sorry but we cant all have thoughts all the time!!#i tried to add a cut in this but tumblr mobile is a bitch as usual

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kittenwalker · 1 year

Note

I had the idea of evan and actress reader reading tons of thirst tweets together. Just saw a lot of videos and thoughy it would be nice with evan too omg. You can chose if you wanna write with both or not.

notes : this is very short and shitty but I had a hard time writing the speech and actions together so like yea just a little blurb :) Also evan and reader are just best friends. Enjoyyy

“ Alright ready? “ the producer asked. Y/n looked in the mirror and touched up her hair a bit before nodding her head. “ Okay action! “ The cameras started rolling as Evan introduced himself first. “ Hey Buzzfeed, I’m Evan Peters with the lovely Y/n Y/l/n and today is another ungodly episode of thirst tweets. These are actually going to traumatise me. “ He laughed and slid a hand over his face. “ Don’t worry you’re not alone “ Y/n patted his back, both of them making sad pouting faces.

“ Oh don’t make them think we kidnapped you here and forced you two to do this! “ One of the crew members shouted from behind, making everyone burst out laughing, lighting up the atmosphere. Both the actors pulled out their phones and clicked into twitter, the horrifying and chaotic app. “ Alright shall I do the honours of doing the first one? “ Y/n asked Evan. “ Yes please, I don’t think I’m ready. “ Evan took a deep breath in and heavily blew it out, making you chuckle.

“ Whenever I see Y/n on screen I can only think of letting her sit on my face and me eating the fuck out of her. “ Her eyes were widening as she was reading it. “ Woah already on a great start here Y/n “ Evan gave a funny worried look. “ Yea uhm, well I appreciate being on your mind and hope I taste good in your dreams? “ She shrugged and made an uncertain expression. Seeing that Y/n didn’t have anything left to say, Evan started with his first tweet.

“ When I stumble along a video of Evan, my vibrator suddenly appears in my hand and bussy is purring. “ Evan laughed out loud and shook his head in disapproval. “ God these people on twitter need to be controlled! I’m disappointed in you people on this app. “ Evan put a hand on his chest and acted like a disapproving dad, making Y/n playfully hit his shoulder and laugh at him. Them grinning at each other brightly, “ Okay my turn, this is funner than I thought kinda disturbing but that’s the twist to it. Alright next one, Y/n seems like a great person to have a smoke with while watching a sunset, making out with her till the dusk takes over the sky. “

“ Aww, that’s actually really cute and should’ve been the first one I started out with. Well if you have time we can go have a smoke together, I’m free tomorrow in fact. “ Y/n joked, making a hand into a phone and putting it to her ear, mouthing the words ‘ hook me up ‘ with her wiggling her eyebrows. “ Don’t worry about her people, she’s just desperate for friends, she’s a loner. “ Evan used his large hand and covered Y/n’s face. “ Hey! I choose to be alone sometimes okay “ She scolded Evan, smacking his hand away. He put up his hands in defeat and cackled, “ I trust you, but remember when you’re lonely I’m here to cure it “ Evan placed his hands onto her hand and puckered up his lips while smiling.

“ Yea yea yea, read your next one big boy “ Y/n gestured to his phone. Evan focused his gaze back onto his phone and scrolled to the next tweet. “ I would like for Evan to push me against the wall with his hand around my neck, choking me, then smashes his lips against mine and we have a very heated make-out. “ Hearing him read out his tweet, Y/n almost spat out her water. She was shocked, who knew the internet was so wild and brave to say such things. “ Bravo you’ve got your first nasty one that WILL haunt your dreams tonight. “ Evan just stared at his phone disgustingly, poor man is disturbed.

“ Well firstly, I’m traumatised. Secondly, I would never choke anyone because I am not a sadist myself and wish to not hurt anyone. “ Evan placed his phone faced downwards and wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead. “ Yea guys don’t misunderstand that he’s a sadist, because he’s actually a secret masochi- '' “ Guys please don’t listen to this little girl she doesn't know anything that’s coming out of her mouth. “ Evan interrupted her by putting a hand over her mouth. Taking this as an opportunity, Y/n pinched him arm away, making Evan wince.

“ See everyone! I just got it on black and white that Evan enjoys painnn. “ Not giving a single second for Evan to respond, Y/n moved on to her last tweet. “ Okay last one, let’s get a juicy one. Ah this one, I’m literally so gay for Y/n I wish I could make her feel so good. “ Oh did Y/n love having an effect on both genders. “ Well my fellow, sorry to break this to you but Miss Y/l/n sexuality isn’t colourful. “ Evan said while still soothing his pinched skin. “ Welllll you’re wrong, I actually don’t have a label so you freaky fellows still have chances. “ Y/n smirked while squinting her brows together.

“ Omg you’re saying I have a chance too!? “ Evan dramatically gasped while flicking his wrist. “ Nahh you’re just my best friend “ Y/n wrapped her arms around his shoulders while smushing him closer to her. “ Way to go for friendzoning me “ Evan mumbled into her hair as he pretended to cry. “ Your welcome, now read your last tweet crybaby I can’t handle this suffering any longer “ Picking back up his phone he read the last and final tweet to end this pain.

“ I wish Evan Peters could smash a laptop on my tits right now, oh come onnn. Why is it always violence? “ Evan sighed. “ Oh well at least it’s over, now put down that phone and delete that app later. You're too sweet for it. “ Y/n suggested as she funnily pushed off his phone patted his head, acting like his mum.

“ WELL uhm that’s it for today’s disturbing thirst tweet, uhm buzzfeed please never invite us again though it was our pleasure to be here.” Evan unexpectedly shouted his sentence, making Y/n jump and her making a ‘ are you crazy ‘ face. “ Yes thank god let’s please wrap this up but also don’t forget to watch our latest movie American Animals streaming on netflix and hulu. “

Y/n was so glad to wrap this up because all she learned today was that she made the right choice of not being on the internet.

#evan #evan peter x reader #evan peters #evan peter smut #evan peters imagine #evan peter fluff #evan peters oneshot #evan peters smut #evan peters drabble #evan peters one shot #evan peters blurb #ahs #american horror story #ahs smut #ahs fandom #tate langdon #kit walker #james patrick march

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real-jane · 2 years

Text

burritos and bandages

[steve rogers x fem!reader]

summary: steve has a run-in with your ex-fiancé, which requires some tlc... and the aftermath reveals some sweet and long-held secrets.

words: 4k

warnings: steve v high on pain meds, cuddly steve, canon level fist-fight/aftermath, enough fluff to keep your dentist in business for 100 years

a/n: This is the sequel to bug and bear! steve's a firefighter, that is unimportant but it is briefly mentioned. this idea came from a post sent to me by @thornsnvultures <3

To say that your mother is angry when you tell her your wedding is off would be to discount the tenderness of hearing her admit ‘I never did like how he talks to you, sweetheart,’... but she still makes you call every single guest the next day to call things off officially, and all the vendors, and the burden of paying the cancellation fees for the photographer falls squarely into your wallet. It’s worth it, though, especially to see her face change from stress to joy a week later, as Steve floats into view behind you on video chat to give a bashful wave.

“Honey,” she says to you, with one eyebrow cocked. “Is there something else you wanna tell me?”

Steve squeezes your shoulders. “Hey, Mama.” His cheek is pressed against your temple as he greets your mother.

“Hi Stevie. Are you taking care of our girl?”

He chuckles. “You know I am.”

“Good boy. Anything you want me to share with Sarah?”

“Mom–” you groan, but Steve kisses your cheek.

“Tell her I need Elaine’s ring,” he mock-whispers, cupping his hands over your ears. You roll your eyes, but your heart is in your throat because your mother instantly bursts into tears. You hug Steve’s arms as they surround you, as if to hug her, too.

She’s angry because she’s been so stressed out trying to rationalize your relationship with Brock for the last decade, and she’s angry that she didn’t get through to you about Steve ages ago, and mostly, she’s angry that she bought a dress she can’t wear anymore. But it’s not real anger, it’s just shock. Your mother is thrilled. When you tell her in excruciating detail about what made you decide to call things off–how something as simple as standing on Steve’s shoes in a dance lesson gave you clarity–her tears turn into an unsuppressable smile. She can’t stop shaking her head in amazement, and when Steve leaves you so he can run down and greet someone at the buzzer, she tells you how proud she is that you listened to your heart.

It’s not that you need her approval, but having it makes the rash decision feel like an inevitability which everyone but you counted on since you’d first said yes to marrying Brock Rumlow. It’s embarrassing, knowing that the two people you care about the most (and maybe more) don’t like your former fiancé, but you’ll get over it eventually. Especially living with your bear.

“Bug…?” he calls, and a heavy knock falls on the front door. You frown.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. Okay? Love you.” You exchange a blown kiss with your mother and hang up. The second you reach the door, you gasp, because Steve is leaning against the doorframe bleeding from the eyebrow. His cheekbone is already purple. He glances up at you, but his hair flops over his forehead and he winces.

“What the fuck?” You swing the door wide for him to enter. His keys are clutched in his fist but his hands are shaking.

“Hi, baby,” he breathes. “Brock brought a bag for you.” He vaguely waves at an overstuffed reusable IKEA bag on the landing behind him, and attempts to put a hand on your shoulder, but he’s too dizzy. He misses your shoulder completely. You catch him around the waist and ease him to sit against the wall, just inside the door.

“Jesus, what did he do to you?” you gasp, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“Wailed on me. He only got in three hits before he ran off.” Steve’s eyebrow has already stopped bleeding, but his eyelid is so swollen, he can barely open it. “I think I have a steak in the freezer.”

“You want me to put a raw steak on your face?” You hiccough a pained laugh.

“I’ll cook it and we’ll forget this ever happened.” He closes his eyes, and leans his head back against the wall. You kneel on either side of his legs and inspect him for any other signs of where he might be hurt, but it’s just his face which bore the brunt of Brock’s unhinged attack. Steve’s fingers curl around your thighs when you sigh. “He blamed me,” Steve says softly. “Said you were happy. ‘Til I put ideas in your head.”

Your hurt squeezes. “Right,” you breathe. “Happy.” You can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips to Steve’s forehead. “Bear–”

“Hmm.” His head lists to the side.

“Let me take you to the ER–”

“No,” he scoffs, eyes still firmly closed and fingers gripping your legs for dear life, “just been a long time since I took a haymaker to the face. I’ll be okay.”

“Steven–you might have a concussion! Or bones floating in your sinuses. Or a detached retina. You might swallow too much blood in your sleep and choke to death–”

He coughs. “No more CSI, ma’am.”

“I’ll drive.”

“Not in your death trap–”

“Your car. Please? I will keep you up all night long if you don’t let me take you. Huh? Is that what you want? For me to lose precious sleep?”

“You are so pushy. It’s like you and…” he opens his eyes a fraction of an inch and closes them again. “You and your twin, there, don’t even care that I’m fine.”

You poke him in the shoulder. “Either I take you, or I call 911 and four guys with a stretcher carry you down six flights of stairs.”

Steve sighs. “So, this is what I get for loving a worrier.” But he smiles, despite his clear pain, and nods faintly. “You win, bugs.”

–

Close to midnight, you stumble back into your apartment with a drugged-up blond on one arm, and several shopping bags full of supplies on the other. Steve’s objectively fine; no broken bones, no internal bleeding, just a bruised cheekbone. And three stitches in his eyebrow. But the doctor gave him strong medicine for the pain, and told him to sleep it off.

You’re exhausted, but he has enough medicine coursing through his system to fell a Clydesdale and he’s loopy. His cheek is pressed against your hair, despite being far taller than you, and he’s humming. All while you attempt to bring the bags into the kitchen, which are full of things he picked out from the bodega on the corner for dinner. Why he needed three bags of Funyons, only drugged-up Steve could say.

“”M gonna cook, what do you want?” he asks, nosing your hairline. “My bugsy. Buggy.” He chuckles. “You smell good.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, pushing him back until he’s braced against the cabinets in the corner. “Can you stay standing?”

“So good at standing. Watch me.” He points at his feet. “Doin’ it right now. See that?”

“Very impressive.” You can’t help but laugh. “Do you want your onions?” The yellow and green bag swings from your fingers.

“I want a burrito?”

“What flavor?” You dig through the bag that he crammed FULL of microwavable frozen burritos. “Nevermind. Your only choice is chicken.”

“Chicken is the only kind in the world.” He snorts. “Hey. I can do it.”

“No–” You hold up your hands to keep him from listing forward. He leans into your touch happily. “No operating heavy machinery, remember?”

“Pssh. I’m a professional.”

“What are you gonna tell the chief on Wednesday?”

“Got in a fight,” he shrugs. “My girlfriend’s chickenshit fiancé tried to get me back for stealin’ her away, and I told him he couldn’t talk to her, so he punched me, and then she bought me chicken burritos.”

“Wait–” You freeze with a burrito in each fist and wheel on him. “He asked to talk?”

Steve looks down at his shoes and toes the tile. “He was yelling. I told him he can’t yell at you.”

“Steven Rogers. You didn’t say he wanted to talk–”

“Well he didn’t. He just wanted to be mean, and I’m protecting you.”

“I–” You stop for a second and take a deep breath. “We’ll talk about this when you’re not high as a kite.”

“You mad?” Those hands like catcher’s mitts slide around your waist and he noses your neck. You sigh, but you accept the embrace.

“Yes.”

“Why, buggy?”

“Because you don’t get to decide whether or not I can handle something. I would’ve probably agreed to talk to him for a second, regardless of whether or not he was mean. I’m a big girl.”

“Mmm,” he groans. “I know. You’re the smartest girl. You’re a woman though, baby, a smart woman and I know that.”

“Ooookay,” you sigh, leaving the conversation behind for the morning. “How many burritos do you want?”

“Three.”

“You gonna let go of me, so I can heat them up?”

Steve reluctantly does so, and then he stumbles towards the living room. “Pajamas!” He calls over his shoulder. You rub your face in frustration… less with him than with Brock.

But you admit to yourself that some of that frustration is a little bit with Steve, too.

He’s going to have to get used to just being your partner–not your knight. You don’t need him to fulfill the silent protector role that he’s used to, because he couldn’t be at your side. Now, he’s the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, which comes with a certain amount of trust in you to handle your own shit. And a little more softness. Calling off your wedding, even to someone like Brock, has been much harder on you than you let on.

Even though you don’t want Brock, you still grieve the change in the life you had planned.

It isn’t rational, and it hurts in a way that you’ll ultimately grow to appreciate, once that pang turns into healing… and you want Steve. But it doesn’t make it easier to make a hundred personal calls to explain that you’re no longer marrying the man you’ve been seeing for a decade, and have to listen to every single person give you their condolences–authentic or not.

The microwave beeps. You pull the plate out and set it on the table. “Bear?”

Your man returns to the kitchen, sans shirt, still in his jeans, missing a sock… looking bewildered, and carrying one of his signature black moleskin notebooks. You can’t help but giggle at his state.

“Get lost out there?” you ask. His expression brightens and he patters over until he’s toe-to-toe with you.

“I think this will make you not mad,” he whispers, handing you the notebook. He swipes the plate from the table and attempts to wink with the eyeball he can’t open… which results in him bobbing his head and then grinning with more teeth than usual. Steve disappears into the living room, leaving you to inspect his peace offering.

It looks like the one he always has in his back pocket, but it’s the next size larger. The cover has a year crudely carved into it and you frown. That can’t be right. Why would a notebook from your senior year of high school make you ‘not mad?’

Opening the cover is like taking a step into a chamber of Steve Roger’s heart, and finding treasure. Your face stares back at you, from page one, sketched in faded mechanical pencil. Every shadow on your young face is smudged in by a deft finger, and your eyes… they sparkle. You’re not sure if your eyes have ever done that in real life, but somehow, a sketch communicates just such a thing. The lines which make up your mouth are softer, the shading finer. Like most of his time was spent on forming your soft close-lipped smile. At the bottom right corner are his initials–S.G.R.--and the year, once again.

The backside of that page? You.

Next: You, looking over your shoulder.

Then, your profile while you read.

A whole page is dedicated just to your eyes.

His first car, the pickup truck you used to set your watch by as it rumbled awake every morning.

And then… you, again.

The entire sketchbook, save an odd drawing of a squirrel (noted as ‘Bucky’s Long-Lost Brother’), a scratched-out self portrait, and several pages of football plays… it’s filled with sketches of You.

“Steve?” you peep.

His face appears around the doorway, looking sheepish. You swallow hard. “I’m… I’m not mad,” you manage. It’s the only way you can verbalize the genuine shock of seeing your image immortalized by his hand. “This is really lovely.”

He stuffs his hands in his jeans and shrugs. “Just love you, ‘s all.”

“You drew me… a lot,” you laugh in disbelief, flipping again to the front page. Steve stands before you and nods.

“Pretty much all my pencil ever wanted to do,” he says.

“No wonder you almost failed Trig.”

He chuckles. “I have about… six more of those spanning the last ten-ish years. You feature heavily in them all. Except recently, I…” he shakes his head. “Couldn’t look at you on paper like that, knowing you were slipping away from me.”

“Bear, how have I never known that you draw like this?” You press your hand to his chest. He grasps your wrist.

“You didn’t know that I loved you back then, either. Only two secrets I ever kept from you.”

“How long?”

“Have I drawn you?”

“Yeah.”

Steve holds your face between his palms like he’s still seeing double, but he appears at least a little more lucid than he was earlier. Or maybe, talking about you is something that comes so easily to him, he can do it with far too much morphine running through his body. Either way, he’s taken with the feeling of your skin under his thumbs.

“Never could get your cheeks right,” he murmurs. “But, um. When I was really little, I used to draw a girl. She was my age, and she was my imaginary friend. Every picture, I drew her. Same hair color every time. And then we moved, and I met you. And I dunno. Just made sense that I’d been drawing you all along, so. I got better at it once the girl wasn’t imaginary anymore.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I think Mr. Lee knew how I felt about you by junior year, considering my final portrait subject was you for the third year in a row,” Steve admits, cheeks immediately reddening.

“No,” you gasp behind your fingers. “You’re serious–”

“Buggy,” he laughs. “I thought for sure you were gonna catch me at it. Why do you think I never wanted you to come to the art show?”

“...I thought you were bad,” you admit, which elicits the biggest laugh you’ve heard from him in a long time. He has to lean on the wall to stay upright. “Don’t laugh!” You’re smiling, regardless. “The way you see me, bear… I don’t look like this!” You hold up the sketch and Steve takes the notebook from your hands gingerly.

“Of course not. That was teenage bugsy. But–hold on–I’m fine!” He stumbles from dizziness, but catches himself on the doorframe. He darts into the living room again, and this time you follow. He drops onto his knees as if he hasn’t injured both of them repeatedly since joining the firehouse, and peruses the bottom shelf of his bookcase until he finds what he’s searching for. Then, Steve grabs a smaller notebook, still black, with the current year stamped into the front. The one you gave him for Christmas last year. He flips frantically through the pages, and then holds it up.

“This is you.”

And it is, but it’s you through the eyes of a man who has been drawing you for so many years that he’s an expert on every little freckle and fine line in your skin, who looks at you and sees a future so precious that he’s willing to take three solid punches to the face for you. The portrait is you, yes, but it’s the most true version of who you are. Nobody knows you better than Steve, or sees you more clearly. Mirrors lie, by comparison. Your face is a decade older in this portrait, but you’ve never felt so beautiful.

The image blurs, and you hold a hand out to him, cupping the other over your mouth as the waterworks start. He crawls to you, reminding you that he’s still probably feeling the morphine, and hugs you with his cheek against your soft belly.

“Wanna give you my grandma Elaine’s ring,” he says softly. “I wasted time making love to the idea of you on paper instead of getting brave and telling you, and I almost lost you.”

“How high are you?” You ask, though you feel the sincerity in your soul.

“Marry me.” It’s the first time he’s said it explicitly, even though he as good as asked that very question the night you decided to call things off with Brock. You had all but accepted, too. But it was a lot to decide while he was recovering from a beating and still fighting delirium, and the thought of even planning such a thing so soon made you wince.

You tug on his hair so he tilts his head back to meet your gaze. “Ask me again in the morning.”

“What will you say?”

You snicker, trying to swipe away your tears on your sleeve. “The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you’ll find out.”

“But… my burritos.” He looks pitiful as he gestures to the plate which he had abandoned on the coffee table.

“Eat. I’m gonna go lay down.”

You take the journal with you into the bedroom you now share with Steve, and change into one of his t-shirts to sleep in. You wait for him to come in, all the while pondering the portrait he insists is who you really are, now. Next thing you’re aware of, the journal is being pulled out from under your fingers as you blink awake to the image of Steve Rogers with his cell phone hovering over your face, as he un-surreptitiously takes a photo of you glaring at him. He looks at the screen and frowns.

“Go back to sleep!” He whispers.

“Can you lay down please?” You yank on his elbow. He flops onto the covers beside you and tucks his good cheek against your shoulder. “You’re creepy,” you yawn.

“But you’re so cute.” His voice is muffled.

“You’re going to be embarrassed in the morning.” Rolling onto your side, you adjust so both your arms cradle him cautiously, avoiding his poor swollen eyeball.

“Why? You’re not ashamed of me, are ya?”

Your heart lurches and you kiss his forehead gently. “No. Of course not. I love you.”

“Even when I’m high?” Steve shakes with laughter when you groan.

“Yes, bear. Even then.”

—

In the morning, Steve is appropriately mortified, the more you tell him about his behavior on too much morphine, but at least he can open his eye again. He is so embarrassed, in fact, that he runs down the street to pick you up breakfast from a brunch place you like to make up for it, and forces you to remain in bed in order to eat it. When you’re both settled under the covers again, trading bites of fruit and french toast, you lean your head on his shoulder in contentment. Some of that time is spent inspecting his most recent portrait of you in the light of day, and marveling again at how he managed to capture the uncapturable.

“Hey,” he whispers, pointing at you with a slice of strawberry on the end of his fork. You look up at him in question and his lips graze yours. He deepens the kiss, sweetly kissing the powdered sugar from your lips. “Can I marry you?” He asks. You smile, nodding just once. Steve brushes your cheekbone. “Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.”

He kisses you with a nod himself, and then leans over to open his bedside table drawer. “I, um. I asked my ma for the ring a while ago. But if it doesn’t fit you, then we can find something else.”

“Okay.”

The reality of sharing breakfast and a bed, and sweet kisses with your best friend while he asks you if you’ll marry him settles over you like a warm blanket, and the sweetness intensifies when he produces an octagonal box. He rests the box on your knee and waits.

“I should wash my hands,” you breathe. He rolls his eyes and tugs your left wrist into his lap. He thumbs the latch open.

“Do you remember meeting my grandma?” he asks.

You do, distinctly. She was a doe-eyed glamorous woman who had taken one look at you in the Rogers family living room at Christmastime and gushed over you. You smile. “She was so sweet,” you say.

“She loved you. I think she would’ve been so happy to see this on your finger, sweetheart. As I will be. May I?”

“Yeah.” Your heart races as he opens the lid, revealing the very ring he described to you one week prior, garnet and all. Elaine’s initials are ingrained in the band just as he said. And it slides right onto your finger so perfectly, it could have been made for you.

He breathes out slowly. “Holy shit, bug,” he says in awe. You laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna make every dream I ever had come true.”

“Awe.” You carefully set your takeout container on your bedside and then throw your knees over his legs so you can be as close to him as possible. He hugs you tight. When your fingers thread into his messy morning hair, he sighs. “You’re gonna make new dreams with me, bear.”

“I like the sound of that.” He rubs your back. You snuggle up to his chest and listen to his heart beating.

“Wonder what Brock brought,” you ponder out loud.

Steve snorts. “Just a bunch of your clothes. And the mug I got you for your birthday.”

You sit back in surprise. “Oh! All that was worth punching you for?”

“Pssh. I bought that boot mug in the Dallas airport, when you were devastated I wasn’t gonna make it back for your birthday. It’s obviously very precious.”

“Thank god he returned it,” you snicker. “How ya feeling, slugger?” He allows you to gently palpate the area around his stitches, but he winces the closer you get to his cheekbone bruise.

“Fine… I called him while I was out.” He winces again at your shocked frown. “I know–”

“You didn’t let him off the hook.”

“No, no. I told him I’d send him my hospital bill.” Steve touches your chin. “And that I won’t press charges, as long as he takes your name off whatever bills you were on, and leaves you alone.” You blink at him. He laughs. “I know. I’m also surprised with myself.”

“I–he wouldn’t put anything under my name,” you say softly. “You’re gonna have to put me on your lease!”

“Would you like that? If there’s mail addressed to both of us?”

“Yeah. Bear?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you. Even when you’re high and loopy, and I still would even if you had let Brock off the hook.” You kiss his brow, just above his stitches. “I love that you’re kinda a creep–”

“Is this you practicing your vows, or…”

You doff his shoulder. “I just want you to know, okay?”

“I love you, bug.”

Your shared kiss speaks deeply of the relationship from whence this arrangement was born, and the inevitability of spending your life with the one person who gives it meaning. There’s a new type of intimacy with it, even deeper than skin and touch. Deeper than the first night you spent with him, sharing bodies in a way that both of you had yearned for for so long that it felt sacred.

Steve pulls back from you when air becomes a necessity. He inspects the ring on your finger with a peaceful smile, and then his gaze darts up to meet yours. He narrows his eyes.

“Did you buy me like twenty-five chicken burritos last night?” he asks incredulously. You laugh until your stomach hurts.

–

thanks for reading! :)

Kate’s masterlist - Marvel Masterlist

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n

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toomuchracket · 1 year

Note

I think fiancé Matty is always playing with the ring any time you’re holding hands. Any time you ask him what colour nails you should get next, he’s always like “hmm this colour will look so cute with the ring”

One time he hears you jamming to all the single ladies (because why not) and he bursts into the room going “I DID put a ring on it”

He used to get really pouty in the beginning when you took the ring off to shower but now he’s realised that it’s an opportunity for him to get down on one knee, again and again, every day and put the ring on you while you stand there wrapped in a towel and rolling your eyes (and secretly fucking loving it)

every single one of these is gold iris i am sending you flowers and a forehead kiss <3 also the final section is very reminiscent of another ask in my inbox: no cause he would so make little comments like if they ever got engaged, any time after when she looked pretty he’d be like ‘your so beautiful, you wanna marry me’ little jokey comments like that

i think matty is obsessed with you having your nails done anyway like he genuinely takes an interest in what you get done to them ("it's so crazy because they're such a little thing but can say so much about you and your personality through their design"), and when he proposes and they're right above the ring telling people you're his??? he loves it. and while he's still very "they're your nails babe get what you want", matty loves when you ask him "but what do you think would help emphasise and show off the ring?". and yeah, every time he's holding your hand he's brushing his fingers over the ring sweetly, and sometimes he'll take your hand and kiss the ring and be like "swearing fealty to my queen!" and you just blush lol

the single ladies thing... maybe you're at a party and it plays and you're like BYE GOTTA HIT THE DANCEFLOOR and matty films you dancing with your friends and he's like "and i DID put a ring on it" and you come up and wave your hand in front of the camera highlighting the engagement ring (you are both very drunk) and you're like "yeah we're both cuffed lol :P"

and yeah, the first time matty sees you take the ring off pre-shower/bath he's like "whoa! wtf?!" and you're like "i'm going in the shower" and he's like "but why are you taking it off i hate seeing you without it :((" and your heart actually breaks like he's so cute and you cuddle him and say "i just don't want it to tarnish or get damaged or anything, that's all!" and you give it to him to take care of whenever you're not wearing it (which matty finds very endearing because you're like "it belongs to both of us anyway!"), and inevitably as soon as your hands are dry he's down on one knee holding it proposing again. and you'll roll your eyes but secretly find it adorable, and then one night after he does it you're like "you owe me about forty weddings at this point with the amount you've proposed and i've accepted lol" and matty completely earnestly goes "and i WOULD have forty weddings to you. it's nowhere near the amount i would need to have to accurately show how much i love you" 😢😢 <3

#mads muses #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #fiance!matty

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greazyfloz · 1 year

Note

22 from the smut list with Nick Blankenburg please?

Smut: 22. “I want you to spank me” w/ Nick Blankenburg

Spank Me

Nick just got back from the road so we were catching up on the couch cuddling, watching reruns of the office or what ever was on. We were mid conversation about being on the road when it randomly turned spicy. I randomly turned it spicy because there is something about being in his arms tonight that made me want to explore.

“No, Saturday was the worst. We went right to the hotel after the game and had to get take out. I sucked” Nick said.

“Oh Saturday? Yeah I was horny that night” I say back. Nick gives me a funny look before bursting out into laughter. “No I’m serious. I would have shown you if the time zone wasn’t so messed up” I continued.

“Babe. What’s in your glass?” he says jokingly I start moving so I can cradle his hips. He sits upi straight so I can do so.

“Nothing. We were just talking about what we did while you were gone, and I…” I start as I am adjusting myself on his lip before kissing his neck under his ear before whispering, “was thinking about you a lot”. Nick gulps before looking at me and bringing his lips to mine. “I was actually thinking” I say pulling away to look at him.

“Hmm” he says looking up at me

“We should be more rough”

“More? How so?” he questions leaning in for another kiss. I pull away before he can connect his lips to mine though.

“I want you to spank me” I say and Nick shifts in his seat.

“Y-yeah. I- Um- Yeah. I can do that” He says a little flustered. I bring my lips to his. “Let’s see that pretty little ass of yours” he moans into the kiss. I stand up breaking the kiss and take my shirt of revealing my exposed chest. Then I turn and pull my pants down enough to pull them under my ass to lift it up then down so my ass jiggles. I then pulled them down then immediately pull down my panties.

“So fucking hot” I hear nick say before turning around.

“Where do you want me?” I question. Nick stands up and takes his shirt off before connecting our lips together. He guides me to the kitchen table before breaking the kiss.

“Bend over” he says hungerly. I turn and bend so my stomach is resting on the kitchen table. “What do you want me to do?” Nick asks me, “I wanna hear you say it again”.

“I want you to span-”I start but was interrupted by Nick hands slapping my ass, “OwwwWw!”. I feel Nick pull me back a little by my hair so he can whisper in my ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Nick whispers before letting go of my hair.

“Spank m-” Again interrupted by Nick’s hand slamming against my ass. I wince keeping my mouth shut when I feel another slap on my ass seconds later, “Owww”.

“That’s better!” he says. I hear the jingle of his belt as he removes it. “You ready?” Nick asks and I nod. “I need to hear you” he says.

“Y-yes”. Immediately I feel the leather from Nick’s Louis Vuitton belt hitting my ass hard. Tears start to form in my eyes. “O-okay” I pant out. Nick turns me around pressing his lips against mine. “You okay?” he says lifting me up as I nod. He walks us to the room where he lays me on the bed and climbs on top connecting our lips together once more to make out. “Did I hurt you?” he says kissing down my neck.

“I liked it” I say and he stops kissing my neck to look at me, “I want you”.

“Okay babe” he says standing up to take his pants and boxers off before climbing on top again.

“N-nick?” I say as he lines himself up with my entrance.

“Yeah?” he says quick looking at me. I take his hand he was using as balance and place his hand over my neck. He doen’t apply pressure until I say:

“C-choke me while you f-fuck m-me”.

Nick leans his weight on his hand and begins to thrust himself inside of me. I let out small moans as I try to throw my head back.

“F-fuck baby” he says, “So so tight” he says again thrusting faster. I clench my walls around him and he moans out again. “Y-yes baby. Fuck” he says pumping harder. He releases his hand from my throat and I let out a breathy moan.

“I’I’m-” I say before Nick cuts me off

“Go ahead” he smirks as I release myself on his cock. He pulls out and jerks himself off for a second before unloading himself on my stomach. “F-fuck!!” he moans out. He bends down giving me a peck before standing up. “Let’s have a bath” he smiles down before picking me up and bringing me to the bathroom.

We lie in the tub in each others arms when Nick leaves sweet kisses on the side of my neck. “Was that okay?” he says

“Perfect” I say back turning my head to peck his lips.

“How’s your bum?” he says with a giggle

“Sore” I laugh

#nick blankenburg #umich hockey smut #umich hockey imagine #umich hockey #nhl imagine #nhl smut

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nathandoeisgf · 1 month

Text

Stay High

Summary: bella and nate go out for a drive with a little bit of the devils lettuce

Warnings: making out, weed, tongue up in that mouth, driving intoxicated (don’t fucking do that), Nate being hot

Song of chapter: Habits (Stay High) - Tove Lo

Oc name: Bella

Nate 💕

hi baby

are you awake

hi nate

yes i am

Nate 💕

wouldddddd

youuuuu

like to

goforadriveandsmokewithme???

hmmm

Nate 💕

PLEASE

I MISS U

we hung out three hours ago???

Nate 💕

what’s your point

idk

yes i will

Nate 💕

GREAT!!!!

i am outside your house right now actually

nate what

what if i would’ve said no

Nate 💕

i would’ve never spoken to you again

oh uh

i’ll be out in a moment

Nate 💕

great!

love you!

Bella grabbed her phone from her bed, going to the mirror on the back of her door to make sure she didn’t look as disgusting as she felt.

She shrugged it off and left her room, going downstairs and out of her house, towards her driveway where Nate was parked.

She saw the light on inside before watching Nate get out of the car and run over to her. “Hi baby.” He smiled as he hugged her.

“Hey love, you didn’t have to get out of the car.” Bella stifled a laugh as she hugged him back. “How else would I open your door?” He questioned like it was obvious. “Oh, my bad.” She sighed.

“Yeah.” He hummed, leaning down to kiss her, they pulled away and bella licked her lips. “You started without me.” She squinted at him and he grimaced. “One hit.” He said, grabbing her hand and dragging her over to the car.

He opened the passenger seat door and Bella got into the car. “This is half gone!” Bella scoffed. “Can’t hear you!” Nate called out as he closed the door.

He went around to the other side of the car and got into the drivers seat. “Light?” Bella held her hand out. Nate went into his sweatpants pocket and pulled the lighter out, handing it to her.

“Where do you wanna go?” Nate asked as he pulled out of her driveway. “I thought you pulling up to my house before you even asked me if I wanted to go meant you had something planned?” Bella raised an eyebrow.

“I did. I thought of the weed, now it’s your turn.” Nate nodded and bella rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, just drive over by the lake, the east side, it’s always empty over there.” She shrugged.

“Why do you want it to be empty?” Nate hummed, the smirk evident on his face as he brought a hand down on to Bella’s thigh. “Oh shut up.” Bella muttered, face beet red.

Nate shook his head, starting to drive to where Bella told him to. He found an empty parking lot that looked out on to the lake and parked his car. He turned the radio down, Habits (stay high) by Tove Lo still playing softly in the background.

“It’s always so beautiful out here.” Bella shook her head in disbelief. “Yeah but..” Nate trailed off, “Nate don’t you dare—” “you’re beautiful…er.” He said and it was silent before they both bursted out laughing.

“You’re so corny, my god.” Bella laughed. “No! I’m being romantic!” Nate groaned, leaning over on to the center console, facing Bella.

“Oh I’m sorry, crybaby.” Bella frowned. “Crybaby?! Didn’t you cry over a Frank ocean song this morning?” Nate scoffed. “You didn’t have to bring that up.” Bella scowled and Nate smiled.

Bella took a hit of the joint before handing it to Nate. “I had too much, I’m driving.” He declined. “You had two whole blunts and still drove last week?” Bella recalled.

“Yeah but you weren’t in the car.” He looked at her. “So..?” Bella questioned. “So, I actually care about crashing if you’re in the car because why would I want to lose you?” He questioned.

Bella frowned, taking in the brunette boy’s features, lightly lit by the moonlight fixed in front of the car. “That’s really sweet. But I don’t wanna lose you either, so don’t do that again or I’ll break up with you.” She nodded.

“Yes ma’am.” He said, watching her go from stern to flustered in the matter of seconds. She set the tray on the dashboard and sat back against the seat.

She looked over to see Nate already looking at her. He gave her a small nod, gesturing her her to join him in his seat.

“Nate we are not having sex in your car.” Bella mumbled and he sighed way too dramatically, making bella roll her eyes.

“But we can makeout, right?” He gave her a look and she smiled slightly. “Exactly. Get your sexy ass over here.” He spoke and bella smiled, taking her seatbelt off.

Nate moved his seat back before she climbed over, settling herself in his lap with his hands rubbing up and down her bare thighs. “Comfy?” He asked her and she nodded, looking down at him. “You?”

“Very.” He breathed out before leaning in to connect their lips together. His hands went up to her hips while one of her hands went to the back of his head and the other rubbed against his collar bone.

The breathing in the car became heavier, the windows ever so slightly starting to fog up. Nate swiped his tongue over Bella’s bottom lip and she immediately granted him access.

Their tongues fought like hungry dogs for dominance, Nate eventually winning like always. Bella had realized that her hand was tangled into Nate’s hair, taking that into consideration, she tugged onto it.

Nate let out a groan into her mouth, making her smile slightly. He fixed his grip on her hips and rolled her hips against his, earning a surprised moan from Bella

She was quick to pull away, almost losing her train of thought just looking at how thrilled he was by getting that noise out of her as if he hadn’t many times before.

“Nate. Don’t start something you can’t finish.” She told him and he smiled. “Oh, I can finish.” He nodded. “Alright.” Bella pushed his head away.

“Don’t start something I can’t finish.” She emphasized. “You can finish too, you just need my help.” He shrugged simply and bella sighed. “I do not.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “We can test that out. See who’s begging to be fucked first.” Nate nodded and she shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I need you to finish that just means you fuck me good.” She said, immediately regretting it when she saw the smile on his face.

“I know I do.” He spoke and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t let your ego get the best of y—” she was cut off by Nathan bringing their lips back together.

It wasn’t long before he pulled away and started kissing down her jawline. “Why do you wanna fuck in your car so bad?” Bella asked, her voice breathy from the feeling of him kissing down her neck.

“Because who the hell wouldn’t want to? We can have any view we want, trying out a new position or two, and it’s quiet, your loud ass should be the one asking not me.” He said and bella scoffed.

“Fuck you!” She shook her head. “In the front or the back?” Nate spoke, no sarcasm in his voice. “You are making this really hard, Nate.” She groaned.

“Okay and you’re making me really hard, so what?” He shrugged and she laughed, bringing her head down to his chest.

“My parents aren’t home.” She spoke, biting the inside of her cheek. “See, then we’d have to drive fifteen minutes back to your house when my lovely backseat is right here.” Nate reasoned.

“Hm, or maybe you can drive the fifteen minutes but then only I get out of the car?” She tilted her head. “Fine!” He groaned and she placed a kiss on his head before going back to her seat.

Luna Speaks 🪼

Hello hello this is my first storyyyyyyy

I’m working on being more descriptive so please bare with me lol

Hope you guys enjoyed, send requests!!!!!!

#nate doe #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nathan doe smut #nathan doe #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

Text

Once again i am being plauged by the parallels between the og Dead Sea Siblings and Ghostflower,be it romantic or found siblings.Nico,Percy,Miles and Gwen all being so mix and match only makes me suffer 10x more /pos.You're a boy with no real friends at this weird school where you don't fit in and one day,you met this girl who's a little older than you and she is the COOLEST ever.You've got this little crush on her and she's so nice to you and it only makes it grow and turns out she was there because she's part of the new world you're about to join and when the new supernatural shit in your life finishes hitting it's beginner stage including one of your family member's who took so much care of you getting killed,you don't see her for a WHOLE year.She taught you because she's got way more experience than you but you were friends for so short of time that you only know the babysteps and you want her back so bad,more than anything because so little time filled you with so much love.And her?She feels the same way about you and it's hard to go on with her life normally when she's so worried about you but the forces of world saving leads one of you to the other's room again and they welcome you in with open arms and they give their mamí's food that you've never tried before and it's fucking DELICIOUS just like they said and your convo is a mix of hero talk and catching up

You get closer and closer because all that buried love is bursting out and you're a team again but then,you're reminded why you're here.Your dad is a monster and you want out of that haunted 'home'.Your first friend makes you feel safe for once so you try to stick around as long as you can and they're happy you do even if things are getting harder.They see you more than ever now

You haven't always had it easy and you're not the only one.You didn't wanna hurt them but you did.You thought you knew the rest but you didn't.In every other generation,Hades kids are outcasts and in every other generation,it dosen't end well.They're angry at you,of course they are,you BETRAYED them so you're not angry back,you only want to explain and they don't wanna hear it but they don't hate you now like you've convinced yourself.Nothing could ever make them hate you,not even canon itself and the crush isn't a crush anymore,it's grown into something woven into your souls that you both put there.Maybe some things are meant just for you two

It's not easy but you repair your relathionship and that's when the illusions of eachother completely shatter and you're both better for eachother for it.She's not an unattainable perfect goddess,she's a huge dork with dork tastes and all that shit she's pulled wasn't even planned beforehand,she's just batshit insane and she's your best friend ever and he's not a meek little helpless boy you can't let do things by himself,he's one of the strongest hero's in existence and can stand up to people way older than him with no fear-not unlike you actually!-and you're reminded why you believed in him so much even without seeing much of him on the field and he's your favorite boy ever.You have so much history and it's been rough but you're together now and when it's only you two,you finally feel normal.There's a first time for everything,right?

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kusaka6e · 2 years

Text

PRETTY GIRL

ts!iwaizumi x fem!reader

NSFW, 18+ !!!

warnings: fingering, overstimulation, dacryphilia, katoptronophilia, praise kink, sprinkles of degradation, insecure reader, soft dom iwa ??? (idk what else this shit nasty y’all)

wc: ~1.7k

———

iwaizumi was really good at curing your insecurities. of course, he did the usual boyfriend thing, reassuring you that you were perfect for him and that the things bothering you were really no big deal, etc etc.

but that wasn’t all he did.

he always knew when you were feeling down about your appearance, before you ever had a chance to say anything about it. he’d memorized the way you looked at yourself from every angle in the mirror, the way the corners of your mouth turned down as you tried to hide your distaste, the long sigh you’d let out as you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need to change. he had all your little habits and tells down to a science, so he could stop your runaway train of thoughts before it even started.

“that dress looks great on you.”

“thanks.” you mumble, still staring at the way it's hugging your hips in the mirror as you adjust the fabric for the millionth time. he sighs, rising from his spot on you two’s bed to lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, crossing his arms and giving you a knowing smile.

“it does. stop thinking so hard about it.”

“it makes my hips look lumpy.” he playfully rolls his eyes, making you pout.

“there isn’t a thing wrong with how that dress fits you. and even if you change, you’ll still look beautiful.”

you let out a long exhale, turning to look at your backside in the dress and finding that the sight makes a lump begin to take place in your throat.

“i just wanted to feel pretty.” your voice is barely above a whisper, and he swears he can hear his heart break.

“baby, you are pretty. why don’t you think so?”

you begin to list all the things about your body that bother you, iwaizumi noticing that you’re also listing some of his favorite things. finally, he cuts your rant short, lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

“hajime!” you burst into giggles, lightly hitting his back in protest.

he sits down on the chaise in you two’s room, effectively sitting you on his lap.

“y’know, if anyone else said some of the stuff i’ve heard you say about yourself, i’d kick their ass.”

you avoid his gaze, fidgeting with your fingers.

“i know.”

“so, what am i gonna do with you for saying that?”

your breath hitches in your throat, looking up to meet his darkened eyes.

“you got all dressed up for me in this, and then you have the nerve to say you look bad in it?” he pinches the hem of your dress, lips ghosting down your neck as he plants a small kiss on your collarbone.

“well, i-i just-”

he cuts you off with a kiss, hands cradling both sides of your face. you’re thankful that you’re already sitting, knowing that his actions would’ve made your knees weak otherwise. he tugs your thighs onto either side of his waist, one hand resting on the small of your back. he places a kiss right behind your ear, making his way down your jawline.

“how ‘bout i make you feel as good as you look?”

he grins at the glazed over look in your eyes, finding your being flustered adorable.

“yea?” he looks you up and down as you nod, gently guiding your hips to roll against his.

he hikes your dress up a bit, exposing one of his favorite pairs of underwear beneath the material.

“you know i love these. i almost don’t wanna take ‘em off.” you falter as he presses his fingers against your clothed core, the smirk on his face only driving you crazier.

“haji, p-please.”

“please what, angel? you want me to touch you?”

“mhm.” you whimper, nodding.

he pulls your panties to the side, grabbing your wrist as you make a move to pull the dress over your head.

“uh uh, you look too pretty in this for it to come off just yet.”

you’re unable to utter another word, partially surprised by what he said and partially because he’s circling a finger around your entrance, knowing he’s teasing the hell out of you. you let out a whine, grinding your hips against his hand to try to gain more friction.

“needy, huh?”

he brings his lips against yours as he finally slips a finger inside you, using his thumb to toy with your clit as you let out a moan.

“you’re so beautiful like this, baby. and i’ve barely gotten started.” he adds another finger, using his other hand to pull you ever-closer to him. your eyes are screwed shut, your head already beginning to spin at the amount of pleasure coursing through you.

“look at me.”

“i can’t, haji, i-”

“look at me. you can look in that mirror all damn day and lie to yourself, right? look at me.”

he grins as your lashes flutter open, cupping the back of your neck to keep your eyes on him.

“see? that’s a good girl, you’re doing so well.” the soft tone of his voice contrasting with the increasing pace of his fingers nearly makes you see stars, knowing your moments away from release.

“close? not ‘till i say so, okay?” he doesn’t even have to ask, of course he knows. but the needy look on your face when he asks? he wouldn’t pass up a chance to see that.

“what?”

“you can take a little more, angel. i know you can.”

“please, lemme cum haji, i-, ‘s too much.” he grins as you babble, returning his thumb to your clit and watching your eyes flutter closed again.

“say you’re the prettiest girl, and then i’ll let you cum.”

“‘mtheprettiest.” you mumble quickly, blushing profusely.

“louder, baby.”

“i- fuck, i’m the prettiest, haji.” you look at him with nothing short of desperation, clawing your hands into his broad shoulders. he nods, and within seconds you’re coming undone, sweat beginning to bead along your forehead.

before you have time to process, he wraps your legs completely around his waist, carrying you back into the bathroom with purpose. he holds you easily with one arm around you, the other fiddling with his belt buckle.

as the material comes undone, you tug at his waistband, eyebrows furrowing when he gently bats your hands away.

“this is about you. we can worry about me another time.” he grins at you in the mirror, eyeing your body hungrily.

“o-okay.” you nod.

he loops his fingers around your panties, pulling them off and tossing them into you two’s room somewhere.

“dress stays on.” you slightly frown, making him grip your hips.

“you still don’t think you look pretty?” the tone of his voice makes your eyes widen, hesitating before shrugging your shoulders.

“i dunno.”

“you don’t know? look at you, baby.” he runs his hands up your sides, cupping your breasts and fondling your nipples through the thin material of your dress. he smiles as your knees wobble, holding you up against the sink.

“pretty eyes, pretty shoulders, pretty hips, pretty pussy. you’ve got it all, angel.”

you shake your head, making him frown.

“still don’t believe me?”

“maybe a little.” he smiles widely, slipping a hand between your legs.

“i guess i’ll have to keep showing you, huh?”

he pulls his pants and underwear down in one move, slowly bending you over the sink. you stare into the sink in anticipation, letting out a gasp when his hand wraps around your neck, bringing you to stare yourself in the mirror.

his head drops back in pleasure as he slides inside you, groaning lowly.

“you feel so fucking good.”

within minutes, the only sound in the bathroom is skin meeting skin, paired with both of your moans.

“how’s the dress look now, hm? wearing it while you’re taking me so well, look at you.” he smirks at you in the mirror, biting into your shoulder as he quickens his pace. you only respond with a whimper, unable to think straight.

“all that shit you were talking, where’s it at now? still got anything bad to say?”

“n-no, i don’t.”

“you know the rules baby. say it and i’ll let you cum.”

“i’m the prettiest.” you mumble, eyes focused on anything but your own reflection.

“you’re not even looking, how do you know? go on, look and tell me how pretty you are.”

you whine as you look yourself in the mirror, eyes glazed over and hips bouncing in time with iwaizumi.

“i-i’m… the prettiest.” you’re barely able to speak through your moans, only egging him on. he leans close to your ear as he gives you permission to cum, his hand moving to play with your clit before completely riding out your orgasm. this makes you cry out, his hand never budging from your neck and making you watch.

“c’mon, gimme another.” and before you know it another orgasm is rushing through you, tears beginning to gather in your eyes from overstimulation.

“you gonna cry? go ahead, you always look so pretty after.” he hated making you cry any other time, but seeing tears pour down your face as you moaned his name made his mind go to nearly feral places.

“haji, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“say it.”

“i’m the prettiest, i-i’m the prettiest.” the phrase leaves your mouth more times than you can count, desperate for some kind of release.

“that’s a good girl. go on, baby.” you’re almost sure you’re going to pass out, thankful for iwaizumi’s strong grip on your hips as you ride out your orgasm. you barely notice him finishing on your lower back, one hand between your legs to help you finish.

you’re both breathless, your head hanging as you inhale and exhale deeply. after a minute, you raise your eyes to his, hair flipping back over your shoulders.

“holy shit.”

he grins, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

“maybe that’ll help you remember how pretty you are, huh?”

#haikyuu #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi oneshot #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi headcanons #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x female reader

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sweetheartstan · 7 months

Text

Uhhhhh so... bloons am I right? Alright, talked about it last post, and I actually do intend on following up on the silliness that is me talking about towers and their strengths and weaknesses, both 'cause it is indeed actually quite fucking fun AND I get to hear myself talk for awhile, so a win win really. Just know I probably won't do this very often, mostly because of how goddamn complicated this all is. Bloons isn't the deepest Tower Defence game out there, but there's still a lot to talk about with each towers, like crosspathing and synergies with other towers, and that takes a lot of brainpower for me because I am not smart in the slightest!

As some notes before I jump into all this, I wanna say that I am NOT a bloons expert. I play BTD6 pretty regularly and can play it well, but I am the type who still struggles with elite bosses (I'm bad at farming). I do however play a ton on CHIMPS, and I'm MOSTLY gonna be talking about the towers in the context of CHIMPS games. That doesn't mean I'll talk about them only in that context, but know that is the main perspective I am speaking of any tower on. I also wanna note that when I say late game, I mean Rounds 80-100, and I'll use the term "aftergame" for anything post 100.

That said, Dart Monkey! Silly creature, and suprsingly a very good tower overall! The biggest positive I can give Dart Monkey overall is how fucking cheap the bastard is, being the cheapest tower in the game to place down. Aside from middle path, you aren't really gonna be breaking the bank to get T5's (Or T4's) with the little fella. They are also great in the early game no matter what path you go, though I personally think one is the obvious pick of the bunch.

That cheapness wouldn't really matter too much if the tower didn't have good damage it could deal and honestly, only one path is kinda consistently good at that? Not to devalue the other paths or say they don'tdo at least alright damage, but there's one specific path with Dart that's very apparent in being the best in most situations, due to how well it carries into late game and it being relatively cheap for how fucking powerful it is. It's ironically its biggest weakness in my eyes, but I'll get to that momentarily; got two other paths to talk about afterall.

Top Path Dart sucks in most situations!

It's big draw (aside from being the cheapest of the three paths) is that it increases the pierce of the darts before lobbing spiked balls of death at the bloons, with each upgrade letting the ball last longer, before the T5 makes it a giant ball that explodes into smaller balls upon hutting any obstacle/the edge on the screen. I think the biggest positive is that the path overall is super cheap and is good at early game defense, and could even crush Round 63 in the right circumstances. It's also a god at smashing cermrics, seemingly making them evaporate on touch, can pop all bloon types (minus camo) with just a 500, and has some excellent pierce to it. However, there's a lot of issues with said path.

The tower does NOT scale well to later rounds on most maps. It's alright at dealing with anything but MOAB class bloons, so it starts drowning as the game goes on. It just doesn't have the raw damage to keep up overtime. It also plays best when it's placed with at the end of a straight line, which while that works out well on beginner maps, it's basically almost impossible to find on some harder maps, meaning it's gonna fail about and pray that it can hit something.

On top of that, the whole "breaking out into more balls" gimmick the 5xx Dart has is basically useless on basically all maps, due to the balls bursting in cone formation, meaning the balls quickly spread out and do almost no additional damage to shit like MOABs.

There are some positives though. This tower, if used on a map that's really inclosed (like Cornfield or Encrypted), can fucking DEMOLISH almost anything that gets near it. That cone shape doesn't matter too much in a small location, and combine that with it constantly shooting? The damage does actually quite stack up and makes it a real damn threat. It's a very situational tower in that regard, being only really good on a handful of maps, but man does it makes those maps it's bitch.

As for crosspathing, objectively speaking, Middle is 99% of the time the best way to go with this one. Sure it can't hit camo, but that's nothing some other monkeys can't help with (or just use a village). A 502 is viable in certain situations (ie its your main defence but you can’t get a village near it), but just go with faster attack speed if you really wanna melt some fuckers.

The biggest positive/negative about Top Path is its situational uses. On certain maps, it will fuck up the bloons in worse ways than the other two paths can ever dream of. On basically every other map, the other two paths are fucking LEAGUES better than it. It's really only a tower I can recommend only if you are using it on certain maps... with that said, I love this path all the same. Is it bad? Mostly yes. Is it fucking fun to use? HELL YEAH IT IS. Nothing more satisfying than seeing this really mediocre tower shread through higher layered bloons like its nothing. Personally, I think this path is very fun to use in a "can I get away playing like this?" sort of way, where you try to push yourself to the limit. And as one final positive, it's dirt cheap for a T5! Only around 18K on Hard pricing iirc, so it won't even really break the bank to get.

Overall, Top Path Dart is a guilty pleasure of mine, but can be a legitimately great tower on the right map. I wouldn't really seriously recommend it otherwise, but maybe use it to have some fun once in awhile. Could be a nice shake up to most of the bog standard strats.

I'll cover the middle path sometime later, this was a lot more writing than I expected tbh. I hope yall enjoyed reading this. If I got anything wrong or you didn't like reading it for whatever reason, I will NOT be taking criticism! (I am joking please tell me if I fucked up or how I could do better, love this sort of thing).

Thanks for reading, yall the real ones :3c

#bloons #btd6 #bloons td 6 #i speant over 2 hours writing this god fucking help me please im

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psychotic4ghost · 10 months

Text

:Siren & The 141:

A/n: This chapter really is just filler, I won't lie. I also wanted to start expanding on Mykie and Ghost's relationship a little more :) WC: 2182 Masterlist prev pt next pt

🚨 Warnings 🚨 Drinking, alcohol, drunk people, fluff, banter

Chapter 5 - Banter Shamnter

The morning had rolled around. Mykie carefully slid out of bed, her shoulder was stiff from sleeping on her back. She was ordered to see the nurse every morning for meds and ice. Mykie stumbled to her small bathroom, brushed her teeth, put on deodorant (to the only armpit she could lift her arm to reach), and headed toward the door.

She was stopped by a small folded piece of paper that had been slid under her door.

Mykie scanned the note and giggled to herself. She shoved the note in her sweatpants pocket and headed towards the nurse’s quarters.

“Alright, as promised, I’m here,” Mykie announced as she entered the nurse’s office.

“Good, you’re late. Is your shoulder giving you trouble?” She asked politely.

“Only, a little. Those pain meds you gave me worked wonders. I am extremely stiff though.”

“Have a seat, I’ll take a look.” The nurse directed her as she grabbed some gauze and other items needed for her rebandaging.

“I already know this is gonna hurt.” Mykie nervously chuckled as she sat down on the examination table.

The nurse made quick work of changing the gauze that was wrapped tightly around Mykie’s shoulder.

Mykie pushed open the heavy doors to the mess hall, the clatter echoing in the empty room. Excused from drills for a few weeks while she healed, she found herself alone in the spacious hall. Taking a seat at one of the tables, she pulled out her phone and mindlessly scrolled through social media posts from acquaintances in the outside world. Puppies, weddings, and growing families filled her feed, evoking a mixture of longing and contemplation.

As Mykie sighed, her thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Soap into the mess hall. He plopped down across from her with a tired sigh. "That was one hell of a morning. How did your morning go?" he asked, seeking some camaraderie.

"Nurse visit," Mykie replied, absentmindedly fidgeting with her phone. "She redid my wraps. It hurt, but not as bad as getting shot, so I guess there's that."

Ghost quietly took a seat next to Mykie, a bit closer than usual, while Gaz occupied the seat on her other side, engrossed in his own thoughts.

Sensing an opportunity for some banter, Soap leaned forward, resting his head on his hands. "So, wanna tell us anything?" he prodded, his curiosity evident.

"No?" Mykie raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

Soap persisted, undeterred. "You sure? Sounded like you were up late last night."

Caught off guard, Mykie stumbled for a response. "Uh, well, I have insomnia, so maybe you heard me working out to tire myself?" she offered, regretting her choice of explanation.

"Working out, huh?" Soap's grin grew wider, sensing a hidden story.

"Yes, Soap. I was working out," Mykie replied, rolling her eyes, hoping to divert suspicion.

Soap narrowed his eyes, undeterred by her deflection. "Well, if you're gonna work out in the middle of the night, don't hit the wall with your bed. And was Ghost helping? Because of your arm?" he quipped, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I was alone, dealing with this searing pain, all by myself," Mykie retorted, trying to maintain her composure.

Soap let out a defeated sigh, shrugging his shoulders. "I know what I saw, him leaving your room but if you want to deny it, so be it. I know y'all were fucking."

Ghost nearly spat out his morning tea, Mykie choked on her bacon, and Gaz burst into snorts of laughter.

"That's a bold assumption, Soap," Ghost managed to say after composing himself.

"Did you guys forget that Mykie and I share a wall? The walls may be brick, but you can still hear shiet," Soap said matter-of-factly, relishing the reactions.

"I was alone, Soap," Mykie retorted, her tone playfully hissing.

Soap shrugged his shoulders, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "If you say so."

“Even if I...had Ghost over, what would it matter, hm?" Mykie's voice took on a defensive edge, her frustration mounting.

"It wouldn't matter. But see how you're breaking? I mentioned it, and now you're getting all defensive, Mykie. Why get defensive if there's no reason?" Soap's grin grew wider, his plan to rile her up seemingly successful.

Ghost took notice of Mykie's mood shift; she was turning pink, and her leg was bouncing non-stop. He gently placed his hand on her thigh, trying to offer comfort and calm her down.

"Ugh, whatever. Yeah. He was in my room," Mykie responded, rolling her eyes and leaning back slightly.

"I knew it! What does this mean? Y'all dating?!" Soap interjected eagerly.

Before Mykie could respond, Ghost cut in, his tone firm yet understanding. "Soap, drop it. Let her be. She'll tell you when she's ready."

But Mykie couldn't resist a playful retort. "No, no. It's fine. It just means I was the victorious one, the one who could break the cold hard shell of Simon 'Ghost' Riley. Something Soap couldn't do," she smirked, clearly teasing.

Soap, ever the joker, couldn't resist a witty response. "That's not fair! You have tits, I am clearly at a disadvantage," he gasped, playing along.

Ghost couldn't help but roll his eyes at their banter. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath.

Mykie raised an eyebrow, ready to engage in the playful exchange. "You think tits were the only thing that let me win?" she retorted, challenging Soap's assumption.

Soap's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Well, yeah, look at 'em!" he responded, playfully emphasizing his point.

“Soap. Drop it.” Ghost warned.

“Fine, fine. What are y’all then?” Soap continued despite saying he would drop it.

Mykie and Ghost both rolled their eyes this time. “Not much. We aren’t sure yet. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Mykie pointed a threatening finger at Soap. “Eat your damn breakfast.”

Soap continued to poke fun at Ghost and Mykie for the rest of the day. It didn’t take long for Price to catch on. He gave them a small lecture about how this could impact the team. But Mykie, being snarky and stubborn, told him it wouldn’t be an issue. Of course, as soon as she walked away, Ghost and Price burst into laughter.

The night was coming to a close, dinner was just starting and everyone was sitting around again.

“Did you hear that overwatch is putting the mission on hold?” Gaz asked the group as Mykie and Ghost joined them.

“For about two weeks.” Ghost chimed in.

“Two weeks? Why, L.T.?” Soap asked, quite confused.

Ghost shifted closer to the team, “After our last mission, with no intel being at the site, we have no leads. Overwatch is doing all they can. But until we are given a new mission, we’re on standby. If you choose to leave, stay close. You are still on call.” Ghost informed.

A shit eating grin formed on Soap’s face, “So I can go to the nearest pub, is what you’re saying?”

Ghost sighed followed by another eye roll. “Yes.”

Soap and Mykie both locked eyes and gave each other a rather hard fist bump. “We should go tonight! I could really use a shot.” Mykie suggested to the whole group. Gaz, Soap, Alejandro and Rudy all agreed. (Price was dragged along as they were heading out the door.)

“Ghost? You’ll come right?” Mykie asked as she noticed his lack of response.

“Are you going to let me say no?”

“Nope!” Mykie beamed at her Lieutenant. As soon as the clock hit 7:00pm, the team had clambered into a few of the jeeps on base and took off to the nearest pub. Ghost insisted on driving. Mykie took the passenger seat and Gaz, Soap and Alejandro climbed in the back. Price and Rudy chose to ride separately.

“I’ve never been to this one.” Soap glanced up at the neon lights above the bar door.

“It’s a new one I wanted y’all to try.” Alejandro piped in.

The boys and Mykie filed into the medium sized pub. Alejandro ordered the table a few rounds of cheap shots. Soap and Mykie didn’t hesitate to start their fun.

The sound of fancy shoes tapped the floor as a middle aged woman with blonde hair pulled into a neat bun approached their table.

“Laswell.” Price tipped his hat.

“Price. Good to see the team.” The lady, Mykie now presumed was named Laswell, joined the table.

“This is Mykie. I sent you her files.” Price informed, nodding to Mykie who had just finished her second shot, now a little embarrassed. This person definitely seemed important and now her first impression of Mykie was her knocking back shots.

“No need to worry about first impressions, Mykie.” Laswell chuckled as she watched Mykie quickly choke back her shot and sit up properly. “My name is Kate Laswell, station chief. And a close friend of John Price.”

Mykie stuck a hand out across the table for Laswell to shake. She took her hand without hesitation. “Price informed of this little get together and extended and invite, that’s all.”

“You can stop with the formal tone, Laswell.” Price chuckled.

The rest of the table gave out some hearty chuckles. They all continued their drinking. Price, Rudy, Ghost, and Laswell all ordered some form of drink on the rocks, something to sip.

“Mykie, what’s your call sign?” Laswell asked the now very intoxicated Mykie.

“Siren.” Mykie giggled out.

“It’s ‘cause she’s smokin’ hot and lures in the lads. Makes ‘em easier to take out, ye ken?” Soap slurred out, his accent was almost too thick for anyone to understand. The whole table burst out in more laughter. “I mean look at ‘er. Damn!” He continued his slurred complements until Ghost gave him a good smack on the back of the head. “That’s enough Johnny.” He grumbled.

“It’s more like 'cause she’s loud.” Gaz snorted. Mykie leaned over and punched Gaz rather lazily in the shoulder.

“How many shots have you guys had?” Ghost asked as he watched Mykie almost fall out of her seat.

“Dunno.” Mykie and Soap said in unison.

“I think we should wrap it up. I’ll get the tab. Drag Soap and Mykie out of here please, Ghost.” Price ordered as he stood from his seat. Him and Laswell headed to the counter to pay for the drinks.

Ghost threw a handful of bills on the tablet and swung Mykie’s arm over one shoulder and Soap’s over his other and lugged them out of the pub.

“You smell good.” Mykie mumbled as Ghost threw her into the passenger seat after tossing Soap in the back.

“And you smell like a pub.” Ghost let out a soft, almost unnoticeable chuckle.

“My arm hurts.” Mykie whined as Ghost buckled himself in and started the engine.

“Shouldn’t have punched Gaz. You hit him with your bad arm.” Ghost sighed as he took off down the almost empty streets of Las Almas. The ride wasn’t too long. Soap had already passed out in the back seat and Mykie wasn’t too far behind him in that sleepy department.

Ghost pulled up to the parking spots of their base. He left Mykie in the locked car as he lugged Soap up the stairs and down the hall to his room. He tossed him on the bed, removed his boots and closed his door.

“Where did you go?” Mykie asked lazily as Ghost approached the car.

“Had to take Soap to his room. How ‘bout we do the same for you, yeah?” Ghost leaned over Mykie and undid her seat belt. Mykie slung her arms and upper half over his shoulders as he lifted her out of the car.

“Carry me?” Mykie pouted.

Ghost didn’t hesitate to throw her over his shoulder, her ass in the air and head down behind his back.

“This isn't what I had in mind.” Mykie said as she let go of all her weight. She ragdolled over his shoulder as he lugged her into the base. Ghost kicked open her door and plopped her down on her bed. He was getting ready to leave when she gripped his glove. She had only managed to grab the pinky of his glove. “Stay?” she mumbled out, her eyes fell to the floor as she kept hold of his glove.

Ghost looked down at her grip on his glove. He stared for a moment, contemplating his options. He let her small hand pull him towards her. He sat on the bed next to her as she fell into him. She let all her weight fall into him. “Thank you.” She hummed.

Ghost felt her weight press into him. Her small figure curled up against him. Before she could get too comfortable, he lifted himself up and dragged himself up on the bed so his back was against the wall. He pulled her up with him and laid her next to him. Her body looked so small next to his. They didn’t get to cuddle the last time. Not like this. Mykie, half asleep, pushed her head into his shoulder, one of her legs was slung over his legs as she hugged tightly onto his side. Ghost rubbed up and down her small arm as she drifted off to sleep.

#call of duty #cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley call of duty #simon riley #mw2 simon riley #oc #task force 141 #taskforce141

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nephilim-tears · 2 years

Text

❝𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒❞

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 Warnings: F! Reader, Sploshing [food mention], Sensory play, Body worship, Daddy kink, Word count:3k+ ↳ Smut :: Whatever this says about me psychologically I don’t wanna know. Browse my catalog? You are responsible for the content you consume, as always read with care.

Not a shadow lingered under the docile orange glow of the street lamps flickering around the melancholy-blue suburban neighborhood. The still calmness drafted through your windows, it’s the kind of quiet that makes the twinkle of the stars sound louder than the dimming hum of the car engine outside.

Over the news anchors decanting the week’s events, you hear him rustling, one leg at a time, as he hoists himself over the window ledge. His boots hit the floor with a thud after he discards them with quickness.

“Steve?” You ask not even facing him, who else would it be?

The house's emptiness echoes under his feet as he closes the distance, snaking his arms around your torso and pulling you in for a tight hug. He nestles his head comfortably in the crook of your neck, his black leather jacket pressed cold and firm against your skin.

“I come baring gifts,” he whispers, dangling a tub of half-melted Rocky Road ice cream in your face.

It’s a joyous occasion when Steve habitually sneaks into your room but today feels different. He felt different, it’s as if the over-saturated somberness from outside bled through his hazel eyes like blue ink seeping past white pages tainting your fingertips with every touch.

“I know you didn’t drive all the way out here to bring me your favorite ice cream you stole from your day job,” over your shoulders, you smooth your thumb across his soft cheek, “Love of mine, what happened?”

“Got into it with my old man again.” He grumbled, confidence dissolving at your fingertips, “I just needed to see you tonight.” The crack in his voice broke the threshold waning his capacity for tragedy.

Sympathies were in order devoid of judgment, he didn’t need to elaborate, you’re familiar with his father and the nature of their heated arguments. After he escapes the fray, it’s not unusual he comes to seek solace when he’s at his most vulnerable; to stay this close is an act of self-preservation, he knows that.

Together you have fortified barricades around each other and made a home in it, it’s a defense against intruders. And when his crippling self-doubt seeps through the foundation, you take it upon yourself to encourage him to abandon his courage to hurt.

Steve is raw, easily hurt Romantics are often like that, where he sees wounds you see the totality of the man you love.

He backtracks on his decision not wanting you to simmer in unearned misery, “I shouldn’t have come here, I’m getting too complacent and comfortable because I know you’ll readily pick up the pieces.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” your tone sounding more defensive than you intended it to. After a deep breath you tried again, “Steve, in case anyone hasn’t told you yet, you’re enough. I’m proud of the man I’ve watched you grow into. And I am lucky to have known what love felt like in your hands, I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

While he pondered your words, you spoke again quieter than before, “It’s ok to be vulnerable, you don’t need to save everyone all the time.”

“You’ve saved me more times than I can count,” he adds, his voice light and ruminating.

“Oh and your dad’s a dick. Want me to fight him for you?” His charming boyish giggle spilled from his lips. It’s a sound he’s quite self-conscious of, thinking it’ll ruin his rolling stone reputation if anyone knew ‘King Steve’ giggled; You can’t help but disagree.

Steve sighs contently, realizing this was the first time all week since he’d felt a spontaneous burst of joy. Knowing he no longer needed to walk on eggshells, he lowered his guard letting his tense shoulders sag.

You whirled around, then stretched on your tippy toes and pressed your lips to his and the sun against his heat; melancholy-blue be damned. Steve melts green before the warmth of gold breaks through, maybe it was the mental image of you fighting his dad. Or maybe it was the solidarity and security he felt when he was with you that raised his hopes and made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” you smile, unwrapping the ice cream, handing him a spoon, and taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

From his crisscrossed position on the floor, Steve rests one hand on his cheek, and the other twirls the spoon between his fingers. Half a pint later he had stopped eating with every intention of leaving the last bits for you.

“Baby, I need to get you new roses,” he said mostly to himself as he eyed the bouquet he got you last week idly. Busying yourself with the ice cream you hummed in approval. Steve had refined tastes, he preferred the classics, red roses—a dozen every date night without fail. Which you’d preserve by your bedside without fail until he buys you fresh ones. Judging by their darkened colors and slumped posture, last week’s had begun to wilt and he thought wilted roses were not worthy of your presence.

Speaking of, his eyes trailed over your figure and fixated on the faintest smile that tugged your chocolate-stained lips upwards. A pink tongue darting from behind your lips to occasionally lick the silver spoon, then coiling back into your mouth. He took note of what you were wearing for the first time that night and thought you looked especially pretty. The dimly lit tv casts a vivid kaleidoscopic ethereal glow reflecting on your skin, your messy hair falling past the low scoop v neckline on your satin cream night dress that stopped midthigh, the—

“Steve”

“Hmm?” His eyes swiftly found yours, the dusty sunset pink spilled across his cheeks like water paint became more vibrant with each passing second, if you were a stranger he’d feel guilty for staring.

Your pinky finger touched your nose and then you pointed to his nose.

“Oh.” He stuck his tongue out trying to reach the stray bits of ice cream but to no avail. His strenuous wiggling motion sent you into a fit of giggles.

“Here, let me,” you bent down and licked it off the tip of his nose.

His breath hitched in his throat and he blinked at you twice not understanding the excitement that had begun to stir inside him. The gesture was so mundane and innocent enough, that you weren’t phased by it, instead, you resumed your original position occupying yourself with the tub.

Your faint “Oh no,” eased him out of his daze, as a splotch of chocolate slid down your chest.

“I got you,” he rose absentmindedly, hunched over your body, and dragged his tongue in one long broad stroke up your cleavage licking the sweet sticky bead. You flinch at the contact of his cold soft tongue sweeping against your warm skin.

Oh fuck.

Startled, he stared wide-eyed at your chest rapidly rising and falling, the area he licked had gone prickly with cold goosebumps from his saliva. “Was that you?” he whispered still processing the motion that unlocked something new and primal within him— the need to devour. Somehow his favorite ice cream tasted sweeter against your skin.

“No,” you swallowed, voice equally soft.

In tandem, your heads swung towards the tv and sighed at the embarrassing display that subdued the frustrating tension. The evening news had long ended, Spice, a scrambled salacious soft core midnight porn channel took its place.

Clearing your throat you wiggled from his personal space reaching for the remote but stopped when you felt a heavy hand rest atop of yours, “Wait no, don’t turn it off, I like this one.”

Slightly irritated you knitted your brows in disbelief looking back at him.

“What?” he shrugged innocently, “If I squint, the actress sort of looks like you.”

Fighting the urge to cringe at his candid confession, you smiled sweetly; he picked his erotic actresses based on your likeness.

As a surge of confidence emerges, you sized the moment, “I’ll do you one better.” You tossed the remote to the side turning your attention to Steve leaning back on both elbows on the bed, “Let’s make one.”

Weighing his options, he concluded it was entirely possible, the video camera he got you for your birthday sat an arm’s length away on your bookshelf, though he couldn’t tell if you were joking or not.

Still skeptical, he narrowed his eyes, “And if someone else sees it?”

“Then you better give them a good show, Mr. Harrington.” The corner of your mouth hooked upwards in a devilish smirk.

From reserve to assertive to now bold and experimental, Steve has watched you grow throughout the duration of the relationship with fascination. Pride swells in his chest as he witnesses facets of your personality only privy to him. Intrigued and invested, he can’t wait to meet the woman you’ll be in ten years.

“C’mere here,” he grabs your ankle and pulls you closer to his body, wedging a knee between your legs. Even though his jeans his firm muscles felt the heat radiating from your skin, he groaned at the sensation.

With steady hands, he reached for the delicate scoop of your gown’s neckline. It was a gentle fit, the lightest of touch at his fingertips pushed the thin silk straps down. The soft material tumbled passively over your breasts, past your thighs to the floor.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” he hovers over your naked body placing a small kiss behind your ear, letting his soft lips linger on your skin.

“Nothing’s in me yet, but you can change that.”

The disarming vulgar suggestion sounded like added sweetener stirred in bitter seduction, he clenched his jaw as his hardened cock twitched in his pants.

Amused, he knows you’ve tasted the power of promiscuity, and while he’s tempted to encourage your boldness; he, unfortunately, calls the shots in the sheets and will not concede without a fight.

Harrington stood back fully cloth at the edge of the bed stretching over the bookshelf to retrieve the camera. After he finished inspecting it he held it in position, letting his finger hover over the power button, “I’m giving you an out, Angel. Take it.”

You rolled to the center of the bed, parted your legs, and beckoned him closer with your pointer finger. His eyes flashed like summer lightning as he mirrors the coy smile creeping up on your lips. “Aw, there she is, the star of this show. My pretty girl and her pretty pussy— my perfect little cock sucker.”

The camera eclipsed half of Steve's face and shamelessly blinked envy-green in your direction at a steady pace, ushering actions forward in steep anticipation. You shuddered at the sight of the lens pointed directly at your naked body flat against the mattress stretched luxuriantly.

Completely at his mercy your ardent lover gradients down the landscape of your exposed form from head to toe.

Immortalizing footage of every crack, of every crevice as he drags a free hand groping your soft skin along the way, occasionally dropping kisses haphazardly. Enjoying the view through the invasive lens that illuminated the edges of your silhouette against the crisp white sheets.

He paused his movements at your core pulling your glistening folds back, and planted a soft open mouth kiss, letting the tip of his tongue brush against your slit. “Dream girl,” he whispered, the lens remained fixated on your pussy but he lifted his head ever so slightly to make eye contact, “I’ve wanted my whole life for you.”

Despite the aforementioned rolling stone persona, nothing about Steve’s love was cheap. You've grown to recognize those frowned brows and dilated pupils as sincerity when they lock with yours like this. Even as the weight of his words and evidence of your dripping devotion lingered on his lips, the earnestness was hard to miss.

Between the stillness of the world, your quickening pulse and breath, there was little room to ponder his words, your mind began to slip into obscurity. Your thoughts scattered and displaced as he strummed the ending strings of your nerves with his thumb like an instrument he had mastered.

Suffocated by the greed that gripped your throat, you gritted your teeth and tugged him closer by the collar of his expensive leather jacket.

The words came out, “I need you,” hushed against his lips, but the kiss meant: Melt into me forever.

Steve untangled himself from you, gently placing the camera on the shelf. The bulky thing stood upright requiring no effort, shamelessly staring at you with its one wide-open eye.

He shrugged off the jacket, then fluidly pulled the shirt over his head, hard biceps flexing and feather-soft tresses wisping at the motion. Tantalizingly slow he unbuckles his belt stepping out of his pants and underwear pooled at his feet.

Hawkins finest tilts his chin upwards, his Adam’s apple protruding with pride. He had every right to be. From outside, the dappled orange light drizzled across his smooth pale limbs. It embellished the tips of his gravity-defying hair casting a halo overhead that snuffed everything from your line of vision as he moved forward.

Sprawled under his weight, you rest easy stirring in his body heat ill with tenderness. Heavy-lidded, your body molding to the shape of his in submission. Was it an accusation or a confession? You did not know.

Dew-like dampness trickled down your thighs in plentitude, as his tip brushes your entrance slow enough to inevitably sow madness. Inch by inch he gradually sunk into you; deep and steady until he drove your last breath in one final huff.

The elegant lines of your neck pulled taught as you tipped your head back grappling the sheets beneath your toes. Wet and willing, you spread your legs further apart accepting everything he’s giving. His head wreathed in clouds of pleasure that struck a lightning bolt down his spine. Steve’s mouth hung agape, awestricken.

Then for your ears only, he grunted, “Who do you belong to, baby?”

“You.”

A reflex answer yet that made it no less true.

Both of his hands reached down to cradle your head, “My girl.” He affirmed, pressing his lips on your forehead.

Safe under his loving gaze, the stretch between your legs burned cinders under the raw skin. As if sun-blind by the heat you closed your eyes, the delicate fringe of your lashes fluttered against his skin.

The green, brown, and gold twilight in his dark eyes studied every muscle pressed against his, charted every breath that left your lips with keen intent till he was certain of respite.

“I— Steve, I can feel you in me.”

“We’d have a problem if you couldn’t.” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, every syllable was taunting you with delight.

“Stop mocking me,” you managed but the words held no sternness.

“I would never.”

He brushed your hair from your neck and skimmed the pads of his fingertips lovingly over your bare skin, “Such a good girl for me,” he praised, “Don’t move. My good girls get rewarded.”

His tone piqued your interest causing your pussy to pulsate around him, squeezing him in anticipation. If you had to describe the type of man Steve was in one word, the word was: Generous.

As soon as the cold liquid skittered against your skin you clamped down harder on his cock and squeaked in surprise. Wide-eyed your head titled to your chest in disbelief, Steve’s smug smirk unwavering as he held the now empty ice cream tub triumphantly.

His eyes reflected a new animality crippled by desire and lust, it remained undisturbed by your surprise. For once you felt like the prey you were in this dynamic.

Milky, sticky, and sweet the mess slowly dripped down your décolletage, his intense gaze fixated on a particular icy droplet that dangled off your nipple's peak. Steve licked his lips then attached his pink pout to the sensitive bud, sucking the sludge off.

You stifled a groan as he lowered his mouth to the valley between your breasts and lazily dragged his tongue towards the base of your throat. Your hands resting at the nape of his neck tugged the hair lightly urging him forward but to no avail.

His tongue circled your breast and tugged the sensitive nipple with his teeth enjoying the plush skin rippling under the released tension. Still robbing you of further friction, bit by bit, Steve licked every last drop of dessert off of you.

Impatient, dizzy, and eager you grind your pelvis closer, enjoying his heavy length when it twitched touching the nerves at the base of your spine to the tip of your toes.

Steve unattached his lips from the spot he was sucking, the patch now varying shades of blistering purples and grunted disapprovingly as he processed your unwillingness to remain still.

“I’m spoiling you,” he muttered.

“Mmm you’ve created a monster, now you gotta fuck it.” You taunt.

He smiles down at you sweetly, “Oh the horror.”

Had it been earlier in your relationship, you would have clung to every last word not daring to disobey, but he was not blameless. He is far too lenient and can’t resist the temptation that is bottled up and flavored: you.

The obedience was fun while it lasted but he preferred you spoiled and giddy, you deserved nothing less. What a sweet conundrum he thought, Steve hopes he never gets used to this—The passion, the devotion, and the banter.

Thus far, this love was pure luck he’s managed to manufacture for himself and that left him in the mood to worship.

Outside of the camera’s frame, he gathered a few loose petals that fell from the bedside bouquet and scattered them along your torso.

Prettily adorned in his affection, the crimson petals glued themselves to the sticky surface of your skin. No doubt creating a blazing contrast to your skin, his skin, and the sheets on film.

In true homemade movie fashion, Steve dragged a petal up your thigh, your hips, waist, breasts, and throat to the highest point of your cheekbones. You hummed delightfully at the sweet aromatic scent lulling you to an even more relaxed state.

He nodded towards the camera, “‘m gonna keep this forever. Trust me, people would pay to look at these.” his hands giving your tits one final squeeze.

When he begins to move in and out of you, the air is thick and warm. His grip on your things pins you closer to him prompting you to lose the sense of separate beings. The supple clay of your skin molded to the shape of his fingers dimpling in his hands. Leaving an indentation that will certainly bruise as proof of his existence for days.

You hooked your feet at the ankles urging him closer, harder, faster — his cock throbbed inside of you, he was close all he needed was a push over the edge.

“Stevie?” you whined over the squeaking bed, unsure what you’re asking for.

“Nu-uh,” he bumps his nose into yours, “Not ‘Stevie’ try again.” He grits his teeth grinding his pelvis in full circular motions into yours.

On command inexplicably, inadvertently you arched your back off the bed rising up to meet his body grinding down on you, threw your head back and moaned, “Aww daddy—”

Steve screwed his eyes shut, the words flipping a switch prompting him to thrust into you with the kind of vigor bound to break beds and hearts when he leaves.

Beads of cold sweat gather between his frowned brows dripping onto your forehead when his tongue found yours. His words muffling against yours, “That’s right. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“Steve, it’s, it’s too much.” you panted, drawing quick breaths after every thrust.

“Shh, I know, I know,” he coos towering over you, gaze fixated on the ripples of your breasts. “You can take it, I know you can. I’ve seen you do it so many times.”

You dug your nails into his firm biceps for support, “I’m gonna cum,” you squeaked.

“Go on baby,” he grunted, “You first, always.”

In split second the world fell silent.

And it was you alone staring at the blank after image of shock. In the dream-struck night, the stifled sound of Steve’s voice tethered you to a reality developing in fragments as you recalibrate your senses. The ringing static of the TV, the smell of the roses, his cologne, the fluid dripping down your thighs.

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you want me to help clean up,” his voice near your ear from where his head rested, on your shoulder.

“No.”

“Good call, I’ll just fuck it back in you later,” he yawns, feather-soft hair brushing your chin.

Engulfed by silence, Steve lays wary, a fugitive nestled deep inside your body, his skin still flushed red and glowing with sweat. Lovingly you traced the crescent moons you’d dug into his skin earlier and the freckle of stars that littered his back. If it wasn’t for the heavy thump of his heart vibrating against your chest, you’d think he was asleep.

Before you dozed off he whispered, “Let’s runaway, somewhere far away from this town. We can go anywhere you want.”

“You gotta put a ring on it first, mister.” you quipped.

“I got you.”

He’s got to stop saying that, ‘I got you’. He’s got something but it’s not you. And he places it in your chest. You feel it rattle against the bone when he fastens his fingers between the spaces of your gilded ribcage and pulls you closer. What he’s ‘got you’ is an echoing ancient ache. It makes you long for him when he leaves until he comes back and does this again and again and again, no he doesn’t ‘got you.’

You’ve got him.

#steve harrington #Steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington head cannon #stranger things #joe keery

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