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mxilkyways · 3 months ago

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Sweet Affairs

summary: after a hunt gone awry, dean is pissed that the reader had put her life on the line - however, through concealed feelings and misguided judgement the reader refuses to see why dean is so worked up. An argument ensues between the pair that reveal hidden emotions and lead to them indulging in what they both had been craving for so long.

warnings: very heavy smut (⚠️), all the shenanigans

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” his voice was taunt, gritted through clenched teeth as the door to the cheap motel slammed shut behind him.

Your jaw ticked, vein popping from under your skin as you swallowed down the obscenities you were tempted to spew at him. The tense silence on the car ride back had paid no help in trying to douse the frustration and insults whirling through your mind, rather having provided you the opportunity to stare daggers into the side of his head.

Your quietness seemed to push Dean even further, a disgruntled huff passing his lips as his fingers curled around your forearm; whirling you towards him. You whined in protest, attempting to tug yourself from his grip however his hold just tightened.

“Dont. Dont you dare try to pull away.” his tone left no room for argument and so you reluctantly stopped resisting. “Do you even understand what you did today?”

Your eyes narrowed, mirroring his, as you swallowed harshly. You could feel the anger in his hold, his fingertips dug in so hard there’s no doubt bruises would be left behind, yet it only served to fuel your own rage.

“Im not a baby, Dean. Of course i know what I did — i had a choice to make and I did what I thought was right.” venom leaked from your tongue, speaking to him in a manner that portrayed him as a petulant child.

A growl emitted low within his chest, his restraint clear on the verge of snapping. You watched as his head pivoted to the side, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It was barely a few seconds of peace before a scoff was drawn from his throat followed by the chastising echo of a laugh.

“Bullshit. You’re exactly what a fucking baby is — you got no goddamn brains throwing yourself into danger like that. You nearly got yourself killed, what about that screamed right to you?” he was provoking you, trying to get you to admit you were wrong but you were too stubborn for your own good.

Your eyes scanned over his face as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, biting so hard a metallic tang bled against your mouth. You noticed his gaze drop before he subconsciously moved, running his thumb along the outline of your bottom lip; pulling it from between your teeth.

You jerked your head backwards, away from his touch. “You’re acting like you wouldn’t do the same —“

“Its different” his words cut through yours. You glared at him again yet he seemed to pay no attention, his focus solely drawn to the blood that stained the cracks of your lips “you’re different”

This caused you to reel back, your arm yanking from his grip. Your chest heaved as disbelief coursed through your veins; eyes drawn almost into slits. Dean cursed as his fist clenched, dropping down to his side.

“Are you kidding me? How am I different, Dean? I had every right to do what I did and so what if I put my life at risk — the goddamn vampires are dead, thats all that should matter” your voice was raising with every word that left, your emotions coming to a boil.

You were about ready to turn and leave when Dean closed the distance between the two of you, his chest pressed so closely against yours you could feel the beat of his heart as it hammered against his ribcage. His fingers moulded to your chin, twisting so you had no choice but to look at him. His hold was so tight your cheeks squished inwards, your lips pouting involuntarily.

“You dont get it do you?” his tone was so grating you were left stunned, chests fitting together as you both struggled to cool down “I cant lose you — and when you do stupid shit like this, it scares me.”

Silence seemed to filter through the air as you registered his words, brain churning to try and decipher exactly what he was implying. His gaze jumped around your face, from your eyes to your lips, to your cheeks as his fingers flexed.

His hold loosened, hand sliding to the back of your neck as he now cradled you. His thumb swiped idly across your flesh, soothing down the impressions his nails had left behind. His lips drew into a thin line, an indication he was battling whatever was running through his mind, before his eyes snapped back to yours; a newfound sense of determination clear.

“I care about you, okay?” he paused, letting the words hang in the air “more than id ever bothered to admit to myself — to admit to you. You’re different because i dont know how the hell I would ever be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Dean, I —” the words got caught in your throat, a tight coil forming within your stomach. Your tone was no longer harsh rather it was weak, like all the air had been sucked from your lungs.

“Just listen… please” his eyes were half glossed over, his eyebrows drawn together in a desperate act of pleading. He didn’t wait for you to respond before he spoke again.

“Ive tried so hard to push down my feelings but you make it so goddamn difficult when every time you walk into the room, I feel like being sick because I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. I thought… I thought you’d cursed me, bewitched me cause’ there was no way I was finally falling in love with you, but then I realized that maybe — maybe you’re just that perfect.” his eyes closed momentarily, a sharp inhale whistling in the space between us. “I hate you for it, sometimes - having made me fall in love with you because when you do the things you did today, I panic. I would do anything to protect you but at times like this I feel so useless, helpless that I cant just take you away from every bad thing in this universe… m’ sorry for getting angry but can you blame me? I dont want to lose the only pure thing I was given the honor of loving in this godawful life”

Your lips were parted as you took in every word that left his tongue. You stood, frozen, your hands itching to reach out, touch him, show him how much his words meant to you. There seemed to be a buzzing in the air that vibrated against your skin, causing goosebumps to awake on your skin.

“You’re not joking are you?” the sentence sounded dumb the moment it entered into the space however your brain was running overdrive and it was impossible to control what slipped out.

Deans head fell back, a dry laugh tugging at his throat before he drew back, gazing at you with such disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“No” you shook your head, your own smile gracing your face before you leaned forward; connecting your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, your lips only slightly pressed against his as you tested the waters yet, almost clinically Dean deepened the contact. His hands moved across the flushed flesh of your neck, trailing over the blades of your shoulders, down the hollows of your back before coming to rest on the plush fat of your hips.

His fingers tightened possessively, drawing you impossibly closer as a groan jutted against your mouth. Your own hands splayed against his chest, creasing the fabric of his shirt.

You pulled back momentarily, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before it popped, glazing your bottom lip and chin. Deans gaze darkened as he eyed the scene, barely giving you time to register what was happening before his lips were attached to the skin of your chin. He kisses up the length of your face till he reached your lips again, letting his tongue run over your bottom lip; seeking entrance.

You hummed against him, parting your lips as his tongue directly began to map out the entirety of your mouth. Your hands threaded into the hair at the nape his neck, causing a sudden moan to escape Dean. The corner of your mouth tugged up before his teeth were biting down on your swollen lips, your own moan following suit.

One of your hands delve down between the two of you, landing on the prominent bulge tenting his jeans. He hissed, his hips rutting forward; chasing the way you palmed him through the, what he now considered, inconvenient fabric of his pants.

Your movements never ceased, working in tandem with the way his lips fought against yours. Suddenly his fingers caught your wrist, pulling back your hand as he whined against your mouth.

“Ah — fuck… you gotta’ stop that, sweetheart, or i ain’t gonna last” his breath was hot against you “plus if my cock’s gotta be milked, its gonna be inside you”

Your body shuddered as his words reached your ears, your thighs clenching instinctively to try to release the pressure that was building up. Dean didn’t fail to notice your action, a cocky smirk gracing his features as he patted the underside of your thigh.

The fat of your ass jiggled as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist as your arms linked behind his shoulders. His hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, holding you against him as his erection subsequently rubbed against your core from outside your shorts.

His lips met yours again in another feverish kiss as he began to lead you both over to the edge of the bed. With a soft thud your back hit the sheets, the mattress creaking under the newfound weight. His body caged atop yours, his forearms resting either side of your head as his hips slotted between your legs.

He rolled his hips forward, the rough material of your shorts snagging against your underwear; eliciting a moan from your lips. “shit, dean — need you so bad”

Your words caused him to hum against you yet something seemed to snap inside him as he picked up his pace. His fingers grasped the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head before moving to the buttons of your shorts; those being torn from your body like it was a reflex.

Once he had you stripped down, he pulled back to admire you — sprawled out on the bed, hair tossed about, chest heaving. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed, like he was a man starved.

“Fucking hell” he muttered under his breath before diving to the column of your neck. His lips worked overtime, sucking harshly at your already reddening skin before his tongue would soothe over his art; licking a stripe up the column of your throat.

Your head fell backwards against the pillows, allowing him more access to assault your flesh. You were already a moaning mess and he hadn’t even touched you.

His fingers skimmed up the sides of your stomach, lifting your back off the bed as he fished the bra from your chest. His lips memorized their way down your neck, leaving marks along your collarbone before he paused just above your breasts. His eyes filtered up to yours through his lashes, silently asking you for permission.

“Please — please” you begged autonomously. At your signal, he wasted no time. His hands cupped around your breasts, kneading them as his mouth sucked and devoured your hardened peaks simultaneously. His teeth grazed along your skin, your back arching off the mattress as your legs tightened around his waist.

“So beautiful” he whispered as he continued to abuse your breasts. With a harsh pop, he pulled away from your chest, pushing up to capture your lips with his. “Cant wait to taste that pretty pussy of yours, baby”

You mewled against his lips, your underwear no doubt soaked through to the point of it being transparent.

“You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart? Please, let me taste you”

You clearly came undone right then. Your nails dug into the sheets beside you as you breathlessly pleaded for him to touch you. He gave a satisfactory hum before his fingers breached the edge of your panties, toying with the lace against your plush hip.

“Pretty little thing” he purred as he moved to spread your legs, settling himself on his knees at the end of the bed.

He trailed a line of wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, his hands placed with such a forceful grip to keep your legs pried open for him. You watched him with bated breath, your lip sucked between your teeth again.

His nose skimmed along your skin as he made his way up torturously slow. His nose nudged against your clothed core as his mouth came to a pause at the edge of your underwear. His tongue darted out, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva over the lace as it soaked through to your searing flesh underneath.

His teeth grabbed the top of your panties, sliding them down your legs until you were bare in front of him. An animalistic growl tore from his chest as his eyes locked into your core; glistening in a sweetness he was dying to savour.

He tightened his hold on your thighs before roughly yanking you towards him, causing you to yelp in surprise. He huffed out a laugh, the air blowing out on your bare cunt. You shuddered, your legs closing instinctively - wrong move.

Deans fingers flexed as he forced open your thighs again, his eyes staring up at you with a fiery desire. “Do that again. I fucking dare you” he scolded, the vein in his neck popping in frustration.

You could only whine out a pathetic ‘sorry’ which seemed good enough for Dean as seconds later his tongue was pressed between your folds.

“Goddamn, baby — you gonna get me pussy drunk with how sweet you taste” an incessant spew of moans fall past your lips as he drinks you in, slurping at your cunt like its the best thing he’s ever eaten.

He hooks your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to delve his tongue deeper, ravaging every part of you he can reach. Your heel digs into the crease of his back, a pitiful attempt at grounding yourself before you spill against his mouth.

Dean hums against you, the vibrations nearly snapping the coil that has built within your stomach. He feels your legs shake, one hand coming up to rub encouraging circles.

He pulls his mouth away; his nose, lips and chin glistening with your slick and the sight almost sends you over the edge. Instantaneously his fingers replace his absence, toying with your cunt as his thumb moves to tease at your clit.

A slew of curses are thrown into the air as you messily grab at his hand on your thigh, intertwining your fingers with his. His efforts are relentless, pumping in and out of you as you drip down his digits and create a pool on the sheets underneath.

It’s once he curls his fingers inside you that the rubber-band finally snaps and your whole body spasms around him. His fingers work you through it, swirling around your folds as he coats his hand in your release.

“God — you’re too fucking good to me, feeding me when I’ve been so hungry for you” he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean as he groans in fulfillment. He licks his lips, swiping your wetness from off his chin as if he was savoring every last drop of you.

You watch him with half-lidded eyes, your lips parted as small puffs of air tear from your lungs. The sight of him licking himself clean of you has your core throbbing again, a new wave of slick coating your walls.

You push yourself onto your elbows, your hand reaching out to grasp his jaw as you bring him up to your mouth; tongues clashing together in a battle of dominance. His hips rut into the mattress, his erection boarding painful from the lack of attention.

His fingers thread into your hair, wrapping around sweat-slicked strands as he continues to wreck your lips.

“You taste that, my pretty girl? Taste how fucking good you are” he groans into your mouth, making sure to run his tongue over every inch of your gums “Need more… need to stuff your pussy full of my cock — need to fill you up”

A whine pours from your throat yet not a second is wasted as your digits tug at the hem of his shirt. In one fluid movement, the fabric is stripped from his body; his muscle’s flexing as he settles back down between you.

Your cunt tightens around air as your gaze rakes over his body, every crease and hollow is reflected under the dim lighting of the room. Involuntarily your hips rock forward, brushing against his stomach.

“Ah — shit” he curses, his eyes dropping to your trail of slick that now coats his abs. His patience is worn thin, the need to feel your gummy walls clench around him becomes too much.

Theres a brief clinking of metal and the ruffling of jeans as he relives his body of clothing. His cock springs up, slapping against his stomach as his swollen tip glistens in pre-cum.

Like a greedy child, your thumb moves to swipe over his slit before sucking it clean off your finger. A pleased hum vibrated against your throat, his cum coating your tongue like a film.

Deans cock twitched against his abdomen, pulsating red and angry as it sought to be buried deep within your heat.

His hand wraps around his length, a shuddered intake jerking his chest. He shifts his hips, bending your knees and drawing you in closer. He slaps his shaft against your cunt before sliding it through your folds, coating his member in a layer of your wetness.

You hiss, your nails digging crescent moons into your palms. His eyes float up to meet yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” his tone is soft, genuine.

“Ive never wanted anything more than you” your words serve as reassurance; a pathetic moan escaping Deans throat as he finally sinks into you.

His pace is slow, allowing you time to adjust as your pussy sucks him in. As his balls slap against your heat, he pauses above you — the stretch of him inside you both tender yet addicting.

His fingers skim your cheek, his face lowering to pepper kisses against your skin; your temple, your nose, your eyelids before meeting your lips.

“Doin’ such a good job f’me sweetheart, taking me so well” he praises as his hips slowly rock back and forth, setting a steady rhythm.

Your walls tighten around him, a string of incoherent mumbles spewing into the humid air of your bodies. The life outside is quiet, a stark contrast to the pornographic sloshing of his cock as it squelches in your juices.

Deans eyes fall to where he rocks in and out of you, his cock disappearing between your folds before emerging lathered in your wetness.

“Thats it baby, keeping suckin’ me in — fuck, you feel so good” his pace is becoming dreadfully slow, your body craves to feel every inch of him as he utterly destroys you

“Need you to go faster, Dean” you mewl, fingers curling around his bicep as if you could pull him to go harder.

Immediately his hips snapped forward, sheathing himself fully inside you before pumping in and out at a brutal rate. The fat of your ass rippled relentlessly, your breasts bouncing in sync as he continued to batter your cunt.

Your head lolled back, back subconsciously arching off the bed to take him deeper, feel every vein as it brushes your cervix. His hands shoot to your waist, holding down your body to angle himself just right as he reaches that spongy flesh.

You cry out, everything seemingly becoming too much as his tip kisses and teases that knot forming in your belly.

Dean only growls as your walls flutter around him, arms flexing as he tries to fight back his own simmering release.

“Could stay buried within’ your sweet little pussy all day” his hips stutter briefly “S’ like you were made for me — you’re the only thing i did right”

His name leaves your lips in a breathless chant; a warning. You can feel the knot tightening in your stomach — his length antagonizing you, testing how long you would be able to last.

You try to claw at the mattress, attempting to break away as the sensation overwhelms you but he holds you close. His body comes to encase yours, forearms resting beside your head as his lips dip to the shell of your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect, too innocent for this world” his teeth nip at your earlobe, hot breath tickling the skin of your neck.

His words were ironic given your current state; cheeks glossed with tears of pleasure, lips swole and bitten, his cock pumping in and out of your tight hole as the only sounds filling the room were that of your lewd moans and his balls spanking against the flesh of your ass.

“Ive got you, pretty girl” at his signal the heat in your belly boiled over, body spasming under him as your ears rang and vision turned bleary.

Through your haze you barely made out the approval of his words, his voice strained and low; “Look at you, creamin’ around my cock”

He worked you through your high, pace keeping steady before he suddenly pulled out; thick ropes of cum painting your puffy cunt. Your walls clenched at the empty feeling, already missing having him make you feel so full.

His fingers glided through your folds, pinching your clit and eliciting a sensitive whine from you. He lathered up a mixture of both his and your release before stuffing his fingers inside you, making sure nothing went to waste.

His fingers pulled out with a squelch before he brought them up your lips, nudging at your mouth. You enclosed around his digits, tongue swirling over the tops of his fingers as you drank down the last of both your releases.

He placed a gentle kiss atop your temple before capturing your mouth with his.

“You did so well, love — you okay?” his eyebrows knitted together as he examined your worn out state. You could barely muster a nod in response, your legs still shaking and chest still heaving from the aftermath.

Dean patted the outside of your thigh before he was off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returned only moments later, a damp towel in hand as he clambered back over to you.

He delicately spread your legs, pressing the towel along the inside of your thighs and over your core as he worked to clean the sticky mess of your body. Your teeth ground together as he drew along your tender flesh.

“Sorry, pretty lady, but i gotta get you cleaned up” he murmured, tossing the soiled towel to the side as he finished.

He helped lift your hips from off the sheets, gliding your bare form underneath the warmth as he slid in next to you. His arm wound its away around your waist, drawing you in as your head perched against his chest; the steading beat of his heart pounding into your ear.

He left a kiss to the top of your hairline, his lips resting on your slightly sweaty and flushed skin. Your fingers skimmed along his chest, tracing along the lines of the tattoo inked into his body.

A comfortable silence blanketed the two of you before your quiet voice broke the air: “I know i didn’t say it before but I love you too, Dean —”

“You dont gotta say anything, sweetheart… havin’ you here’s enough for me” he cut you off, hold tightening around your waist.

“But i want to” your chin perched upon his shoulder, eyes peering up at him through thick lashes. “I dont want you to think you’re alone in this, Dean because i feel the exact same way… I always have, I was just scared of ruining whatever we had”

He scoffed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Baby, if i ever rejected you, id damn sure have lost my mind”

a/n: idk what i just wrote

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles #solider boy #supernatural #dean winchester imagine #smut #fluff #fanfic #spn #dean winchester smut #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #jensen ackles x you

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ozzgin · 4 months ago

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I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

#monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x human #carnotaurus x reader #monster romance #monster smut #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

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yzzart · 6 months ago

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౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS! ── PART THREE.

── content warnings: F!reader, quick mention of Mina, KDF, Ultraman, petnames and first and second parts here!

── word count: 592!

⭑.ᐟ We already know perfectly well that this man wears a necklace that carries his promise ring, right? So, when you wake up in his arms, you can never resist locking your eyes on the significant accessory and sometimes, playing, touching it like a young girl in love. — And, with his eyes half-open, pretending to be asleep, Kenji couldn't hide his smile because he found it so adorable and charming.

⤷ Not to mention the times you find him around the house, roaming the hallways or base, shirtless and highlighting that necklace with the jewelry. — Kenji can't resist teasing you and crossing his finger to your chin, lifting it.

"My eyes are here, my love." — Sato said, catching your engaging and almost fatal gazes on him, with a thin and mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips; you didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or punch him.

⭑.ᐟ Kisses on your forehead is a prime point for Kenji, that's more than a fact; it is something respectable, crucial and valuable. — The feeling of his lips on your temples is precious, it highlights a feeling of protection, security and comfort; something so true. — Like his passion for you.

⤷ When he wakes up, leaves for a press conference, before and after a match, when returning home after a battle or when in need of your affection, Kenji always places a long kiss on your forehead.

⭑.ᐟ Take you for night rides on his motorcycle? This is also crucial for Kenji and something extremely special for you. — After such an exceptional and successive match, guaranteeing remarkable points for the team, Sato couldn't help but celebrate with you; planning multiple locations for the celebration. — Restaurant, some stunning region to admire next to you, among others.

⤷ The main focus is that Kenji likes, or rather loves, making curves, which require more precision, and feeling your arms squeezing, holding with strength and firmness, also with fun, his waist and pressing yourself even more into his body; in addition to your screams mixed with laughter. — He's almost obsessed with doing this. — And Sato doesn't stop doing it on straight lanes, when there aren't many cars around him.

⭑.ᐟ In his locker in the changing room, there is a photo of you, which Kenji had taken, next to a photo of his mother and during every match, he never stops looking at them with dedication and affection, feeling confident for the game. — And, right when Kenji makes peace with his father, he puts up a photo of him too.

⭑.ᐟ Reading the newspapers, watching the news or commenting together on the Kaiju invasions, the conflicts that Ultraman saved and his matches is another routine in yours lives; and that you both consider and appreciate very much, no lies.

⤷ Complaining about certain actions of the KDF, and how this organization simply changed over time, seeing that Ken didn't cause much destruction or get distracted during battles or praise his batting became something, peculiarly, special. — Mina is also included in this.

"And the baseball star, Ken Sato, shined, without many surprises, once again on the field last night, my friends!" — Cried the radio host while broadcasting some of Kenji's moves from yesterday's match. — "Taking the GIANTS to the lead and..."

"I'm so proud." — Your radiant, bright voice warmed Kenji's ears, who smiled with satisfaction and recognition when he heard your words, and raised the mug to his mouth, enjoying the flavor of the coffee. — "My player." — Your lips rested on his cheek, leaving a momentary kiss; pushing the mug away and looking at you, keeping his smile, Sato pressed your lips against his, forming a pleasant and warm kiss.

#kenji sato #ken sato #kenji #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #ultraman #ultraman rising

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devilmademewriteit · 2 years ago

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Playing Dangerous

part 2 of Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: sure, the fact that he’d schemed up an entire, elaborate ruse to get between your legs was upsetting. more upsetting was the fact that he refused to fess up, insisting that you needed to be protected (or at the very least—cautious) because your life was in ‘grave danger.’ most upsetting, however? that would be the fact that through it all and above everything else, you still wanted him—badly.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of reader having long hair; bratty!reader; brat-tamer!javi; alcohol consumption; smoking; pet names (baby, sweetheart, cariño, hermosa); some angst; dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, age gap).

word count: 10.7k (sorry again)

no use of y/n in this fic

hello here is part twooooo! thank you for all the love on Salvatore I absolutely love all of you so much. you don't rly need to read p1 to enjoy this, just know that: reader is the ambassador's secretary and is an asshole, Javi is also an asshole, they fucked for the first time a few days ago b/c he took her home after someone seemed to be after her life.

don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty; feedback, asks, comments, smoke signals and carrier pigeons always welcome. kisses. -em<3

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read part 3, Dark Paradise, here.

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Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer! - Playing Dangerous

“I am not speaking to you.”

Murphy’s eyes come alive with exasperation, a striking shift from their usual half-asleep, perpetually vacant gawp. Not quite at the point of impatience yet, his voice is soft when he responds.

“Please.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. An impassive sneer makes its way onto your expression.

Not a fucking chance.

Not only were you not planning on ever doing Steve Murphy—and especially, his asshole partner—even the smallest of favours throughout your remaining time on this godforsaken planet, you’d come to the conclusion (quite recently, in fact) that you’d rather dance barefoot on broken glass than be in the same room as either member of the pair.

And it was a shame, really.

After that (now regrettable, once incredible) night at Peña’s place, everything had been fine.

More than fine. Not even awkward.

For a glorious moment, waking up next to him, ruined and sore and bruised and satisfied, sharing a morning coffee and then a ride to work—peace (and the planted seeds of something else, too) had finally settled across the worn-in battlegrounds between you, solid roots spreading with each passing second spent not bickering. For crying out loud, when he’d gotten called away to Bogotá that very same day, you’d put yourself to work keeping his place clean, going so far as to anticipate his return.

Everything had been fine.

Until, of course, you’d gotten the old Chevy serviced.

“Car’s running fine, señorita. Put that missing part back, s’good to go.”

“Missing part?”

“The spark plug—wasn’t in there when we looked.”

And the missing pieces fell into place.

How he’d waltzed into your car earlier on in the day, running his fingers along the hard, hot plastic of the dash—analyzing, observing, and finally commenting on your shitty engine. Then, he’d been conveniently there, waiting for you in the middle of the night, watching you wrestle your hood open in the parking lot after work. Hell, he took you to his place after he’d told you he'd seen a shady truck parked in front of yours… and you’d trusted him.

Without bothering to check for yourself, you’d trusted him.

You had to hand it to the man; it was a clever plan. Wear you down during the day only to corner you while alone, vulnerable, and at night, with no possible avenues for escape.

All to get inside your pants.

God.

Murphy huffs, bringing you back down to Earth. “Listen,” he rubs his temples, exhaustion weighing down the curves of shoulders, “We just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to stay with him, either; Connie—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes in full view of his own. “I keep wondering, though... seeing as you're… thick as thieves, these days,” you lean forward over your desk, studying his swallow. “Was it you that shot off that gun? Or did he get someone else to participate in his little scheme?”

The agent tilts his head to the side, putting on the air of a wordless 'really, sweetheart?' before launching into a recitation of a sorely well-versed explanation.

But you cut him off, unforgiving in your suspicion. “Don’t bother, alright? Even if I did believe that, what, some 'cartel sicario'—” you emphasize the ridiculousness of the statement by tossing up a couple of well-timed air quotes “—was after me…?” and then you’re gesturing wildly to yourself, fingertips pointed straight to your heart. “I would rather die—really, seriously, die—than step foot into your home—or-or fucking Peña’s—Ever. Again.”

The mounting ire behind your breathless rambling finally wears him down; he surrenders his complexion to a look of genuine defeat. His arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp.

As you try to appear busy, fidgeting with the scattered papers and documents lying listlessly across your desk, Murphy turns on his heels, stooping toward the exit.

For a brief moment, he hesitates, coming to a slow halt halfway down his holy pilgrimage of freeing you from his fucking presence.

“Did you…” and he briefly trails off, anticipating your wrath with a wince. “Did you fill out that form?”

Irritation clouds your thoughts. Its manifestations in your body feel almost violent.

“What do you think, genius?”

You scare yourself with the aggression underpinning each and every word.

Inside the safety of your mind, your inner dialogue treats him even worse.

Go, motherfucker. Go, go, go, go, go or I’ll tear us both apart, I’ll explode, I’ll—

You hope that it’s Luck listening to your prayers (and not God), because as soon as your brain has time to register the nature of your wicked, near sacrilegious thoughts toward the man, Murphy’s yellow-dusted crown is drooping down in eventual resignation, leading the way as he trudges back to his corner.

A relief.

A short lived one.

Too short.

Because…

Well, because those fucking memories won’t stop replaying inside your mind, etched like crude Botticellis on the backs of your eyelids.

Overlaying the non-stop highlight reel of a vicious fight with Peña, just that morning—

“Well, I didn’t see a car. What I saw was you, whipping me over to your fuck-pad—and now? I see your whole... fucking masterplan to get me into bed.”

“You’re talking fuckin’ crazy. There’s no pussy in the world that’s worth pulling all that.”

—are flashes of his bare, glistening chest, an almost tangible haze of longing obscuring his eyes. You’d taken him in your mouth; you’d felt him all over: against you, with you, inside you.

And when you’re not seeing him, you’re forced to hear him, over and over and over again.

“You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

So, you push certain memories away by calling on certain others, repeating every cruel word you’d ever exchanged with each other like a mantra, an affirmation.

They remind you of the man that Javier Peña truly was.

“You are the worst person I’ve ever had the shit-luck of meeting, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too crazy about you, either. Got some serious growin’ up to do, sweetheart.”

A loud snap wrenches you back to your senses. You unfurl your fingers to reveal the broken remnants of a poor, innocent pencil you’d been white-knuckle-death-gripping.

What really had you ticking was that, after you’d hurled accusations and insults at him for the better part of an hour—totally monopolizing the space of the familiar, dusty old filing room—he’d had the nerve to continue on with his little act.

“You don’t have to stay with me—”

And his voice had been coated in poison, laced with the kind of fiery contempt that surely only a guilty man could achieve.

“—but do me a favour and just don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. It’s shit work, hiring new secretaries.”

He hadn’t waited around for an answer, leaving you alone with his final words and a mountain of your own unsaid ones.

So, you’d hissed a “fuck off” to the lingering ghost of his presence in the room, trying, in vain, to slow your shallow breaths.

You heave a sigh, forehead dropping to lay heavy against the desk.

If only you could take your brain out for the day. If only you could run it under cold water. Better yet, if only you could scrub it clean with bleach, put it in the dishwasher, run it with the damn laundry—anything to make it shiny and new and untainted.

Peña was lying.

He had to be lying.

What kind of shit sicario goes after secretaries who, beyond not knowing what they’re supposed to know about, don’t care enough to actually retain any of it?

Not a good sicario. Definitely not one who would still be alive in Medellìn, today.

It was all bullshit.

You weren’t the kind of person who attended work parties.

They always ran excruciatingly long. On top of that, you had to watch traumatized coworkers drink. A lot. Then, there was, of course, after-hours work-talk.

None of that had ever screamed 'best night ever!' to you.

Tonight, however, you hadn’t been given a choice: the ambassador had needed 'someone there, you know, just in case work stuff comes up’ which really meant that she was banking on you to give her a ride home at the end of the night.

Like that was happening. She hadn't been pleased when you'd made it clear to her that you were out of commission, off-the-clock, done-zo starting at fifteen to ten. You'd hoped that, at that point, she would've rescinded her original request.

She hadn't.

Still, Noonan had spent the week being remarkably kind to you—maybe her invitation was her (deeply misguided) way of trying to make up for the shit-storm she’d watched you face over past few days (whether she believed Peña’s dystopian, hitman fantasy was uncertain; either way, she’d witnessed your torment at his hands, and both realities seemed equally as emotionally taxing).

Despite all the hints you’d dropped about wanting the night off, she either hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, or thought you were just trying to be polite.

Come on.

She’d been your boss long enough to know there was no chance of you pussy-footing around out of politeness.

The event was meant to commemorate some big accomplishment—a narco sting gone right (or else, some big narco boss gone six-feet-under). The reason behind the festivities wasn’t of any importance to you—getting through the next few hours as quickly and as painlessly as possible took up all of the remaining (albeit limited) space in your head.

Because, afterwards? You were going out.

A good friend’s bachelorette, a shit-ton of dark tequila, and the warm lips of a total stranger.

God, you needed that. Every intimate spot on your body was in desperate need of a cleanse. Your tongue, the soft skin between your thighs, the peach-fuzz on your cheeks…

They remembered him.

They made sure you couldn’t forget him.

About half-way through serving your sentence in regulatory purgatory, someone turns on the stereo. A Queen song—the one that everyone knows. You’re looking around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It’s mostly administrative and political bodies crowding up the office's stuffy foyer. There’s an odd clink of glass meeting glass whenever someone new walks in, or else when a deal’s finally graduated beyond the negotiation stage.

It’s too highbrow, too boring and white-collar for restless DEA agents, you remind yourself.

Slowly, slowly the hours trickle by.

The music helps—every Diaz song has the minutes moving double-time.

And after what feels like centuries of excruciating small-talk, of brushing off endless, casual condescension, of staring at the clock hanging off the wall, finally, it’s time to go.

First, a last minute change (you’re not wearing a damn button-up to the bar—it’ll be a tight dress and cute shoes or absolutely nothing at all) and a quick refresher in the bathroom. Then, you’re trailing a bee-line towards the exit with 'home-free' on the tip of your tongue.

Keep your head down. Nod. A chagrined smile to each pair of gawking eyes.

‘Cause soon? You’ll be dancing.

You’re straddling the office doors, left foot in, right foot out when an authoritative voice calls your name from behind.

Christ Almighty.

Turning slowly, you find yourself triangulated between Noonan and…

Fucking Steve Murphy.

That one looks apprehensive. The former?

A bit red in the face.

“Murphy, here,” the ambassador gestures sloppily towards the agent’s uneasy form, “Tells me he needs something. Papers, right? Think we can get that to him before you leave for your… little soirée—what do you say?”

She doesn’t catch it, but he does; your unbridled, aversive stare pierces him right between his eyes. Forcing it down (and oh, does it ever burn your throat) you etch a reluctant smile, nodding wordlessly to your boss.

God, if only money were an object. This damn job would be a short paragraph on your resume, a blip in your timeline on this Earth.

Noonan slaps Murphy on the back, harrumphing as though she’d just solved world hunger. Quickly, she finds someone new to accost (or be accosted by), swept into a different, equally-boring conversation before you can even begin to feel angry at her for putting you into such a… distasteful position.

And you whir on him.

Before the rush of accusations gets a chance to part from your lips, Murphy interrupts you, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing.” He sounds serious, sincere. “Swear. She came up to me and just… knew all about it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Nonetheless, your fingernails slowly retreat from their burrows in the skin of your palm.

It’s not because of his earnestness.

No.

It’s because only a serious maniac would flaunt their under-the-table bullshit so publicly, flying it right under the ambassador’s nose. Whatever those records were for (and whatever the reason why Peña and Murphy so badly needed them), it was becoming increasingly clear that they were not intended to land in either of their hands.

Murphy hadn’t been nervous because of you. He’d been nervous because of her. A little less drink, a bit more curiosity, and Noonan would've been privy to whatever it was that the pair was up to.

“Fine.”

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, dropping like stones with the release.

Without another word, you make your way down the hall, charging toward the alcove harboring your desk. Murphy trails behind, five feet back at all times like a recently-scolded school-child.

Good.

It takes a few, long minutes to get the job done.

He waits around anxiously, fiddling with your stationary (until you slap his hand away from your beloved pens and planners) and pacing around the room.

When it's done, you don’t read the form, you don’t investigate. The less you know, the better.

And frankly?

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

As the papers slide out of the printer, you warn him: “You’re gonna need a signature from their side, you know. I can only get you so far.”

He nods, taking the precious sheets in hand. “Think we got that side covered.” Then, he’s reading them over, checking to make sure everything's in order. You stand with your hand on your hip, waiting impatiently for his goddamn approval. After an eternity (really—by the end of it you’re genuinely wondering whether the man should get tested for dyslexia), Murphy hums in satisfaction, giving you an awkward, “Thanks, again.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your half-exposed chest.

Didn’t even thank me a first time, asshole.

He spins around, aiming for the exit, when another body appears before him.

And the man stops Murphy in his tracks, deep-brown eyes trailing down to the packet of papers cradled between his partner's hands.

“Noonan came through, then.”

It’s all he says.

Your nostrils flare.

The skin on your face positively burns.

Of course it had been him. He was probably the entire reason behind the ambassador’s unusual tipsyness, too. Hell, he’d probably fed her Prosecco and half-compliments ‘til she’d been more than happy to do him a million favours.

Wasn’t that his M.O., anyways? ‘Get ‘em drunk and get my way?’

Three comfortable, familiar words find themselves sliding—easily—off your tongue.

“Fuck off, Peña.”

You surprise yourself with the cruelty of your tone, the biting emphasis of each word.

He settles his onyx eyes on you. They glaze over with hunger, with amusement, with danger.

Fuck.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart—I will in a minute,” and he nods at his partner, effectively dismissing him.

Murphy hesitates, eyes jumping between the stand-off taking place before him. Likely, he was trying to decide which one of you was going to murder the other first.

Finally, with his beloved form tucked under his arm, Murphy heaves a sigh of resignation, and then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with Peña.

The corners of his lips pull back into an arrogant smirk as his eyes rake over your body—done up, dressed down, and positively fuming in your little kitten heels.

“You look hot.”

It’s all he says.

Some girls would’ve killed to hear those words from him. You’d spent years watching their eyes trail his movements in the office, listening to their puling voices—'is Javi there?'—over the phone.

But it just makes you want to scream.

Fearing the actual possibility of that coming to fruition, you keep your mouth sealed shut. Tight.

Silence won’t do for Peña.

“What’d you tell me, once?” He muses softly, making his way towards your desk. “Somethin’ about this place not bein’ a… a what’d you call it? A brothel?”

Dog.

He yanks a retort from your lips as if he had full command over them. “I’m going out, asshole.”

His face twitches ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to catch the hint of emotion. Then, it’s gone.

“No, you’re not.”

Casual as ever, he does that thing: runs a finger from the corner of his bottom lip down the length of it, looks up at you through thick, dark eyebrows.

You bristle at the sheer, unwinding effect it has on you.

“Yes, I am.”

He raps his knuckles against the desk in irritation; nevertheless, his voice is soft, imploring as he persists. “C’mon, baby. I need you to listen to me, right now. It’s..." and he undresses you with a mere look, "It's not a good time for you to be goin’ to those kinds of places.”

Just like any other man.

Probably, Peña’s ego was so over-inflated that the mere thought of any of his conquests colluding with another man had him on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

Because God forbid you fuck anyone else.

God forbid you even think of touching anyone else.

And this strange, uncharacteristic possessiveness, this… need for control—it was wearing extremely thin.

The man had zero authority over you. He certainly didn’t get to preside over the choices you made during your free time.

“Don’t call me baby, Peña—I’m not your baby.” The snapped retort makes you sound so young, to the point where, for a moment, you understand why the agent had called you a brat so many times that one, fateful night.

Still, you soldier on, focussed on freeing yourself from yet another one of the evening's grueling set-backs. “And I’m not gonna ‘listen to you’ just ‘cause you think you’ve got some sort of… machismo claim over me.”

A deft muscle in his jaw tenses. He rounds the desk, moving just a half-foot closer to you; that alone is enough to jump-start your heart, and you’re almost sure he can hear it, jack-hammering away inside your chest. You both know that being the first to step away signified weakness—concession—so you stay put (even when your legs yield to a slight wobble).

And he’s almost crooning. “You can spread those legs for half the country, for all I care, baby.” A condescending look, cast down at you over the bridge of his nose. “Not what this is about.”

Yeah, right.

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Still working that angle?”

He takes a step forward. “Is it so crazy to think that I could just be tryna look out for you?” Meeting your gaze, he speaks earnestly—pleading through his irritation.

“I don’t need you to ‘look out for me’,” Your back grazes against the ambassador’s doors—you kick yourself internally for having subconsciously conceded to a back-step. “Especially not since the last time I thought that’s what this was?” your fingers gesture wildly between the (lack of) space separating your bodies, “You totally took advantage of me.”

A pause as the agent fluctuates from bafflement to genuine offense.

“Took adv—are you being serious?” he scoffs, shaking the coarse, dark hair on his crown. “I gave you, like, one drink.”

Victory courses through your veins at the sudden, intense flood of irritation marking his tone, the vein popping in his jaw.

Anything to get to him, to make him tick, to scratch that itch.

Dig. Dig. Dig.

A shrug. “Maybe you put something in it.”

His eyebrows jump up, eyes widening with the movement.

Just. So. Close.

“And… you know, I am a lot younger than you—”

“—okay, enough.”

Peña’s growled response has your voice fizzling out into nothingness. Closing what’s left of the distance between you, muscled form looming, he flattens you against the ambassador’s office doors. As one large hand slowly splays out next to your ear, the other comes up to grasp your chin. His fingers wrap around your jawbone, all the way from one ear to the other.

You’re stuck, frozen under the weight of that dominant leer.

“Y’know,” he muses, deep and low, “It’s really fuckin’ obvious what all this is actually about, sweetheart.” Trapped in his glare, you watch his eyes grow dark, his gravelly voice falling into a register you’d never before heard it descend to. And he’s so, so close to you, close enough that you can smell him: that distinct, earthy scent of man that never failed to have your head spinning, your arms weak. “This… highschool bullshit you’ve been pullin’ since I got back… accusin’ me of all kinds of shit—"

You deny yourself the pleasure of looking at his lips when his words withdraw into an almost-whisper.

“Makes you feel real innocent, doesn’t it?

You don’t respond, concentrating on stifling the growing ache in your core, the thump-thump-thumps inside your rib cage, the lump forming in your throat.

A rarity, a miracle, Jesus turning water into wine: words fail you.

“Know what I think, cariño?” His fingernails press into your cheeks, digging soft indents. Not to bruise—

To hold you steady.

To assure himself of his command over your full, devoted attention.

When he finally continues, his smoky breath raises the hairs along your exposed skin.

God, it must be, like, nine-hundred degrees in the room.

“I think”—and he’s toying with you, near-black eyes dancing with amusement—“You’re just embarrassed.”

Leaning in, his lips brush against the ridges of your ear, slow words washing over you in big, heavy waves. “‘Bout how easy it was for me to get between these legs.” Male, calloused fingers ghost over the skin of your thighs, creeping higher and higher up the length of your body.

“Remember how wet you got for me, cariño? Beggin’ me to fuck you so rough?”

And for a brief, suspended moment—

You do.

He leans back enough for you to watch his eyes harden, uttering an “I remember it all, baby,” as his thumb leaves your jaw to trace the highest point of your cheekbone.

And his tone turns to stone.

“Especially when you’re acting like you need a fuckin’ reminder.”

Your cheeks grow red-hot. The ground feels unsteady under your feet—and the spell breaks.

Pig.

“You’re fucking vile, Peña,” you spit, wrenching his grip off your face. “And also, dead wrong.” Slamming into his shoulder, you aim to storm out.

He catches your arm, twisting you back around to face him. “If you go out tonight,” the man near-growls, lecturing down at you like a damn parent, “You’re putting your life and everyone else's on the line.”

You tear your wrist from his fingers, shrugging off his empty warning with a dramatic spin on your heels.

Strutting out, you leave him with a poison-coated, “Say ‘hi’ to the whores for me.”

And you’re gone.

It’s loud. Your feet are sore from dancing in your heels. A different, unfamiliar body is in reach in every possible direction from your own.

It’s perfect.

Five shots in and you still feel like you could take more, if only to forget the exhausting events of the day.

Less than 48 hours ago you’d been prepared—dear God, longing—to hand yourself over to a man you were now quite happy to never see again. With your hands wrapped around a stranger’s neck, you’re determined to cleanse yourself of his lingering traces.

He’s gazing down at you, male, hungry eyes gunning for the taking. Local, you guess, or at the very least South-American. After a daring look, you grab him by the collar, brushing your starved lips against his.

“Want to get out of here?”

The pronunciation isn’t great—but it does the trick. He nods enthusiastically, allowing you to take his hand in your own without hesitation. Too easy. The hard part is weaving through the agitated, bustling crowd with your nameless partner in tow.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But God, is it ever necessary.

Escaping your friends at the start of the night had been child’s play, and they could be counted on to be too fucked-up at this hour to notice your absence, anyway.

Good.

Your act of desperation would be remembered solely by its participants.

A gentle evening wind swirls around your tingling body, the day’s heat hanging thick in the air as you step onto the street, the syncopated thumps of Latin music fading unwillingly into the background.

Pivoting abruptly, you flatten yourself against the wall outside, pulling the stranger in close by the fabric of his blue button-up.

“Yours or mine?”

He smirks, gentle lines forming by his golden eyes. Internally, you commend yourself: the catch was quite pretty.

“Here is okay, I think.”

Then, his lips are on yours, parting you open in a sloppy, drunk kiss.

This could work.

His traveling hands already seem to be numbing some of the tension simmering under your skin.

This could work.

His rough kisses overwhelm your senses, slowly filling the hollow ache lodged at the heart of your core.

Please, God—let this work.

Just as a hand reaches up to cradle the back of your neck—

(let this work, let this work, let this work)—

Just as a pleased moan travels from your lungs into his own—

Tires screech against the pavement, slamming you back into your body, wrenching you straight into the dire moment. Tearing your lips from the stranger’s, you peer over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of a black Camino screaming to a stop right before you. Time stops; the windows are down, and what you know to be the barrel of a hand-gun pokes out from the backseat.

“Get down!”

Maybe it's in your head (after all, it would make sense for your psyche to summon his voice in a moment so violent); or maybe it's real. Either way, you listen to the command, hitting the ground without any reservations. And those stupid heels—you stumble, face-planting onto the pavement, scraping every exposed part of your body against hot, rough cement.

A cry of terror rips from your throat as the sound of bullets punctuates the warm, summer night—Jesus, it’s louder than anything you’d ever heard before.

Somewhere along the chaos, the pretty stranger from the bar books it down the calle.

Everything happens so fast. A familiar Cherokee veers in the way, separating you from the attackers. The surrounding air becomes rife with lead, a terrified chorus of male and female voices joining the symphony, and you really can’t tell whether the pain in your chest is from the friction of your own harmonizing screams or if it’s bullets tearing through your body. From the ground, you watch your attackers’ vehicle take off down the street, haphazardly parting crowds of cowering civilians in its wake.

When it all stops, it doesn’t really stop.

Violence persists, ringing in your ears like a doomsday clock going off, an A-bomb alarm siren. The echoes are happy to prolong your torment.

The Jeep’s passenger door swings open. You scramble back, scampering down the pavement as adrenaline claims you in never-ending rushes.

“Get inside, now.”

You nearly sob with relief at the familiar voice. It hadn't all been in your head. Jumping up on unstable legs, you lunge into his car, jerking the door shut behind you.

Without sparing a moment, his white-knuckled hands yank the wheel to the side, veering onto a road just off the main strip.

Javier Peña’s never looked so stressed.

“You’re not gonna follow them?” It comes out as a cry, a desperate plea for retribution.

He doesn’t answer.

Which doesn’t stop you.

You want to see them punished for making you feel so helpless, and for the scrapes and bruises decorating your elbows, your knees, your palms.

“Javi,” a begging king of shout, “Why aren’t we following them?”

“‘Cause you’re in the fucking car!”

In the heat of the moment, the cutting edge of his harsh tone doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s gentle compared to the violent sensations stewing within your body and mind.

“So?”

He takes a sharp right, slamming your side against the Jeep’s hard interior.

“Been in enough…” He grits his teeth, trying to keep his irritation in check, “Compromising situations tonight, alright? Now, just shut up ‘n let me drive.”

You pipe down, not awfully interested in getting yelled at again in your fragile state.

At first, it feels like the full-body trembles wracking your entire being won’t ever cease. And yet, by the grace of God, after a few minutes, the thundering behind your ribcage slowly subsides.

It helps that you’re still a little buzzed.

It especially helps when his driving slows and the streets begin to empty—when the shops and houses become more and more recognizable, when the night grows more and more tame.

You know where he’s headed. The safety of the intended destination has you relaxing, finally level enough to take deep breaths.

Eventually, he stops the car, cutting the engine in full view of his building's front door.

The rumbling stops, and suddenly, it's very quiet. Javier groans, leaning back against his seat, bringing a hand up to his temples. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes closed behind the palm of his hand.

And oh.

He’s pissed.

“Go inside, lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.” His command, though dripping with ire, is underpinned with genuine concern. When you don’t respond, he finally shifts his gaze to meet yours, fixing you with an intimidating, severe kind of stare.

“Do you understand?”

At first, your impulse is to respond with a bitchy retort, to meet his intensity head-on with your own brand of unpleasantness. You stifle that reflex, taking stock of the situation at hand: Peña had just saved you from a flurry of bullets.

Peña… had just saved you…

And the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

He’d been telling the truth.

Someone was really after you. Twice, now, they'd tried to take your life.

And, still? Your addled brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea of Peña’s innocence. Your bursting question takes you both by surprise.

“So, you didn’t take my spark plug?”

He stares at you, full mouth parted in genuine bewilderment. Then, he scoffs, breathing an exhausted exhalation. “No, I didn’t take your damn spark plug, sweetheart. That’s what I’ve been saying. If you’d bothered to actually fuckin’ listen for once in your life…” he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “‘Could’ve avoided all… this.”

Shame tries its best to seep into your core. You resist it, scrambling for reasons to justify your actions to him.

To yourself.

You hated being wrong. That feeling had a tendency of overwhelming everything else—of overriding rationality, itself.

So, you turn to a classic defense, an ol' reliable: deflection. “After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, can you blame me for not, just like, blindly trusting you?”

He scowls, angling his shoulders to square off with your own.

“Never asked for you to ‘blindly trust’ shit, though, did I?” He huffs, “Jesus.”

You try not to wince as he continues on, as the truth of his words and the seriousness of his delivery render you mute. “You’re a secretary, sweetheart. This is my job—my life—okay? When I tell you to be careful, for the sake of your own damn good, you need to listen to me.”

There’s a long pause as his words tease out your final, entangled threads of resistance.

He was right. You’d been stupid in your denial, putting yourself and dozens of others in danger.

Putting Javi in danger.

It takes everything you have to fight the tears threatening to well along your lashes. But there's no sense in allowing yourself to mourn your mistakes—at least not at this very moment.

No, now was not the time to work through your shame.

Now was the time to seek forgiveness.

To make amends.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to catch his downcast eyes.

And it’s true.

Javi shakes his head, resisting your apology. He says nothing, and your heart aches for him.

Whatever this man was—he hadn’t deserved a fraction of the hell you’d given him.

The hell you’d given him because…

Because he’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to soften you, to see you in a way that not one single person had the right to. He’d been a novelty: the first man you’d trusted enough to be capable of handling the full breadth of yourself. And when that had started to feel volatile—as though he’d gained too much of you?

Well, you’d needed a reason to push him away. To wrench yourself back from him.

Because you’d been embarrassed.

Knowing that he’d been right about that, too, makes you feel so small, so young, and deeply naive.

Immature.

You lean over, crooning at his turned profile.

“I mean it, Javi.” His name is your weapon—you will it to wear him down—a reminder of what it sounds like leaving your lips. “I’m sorry.”

Again, silence.

It’s fucking unbearable.

Placing an unsteady hand on his knee, you trail it up his thigh—slowly. His chest hitches with the force of a deep, sharp inhale and yet, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

But you catch his reflection in the glass: a slight twinge of the eyebrows, a delicate parting of the lips, and a hint of longing within those furious eyes.

Wiggle room.

“Could you ever forgive me?” You ask timidly, seductively, fingers creeping towards the crease of his trousers and that big silver buckle looming right above it.

Finally, he turns, his expression meeting yours with a hungry (albeit still deeply annoyed) look.

That wanting you’d learned to recognize…

It excites you.

And as you tug at his belt, releasing it with tantalizing slowness, you keep your steady gaze on his undecided one, uttering a pleading, “I can make it up to you, baby.”

Wordlessly, he watches your fingers move to the button of his pants, then to his fly, working with dedication, with delicate care.

There’s movement as you reach your fingers underneath the fabric. He grows hard for you, burgeoning out of the fabric in a matter of seconds.

It’s all the invitation you could’ve possibly hoped for.

His skin is hot against your knuckles as they slide down his lower abdomen. Grasping the base of his cock, you use two hands to spring him free.

God, he’s even bigger than how you’d remembered him—bigger than even your guiltiest fantasies.

Javi groans softly when you pull him, releases a hot, shallow breath when you stroke him, and a low, breathy “fuuuck” when you finally, finally take him in your mouth.

He tastes like the salt of the ocean. This close, you can smell men's cologne mingling with sweat.

It’s heaven.

And you just don’t want him to be angry anymore. It’s all you can think about—lips cradled adoringly around his cock, tongue running up and down the long length of him—as he throws his head back in pleasure.

He eventually relaxes, conceding to the ecstasy you persuade him with. Almost drinking the uncertainty—the resistance—right out of him.

“Christ,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair, forcing you to take in every last inch of him. “Wanted to shut you up like this all fuckin’ day.”

It becomes a challenge to breathe, but air simply isn’t a priority with a man like him at your fingertips, as your responsibility. This, he knows, his heavy hand determining the slow, careful pace, the impossible depth, and the angle of your unspoken apology.

Growing wet and lightheaded at the same time, you loose a moan against his velvety skin.

Javi laughs, darkly. “Always got somethin’ to say, huh? Even with a mouth full of cock.”

You smile around him—taunts are good. Better than silence, anyways. “Mhmm.”

The sounds of his laughter rumbles soft and low throughout his middle—so different, so sweet and innocent compared to the wet, filthy ones produced by your mouth’s ministrations.

You give him everything you have, ignoring the droplets forming in the corners of your eyes and lips, the dull burning inside your lungs. When the tip of his cock lodges at the back of your throat, you keep him there.

Whatever Javi gives you, you take.

Happily.

Every last drop would find its home inside you, traveling down the length of your tongue and into all of your warmest places.

It was the least you could do for him.

But he has other plans. His hand bunches up your hair, tightening into a fist to pull you off of him. His cock pops out from between your lips; you’re guided up to face him.

He looks stern.

Dangerous.

Out of breath, tears sliding down your cheeks, lips glistening with the slick of your own spit—you’re a welcome sight to any man of his kind.

“Say it.”

He makes use of his free hand, wiping the coarse pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, clearing the string of saliva collecting there.

It’s not rocket science, figuring out what it is that the man wants to hear.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

Neither of you had ever known how much an apology could sound like a prayer.

“Yeah?” Despite the gentleness of his tone, his eyes darken with lust to the point that you feel genuinely nervous about his intentions. “What are you so sorry for, hermosa?”

Fuck, the pet-names... the way his voice changed when reverting to its native tongue—rolling with confidence. At such an awkward angle, you’re forced to grip onto his forearms to keep balance. They feel strong and unbending beneath your fingertips.

Everything… everything about him draws you in.

He just makes you crazy.

Crazy enough to smile, to turn your profile to the side, laying a long, careful kiss to his palm. Crazy enough to answer his question in a needy, whiney whisper: “for being such a brat.”

He almost smiles, near-black eyes dancing with hunger, with approval, with a playful kind of ire.

Jerking his head to the right, he gestures to the backseat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, cariño?”

You’re nodding before the question really even registers.

He releases his hold on you, deft fingers quickly untangling from your hair.

Victory. Victory. Victory.

Then, you’re stumbling out of the passenger side, opening the door to the backseat.

(You take a second to commend yourself for driving a man so wild, making him so impatient that he couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet required to fuck you inside his apartment. Or, maybe he just liked letting the neighbours watch.)

Before you can even step foot inside the car, you’re being hauled by your upper arms onto Javi’s lap. He manhandles you into his desired position, spreading your knees around his thighs until your dress is hitched up, only covering your ass half-way.

After snaking a hand between your bodies, the agent runs his thumb down the slick fabric of your underwear.

Already, you’re holding back a slew of pathetic whines.

“Next time you give me head”—God, the feeling of those fingers against your clit, the bliss of them pushing your panties to the side, assessing your readiness for him—“Wanna be able to see that pretty mouth while my dick’s inside it, sweetheart.”

His lust has him speaking a bit out of breath. It makes every crude, filthy word sound sweet, almost endearing to you.

Nodding in response, you work with him—lowering yourself onto his fingers as he pushes them between your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, head falling back in appreciation, “You’re soaked.”

His fingers curl up, pressing to please in all the right places. Your answer arrives between gasps: “You tasted good.”

That pleases him.

“Yeah?” and he’s dragging his digits out of you, letting them trail through your folds and along your heavy, sore clit before leaving you wanting, leaving that needy cunt clenching around nothing. “I bet you taste even better.”

Then, his grip is on your jaw, pressing damp spots into your skin under his index, middle, and ring fingers. With the pad of his thumb pressed firmly to your bottom lip (and the row of teeth behind it), Javi eases your mouth open, wider and wider and wider for him.

“Show me—show me how good you taste.”

His index crawls onto your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking him in until his fingernail scratches the back of your throat. He wants to be shown, so you show him: gazing intently into his eyes, you watch his brow furrow as he studies your every movement, as he drinks in your every moan.

“Fuckin' hell,” he groans, commending your efforts. “You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, hermosa?”

Your bottom teeth graze the undersides of his index as you pull off—“yes, Javi.” Almost instinctively, you’re reaching your hand down, letting it coast down the hardness of his chest to rub circles around the slick tip of his cock, still peeking out from his open fly.

“Not yet,” he clicks his tongue, pushing his index, and this time, his middle and ring, too, back through the opening of your lips, “Need to clean yourself off every one of these fingers, first—thaaat’s right.” You listen, obediently sucking everything he gives you. He instructs and praises, “easy—easy, cariño, there it is,” as he watches you glide up and down him in slow, big pulls, all the way down to his knuckles.

It’s fucking filthy, and he loves it, unable to keep that arrogant smirk off of his face.

He’s practically in paradise, coming up with a mental list of creative ways to shut you up.

Still, Javi allows you to multitask: all the while, your fingers continue to explore the exposed parts of his cock. Only when he’s satisfied, when his length couldn’t possibly get any harder—only then does he free your mouth, letting his damp fingers trail down the side of your neck.

The feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

Without warning, he yanks down the straps of your dress and bra, pulling them all the way down until you’re postured on his lap, chest fully exposed; his abrupt movement has you loosing a stunned "Javi!" He runs his palms over the most sensitive peaks of your breasts, a hungry smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Then, he shrugs. “Told you last time I wanted to see them. Got the prettiest fuckin’ tits, hermosa.”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes, to laugh, or to really even register the vulgarity of his words, nor the taunting, degrading way they’re delivered to you. Javi’s already holding both you and himself up in one arm (and, oh, how you’d simply ached for the feel of his strength) pulling down the waistband of his pants. He maneuvers you into the proper position to receive him in, two pairs of downcast eyes watching his cock spring free, tip curving in, grazing against the fabric of his shirt.

He rushes, but it still feels torturously slow. You’re craving, needing, as he uses the dark head of his cock to ease your ruined underwear to the side, guiding himself towards your dripping opening.

This time, he’s far too impatient to make you beg for it.

Ecstasy forces your back into an arch as he pushes himself between your walls, as you feel him filling you up, up, and up—wordless mouth falling open, your heavy head collapses aaall the way back.

Immediately, a hand is at the back of your skull, forcing your gaze back downwards. “No, no, no, baby, you let me see—let me see you when you ride,” and his voice is a little strained, a little desire-stricken, a little bit softer as he settles his every last inch inside your cunt.

Your irises could be forest fires as you set your sights on his own, seeing nothing, absolutely nothing but Javier in that moment.

Moving your hips in tandem, you set your pace.

Mother Mary—it’s hard, so fucking hard to keep your legs steady when he stretches you open—wide fucking open—and as his head grazes that spongy spot inside.

He doesn’t help, either. In fact, while your hands dig anchors into his shoulders (sometimes his chest, his neck, his waist) just to keep yourself upright, his own are trailing up to the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pack of smokes.

You mewl softly at the heat building inside your cunt, loosing an indignant whine as Javi neglects his responsibilities toward your climax.

“Gave me such a hard time today, baby,” he muses, placing a cigarette between his fingers and tossing the rest aside, “Wanna hear a fuckin’ ‘thank you Javi’ every time you come.”

His words dance around you like streetlights passing in the night, barely registering inside your disintegrating mind. How could they? With the feeling of his thighs grazing the undersides of your own, the buttons of his shirt nudging against your aching clit… how could anything else even exist?

All you can give him is an “Mhm.”

He pulls a lighter out, smirking. “‘Tough-talker ‘til this pussy’s all full, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, baby, I’m s-sorry.”

And he laughs. “Don’t say it, cariño,” he takes your hand, placing the light inside your fist. “Fuckin’ show me.”

He rolls his hips. Your weight collapses against his chest.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing you off, straightening you up before placing the cigarette between his lips, “Aaall you gotta do is light up the tip. You got it, sweetheart.”

His hands travel down to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before his fingers splay out. He spreads you open over his thighs, watching the etchings of your lust corrupt your expression as he fucks himself—slow, deep, hard strokes—inside you.

“Fu—please, Javi—I can’t, s’too much, baby—please—”

A smile, full lips parting around the dart. “S’wrong, baby?” The words are low, breathy, teasing, contorting around the smoke in his mouth. “Can’t focus?”

God, just make him happy.

It’s the only thought you seem to be able to form. His request doesn’t seem to be up for debate, either.

So, summoning every last bit of control still lingering inside you, you bring a trembling hand up to the unlit end, a string of moans and ‘Javi’s rising from your throat.

And fuck, he’s beautiful, brimming with playful passion, orange filter hanging off those pretty pink lips.

Trying to still yourself, you flick the lighter on—the flame dances between you, illuminating the expansive darkness lurking inside his gaze. It takes everything, everything you have left to light it for him, to make that white tip glow red hot, to stay steady enough, to keep from burning him.

And also, to hold your pace. That grip of steel wrapped around your hip serves as a constant reminder—

Keep taking it.

In those final moments, he picks up his pace, of course. Your simmering blood bubbles to a boil, the flutters inside your cunt graduating into pulsing throbs.

As the flame finally takes, you feel every muscle inside your core tense—when Javi inhales his first drag, you straddle the precipice of your orgasm.

Your weight falls onto his shoulder. One of his arms reaches up to ash the cigarette; the other wraps tightly around you, bouncing you against him as exhales a cloud of smoke into your hair.

“Baby—Javi, I’m coming, I’m coming, I'm c—”

Heat builds between your thighs, and as that bundle of nerves grows heavy, pulsing with the rush of your orgasm, his thrusts only deepen.

He pulls you in close.

“I know, cariño,” Javi coos, condescending into the shell of your ear, basking in the feel of your cunt near-strangling him in adoration. “Can feel you, y’know? Got such a grateful lil' pussy,” he places a kiss to the side of your neck, groaning against the soft skin. “Always lets me know how much you love having my cock buried inside it.”

As he speaks, you try to catch your breath. To come down from your high.

It doesn’t work. Not while his hips continue to grind against yours, not while cradled between his arms like his holy beloved, and especially not with his tip still pressing against every available, wanting spot on your walls.

Javi takes another long drag from the dart. “What do you say when you come, baby?”

A big, laboured inhale, and the words come out in one, rushed exhalation. “Thank you, Javi.”

He responds with a downright cocky laugh. “You’re welcome, cariño. Good girl.”

The praise… it makes you melt.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, nails grazing the skin of your scalp, he pulls you off of his chest. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the stale heat of the Jeep Cherokee.

You buck up, doing your best to keep pleasing him as he studies your devoted movements, as he leans back against the seat—groaning.

His hand—often glued to your rolling hip—provides you with only a mere hint of stability.

“That guy you were with,” he takes a drag from his cigarette, using his free hand to toy with one of your peaked nipples. “At the bar. You’d’ve done this for him?”

Your lips part, but no sound crosses the threshold of your lips. You’re dazed—still coming—and building to yet another peak. His unwillingness to move starts to ground you; the long length of every hard muscle beneath his arms, the round, bulging ridges of his shoulders… they become your salvation, places to lay your weight into. Riding him becomes second nature: you’re attuned to his rhythm and the desperate, commanding desires of your body.

Suddenly, you’re a part of him; when he exhales, the smoke creeps out of his lungs and into your own.

You burn right along with it.

He drops the still-smoking cigarette onto the seat next to your entangled bodies, bringing both his hands to rest against your dampened skin. One comes down hard, delivering a quick, harsh slap to your ass.

It would leave a mark.

“Tell me. Use that pretty mouth, hermosa. ‘Know you know how—used it—ran it all fuckin’ day.” Javi grunts, angling to bend over you, pushing into your guts as he wraps you in his arms, finally taking the burden of your weight off of your scraped up, wobbling knees. He continues on, “Tonight, too—been so easy, baby, lettin’ me put anything I want in there like a good lil' slut,” drinking in your cry of pleasure. He almost says it to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he reminisces, as your cunt begins to throb around his hardening cock once more. “You'd've done that for him, cariño?”

You swallow, trying to clear the stars dancing before your eyes, and that fuzzy sound of static. It muffles the symphony of Javi’s hoarse breaths, your own, helpless cries, and the filthy sound of skin colliding with—grinding against—skin.

He quickens, now, using you like a damn toy. Every rough thrust brings you closer to heaven; every ardent, breathtaking squeeze of his arms around your middle feels like angels sighing.

“No,” you breathe, closing your eyes. Your arms cling around his neck, fingers fanning through his thick hair—everything is him, him, him. He leans forward again, ducking down to kiss the hollow of your throat; you pull him in faithfully, moaning softly at the feel of his lips, his teeth under the valley under your jaw. “Only you.” It sounds like worship, sliding up an octave as that low ache worsens, as he compells a second climax out of your already-quivering body. “Only you, Javi.”

He growls, lips dragging up to your ear as the hairs of his mustache tease your cheekbone. “Prove it,” he breathes, deep thrusts growing even more erratic— needier, sloppier. You can barely hear him over your own noises, but he continues his gravelly coos inside your ear nonetheless. “Gimme another one, baby—wanna feel you comin' on my cock when I fill you up so fuckin' full, baby—show me that you’re mine—z’this pussy mine, hermosa?”

“Yesyesyes—oh God, y-yes—m’yours, Javi, y—”

Your legs seize as yet another release tears through your body. The skin of his neck anchors you in place, and you hang off of him like a rosary, digging your fingernails into the warmth of his flesh with every ounce of strength at your disposal.

He fucks you through your second climax, headed straight for his own.

“S-such a good girl, cariño—f-fuck—” Arms, wrapped around your waist, tighten enough to snap you in two as Javi crushes you against his chest, using the momentum of your entire, shaking body to finish himself off. He comes with a grunted “s-shit”—and you pay attention, wanting to commit the divine sound to memory. Swelling between your silken walls, Javi spills everything he could possibly give inside you.

A final, abrupt thrust, married with the non-stop, involuntary clench-and-release of your cunt works to cover every square inch of you with him.

When it’s over, the man refuses to let you part from him (not that you had any real desire to do so, anyway). A big, shaking hand keeps your head cradled in the firm crook of his neck, and he slowly, slowly softens inside you. He basks in the final, weak flutters of your cunt as you lose yourself in the smell of his cologne.

His heart hammers in his chest. You can hear it with your ear pressed to his neck. Going limp, your damp forehead rolls onto the hard roundness of his shoulder.

That aching, sore opening soaks the skin of his thighs. You shiver softly, dripping onto the base of his shaft.

“Say it, cariño,” Javi murmurs, laying a rough kiss to your temple. He runs his hands up and down your bare spine, fingers dancing along your sticky skin.

You loose a breathy laugh against his golden skin. “Thank you, Javi.”

And you pull back just in time to catch his genuine smile.

It fucking melts you. Adoration, pride… spreading like tree-roots under rich, forest soil throughout your still-heaving chest.

He rubs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, wiping clean some of the going-out makeup that had no-doubt become a total, leaking mess.

“‘Pretty when you’re nice, y'know,” he mutters, moving to cup your cheeks between his warm, hardened palms. And then he pauses, reconsidering his words. “But fuckin’ hot when you’re mean.”

A breathy giggle. “What can I say,” you whisper, trailing a few appreciative fingers up and down his forearms. “You bring out the very best in me, Peña.”

He scoffs, but smiles all the while.

Off in the distance, there’s music. Sounds of debauchery and excitement travel through the warm summer air, audible even through the closed windows. The night is alive for the rest of the city; somewhere far, far away, an engine growls, rubber tires squealing against the pull of hard pavement.

It takes him away.

Javi grasps your shoulders, pushing you up and back to effectively slide you off of his half-soft length. “I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he says, yanking his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Make sure you lock the door, alright?”

Pause.

What?

“You’re leaving?” You mirror him, hastily rearranging yourself—skinny straps find their way back above your shoulders, your short dress finds itself yanked down to its rightful place.

It’s awkward work, given the confines of the space.

The agent slips out from underneath you. He opens the door, rising from the backseat and straightening up with a groan. “Think I know where he was going,” he responds, mostly to himself. “I’m only, what…” a flip of his wrist as he checks the time, “Thiiiiiirty? Thirty-five minutes behind him?”

Before you know it, you’re bristling with irritation.

Again.

You throw your heels down on the street, unceremoniously shoving a cramping foot in each one. “Don’t be an idiot, Peña,” and you try your hand at standing, buckling slightly on a pair of Jell-o legs.

He comes around to your side, steadying you on your feet. Reflected in his deep-brown eyes is the same annoyance flashing across your own gaze. “D’you just expect me to be there, sweetheart? Z’that it? Every time your ass needs saving?”

Shame heats the soft skin of your cheeks. Your eyes trail down to the ground, volatile, incomprehensible emotions building with every passing second.

“It won’t happen again—I won’t-I won’t be so stupid, or-or—I won’t go out, anymore.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s nice 'n all, but it’s sure as shit not gonna change anything.”

When you don’t respond, when you don’t look up, his edges soften. “They went to your house, sweetheart.” With his hands on your shoulders, he implores you to see sense. “It’s either we get them or they… get you.”

You exhale, hard. “You’re being dramatic.”

That does it for him.

After an exasperated shake of his head, he’s grabbing your hands in his own, placing a set of keys in the cradle of your palm.

His tone is low, demanding, unbending. “Lock the doors.”

Then, he’s turning to leave, walking to the front of the Cherokee.

Before rounding the corner, he turns his hardened profile to the side. The glare of the building’s lights dance on his tanned skin, turning the whole scene into a sort of lucid dream.

“Y’know, you’re really starting to piss me off with this whole… utopian fantasy you’re livin’ in.” He barely even addresses you, mumbling the rest of his sentiment mostly to himself. “I’m fuckin’ tired of being the only one looking out for you.”

Utopian fantasy?

You try to dismiss him—to call him ridiculous, to throw yourself into the familiar task of poking holes in his arguments—but… you can’t. Over and over, his words rush you in waves: “the only one looking out for you” “utopian fantasy” “the only one looking out for you” “utopian—”

Suddenly, you’re on a different street. In the same clothes, and in the same body, but somewhere far, far away, facing a different man. It’s somewhere very loud, where tires and knees come to a screeching stop against cement, where the downbeat of every Latin measure is punctuated by the sound of a bullet, inscribed with your initials, ripping through the static summer air.

Panic hits you like a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t go away, either.

Not even once you’re back on Javi’s street, fossilized in amber, watching him move to the driver’s side of his Jeep.

All the fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel…

You’d forced him to shoulder it for you, instead.

But, inevitably, what goes around comes around. And he’s dropped your burden right back onto you with a few well-timed words.

Truth bares itself to you, settling heavy atop your bones like an ancient, primal wound. The result is a pair of unsteady legs, a perennial tremor in both, white-knuckled hands, and a crackling voice, resisting use.

“Javi…”

Only when you hear the sound of your own terror echoed back to you do you permit yourself to cry.

And there you stand. Disheveled, confused, broken—clothing misplaced, ruined, broken—

And you just don’t want him to leave.

Not now.

Not when you need him.

Not when you need someone.

Not when you think you’ve finally got it figured out, and especially not when you’re so damn close to speaking it into existence.

Realization. Acknowledgement. Expression.

It’s not a customary pattern, in your experience.

Javi stops in his tracks, stunned to a halt at the sheer emotion in your plea.

It stings when you clear your throat. “I just…” and you falter, strange, unfamiliar words sticking to your throat, sickly-sweet dried honey. Each vowel reverberates back to you, amplified by the acoustics of the empty street and their novelty.

Still, you’re not quite sure how he’s able to hear you, given that you can only bring yourself to speak a handful of decibels above a damn whisper.

“I’ve just never been important, Peña.”

You wipe a self-conscious hand across your face, clearing the sea-salt from below your downcast eyes.

Before you’re able to put a stop to it—it all comes rushing out. Averting his gaze, you ramble on in agitation.

“Not beyond being a-a pair of hands to make fucking photocopies—or as the butt of some sort of “prissy receptionist” joke or even just as some—as-as a kind of fucking challenge to men—men like you, Javier—because I… well, because I’m mean, and I-I guess it’s just fun for everyone to see how far they can take it before—before I…” You give your head a fervent shake, trying to reel yourself back in, trying to close off the monologue.

But the cracks had formed, and with nowhere to go, the mounting pressure of the seven seas washes away the rest of your weakened dam.

The agent can't even get a word in.

“Anyways, that’s-that's not the point. The point is that it just… it didn’t seem possible that anyone in this whole fucking country would even think twice about me—even if it was just to… to kill me…”

A lump forms, lodging behind your larynx.

You start to rush.

“So I really am sorry that I acted like such an asshole, but none of this makes a fucking lick of sense to me—I’m-I’m a secretary, for fuck’s sakes—I’m nothing, no one, I’m not—” and then you’re frantic—

The gunshots, the tires, the music, the spark plug, a Camino—

“Just please, don’t go, don’t—I-I know you’re mad, just—please, just don’t—”

It’s impossible to catch your breath. Every heaved sob racks your lungs, shaking you all the way down to your buckling knees.

You want to turn, to run and hide, to fling yourself into oncoming traffic—anything to end the interminable humiliation you couldn’t seem to keep from putting on display in front of Javier Peña.

And shit. No man could see a woman in the same way after this. No man would care for a woman like this, destroyed and pathetic and—

“Oh, cariño—”

And he’s there.

Those arms—so used to taking—they wrap you up, pulling you into the heat of his body, protecting you from the pointed echoes of laughter and song breezing through the night air. Those hands, the ones that bruised, slapped, grabbed—they hold—the right unburdens you of your oppressive weight, pressed flat against the small of your back. His left cradles the back of your head, laying your temple to the side of his throat.

“You’ve always been important to me, sweetheart.”

His soft murmurs tumble down your spine. That smoky breath envelops you; it reminds you of those blankets in the movies—the ones that the firemen hand out after the disaster’s over, the survivors rescued. In the denouement.

“S’okay, S’okay. I’m sorry, baby, alright? I’m not mad, cariño, it’s okay.”

Running his fingers through your hair, supporting your head like a delicate, sacred object, murmuring comforts against the softest parts of your neck—Javi goes on and on. Despite the frequent shifts between Spanish and English, you manage to catch the main gist of his crooning.

“I could never be mad at you, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad, cariño.”

“And I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

After an eternity, you feel calm enough to pull away. You’re a wreck, gazing up at him with big, silver-lined eyes.

And it’s then that you see him.

That you really see him.

The concern, the anguish, the affection… You’d punished him for doing the very thing that you were incapable of doing.

Protecting you.

Caring for you.

As tears continue to leak from your eyes, you take note of his beauty. Not just of his looks, but also in the sheer power radiating from him, towering like a knight over you. In those capable, caring hands—hands that had torn others apart, that had put you back together—there was beauty in them, too.

You wipe your face dry.

And you soften your tone, aiming to lighten the mood. “Stop trying to get in my pants, Peña." A sniffle. "I don’t sleep with cops.”

He rolls his eyes, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know,” he cups your face, drying the final, lingering remnants of your melt-down off your cheeks, “I waited outside that fuckin’ bar for hours tonight. Just in case.”

Oh.

God, you’d never even bothered to think about how he’d gotten to you so quickly.

Of course he’d been there.

That truth feels… warm.

He goes on. “Watched you… saw you with that guy.” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Had to look away when you came outside. S’why it… took a minute. To get there.”

That has your gaze trailing off, eyes cast down in shame, studying the worn-in rubber on the Jeep’s tires.

It would have never worked, anyway. There wasn’t a man on Earth who could ween your mind off of this one.

With the pad of his thumb against your chin, he brings you back to him. Javi commands your full attention with the just the sincerity of his stare.

“Even when you want nothin’ to do with me... I’m there, alright? I’m here, baby.”

Those eyes… softened with affection, hardened with conviction. Javier always had a way of straddling both worlds at once.

He waits for your signal, your quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then, he’s kissing you—softly. Fingers curling around his forearms, you borrow his strength to keep yourself from swooning. He holds your face as tenderly as he caresses your lips, and with every synced inhalation, he speaks yet another unspoken word into existence.

After giving you enough to make you feel whole again, he pulls away.

With his great-big-palm to your cheek, he says everything you need to hear.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

—

part 3

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmood @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @totallynotastanacc @dzaga890 @swedishscumfuck @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @jazzerbelle14

—

Officer Officer Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer No, I wouldn't do a thing like that, that's for sure The house was already on fire, I swear I'm not a liar (Well) I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking Tell me, do you always work alone so late? Gosh, I'm a little shy standing here in my night gown Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on?

Looking at me, then suddenly

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer You can ask me anything you want Anything, anything

Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger Well, that's interesting Have you ever thought of dating a singer?

The flames are getting higher So is my desire It's kind of exciting Don't you think?

Then suddenly he's uncuffing me

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I can be the bad girl I'm getting you so hot You can be the good guy Tell him please stop

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

You can be the good guy (Officer) I'm in love Tell him please Stop (Officer) (Officer) You can be the good good (Officer) I'm in love Love in a hurricane

—

#Javier Peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal smut #javier peña x y/n #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos

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almondamaretto · 7 months ago

Note

omg hihi i love how u write sooo i wanted to ask if u could write where the reader tries getting matt jealous by flirting w chris (?? optional it could be anyone else) and he eventually gets jealous and that turns into a smut 😛😛 if that even makes sense 😭 PLSPLS thank you

Attention

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: y/n gets matt’s attention by flirting with chris

Warnings: weed, smut.

IM BACK (maybe) SO EXPECT MORE SHIT (hopefully) I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I WILL BE MORE ACTIVE I PROMISE (i don’t)

like halfway proof read

✄┈┈┈┈

Wind blew through her hair as she sped down the highway, one hand loosely holding the colorful steering wheel, the other holding a joint up to her pink, glossy lips.

The glowing warmth of the orange sun hid behind the tall trees, golden rays painting her face as she sped down the street.

Sza's "Julia" was blasting through her speakers as she pulled up to the triplet's house, music cutting off abruptly as she cut the ignition and exited the black jeep.

She sucked in a final hit of her joint, snuffing out the half-smoked spliff against her car and tucking it behind her ear.

With a final tug on her black miniskirt and one last readjustment of the straps of her thong, she strutted her way up to their front door, not bothering to knock.

climbing up the stairs, the sight of Chris sitting on the couch, legs spread wide welcomed her. Matt was sitting a few feet to his right, scrolling on his phone. Everyone else was scattered around their living room, holding separate conversations as music played lowly in the background.

"Ayy, y/n! c'mere" a very blasted Chris exclaimed, patting the plush material of the cream couch next to him.

Matt's head shot up at the mention of her name, eyes fixating on her scantily dressed figure as she sat right next to Chris, leaving barely any space between the two of them. His brow quirked.

"Hey Matt!" she said, looking at him up and down. His jeans sat low on his hips, his muscle tee riding up just enough to show off the band of his Calvin Klein boxers.

He held up a peace sign, a silver ring wrapped around his pointer and pinky finger--he shot her a flirty smirk.

She blinked at him slowly, expecting more of a greeting.

Rolling her eyes, she brought her knees up on the couch, resting them against Chris and looking into his eyes.

He started to ramble, sativa taking control of his senses.

"Y'know we were all waiting for you to get here. Matt especially. He kept asking if his outfit was good enough--and his hair, he messed with his hair way too fucking much."

Chris grabbed a small strand of her silky hair, toying with it absentmindedly as he spoke with a raspy voice, close enough for his warm breath to raise the hairs on her neck.

"Yeah? Well he doesn't seem to be interested now." She giggled, brushing a lock of his hair out of his face.

"Well, that's ‘cause he wants to seem all tough. Don't tell him I told you but he's just a big pussy." He said in a hushed tone, pulling a smile from her lips.

Y/n couldn't deny Chris' charming and dorky personality--if she were anyone else, she was sure she would be chasing after him rather than sitting on his couch leading him on.

Matt, however, could have her chasing for miles. Everything he did seemed so intentional and suave; he was always calm and collected--he felt like a refreshing soda after a day at the beach.

Suddenly, Chris focused on the joint sitting behind her ear.

He stopped tugging on her hair to slither his hand behind her neck, fingers brushing her skin and creating goosebumps. He grabbed the rolled paper between two fingers, looking at it with heavy eyes and a smile.

"Thank you, weed gods" He cheered, searching for a lighter.

Y/n reached into her bra, pulling out a bedazzled lighter. Chris placed the lipstick-stained paper in between his lips, gazing up at y/n with hot cheeks as she brought the lighter up to the end, igniting the paper.

Matt watched the events unfold with a clenched jaw, losing the faint grasp on his buzz.

Y/n breathed in a large puff, closing her eyes, and letting the burning in her throat subside. she turned and crawled over to matt, removing the joint from her flavored lips and handing it to matt.

He took two deep hits, letting the intoxicating substance flow through his anticipating lungs and into his bloodstream. She sat on her knees and watched him intently as he visibly relaxed.

Reaching up to grab the paper again, he grasped her wrist with a firm, yet gentle grip. They sat like that for a few beats before he stood up, dragging her with him. A large hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his side.

He quickly passed the drug to Chris, who tried to conceal a knowing smirk, before pulling the teasing girl into his dimly lit room, shutting the door with their combined weight pressed against it.

"Have fun!" Chris faintly yelled.

The sunset lamp y/n bought for Matt projected an array of warm colors along the pair, the orange light kissing y/n's face, and ethereal and angelic aura surrounding her.

The denim in matt's jeans became more restricting, he found himself itching to free himself from the confines of the blue material.

She held eye contact with him, pouty lips parted slightly.

No words were exchanged, but there was an understanding. Of their shared desire; their shared need.

His slender fingers gripped the plush skin of her hip, tracing the black elastic band of her thong. His other hand traced up her side, barely caressing the skin and sending a tingling sensation to her spine. His hand caressed the side of her neck.

Her fingers hooked into the two front loops of his light-wash jeans, searching for somewhere to place her earnest touch.

“P Power” by Gunna echoed throughout the house, a nice touch from Chris, the designated aux.

Both were breathing deeply, as if they had just finished a light jog.

It happened in an instant--she squeezed her tan thighs together, his pinky finger dipped underneath the seam of her miniskirt, and their lips clashed together with feverish haste.

They each fought for dominance like the push and pull of the ocean. Y/n wrapped her arms around Matt's craned neck as Matt pushed the two further into the door.

Bringing his hand to the front of her neck, he squeezed the sides of her soft skin lightly--she gasped, tugging on the baby hair at the nape of matt's neck.

He took control of the kiss with a low groan, applying more pressure to her neck, grinning into her lips as her head fell back. He took this opportunity to start working down her jawline and neck, biting small, aggravated marks into her silky skin.

Their chests heaved, her hardened nipples poking through the sheer fabric of her shirt and against the rough material of his worn cotton shirt.

"Oh, fuck." She said breathlessly as his teeth found the sensitive part of her neck, working a dark mark into the flesh.

Once he was happy with his work, he pulled away from her touch completely, nearly pulling a needy whine from her throat.

"Fuck, you're hot." He gaped, trailing his eyes up and down her flustered figure. Her hair was messy; eyes droopy, staring at him with need. A thin layer of sweat caused her skin to glow under the sultry lighting, her thighs pressed together and hands resting at her sides.

A wave of confidence surged through her veins, a product of the drugs in her system. She pushed herself off the door, "you have such a way with words, Matthew," she breathed out, pressing her lips to his once again.

He sat back on his bed, tilting his head up to meet hers as she climbed onto his lap, shaky legs straddling him.

Her hands ran back and forth through his fluffy brown hair, pulling sporadically to rouse a reaction from him.

His hands explored her thighs and hips, each time threatening to push her skirt farther up her skin. He gripped her hips once more, lifting her slightly to lay her down on the bed, lips never disconnecting.

Wandering hands traced underneath the thin fabric of her blouse, caressing her chest and pinching her hardened nipples, kissing them through the sheer material.

He continued his assault down her stomach, leaving a trail of wet, needy kisses. The tips of his fingers dipped under the top of her skirt, pulling them down slowly as he left closed-mouth kisses to her hips.

Y/n’s thin excuse for a skirt was discarded somewhere on Matt's bedroom floor, along with his shirt.

He hovered above her lower torso, ringed fingers toying with the thin black bands. Her manicured fingers shoved his forehead gently. "Don't be a tease, Matthew."

He planted slow, teasing kisses to the fabric of her underwear, speaking with a smooth, deep voice in between each.

"Such a hypocrite. How would you feel if I got with one of those girls out there, huh?" He finished his sentence by pressing one final kiss to her clothed clit, watching her shudder with a grin.

"That's hardly what happened," she breathed out, sending a pointed look to him. "You know would never get with Chris. Just wanted your attention."

He continued to kiss down her thighs whilst gently removing her soaked-through thong.

"Hmm. And is all this for me?" He kissed her inner thigh, centimeters away from where she needed him the most.

"Yes, god yes. Please Matt."

"So sweet." He finally said and wrapped his arms around her stomach, pulling her legs over his shoulders.

His mouth attached to her bundle of nerves, tracing small shapes with his tongue. His movements dragged a long whine from her lips, manicured nails reaching to grip his hair.

He traced his tongue up and down her core, orchestrating her audacious sounds, needing more.

He brought his middle and ring finger up, gathering her arousal and pushing his slender fingers into her warmth. The metal of his rings pressed against her skin sending chills over her skin.

Her noises grew in frequency and amplitude, his other hand shooting up to her mouth to muffle the loudness while he repeatedly stroked her spongey walls.

Matt could tell she was getting close, harshly sucking her clit while continuing to trace patterns with his tongue, fingers never losing their furious pace.

Her moans grew louder and louder despite Matt's efforts to muffle them—though he didn’t really mind, anyone who was paying attention when they left already knew what was going on.

He continued his ministrations even as her thighs threatened to close around his head and as her hips lifted off his silk cotton sheets with overstimulation.

When the stimulation became too much, she pulled him away from her sensitive cunt. He was as equally out of breath as her, his eyes had become droopy like hers, and his boner pressed harshly against the denim of his jeans.

He earnestly pressed his lips against hers again, kissing her harshly and sloppily, his hands quickly working on removing their remaining clothing.

He quickly leaned over to his dresser and searched for a condom, y/n lifting herself to rest on her elbows, peppering his chest and neck with quick kisses.

“You have all my attention now, doll.” He muttered quietly, almost to himself.

He slowed down, rubbing his length up and down your cunt, gathering your wetness, watching as you practically drooled at the sight of him.

“Is this what you want?” He used his other hand to caress your jaw sweetly.

“More than anything, please Matt.”

He slowly pressed his length into her, letting her fully adjust to her size before beginning to thrust, slow and gentle movements quickly becoming deep and harsh.

His enthusiasm elicited loud moans from deep within her chest, hands looking for anywhere to anchor into, landing on his freckled back, leaving raised, stinging marks all over.

In an instant she was flipped over, and her flushed face was pressed into a plush pillow. Matt continued to drill into her, quiet groans and curses falling from his lips every few seconds.

“So fuckin’ loud. Want everyone to know what we’re doin’ in here? Huh? You want Chris to hear how good I’m fucking you?”

She thought was strange thinking about Chris when his brother was fucking into her like this, but the thought didn’t maintain one Matt reached around to rub her clit, mind going completely blank other than thoughts of Matt.

Once the familiar knot started to coil in her lower stomach, she reached back to grab Matt’s wrists for more stability, her legs starting to shake as her orgasm washed over her, tears beginning to soak his silk pillowcase.

Strong hands gripped her hips harder as she clenched around him repeatedly, causing Matt to throw his head back in pleasure and let out a sharp breath.

“Ah, shit. Fuck!”

He fucked them both through their climaxes, slowing his staggering thrusts and finally pulling out of her pillowy walls. He threw his condom into his trash next to his bed, before leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to y/n’s back.

“You did so good, sweetheart. So good for me.” he praised, running his hands up and down her sides and back.

Once she regained her strength, she flipped herself over, heaving chest lifting up and down. Her shaky hands grabbed Matt’s arm and she pulled him down next to her, snuggling into his side.

“I think you might’ve got a little jealous in there...”

“Yeah, ya think?”

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff

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pia-nor481 · 10 months ago

Text

Long night, Hard ride

Oscar Piastri x reader smut

1.3k words (sorry it’s so short I struggled with the actual smut)

It was made very clear from their first interaction that Oscar didn't particularly like social events; work social events were no exception. As much as he enjoyed working with, and for, Mclaren, he didn't like any of the launches or parties. This party did not evolve the car and so Oscar was especially angsty, his whole body felt heavy, and it was starting to get difficult to keep proper posture. "You will be okay." She said, trying to comfort him, running her hand over his bicep clad in the black blazer. His eyes were slowly begging to fall, "I know, it's just too much and I'm so tired." Oscar liked to sleep in as much as he could, but the training combined with the early morning to prepare for with event didn't help. The divers were there to secure sponsors for next season, Lando was capable of speaking with sponsors for hours, he was so full of energy that it came easy to him. But Oscar struggled and so was hiding in a corner with his girlfriend. "It will be over soon, at least we have some peace for now." She looked around quickly before pecking his cheek; he smiled wide as she rubbed the lipstick off of his face. "Do you think we could sneak out?" Their drinks have long been empty and Oscar was leaning against the wall for a few minutes now. "I think Zak might give away your seat." She giggled

"I think we can get away with it." He whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist, guiding her towards the door. They practically hugged the wall trying to avoid human contact. She had to hold him up as they walked down the stairs towards the car. She held her hand out for the car key, not letting him drive in such a condition and ever the gentlemen, he still opened the door for her. The drive home was long, Oscar definitely fell asleep a few time, but the roads were rather deserted at this late hour, his hand remained firm on her thigh as she continued to hold the wheel. "We are almost home, ten more minutes." She whispered, his only response was a quiet hum. Oscar could stay awake now, but he didn't have the energy for much more; Completely lethargic, he stumbled out of the car and in through the front door.

"Come on." She said, dragging him up the stairs towards their shared bedroom; It was still very much a mess from the morning, Oscar was in a complete rush after waking up for the third time, she helped him get ready, not that it would have taken him very long on his own. He took a brief moment to stare, the dress was beautiful, and it fit her so well, Oscar would say it made her look perfect, more than usual. But that was all he could think as she pushed him out the door. It was not often that they were late, a skill Oscar must have perfected in his early years. She looked at him with an almost smug look, handing him the car keys. "I know I drive for a living, but surely you drive fine." His statement fell upon deaf ears. Oscar did not expect his words to change her decision, so he proceeded to the driver's side, with a quiet whine.

Even now, quiet huffs left his mouth, making a poor attempt to walk up the stairs. She knew he was tired, yet she couldn't help the feeling of desire. Seeing Oscar in a suit really did get her going, even just the sight of him could do the same, but tonight in particular, she just couldn't stop the arousal from coursing through her body. Oscar reached the bathroom rather swiftly and slowly began to remove his clothes, struggling with the buttons. "Please, Love, I need help." She giggled, walking closer, seeing the dishevelled man pouting. Selfishly, she undid each button as slow as possible, staring at him with a sultry look. Oscar noticed, but chose not to say anything. If he was honest, Oscar would say he preferred morning sex, a sure way to wake him up, and have a good start to the day. He also understood that waiting wouldn't be wise.

She turned slowly, as Oscar motioned for her to, wanting to help unzip her dress. He did so as fast as possible with the little energy he had. He was shocked at the sight before him; the matching set before him framed her perfectly. He felt a rush of blood flow through his body, warming him up slowly, with a lightly blush painting his skin. She turned back around slowly, meeting his lust filled gaze. Already feeling fuzzy, Oscar grabbed her hips softly to pull her closer, desperate for close contact. He didn't say a word as she began to kiss his neck slowly as he wanted her to feel good, blissful even. Yet she was nervous, curious as to how this would work; Oscar didn't have the energy to fuck her the way she desired, the way she deserved, but that wouldn't stop him.

His hand found a home on the small of her back as he guided her back towards the bed. "As much as I want to, I can't fuck you tonight." Oscar whispered, laying down on his side of the bed with a loud sigh. She pouted at his remark as he smirked, closing his eyes. "Come here." There was a moment of silenced accompanied by hesitation, it took a while for her to register that she actually had to move towards him. He smiled up at her as she rested on the bed beside him, he was giddy despite the late hour, perhaps becoming slightly delirious. Oscar head the quiet pads of her feet against the floor and smiled, he got truly excited when he felt the bed dip slightly. "Be good...And straddle me." She was originally sat there peacefully, knees together, waiting for an instruction, so she was keen when she heard Oscar's voice.

With her knees around Oscar's hip, she smiled, endorphins running through her body. "No, no, Baby, I need one of your legs to be between mine." His voice had dropped an octave and likely some volume, not quite a whisper. She was confused to begin with, expecting to ride him. "Straddle my thigh, that's it." She listened carefully to every word, focusing on every syllable. She pushed her cunt against his thick thigh, enjoying the pressure. Oscar's hands quickly, made way to her hips, grasping lightly. "Now, I need you to slowly rock your hips for me." She did so in awe, moving slowly, feeling pressure build up in her lower abdomen. Rocking back and forth was easy, getting the right pressure and speed was difficult; She placed a hand on his chest, needing support. "That's it, Good girl." Oscar's grip harshened, he pushed and pulled on her hips, helping her grind faster and harder, heightening her pleasure. "Please, Oscar, need you." Her mind was too full, all full of Oscar and how he feels.

His thigh was covered in her, soaked in her wetness. Her whines quickly became moans as he edged her on, sucking lightly at her neck. Oscar could feel her cunt twitching with every movement. "So good for me, cum, cum for me Love." Her eyes were closed as her head dropped back, Oscar smiled at her legs shaking, struggling to keep her body up right. She collapsed on his chest, seeing stars while giving raged breaths. Oscar's hands began to draw shapes onto her skin as he hugged her close, pulling the blanket over their bodies he spoke, "I'm wide awake now"

#oscar piastri x reader smut #oscar piastri 81 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastry #oscar pistachio #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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say-al0e · 10 months ago

Text

Breathe

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: Blowing Steve in his car. That's it, that's the plot. (Ft a prompt someone requested a million years ago, sorry!) Warnings: Oral (M Receiving), kind of exhibitionism (in his car in the woods); that's about it. Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k

There were only a handful of places in all of Hawkins where you and Steve could truly be alone.

Though Steve spent most of his time unsupervised, parents away and large house left empty, that rarely meant you were left to your own devices. If anything, it often seemed to mean you were bothered more frequently.

Dustin knew where to find the spare key and, if it moved, had no problem picking the lock on the sliding back door. The break room at Family Video was a no-go because Robin was never very far away and there were cameras - those were tapes that Steve never wanted Keith to see. And it seemed that no matter where you turned, there were children demanding rides or friends lamenting the lack of entertainment in Hawkins.

Steve’s car, parked at the edge of town - away from Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock, the first places bored deputies and your gaggle of adopted children would look - was the only place you could find a moment of something resembling peace.

The dim moonlight filtered in through the window, filled the front seat and illuminated Steve’s side profile as he sat in the driver’s seat. It cast shadows across the bridge of his nose, glittered in the warm brown of his eyes - highlighted the fond amusement that brightened his eyes, his near natural state of being these days - as he waved a Twizzler between quips about Dustin’s latest adventure.

“Little shit called me at midnight,” he huffed, eyes narrowing as his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “If I have to drive him to, or pick him up from, Munson’s trailer one more time, I swear I’m gonna make him start biking. I feel like I’ve turned into a fuckin’ taxi service for wayward teenagers.”

Steve swore he hated complaining - rolled his eyes any time he was forced to listen to someone else drone on about this inconsequential concern or that one, though most concerns seemed inconsequential after facing Hell time and time again. He’d promised that complaints were off the table for the night, that neither of you would talk about work or the kids, but you’d been sat at the edge of the woods, parked in his car in the dark, for nearly an hour and he’d done little else.

“I had to wait nearly an hour last week.” You knew that - he’d left you waiting at his place, lying on his couch half-asleep - but that didn’t stop him from huffing once more as he reached for another Twizzler. “Who does this kid think he is?”

The complaints - generally good-natured, never malicious as neither of you would trade your relationship with the kids for anything - were not new. Neither was this thing between you and Steve. There was a base of friendship, a closeness you’d shared for years, that made the transition from friends to more a little easier.

To know Steve was to love him, and love him you did.

Being able to reach out and touch him, fingers brushing the soft cotton of his t-shirt or gliding along the rough denim of his jeans as you watched a movie without pulling a questioning glance from him; being able to lift your head and nuzzle your face in his neck, lips pressing to his heated skin any time you wanted - it was maddening in the most wonderful of ways.

Every moment you spent with Steve, full of half-hearted complaints or laughter or rare moments of reflection after all you’ve endured together, was worthy of appreciation - even the moments you’d rather not relive. But before you could redirect his complaints into something else entirely, a groan tore you from your pondering.

Steve frowned, slumped in his seat and brought his hand to his eyes as he rolled his neck. “I think I’m getting old,” he declared, sighing heavily before turning his head to face you.

With a surprised laugh and a roll of your eyes, you reached out to steal the candy from his hand. “You’re twenty, Stevie,” you reminded him, “you’re not getting old.”

“I’d agree with you if we lived anywhere else,” he acquiesced with a thoughtful frown, “but I think all the fights are catching up with me. I totally get what all those old people mean when they say they know it’s gonna rain because their knees hurt.”

There was something so endearingly serious about his complaint, concerned about the state of his body after years of sports and fights and supernatural dealings, that you couldn’t help the soft laughter that filled the interior of his car. It mingled with the soft music, joined Steve’s own easy huff of amusement - happy to make you laugh, to see your smile - as you shook your head once more.

Despite the heat blasting from the vents, a hint of January chill still managed to invade the cozy space. It reminded you that a whole world existed out there, beyond the comfort of the bubble you and Steve so infrequently were allowed to venture to, and you sighed as you traced the slope of Steve’s nose - the curve of his jaw, the plush of his lips, the soft set of his eyes as he returned your studying easily.

“You’re kinda pretty, Harrington.”

Even in the pale light, you could see the soft pink dusting his cheeks as he waved a Twizzler as if to brush away the compliment. “And you have been really quiet tonight. What’s up?”

Part of you wanted to tease him - remind him that it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with his dozens of complaints - but the larger part, the part that fixated on the beautiful boy sitting beside you, decided to lean across the seat and press your lips to his.

Steve tasted of artificial strawberry, soft and sweet, and hummed a noise of pleasant surprise as he dropped the candy and lifted his hand to cradle the curve of your jaw. Warm fingers splayed across your skin, tugged you closer - eager to have you near, to have his fill of you - and you let him.

Kissing Steve was an experience you swore you would never take for granted. Now that you’d gotten a taste of him, you were hooked. His embrace simultaneously set you at ease and engulfed your body in the most pleasant warmth. Being at the center of his attention still felt just as exciting as it had in the beginning; it was indescribable and, though he could sometimes get distracted, you savored the moments you had him entirely to yourself.

The warmth of his fingers bled into your skin, warmed you from within and shielded you from the bitter Indiana cold, and you eagerly melted into him. It wouldn’t be long before his hands began to wander, fingers dipping beneath the soft material of your sweater, and you couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped.

When you broke the kiss, desperate to take a breath and selfishly eager to catch sight of him, Steve exhaled a stuttering breath. As expected, his cheeks were flushed pink and there was a dazed look in his eyes that took a few quick blinks to shake before he fixed you with a curious look. “Not complaining,” he began, eyes dipping back to your lips, “but what was that for?”

Without thinking, you mirrored his touch - lifted your hand to his cheek, brushed your fingers along the stubble lining his jaw - and hummed. “You looked pretty and I’ve just missed you, is all.”

Steve frowned, a confused little furrow between his brows as he inched himself closer. He tipped his head to meet your gaze, no longer entirely captivated by your lips as he considered. “We’ve seen each other every day this week,” he reminded you, never stopping the soft stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

Though Steve was confident, a flirt by nature, he sometimes had a habit of taking things literally. So, instead of taking offense, you bit back a smile and hummed.

“I know.” While you both worked during the week, you still saw one another most days - on lunch breaks, after work, in the mornings when you allowed him to go out of his way to pick you up - but you hadn’t spent more than a few moments alone between Robin and the kids. So, you emphasized, “I’ve still missed you.”

“Yeah, I -“ Steve cut himself off with a sharp inhale as your hand fell to his thigh, fingers raking over the denim. He always ran warm, even in the winter, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as the muscle tensed beneath your touch. “Oh. Oh, yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”

As he shifted, eager to be closer now that your intention was clear, you bit back your laughter and leaned in to press your lips to his once more.

The longer you spent with Steve, the easier it became to see his true self. Though he could be suave, flirty and confident, it was clear that he was nowhere near the Casanova he once pretended to be. Beneath the hair and the charming smile, he was eager - excited to love and be loved in return - and you were glad to give him all the affection he could want.

Though you were content to spend the rest of your night kissing Steve, you had every intention of taking full advantage of the precious alone time. As his hands began to wander, falling from your cheek to your neck - slowly beginning to glide down in search of warm skin - your hand drifted higher.

When your fingers brushed at the seam of his jeans, nails raking over the zipper, Steve made a pleased noise that made you eager to hear more. Every brush of your hand, every ounce of pressure applied to the growing bulge in his jeans, had Steve shifting his hips in search of more.

Riling him up was easy and he never left you guessing how he felt. With each experimental swipe of your hand and eager press of your mouth, his kiss grew more intense. And while you would’ve taken the time to tease him on any other occasion, it had been long enough that you were desperate. So, without preamble, you popped the button on his jeans and tugged at the zipper.

Steve broke the kiss then, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as he glanced between your face and your hand. “Shit. I’ve really missed you.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you shifted in the passenger seat - attempting to get closer - and leaned in to nip at the hinge of his jaw. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” When he laughed, you hummed. “Your fault, though,” you reminded him as you slipped your hand into the denim and palmed at his length. “Your adopted kids keep interrupting us.”

“Even the babysitter deserves a night off.”

There was a self-satisfied smile on his lips when you laughed and you made no effort to tease him for the eager lift of his hips as you pushed past the final layer of fabric. There was a time for teasing and a time for quick release; though you wanted nothing more than to watch him fall apart completely, you would take what you could get in the moment.

Later, when the world managed to quiet around you, there would be time. You would be able to enjoy him completely, alone in the home that no longer felt cavernous when you used it as your escape, so you gave him exactly what he wanted.

Though Steve expected a preamble, a teasing grin or laughter as he hinted at exactly what he wanted, you were more eager than he seemed to be. The moment he lifted his hips, you helped him nudge the denim down enough to free his cock. And instead of lifting your hand, spitting into your palm and beginning to work him up as he’d come to expect, a choked gasp escaped his mouth as you leaned in and traced the vein running along the underside of his shaft.

Warm brown eyes burned into your skin, watching your every movement as you wrapped your lips around the tip and lapped at the bead of precum.

As you pressed yourself impossibly closer, ignoring the ache in your side and the uncomfortable press of the console and seatbelt buckle to your skin, Steve’s noises of pleasure made the time spent apart almost worthwhile. There was never any guesswork when it came to his pleasure, never any doubt that he was just as enthusiastic - if not more so - about the encounter as you. And his warm groan sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine as his hand fell to your head.

When you began to bob your head, setting a quick pace, Steve sighed. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminded you, fingers tangling in your hair as you pressed yourself closer and closer - a reminder he’d given you since the first time. “Just like that, honey.” He never pushed, never asked for more than he felt you were happy to give, but any time you decided to push yourself, he made sure you knew just how much he appreciated it. “So pretty, so good. Fuck.”

Steve swore, his hands flexing as he fought the urge to press - to lift his hips and control the pace, something you would’ve encouraged were it not for the confines of his car and the uncomfortable position you found yourself in - while you swallowed around his length. It was quick, eager and messy, not as common now that you knew one another so intimately. But you were delighted by the huff of your name and the moan that followed as you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes.

The week without intimacy left him desperate, eager for a release, and you knew that he would come sooner rather than later as his hips began to shift in search of your mouth. Any distance was too far, any pause too long, and you squeezed his thigh as you felt his body begin to tense.

There would be time later for him to return the favor - and you knew that he would return it with great enthusiasm - so you had no qualms about hollowing your cheeks and swallowing around him as you urged him to fall off the edge without a second thought.

As you hoped he would, Steve came with a groan - a sound that fanned the flames already lapping at your skin, left you overheating in your knit sweater - and you hummed encouragingly as you helped him ride it out.

When you pulled away, lifted your head and swallowed, Steve readily pulled you in for a kiss. His hand returned to cradle your jaw, keeping you as close as he could for a long moment, before he allowed you to pull away. As you rested your forehead against his, he fixed you with a searching look.

“I’m totally in love with you. You know that, right?”

Steve made it a point to tell you often. “You might’ve mentioned it before. Always good to hear, though. Wanna take me home and show me how much?”

A limited as your alone time could be, there was little stopping Steve once he set his mind to something. So with a grin and a final kiss, Steve buttoned his jeans and gestured for you to buckle your seatbelt before he set off in the direction of his house. He was right; even the babysitter deserved a night off every once in a while.

________________________________________________

Author's Note: I didn't realize it until right this moment but the last birthday fic I wrote was also giving a favorite character a blowjob in a car so. Don't know what's up with that.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fic #v's fics

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gothcsz · 4 months ago

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I can't stop thinking about reader being an overworked secretary, always so uptight, on the edge and Javi teases and mocks her about it all the time, is slightly mean, making the days insufferable for her until one day she breaks for him and Javi pounds all that stress out of her until she cries ♡

your beautiful mind, anon. i hope you enjoy this 🖤

tags: unprotected p in v sex, semi public sex (parking garage), dirty talk, javier has a big dick, hate fuck kind of, era typical sexism/misogyny, dubcon, no use of y/n, reader doesn't like javi at all but that doesn't stop her from fucking him, crying during sex, javi's cuffs make an appearance, unbeta'd, if i missed anything let me know thx. ~ 2k w/c

You’ve had it. Swear to god, if you have to sit in this uncomfortable chair, type up some useless report, or fetch another goddamn cup of coffee— you might just explode.

Get an office job, they said. Secretarial work is easy and less fast paced than what you’re used to. So how come you haven’t seen a day of peace since you started working here?

Every agent in the office sees you as nothing more than the eye candy that gets the signatures they need for their dick measuring contest-esque operations. They don’t take you seriously, they flirt as if HR doesn’t exist, and worst of all— they patronize you like your head is full of air. Like there’s nothing between your ears.

Snickering behind your back, hushed whispers and tapered conversations when you enter the room, purposefully dropping things by your desk just to watch you bend over to pick them up.

The only one that treats you somewhat like a normal human being is Steve Murphy, and that’s only because he’s married. But even then, he barely keeps his colleagues from fucking with you.

Especially his partner— Javier Peña, whose reputation preceded him. You were getting warnings about the agent before you even touched down in Colombia. His affinity to fuck anything in a skirt. The unorthodox practices he indulged to gather intel. A playboy. A womanizer. How the fuck he manages to not get fired is beyond you, really.

Especially with all the sexual harassment workshops that the office has to endure. Now you’re wondering if there’s so many of them because the asshole with the mustache can’t keep his hands to himself.

He’s no better than the rest of them, either. The flirting to get his paperwork further up the chain, asking you to go out for drinks after work, in which you decline because you’d rather be caught dead than tipsy enough to take a ride on the Peña express, chastising how ‘uptight’ you are and offering to help you relieve some of that stress.

My stress stems from assholes like you— the ones that treat women like sexual objects rather than people.

No matter how handsome or suave he is; the man is dick and apparently you rejecting his advances multiple times does nothing but fuel him to stay persistent.

Which blows your mind. You’ve seen the informants that stop by to ask for him, the women that approach him at office parties— he’s a total babe magnet. Why does he waste his efforts on you— the secretary?

You let out a frustrated groan, not giving a fuck if you get written up for leaving early today. It’s Friday, the office is dead, and if you’re approached one more time by any of these arrogant, good for nothing agents; you will get mouthy and possibly even land a bitch slap.

The gag is, you’re usually good under pressure… something about being surrounded by men like them all day just frayed your nerves like no other.

Gathering your things, you damn near book it down the hall, then elevator, until you’re in the parking garage and fumbling for your keys.

You’re so honed in on getting the fuck out of there that you don’t notice that not one— but two of your tires are as flat as pancakes and that, unfortunatley, is what tips you over the edge.

“God fucking damn it. Fuck this car, fuck this place, fuck everyone in this stupid,” you kick the tire, “fucking,” another kick, “building.” The last kick is misplaced and your toe digs uncomfortably into the pointed tip of your heel which has you cursing the heavens even more and bringing exasperated tears to your eyes.

Will you ever catch a fucking break?

And it’s like the universe is having a good ‘ol laugh, probably because you’ve just cussed it out, because a familiar jeep rolls by— being driven by the aviator wearing, habitually unbuttoned shirt adorning, smug jerk that is the root of your frustrations.

“Having car problems, nena?” He speaks to you from the rolled down window, perpetual smirk on his pouty lips as he eyes your flat tires then your rigid figure.

“Fuck off, Javier.” You turn from him, not wanting for the tears in your eyes to be noticed; but again, this motherfucker is persistent if anything, and he parks in the empty spot next to yours, cutting the engine and hopping out to join you.

“There’s that dazzling attitude. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you just smiled every now and again.”

Your hands curl into fists, sharply turning to face him, your face hot.

“Why the fuck do you always have to do that? Huh? You and everyone else— treating me like I’m beneath all of you—”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re beneath—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You exclaim, chest heaving, “I can’t even fucking talk without getting cut off. Nothing I say or do matters to any of you pricks. Not unless I’m bent over, picking your shit off the floor or running around like a headless chicken fulfilling your coffee orders. The weaponized incompetence, t-the unwanted advances; I’m more than that— more than anything you all think I am. I hate this fucking job, I hate all you government assholes and I’m half tempted to quit but I can’t because I’m stuck here!”

You hadn’t noticed how close you two had gotten during your outburst, standing toe to toe with him. His brows pull into a frown, lips turned downward beneath his stache as he turns over your words.

“You really need to get laid.”

You snap, you do. Your fist coming up to sock him square in the jaw, which surprises him but you don’t stop. Landing blows wherever you can, kicking him repeatedly.

Javier lets you get a few hits in before he exerts his strength and grabs your wrists, dragging you over to his jeep and pressing your chest flat against the cool surface, the force of it leaving you breathless.

“Let go of me!” You squirm in his grasp but all he does is tighten his grip on you.

You don’t know if it’s because emotions are high and there is some truth to his words, but you feel the static of arousal at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing at the position in which he has you in.

“You know how to land a punch. Should get you out into the field. Maybe some excursion would calm you the fuck down.”

With both your wrists in one of his large palms, he uses the other to grab his cuffs and you don’t realize it until you’re restrained and your eyes widen.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing—”

“I’m giving you what you need, sweetheart.” His statement is laden with suggestion, tinged with lust. You look around the empty parking lot and how convenient that you’re both parked way in the corner, far from the elevator or any wandering eyes.

This is a bad idea. What you’ve been actively avoiding since you started. But fuck, are you pissed off and tired and you won’t lie— there is some appeal to getting your brain screwed out of your head after being screwed day after day in the office.

Your resolve drops and you turn off your logical thinking, giving yourself over to Javier completely.

“Then give it to me before I change my mind.”

Those words spur him into action, gun calloused hands bunching your skirt up around your waist, ripping your stockings and you gasp, heart beating wildly in your chest. His fingers work themselves into your panties, dragging along the wet seam of your cunt and your forehead falls against the exterior of his car, eyes fluttering close at how good it feels.

“So wet. Knew this little pussy needed to be taken care of. Don’t worry, reina, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he rubs your clit in slow, tight circles and you bite your lip. “Make you feel appreciated.”

Spreading your wetness, he slips two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt and you moan out his name, feeling so full. Much better than when you do it on your own.

He fucks you with his fingers, pressing himself fully against you and you can feel his hard bulge digging into the small of your back and that only heightens your arousal. His surprisingly soft lips are kissing along the back of your neck before he’s licking at your ear lobe, whispering how good you feel clenching around his fingers.

You come undone in record time, whimpers spilling past your lips and you’re not usually one to enjoy the fingering aspect of foreplay but goddamn— Javier is good. You can at least confirm that half the rumors about him are true.

It all happens so fast after that, him kicking your legs to spread wider, tugging your panties down to your thighs before he’s undoing his belt, releasing his hard cock from those tight jeans, spitting into his hand and using the mix of your release and his saliva to lube him up as he strokes himself one, two times before he’s lining himself up at your weeping entrance.

Your forehead remains pressed to the car, pussy fluttering in anticipation of being filled by a man you can’t stand.

He feeds you his cock in one swift motion, causing you to jerk forward and yelp loudly, the stretch of him inside your tight cunt burns as much as your hatred for him.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes as he begins to set a deliciously brutal pace. His hips snap against the back of your thighs, the flesh of your ass rippling with each thrust.

“Puta madre, nena, this pussy is so fucking tight.” He grits through clenched teeth, fingers digging into your waist, fucking you so good that you’ve lost your ability to speak.

All that flows from you are needy moans and broken sobs. The obscene sound of your pussy squelching, skin meeting skin, echoes through the parking garage and you forget how exposed to the public you are but you really can’t bring yourself to care at the moment; not with how good this man is giving it to you.

Your needy pussy takes and takes, walls pulsating around his thick cock— each time she spits him out, the creamy evidence of your arousal smears all over his shaft and this has him smirking, large palm coming down to spank you.

“Fuckin’ creaming all over me, baby. Knew you wanted this. Needed it so bad. This dick is gonna calm you down, won’t have you acting like such an uptight bitch anymore.”

You gasp, both at his words and the sting from the spank, eyes snapping open as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder to the best of your ability, shooting him the best disdainful glare you can muster despite being rendered damn near immobile by his big dick.

“F-Fuck off,” though the bite in your words is fucking toothless as your legs tremble and your orgasm begins to sneak up on you, starting at your neglected clit which is pulsating— begging to be played with.

As if reading your fucking mind, he slips one hand around you, pinching the raw flesh between his thumb and pointer fingers, rolling it around, causing your hips to inadvertently snap back against him.

“Oh, you like that. Can feel how good she’s grippin’ me when I play with your pretty little clit. You gonna come all over me, muñeca?”

His lips are at your ear, spitting more filth out and those tears from before have messed your eyeliner and mascara up, dark streaks painting your cheeks. Your head falls back against his shoulder, the entire world around you looking like a hazy filter has been applied over it as you succumb to the orgasm being given to you by none other than Javier Peña.

“J-Javi I’m gonna…” he continues to toy with your clit, cock pistoning into you even harder as his other hand leaves your hips and moves up to wrap itself around your throat.

“That’s right baby, let loose for me, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip around your neck at the same time that he delivers a harsh slap to your pussy which has you screaming his name, the walls of your cunt squeezing his cock as your cum coats the velvety skin of him. He grunts in your ear, fucking you through your climax before he pulls out and tugs at his dick, spurts of his milky spend landing across the soft skin of your ass.

You’re both left a panting, heaving mess. Sweat mixes with your tears, your poor pussy swollen and sensitive, feeling his warm cum dripping down from your round cheeks to the back of your thighs.

“Uncuff me.” You demand, not wanting to drown in the euphoria of how he’s just made you feel, opting for that post nut clarity that grounds you back to the shitty situation that led to these coital activities.

He scoffs, “Just got fucked stupid and you’re back to being like this.” He tucks himself back into his pants, reaching for the keys to the cuffs and releasing you from them.

You rub at your wrists, taking your panties off and using them to clean your mixed release off you as best as you can. “It’s almost like good dick wasn’t the key to fixing all my problems. Who would have thought?” You quip sarcastically, using the back of your hand to wipe away the tears and ruined makeup, knowing you look like a goddamn mess right now.

You take your ruined stockings off and fix your skirt, really not wanting to do the walk of shame by going back to the office to call someone to help you out with your tire problem, but you must.

“How are you getting home?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair, standing almost awkwardly before you and you narrow your eyes.

“None of your business.” You state, pushing past him to grab your purse and keys, talking yourself up to march back to your desk and call for a mechanic.

“Let me help,” he offers and you chuckle dryly.

“You’ve done more than enough. No thanks.” You begin to walk past him and towards the elevator but he stops you by grabbing you by your forearm.

“I’m serious. It’s the least I can do.” His eyes soften, and it’s in this moment that you realize how warm they are. A beautiful shade of brown, the shape of a baby cow’s with dainty lashes that compliment them perfectly.

Nu-uh, snap out of it. This is how you get hooked.

“No, the least you can do is leave me the fuck alone, Javier. You got what you wanted.” You snatch your arm back, glaring at him, before strutting off back into the building.

#javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal smut #📞 next caller!#kat's writing.

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totaly-obsessed · 10 months ago

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Nerves

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader navigates the uncertainties of her career, academic studies, and the pressures of her first senior England camp, finding solace and comfort in her relationship

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As a female football player your future career was not guaranteed - one wrong step and all this could be over. Your dream and passion since childhood days could be over.

Anxious as you were, you decided to do something on the side, educate yourself further, and so that it wasn’t as far off from your day job, you had started to study sports science two years ago. The choice of study had been made quickly, after all, you couldn't imagine a life away from the pitch.

Alessia, your girlfriend, stood fully behind you - ready to drive you to the few in-person lectures you had. The blonde would do anything for you. Washing dishes, doing the laundry, sweeping, cooking? One little smile from you and the housework-allergic striker turned into a housewife.

Being called up to your first-ever senior England camp had not been in the plans. Sure it was always something you thought about, especially when Less left for the camps, but you never thought that you would make it this far.

Your girlfriend however had a feeling that you would join her this time - and she was proven right when Sarina called you. The blonde jumped up and down in celebration, pulling you up with her. But once she saw the tears streaming down your face, you were in her strong arms, ready to dry them with her sweater.

The weeks leading up to camp were anything but relaxing - one exam after the other. And they wouldn’t stop for a couple of days either.

Alessia had been watching you wear yourself thin, most days were filled with practice, media, recovery, and games. Nights were spent studying methods to reduce the risk of sports injuries and strategies for rehabilitating injuries when they occur as well as analyzing the social and cultural aspects of sports participation, organization, governance, and marketing.

If the half-Italian was honest, she didn't understand most of the things you were reading about. Making one flashcard after the other in desperate attempts to get it in your head as she watched the circles under your eyes darken.

The day you left for camp she had been hopeful that things would change from now on. You were out of the comfort of your home, confronted with new and old acquaintances and friends.

But of course, it didn't go as planned.

“Are you sure that you even have a girlfriend, Less?”

You had barricaded yourself in your room for the third evening in a row, trying to prepare for the last exam as well as you possibly could.

“We’ve been over this Tooney, just a few more days!”

The following Monday Alessia had woken you up early, shaking you softly as a paper stuck to your cheek. You had fallen asleep on the desk, and by the look of the untouched bed, this probably wasn't the first time either.

“Buongiorno amore mio, è ora di svegliarsi!” Time to wake up? No that couldn't be.

But a glance at the watch on the wall confirmed your girlfriend's words, you really had to get up now. “Thanks, Lessi.”

A soft peck on the lips later and your girlfriend was willing to help you get ready, or rather gather your things and pack your bag while you were in the bathroom.

The car ride to your Uni had been peaceful. Just you and Alessia. It hadn't been like that for a while as you were always studying.

“I’m sorry for being a shit girlfriend lately, Less.”

The blonde's head snapped over so fast that you couldn't even blink. “Don’t you dare say that! You’ve been such a good student, and after this, I won’t let you go that easily.”

“Less, eyes on the road!” your clumsy girlfriend had filled with sudden rage at your guilt, headed straight towards a tree on the side of the road.

“Whoops.”

Alessia could see an immediate difference in you when you sat down in her car again. You felt happier. Not a single word was lost in regard to the exam when it had been all you could talk about before.

While you felt freer you still looked and were incredibly tired, something even Tooney could see, who had been excited to get your lively person back. She missed her go-to person when Less was boring and wouldn’t run around like a crazy person with her.

So when you refused to play darts with her, clinging to your girlfriend on a couch, she was incredibly disappointed.

“C’mon, I just got you back - play with me before you go back to fucking London!” But the brunette's whining just earned her a shove from her best friend.

“Leave us alone Ella.”

A whisper went through the room, everyone quietly watching as they glared at each other while you snuggled deeper into Lessi’s neck, desperate to sleep.

“No fair! You have her all the time!” She looked like a little kid whose toy had been taken away. And in a way it had been.

“I don’t care Ell-”

“Okay, off Ella!” It was Mary who pulled the angry chihuahua off Alessia's legs and now pointed up at the stairs, “You two, upstairs!”

The blonde didn’t hesitate and stood up, careful not to jostle you too much as she made her way up the stairs. Ella could only watch, mouth wide open, as you waved her goodbye, your head resting on your girlfriend's shoulder.

“You brat!”

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader

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fairymischief · 22 days ago

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Have you all seen that 2001 Drew Barrymore film, "Riding in Cars with Boys"? It's about a teenager in the 60's who got pregnant and had no choice but to carry it to term. Drew's character was incredibly smart and driven, but all of the circumstances in her life - some she created out of desperation, and some that were out of her control, like having a husband who became a junkie and spent all their money - kept her from bettering her life until her child grew up. It's such a depressing film, and shows how lives are ruined when women don't have control over their reproductive rights. Her only solace was that she MIGHT have a girl...and she had a boy.

What bothers me each time is this line at the end. Now, her son didn't ask to be brought into the world, and she really did raise him as best she could, but unfortunately she just did NOT want to be a mother and he always felt that painful fact keenly. They had some argument about that at the end, and afterward she said, "You were not what went wrong in my life. You were what saved me. 🙂"

...𝘚𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘋 you? From what? Going to prom with your friends? Finishing high school? Getting a scholarship, going to college and attaining a degree? Having the career you dreamt of and the financial independence that would have gone with it? Marrying a man you love rather than the loser you made one mistake with on one evening? Not living in abject poverty? Traveling? Having peace and quiet? Reaching your potential? What are you TALKING about?

I know that writers like to put a positive spin on endings, but this was sloppy to the point of insulting the intelligence of the audience. It's as if we were meant to forget that we just watched a full-length film about how getting pregnant and being forced into motherhood RUINED HER LIFE until this boy grew up and he went off to college, and we're now supposed to pretend that none of that matters because...reasons?

Ugh.

Anyway, it's a very entertaining movie regardless and I'd recommend it if you haven't seen it. I especially liked that it depicted a strong friendship between Drew's character and Brittany Murphy's. They both found themselves in the same circumstances at the same time and saw each other through.

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ssahotchnerr · 2 years ago

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Hii!! Can you do hotch x reader where hotch is all grumpy and reader is the complete opposite but he is all soft and cute towards the reader

perspectives

wc; 1.2k cw; bau!reader, angst, hurt to comfort, no established relationship but <3

aaron had never been a fan of car rides.

long car rides, to be exact. heading to the bau was never an issue, same with running around town, errands, taking jack to soccer. but a journey more than an hour? nearly unacceptable.

the luxury of traveling via the jet throughout the years definitely didn't help. and while numerous rides exceeded well over that hour time frame, at least that didn't compare to a car ride's length to the destination. that ideology was more manageable, easier to accept. and besides, he wasn't the one who was flying the plane.

so whenever it was necessary to make the trek to the state prison for interviews, about two hours away from quantico, it was displeasing. it was irritating. but it had to be done and complaining wasn't in his vocabulary.

the changing point, however, was you.

the first time you accompanied him, you had newly been added to the unit- still wide-eyed with innocence, not subjected to the horrors just yet, nervous yet excited jitters making you squirm in your seat.

he envied you in that aspect- being able to see the world in a lighter view. so maybe when you asked if you could turn on the radio, he didn't hesitate to comply.

and upon your second ride together, he flicked the radio on as soon as the engine started.

perhaps that gave you the confidence you were waiting for - finding an open, more inviting atmosphere to speak your mind.

"you know, you frown more in the car."

your words surprised him, "what?"

"it's true." you were relaxed in your seat, looking out the window and admiring the scenery passing by. "sometimes i wonder if you can even see past the windshield with how much your eyebrows are drawn over your eyes."

his lips fell into a line, but amusement bubbled within his chest. "i can see perfectly fine."

you laughed, and in that moment, aaron realized just how badly he needed that to grace his ears. "i would hope so. we haven't crashed yet."

aaron chuckled softly, his eyes returning to the road ahead.

"so, car rides huh?" not only was your wit quick, but so was your ability to read him like a book.

he huffed out a breath through his nose. "hate 'em."

"haven't you heard, it's not about the destination, but the journey?"

"our journey leads us to a high security establishment containing the worst of the worst." aaron deadpanned.

"sure." you shrugged, turning back towards the window. "but maybe it's all about perspective."

and maybe you were right.

as time moved forward, you became his frequent passenger. when the opportunity arose to take a drive, anywhere in that matter, you were always the first to volunteer.

it became routine- aaron tuning the radio to your favorite station upon the engine's ignition. his once silent rides were now accompanied by music, small talk followed and ultimately turned into full blown conversations. work related or not.

and suddenly aaron preferred the car to the jet, enjoying your presence and lightness you suddenly indulged him in. you were rather talented in elaborating, your intuition seemingly limitless. the conversations you fabricated were both amusing and constructive, and the two of you could partake in such for hours. you were easy to talk to, kind and open, not the one to be judgmental. and throughout, you looked at him in a way that made him feel so vulnerable it was frightening, but extremely safe. he could open up about the depths of his mind and you would still look at him the same way. in addition, he couldn't remember the last time he actually had the urge to open up. willingly.

sure, he could sit with you on the jet (and notably, he did) and get the same exchange, but he preferred the peace and stillness of just the two of you. you, him, and the open road.

and maybe more importantly, you made him feel like himself again.

while it was bound to happen, aaron dreaded when the job would take it's toll on you.

aaron often admired your level-headedness, your ability to remain objective and to not dwell on the darkness as many agents do; the all consuming abyss. your bubbly personality coincided with seeing the good in all things, despite all circumstances.

no wonder you got along so well with garcia.

you maintained your sense of strength, for so long, aaron feared how hard it would hit you; the realization darkness would never cease it's attempts to triumph light. and that same darkness would attempt to overcome you, no matter how much light you offered.

manageable. if he couldn't protect you from the inevitable (although, he would if he could - in less than a heartbeat), he could at least make it manageable.

slowly and surely, your inner sparkle was dimming. and he wouldn't dare allow your light to diminish.

an interview at the virginia reformatory arose, and something about this unsub had riled you up to the extreme- aaron's never seen so much fiery behind your eyes. but despite your hatred, you had insisted on going- your vigor all too similar to one he knew well.

"his guy," you seethed, buckling your seatbelt rather forcefully. "is sick. what he's done-"

"i know."

"they didn't deserve it hotch." aaron nearly flinched at the use of his name, he's gotten used to hearing aaron from you. "why do we have to drive all this way, to get stupid answers from a stupid, vile ass clown who doesn't want to speak to us to begin with? we're going to get nothing out of it. nothing."

"i see you've been hanging around dave too much." aaron commented, hoping to lighten the mood.

but your attitude didn't falter, not like it would've previously. "why do we have to go? driving all the way out there is pointless."

aaron shrugged, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "i don't mind the drive."

you snorted a laugh, your comment flying out of your mouth. "since when?"

"since someone," aaron's eyes found yours. "changed my perspective."

"yeah, well," you slouched in your seat, mumbling under your breath. "what do i know."

"a lot more than you give yourself credit for." his answer was simple, true.

"c'mon."

"i'm serious. yeah, this sucks. it's going to be an unpleasant afternoon. but..." he paused for emphasis, bringing a sense of playfulness. "the journey."

another scoff came from you. "and what could possibly come from that."

"you never know." before aaron could overthink himself out of it, his hand reached over the center console, finding yours naturally- as if it were it's rightful place to be. where it belonged.

your hand was just as soft as he expected, somehow more, even. he gave it a squeeze, and it immediately brought a bit of light back into you. your shoulders dropped, warmth returned to your face, looking at him in a sense of awe, almost.

unknowingly to each other, both of you felt it. where aaron's touch met yours, every part of him was aflame.

"the journey." he repeated. "that's the whole point, isn't it? you never know what, or who, will be the outcome."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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holdmytesseract · 21 days ago

Text

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @fictive-sl0th

Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU

Warnings for this Chapter: alcohol, smoking, thirst, flirting? Daryl (yes, he's a warning and OOC), suggestive smut? brief mention of an accident and loss of parents

Word Count: almost 2.5k

a/n: Enjoy the kick-off into my new series! 🍾 I hope you're gonna love this as much as I do! 🙏🏼

Also, we got a few guest appearances of some familiar faces...

《M a s t e r l i s t》

《 Chapter Two 》

Chapter One...

... in which you stumble upon a handsome biker - twice - and discover a new side of yourself.

《 musical inspiration 》

I recommend listening to this song before you read this chapter - if you wish.

Get your motor runnin'

Head out on the highway

Lookin' for adventure

'Born To Be Wild' by Steppenwolf

Life on a ranch wasn't always easy.

Life on a ranch a day after a storm, which caused a lot of damage, was even less easy. It honestly sucked – at least that was what you thought. The whole day after was only spent with getting things right again, cleaning up, clearing fallen trees out of the way, mostly fixing fences, and catching eloped cattle and horses. It was exhausting and incredibly tiring. But once all the work was done, you often found yourself on a ride out with your palomino Mustang stallion Arrow in order to take some time off and relax. Just like on this pleasant Saturday in spring...

The surprisingly pleasant warm Montana sun was shining down on you, as you rode down the mostly untrafficked road; past endless meadows and fields - always following the Yellowstone River. It was quiet and peaceful; all you could hear were the sounds of nature and the click-clacking of Arrow's hooves - until a rather disturbing... noise cut through the air and urging to your ears.

Motorcycles.

It was a rare thing that even cars drove down that road; trucks even less and now bikes? You scrunched your nose and gently guided Arrow to leave the road and continue the journey through the meadow.

The sounds of engines got closer and closer, until you saw about five or six bikes pulling up beside you in the corner of your eyes.

Must be a biker group or something...

They slowed down; almost coming to an halt beside you. "Hey!" A voice called suddenly out, causing you to stop Arrow in his movements and look to your left. One of the bikers had pulled off his sunglasses and was looking up at you; both feet planted firmly on the ground beneath him. Muscular arms led to gloved hands, which held on tightly to the handle grip; sunglasses dangling between deft fingers.

You adjusted the cowboy hat on your head; looking down to meet the man's - admittedly - stunning blue-grey eyes.

"Uh, hey," you called back. "Can I help you guys out?" The biker nodded. "Hope so. We got a lil' lost on our way," he explained in a very thick southern accent; voice a little muffled by his black helmet. You shrugged your shoulders; smiling. "Well, I can try. Where were you guys heading?" "Planned ta go to Billings, but kinda landed 'ere." You nodded; still smiling. "Ah, I see. Should've took route 94. This one won't lead you to much. You need to circle back and drive past Miles City."

The man - most likely leader of the biker group nodded. "How far from 'ere ta Billings?" "About 140 miles. If you're lucky, you can make it in two and a half hours." "A'right," the man nodded and put on his sunglasses again. "Thank ya." You gave him another smile. "No problem."

He gave you a last look, before he revved the engine of his bike and signalled his group to circle back. They followed his command and off they went. Your gaze followed them for a moment, before you gently nudged Arrow's sides. "C'mon, buddy. Let's head home. It's almost time for dinner."

You and Arrow made your way back to the Willow Creek ranch - owned and run by your aunt and uncle. Having lost both your parents when you were small due to a car accident, you and your older sister - Tess grew up on the ranch and were working there. Well, Tess longer than you; given the fact that you finished college not that long ago.

After taking care of your animal best friend, you joined your family for dinner.

"You coming later with me, sis?" You swallowed down the remaining food in your mouth and looked over to your big sister. "Where to?" She rolled her eyes in return, but smiled. "You know where, Y/N..." You sighed; poking around in your peas. "Tess... How often have I told you that-" "This isn't your thing, I know... But you have to try it first, right? How can you say you don't like it, if you never tried?"

You grumbled under your breath. Unfortunately, was Tess right.

"Yes, you should really accompany your sister, Y/N," acknowledged your aunt suddenly; agreeing with her. "You barely leave the ranch, honey. It will do you good." You sighed, but for the first time gave in; tired of all the constant discussions. "Alright, fine. I'll go with you - but if I don't like it, I'll leave immediately!" "Yess!" Your sister cheered. "You'll love it, I promise - but yeah, fine." You scoffed. "We'll see about that."

Partying and alcohol had never been one of your high interests and certainly not on your bucket list - yet, here you were standing now in front of the best bar in Miles City - according to your sister; located at the outskirts of the city... 'The Rowdy Racoon'.

You sighed; eyes directed at the building, while Tess just giggled. "I can't believe I'm doing this..." You moaned; already regretting your decision. Your sister was quick to grab your hand, "C'mon, sis... Loosen up a little and have some fun! It's Saturday night, for God's sake!" before you were able to cop out. You groaned again, but let yourself get dragged towards the entrance of the bar; past several vehicles and over the large porch, on which several men and women stood with drinks and cigarettes in hands; talking, laughing and having fun.

Loud music urged to your ears as you stepped inside. 'Born To Be Wild' by Steppenwolf - and just in that very moment, you felt like there wasn't a more fitting song on this whole planet for the scenery you walked in...

The bar was almost filled to the brim with people. Some of them were sitting at the large counter in the middle. Others were seated on some tables all around the big room. The rest of them was dancing, playing pool or tried their luck at the Pinball machines. It was loud, wild and crazy.

You hadn't even the chance to look fully around, since your sister dragged you further on to the bar counter. "Time for a drink, sis!" She announced in a sing-song voice; ordering two Whiskey Cola's. "We'll start slow," Tess said with a smirk; handing you the glass. You gave her a small smile. "Thanks." She clinked her glass against yours and took a sip. "Here's to an awesome night!"

Your sister's so-called 'awesome' night started surprisingly good - like you had to admit. Sure, you had to get a little comfortable first and getting used to being at a bar; warm up a little, but at some point it was really okay. Unfortunately, though, the tables turned after an mere hour. Friends of Tess had decided to come around as well and in the end, you sat alone at the counter on the bar stool; staring at your almost empty glass of Whiskey Cola.

This definitely wasn't how it was supposed to go... Not at all. It caused your mood to drop, of course; feeling alone and kinda betrayed. Tess invited you; took you here and now she had run off with her friends. You couldn't even leave, because you took Tess' car and she had the keys and certainly wouldn't let you drive. Great...

You sighed; turning the now empty glass in front of you in a circle, until...

"Thought I wouldn't see ya again, 'n certainly not 'ere," a familiar voice suddenly urged to your ears from behind you. You frowned and turned in your bar stool, only to meet the same blue-grey eyes you gazed into earlier this evening. It was the biker - but this time, he wasn't wearing a helmet. Chestnut brown hair reached in soft waves his shoulders; paired with a black baseball cap he wore backwards on his head. His chin and a little bit of his cheeks were covered in a slightly grey goatee, which fitted him perfectly.

You swallowed; couldn't help but to stare at him for a moment. He was downright attractive.

"Y-Yeah, uh, same," you stammered out, but quickly got your shit together again. "Didn't find your way to Billings yet?" The stranger chuckled and shook his head. "Nah. We decided ta spend the night in Miles City 'n head for Billings tomorrow." You nodded; smiling politely. "Wise decision." "Yeah," the man said and lifted his hand to scratch his beardy chin as if in a thinking manner. You noticed the tattoo on the back of his hand... A skull and... stars? Then he nodded at your empty glass. "You gonna let me buy ya a drink? Some credit fer ya help earlier. 'S the least I can do. 'Nother Whiskey Cola?"

You felt a slight blush on your cheeks. "Um, yeah, thanks." He gave the bartender a sign, who immediately worked to replace your empty glass with a full glass. "I have ta thank you," he answered; then looked behind at a bar table to where a few other people sat. His group, you thought. "Wanna join us? Ya seem a lil' lonely." You giggled dryly. "Yeah, my sister dumped me for her friends." You gestured at the dance floor; the biker's eyes following. "Kinda rude if ya ask me... C'mon, join us."

You swallowed; hesitating for a moment. You were a cautious person. After all you didn't know these people.

The man could seemingly read your mind. "They ain't bitin', I swear. All of 'em are very nice." "I-I, uh... I don't even know your name." He smiled crookedly, "'M Daryl." and walked towards his group again. Only now did you notice what he was wearing... Dark, slightly ragged jeans with a red rug stuffed in the left back pocket, a black, washed-out shirt and a angel-winged vest. Leather, as it seemed. Admittedly, you had a really hard time not to stare.

You hesitated for another few seconds and threw a look over to your sister again as well; noticing that she was still completely ignoring you and instead partied with her friends. Therefore, was your decision made. You slid off the bar stool and made your way over to Daryl and his gang.

An hour and another Whiskey Cola later, you had learned that they were indeed a biker group - from Georgia - making a road trip through America. You got to know the whole group as well, of course. There was Rick and Carol, which were Daryl's best friends. Glenn and Maggie - a young, kind couple living on a farm had joined the gang as well, just like Negan - a slightly annoying, but funny gym teacher. It was a crazy, but also perfect mix - and they all shared one passion... Motorcycles.

For an absolute non-expert in this new territory, you were absolutely fascinated. The stories they told you; the things you learned - it was fun and exciting.

Daryl and Negan invited you to a round of pool then; Rick and Maggie joining in as well. It was the best evening you had in a long while - but when the alcohol you had consumed slowly started to course through your veins and the music and chatter of the people became suddenly so very loud, you knew you needed a break. You were definitely not quite used to this, after all.

Stepping out of the bar and onto the porch, you took a deep breath; inhaling the fresh, chilly night air.

Yeah, the alcohol was present. You definitely felt a bit tipsy, but you were still fully aware of your words and actions, which was a good thing - and a stop sign you didn't plan to ignore.

"Ya good?" There it was again. That voice out of nowhere. His voice.

You looked to your left; seeing Daryl casually leaning against the railing with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

You nodded. "Yeah, just needed a break and some fresh air." The man took a deep drag; puffing out a cloud of smoke mere seconds later. Your eyes were still fixated on him - and you swallowed.

Hot... Why was that so hot? Him smoking?

"Me too. Needed a smoke." Daryl took another drag and stepped closer; hand fumbling in his trouser pocket. "Want one?" He asked then; fishing out a slightly squashed box of cigarettes and holding it out to you. "Um, I, uh..." You stammered; cheeks already turning red. "I dunno." "Ya ever had one?" You shook your head; biting your lip. The biker stepped even closer to you then; his body barely inches away from touching yours. "Ya wanna try?" Daryl took another drag, then held his cigarette in front of your face.

Hesitatingly, you leaned forward and took the little mouthpiece between your lips to take a drag. Feeling the smoke fill your lungs, you immediately started to cough and back up. A small smirk tugged at the corners of Daryl's mouth as he watched you; taking the cigarette back between his lips. "'S a normal reaction. Once you'll get used ta it, it won't happen again."

A short moment of silence passed, while you replaced the smoke in your lungs with fresh air and Daryl's eyes travelling up and down your body.

"Hey, uh, ya wanna get outta 'ere?" The man opposite you boldly asked with a charming smile; hands grasping the wooden beam above him. It caused the black shirt he wore to ride up and reveal some skin of his stomach; alongside a dark patch of fine silken hair.

For the second time this evening, you had a hard time not to stare and instead to focus on his question - which left you just as breathless; given the fact that you knew exactly what he insisted.

Before your brain was even able to ponder thoroughly over his question, your mouth answered with a quick, determined 'Yes' - which kinda shocked you yourself. Usually you weren't the one who gave in so easily and willingly to a one-night-stand with a 'stranger'; and yet here you were. Was the way he made you feel the reason? Or was it his kind, flirty and charming personality? Perhaps it even was his good looks. You didn't know; couldn't put a finger on it. All you knew was that he attracted you like a damn magnet. You weren't thinking about your sister or the others in that moment. The tall, handsome biker with his rough redneck edges was all you had in mind.

Daryl's smile widened at your consent. He took a last drag of his cigarette, before he stubbed it out in the little ashtray on the railing. "C'mon." The man walked past you, down the few steps and towards his bike.

Elegantly swinging one leg over to sit down on the vehicle, he replaced his baseball cap with his helmet. His fingers worked to start the engine. "You comin' or wha'?"

Tags: @dixons-sunshine @angelwings-crossbowstrings @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @rh1nestonecowg1rl @mischief-dream @noldorinlady @imadisneyprincessiswear @fictive-sl0th @jbbsizzler @loz-3 @erebus-et-eigengrau @i93jjk @belitoxx @charlottewatkinsblog @coleigh-1205-blog @li-da-savage @chaoticevilbakugo

Tagging you other guys from my Daryl taglist as well, just in case you missed the teaser...

@marvelcasey05 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @stiveroon @mayday2007 @cakesandtom

If you want to be removed or added from/to the taglist, please let me know! 🤗

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