#how do i go back in time to read this again THIS WAS SO CUTE I'M BANGING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL RN SIX | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gifsbysimplysonia · 6 hours ago

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Many thanks to @buckets-and-trees for putting this one on my dash.

Something @witchywithwhiskey is SO well versed at is environment building? I don't feel like that's the correct phrase, but I also can't come up with the right one lol. I'm not as good with words as they are :P But the entire opening of this story is so full of vibrant, rich sensory detail that I saw the whole thing play out like the opening credits of one of my beloved Hallmark / Netflix romance movies. Gritty sandy sidewalks, the sound of waves being a soundtrack to the walk, feeling her bathing suit digging into her skin and her thighs chafing (as a fat gal, I know that one well) under her dress. It was all just SO VIVID because the descriptions are so well written and I love being immediately immersed in Brambleberry Cove (how cute is that for a seaside small town name too, btw).

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

When I tell y'all I screamed into my pumpkin pillow at these lines because ... I struggle so much with describing emotion, no doubt because I am not good at feeling or processing it myself, right? LOL but this description of feeling safe and comfortable and the revelation that THIS is what coming home feels like...refer back to the GIF cuz omgggggggggggggggggg. So good.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

All of the physical description of Steve is TOP TIER but I love this moment being observed because it's one of those times where I feel like canon Steve comes through in someone's characterization of him. Steve being inherently good at noticing and respecting how shy or nervous people are - especially kids - and knowing how to ease that? Yes. All the yes. That is so Steve Rogers.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

This makes me giggle because I, too, would be TERRIFIED of talking to THE Steve Rogers - let alone a Steve Rogers I had grown up with - but my nosy ass would want to know EVERYTHINGGGGG I'd missed with him lol

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

THE WAY I WOULD POOF INTO THANOS DUST IF THAT VOICE CALLED ME BY THAT NICKNAME, GOOD LORDT.

Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

It's crazy to me lol cuz I am someone who will deny deny deny how I feel to my own detriment. But I'm reading about this person who actually ALREADY KNOWS HOW SHE FEELS from every observation she's had about Steve since she entered Seaside Scoops ... but I guess only subconsciously? But it's so funny to see the juxtaposition of her thoughts and feelings but then her logic coming in and trying to be like, I don't know why I am feeling these feelings. YES YOU DO, MISS, YES YOU DO.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile.

Having been in this position myself (and going through it again now in Q4 of 2024), I so badly want to hug her because she feels as though she has to hide how she's really doing and really feeling. But oh man, do I get it.

Steve is also still drawing in this 'Verse cuz the Seaside Scoops mascot is a shark Steve drew FOR HER back when she knew him originally and I THINK THAT IS SO PRECIOUS! I kind of want to commission someone to actually draw it now, hmmmmmmm.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

I want to die at how cute he is cuz this Steve still can't take a compliment, still has a memory like a steel trap, and a habit of making people feel special with his thoughtfulness. There's intimacy in someone knowing your order of anything, really ... ice cream, coffee, meal at the corner diner. And it's noticing deets that REALLY resonates with me and makes me melt as a reader *screams into my pumpkin pillow again*

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

*sing song voice* hate thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis lol I don't know why on earth she didn't keep up her promise to stay in touch and stay friends with Steve but it makes me want to step on her stubbed toe >:P I get that "life happens," but as someone who felt like the one always following up with friends when they went off to live another life, I just ... he deserved better.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

It's the continued reference to elements that remind me of the town and the summertime to describe him that I am so enjoying.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

The longing? Is killing me. It's delicious but she KEEPS TALKING HERSELF OUT OF WHAT'S GOING ON which makes me want to again, stomp on her stubbed toe lol

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

"There was no other reason."

Me:

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

EW, GURL, EW. Thank you, Bucky, for saving her from that and calling Steve.

The fact Steve is driving her home in his truck and there's reference to the salty sea air as well as the smell of the leathery interior of his truck is once again SO GOOD. I was immediately inside that truck, staring at Steve's profile myself, feeling what I also imagine is a not-so-smooth ride cuz I'm imagining an older truck lol Again, the sensory detail work is top notch.

She is BLITZED and saying all her inside thoughts out loud which at first makes Steve laugh but then when she talks about how he looks different but the same cuz his eyes are the same and the bump in his nose is still there and his lips are soft and full ... oof! The mood SHIFTS. Cuz he's like, yeah nobody else even saw those things BUTTERCUP *swoon* and in her drunkenness, she's all indignant and says well then they never really saw YOU, Steve and I am SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG cuz OMG GURL JUST SAY YOU LOVE HIM ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But Steve's response made me have to jump up out of my bed and take a lap around the couch cuz

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

THIS. IS. A. ROMANCE. MOVIE! I'm TELLING you! It has all the correct beats!

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

All of this makes me think, ok we are about to get INTO it but everything takes a TURN. Cuz we find out they already had sex once. I guess it was both their first times and Steve, bless his heart, finished in 3 seconds. Because of that, he asked Bucky if it counted cuz he wasn't sure, and homegirl is PISSED at this revelation for some reason. It's a WILD turn.

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

The way I legit sat here clutching my pillow like ... not knowing what to do for a good 30 seconds after reading this. Cuz of course she has to be DRUNK to reveal exactly how she feels about him, right? But that she is so VEHEMENTLY ANGERED by Steve inadvertently almost taking away "credit" or whatever? It's insane! Like, what more do we need to know she is IN LOVE WITH HIM?!?!

But crazily, we don't get into THAT conversation, they continue arguing about their first time lol! He insists she deserved better, she reveals he went down on her and gave her 3 orgasms which ... way to go, sir lol

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again. “You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

The way I expected him to HIT THE DAMN BRAKES and them to go off a cliff at this point because THAT IS THE REACTION THIS CONFESSION DESERVES!

Instead, he tells her he thinks about her too so she undoes her seatbelt and almost makes him crash lol but he pulls over then REFUSES to give into the gorgeous woman literally BEGGING HIM FOR JUST THE TIP because ... Steve Rogers will not do that with someone who is drunk which is SO GEE DEE STEVE ROGERS it makes me wanna hug him and then kick him in the shins lol

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected.

Nothing like when a kink comes out of NOWHERE to slap me in the face. LORDT.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch. When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

Damn him for making nobility so hawt but also vocalizing how much he actually WOULD LIKE TO BE PHYSICAL WITH HER cuz straight up rejection could hurt if he didn't add that in.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

That whole section is just deliciously written.

What follows and I will not quote because y'all NEED TO GO READ IT FOR YOURSELVES is SUCH a ride. Because Steve won't pursue anything physical but he tells her, he holds no qualms about her pursuing her own pleasure...while in his lap...WITH HIS HAND AROUND HER THROAT.

THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN THEN THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN he starts dirty talking and CHEESE AND RICE, Y'ALL! Better have your own pillow or sound absorbing something to use when reading this section cuz it is soooooooooooooooooooooooo

Cuz then SHE also starts voicing FILTHY thoughts and the give and take between the two is so incredibly fire. *fans self* I was literally sweating.

Eventually things wrap up and gentleman that Steve is, he takes her back to her rental and hangs out to ensure she gets in bed ok.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.” For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. “Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

THIS IS A ROMANCE MOVIE, YOU GUYS, I'M TELLING YOUUUUUUU. The way it so vividly plays in my mind.

I know not to be that reader that demands more or anything like that, but in the A/N it was expressed that this was an idea that has been with the author for a while and they just don't know if they will ever get to flesh it out completely. But I feel like we have 2 really full acts here ALREADY so there only needs to be one more ... it's such a rich setting, Steve is such a fully developed character already, and their relationship and this being second chance romance (which I am SO obsessed with right now) ... it's just something I REALLY REALLY enjoyed. Beautifully done, and actually because the almost sex is as hot as it is, it's actually a movie that has to be done for PASSIONFLIX so we don't get fade to black lol

@witchywithwhiskey this is a masterpiece and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing and sharing. As someone trying to write my own second chance romance, I feel like a lot of this is a master lesson in how to do it WELL. And of course thanks again to Aspen for putting it on my dash to begin with. It's one I know I'm going to revisit often (and have a few times already).

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

#steve rogers #fan fiction #feedback #marvel #drag queen #animations #AND mine #divina de campo #trixie mattel #lala ri #baga chipz #vanessa vanjie mateo

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revelboo · 23 hours ago

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I found your account about a week or so ago and I’ve nearly read everything!! Your writing is so addicting! I can’t wait to read more of Alcohol eyes! The way you write rumble is so good!! Esp with Frenzy coming to pick his brother up!

Meanwhile Soundwave is left worried

Alcohol Eyes Pt 7

Rumble x Reader, Frenzy x Reader

• “Problem?” You ask, sweeping past Frenzy, going up on tiptoe to get a cup out of the cabinet as Rumble stares. Realizing his brother is doing a little staring too, his mouth slightly open. Insinuating himself between you and Frenzy since his twin is just gaping at you, Rumble hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you into him. Servos tipping your face up so he can claim your mouth. “Think we broke your brother,” you murmur when he lifts his head. “You okay, baby?” You ask Frenzy as Rumble growls.

• Is he jealous? It’s too cute as you look from one to the other. Well, you’d wanted to take them both home. Of course, you’d thought they were human at the time. You’re not even sure you can survive two of them if they’re anything alike. “Frenzy,” he growls, seeming to snap out of his shock. “I’m not a sparkling.” No idea what that means, but you guess he doesn’t like nicknames. Shoulders squaring to puff out his chassis, you swallow a laugh and brush a kiss against Rumble. And get pushed back against the counter and pinned, his hands on your hips.

• “We could break him,” Rumble whispers against your throat, hearing your delighted little laugh. Because Frenzy’s always been the impulsive one, the one doing whatever the frag he wants and dragging Rumble into the mess. How many times has Frenzy sneered at him for being the good one? For being no fun. For being too scared he’ll get in trouble. Gripping your hips, he lifts you up onto the counter so he can press himself against you, your thighs parting to welcome him. And you’re at the perfect height for him, growling hungrily when you hook a leg around his waist and lean back on the counter. Glancing over his shoulder, he bares his denta in a grin, because Frenzy’s mouth is open again in disbelief. “Tell Soundwave I’m busy,” he says with a lot more bravery than he actually feels as he buries himself inside you, hearing your throaty moan.

• Venting raggedly as Frenzy moves further into the room as his brother’s hips buck against the human, he reaches for the counter, misses, and nearly falls. Staring as Rumble ruts against you, spike stroking deep with a sinfully wet sound to mingle with your whimpers and cries. Leaning back against the counter, he watches. Has never paid a lot of attention to the little squishies. But he’s realizing the possibilities now. And holy frag. You’re closer to their size, they still tower over you, but you’re the right size to take a spike. Glossa darting out to wet his lip as Rumble moves quicker against you, your legs hooking around him. “I wanna play,” he growls, watching you arch, trembling. Hearing Rumble snarl, hips snapping against you, before he shudders with his own release. “Share.”

• Shivering and overly sensitive, you’re sprawled back against the counter, head and shoulders against the wall. Making a soft noise when Rumble grinds himself against you and you turn your head to study the brother, Frenzy. It’s tempting. Even if you won’t be able to walk later. Leaning over you, Rumble’s mouth brushes yours, glossa stealing inside as he keeps rocking himself against you to make you arch. Hooking your arms around his neck as his mouth explores you almost lazily before he lifts his head. “I’m fragging keeping you,” he growls as you laugh at the hunger in his voice. Wondering what his kind had come to earth for. Sex probably wasn’t it. “We’re keeping you.” Servos feathering over your cheek, there’s a question in his claim, not a demand.

• “Alright then,” you say eyes wicked as you lean forward and bite Rumble’s bottom lip. Hearing the sound Rumble makes as Frenzy’s spike stirs. Unable to believe Rumble is willing to share, but then they’ve always shared everything, haven’t they? Servos tightening on the counter until it cracks, Frenzy nearly whines. Watching Rumble slip free, leaving you slick, your thighs trembling slightly. Freeing his own spike, he smoothes a hand over your soft, warm skin. Amused, hungry eyes watch him grip your hips and tug you closer to the edge. “Not so tight,” you murmur, touching the back of his hands. “I won’t run.”

• And then he’s pressing into you, his spike stretching you. Big frame shuddering against you, servos tightening on you anyway. And then he’s pounding into you, thrusts much more urgent than his brother’s. Hooking your legs around him, reaching back to brace an arm against the wall so he doesn’t drive you backwards, you enjoy the ride. “Primus,” he snarls, hips pumping. “Primus, you’re so tight.” You have no idea who Primus is, but you’re still wound up, tipping over the edge with a cry as he ruts against you until he releases. As soon as he slips free, Rumble is pulling you down from the counter, back to your broken bed, coffee forgotten. You only get to the hall before you’re trapped between them, hands and mouths roaming all over you. They’re keeping you? Hell, you’re keeping them.

#transformers x reader #rumble x reader #idw rumble #IDW frenzy #frenzy x reader

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val-cansalute · 2 days ago

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𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝟶𝟺

summary: you haven’t spent the night with ellie since she left, and you didn’t think you would ever do so again. but now you’re here. and there’s this random ass dog here too ig.

a/n: LOLLLLL I DID IT!!!!! this is 75% yap but I swear it gets cute at the end plz just read plz istg

tag list: @diddiqueen, @amberputh, @fatbootymuncher, @sapphointhe21stcenturyposts, @jadelovesyou00, @ravyaryn

series masterlist

You turn your phone off, eyes fixed on that same blurry fleck on the ceiling as darkness floods back into the room.

03:17

Unfortunately, those are rookie numbers to you, especially since that little get-together: the night you ended ‘things’ with Alexis over the phone, which somehow went surprisingly smoothly, on your part at least.

Well, you hung up before gauging how she took it. The only implications were the incessant buzzes of your phone against the smooth wooden surface of your nightstand, now cluttered with junk accumulated during the past few days. Over the course of them, the buzzes slowed before dying out completely. Then came the silence, in which you were left to rot in your thoughts.

That day, you came home and embraced the emptiness of your bed after going so long with a stranger lying beside you, and you immediately began abusing the absolute tragedy of it all, using the breakup as an excuse to laze around constantly, take a day or two off work. The reality, quite clearly, try as you might to conceal it (which isn’t much), is that you’re not really at the appropriate level of impacted by the whole ordeal, whatever that would be.

Perhaps the worst part of it all - what you truly feel the most guilty for - is that your thoughts keep taking a turn towards Ellie. It’s like the area of your mind dedicated to her suddenly flourished with greenery and colour following her return like rain crashing down against the dry sands of a desert, and it has only amplified since that night. A constant reminder that the markings she left on the enclosure of your skull will never fade.

Maybe you should be annoyed - mad, even - about the way she acted. But none of the emotions clustered inside you come even remotely close to that. Too far in an unprecedented direction.

But it’s not unprecedented. Not really. You’re acutely self-aware; you’ve always found it difficult to lie to yourself.

You think about her a lot, most of all about how she’s doing all alone in that house. You hope for a lot of things for her too. A lot. Things you shouldn’t hope for people you were supposed to have left in your past.

Ellie felt like dookie, which wasn’t unusual, quite the opposite. However, the reasoning was new. She felt like shit for that ugly thing that came over her, jealousy. She felt like shit because it was wrong to be jealous over the woman she once belonged to, the woman who also belonged to her, who doesn’t look in her eyes the way she used to, who laughs with someone else, holds someone else, loves someone else the way she used to love Ellie. Well, Ellie knows you love her because she knows you, but not the way you used to. There is a sadness there, a sort of pity, which irks her. It made her scared that you’d never see her the same way again.

And she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let the walls between you crumble even now, after everything. Still so on guard.

She wanted to do whatever it took to be part of your life: be respectful, give you space, be a friend, and she fricked up because you were supposed to be hers, and you would be, if she hadn’t lost her mind all that time ago.

She tried to ease the anxiety by texting you after the party, but when she looked down into the glow of the phone screen, rereading the words she’d typed out in apology, they seemed like the most laughable thing on the planet: rambles of incoherent, disconnected foolishness. She almost unsent them. You didn't respond anyway.

Tossing her phone aside, she picked up the guitar tilted against the side of her wardrobe with hesitation, and held it to her body, adjusting to regain fragments of familiarity. It felt a lot heavier than it used to, like the shadow of an old soul lingers around it, shaky fingers, greyed hair, gruff hum.

Her fingers strummed discordantly, in some distracted attempt at stringing together a tune, but no words came to mind when it was rampant with great hurricanes of guilt that dated back to times she didn’t even remember. A problem she couldn’t quite seem to rid herself of.

Now, she squats beside the dog’s makeshift food bowl under the porch light as fireflies flutter between the clusters of cobwebs bound to it, and she inspects the flecks of dust settled over the pet store biscuits when something clicks in her mind. The dog’s been acting weird. The barks have quieted to naught, he hasn’t gone outside to take his daily shit yet, and come to think of it, Ellie’s not sure he went yesterday either, but most importantly, the food has gone untouched.

After a Google search, Ellie bounds up the stairs, scouring the rooms for him, and stopping with a thumping heart when she spots his dark coat flopped atop a rug dejectedly. She kneels beside him and runs her fingers through the tufts of fur, muttering,

“You not feelin’ too good, goober?”

A wheezy sigh fills the silence, almost as if in response, and Ellie’s brows furrow in worry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. C’mon, let’s get you to the vet.”

10 minutes later, she’s in Tommy’s truck, the engine growls but she realises she doesn’t think she can do this alone. She’s formed a weird bond with the dog, greyed coat and warm eyes. They feel homely in a way that makes her stomach churn and her throat tighten. There’s a slight squeak of the leather steering wheel in her grip as she tenses.

Tommy’s out, Ellie’s not quite ready to see Maria, Jesse’s working nights, and a quick text exchange reveals Dina’s currently being knocked out by cramps.

She holds her phone in a shaky hand, glancing back at the dog who’s laying quiet on the floor and then looks back at the screen. It often hits her how small the number of people she can turn to is. Well, the list isn’t quite empty now. She’s yet to ask you.

So, with a thumb hovering over your number, twitching in hesitance for a few moments, she decides to bite the bullet and hits call. A few rings pass, each saturated with the increasing intensity of her heartbeat, and then you answer.

“Ellie?”

Your mind is foggy with sleep but you find yourself sitting beside her once again. The journey is quiet; you don’t feel the tension you thought you would. Maybe it's the fatigue obscuring your observation skills.

She steers the truck into the car park and gets out, jogging over to your side to open your door and help you down. She grunts as she urges the dog out of the van and they scuttle along down to the entrance side by side. You smile to yourself at the sight a couple of steps behind.

Not many questions were asked during the short phone call.

“I uh- Are… Are you free - right now?”

“Um, yeah, I’m free, why? Is everything okay?”

“My dog’s not looking too great and I gotta take him to the vet, I guess… I don’t really know… what I’m doing.”

She has a dog?

“Okay… Do you… Do you want me to come with you?”

The receptionist tells Ellie the dog needs to be on a leash and she apologises before taking a seat.

The waiting room’s quiet and Ellie looks a mess. Her hair is shorter, choppier, just barely hanging over the curves of her ear. You remember it looking longer in the pictures of her while she was back in LA. She needs help fixing it up. You can picture her craning her neck in the mirror to snip at stray locks. Cute. She bounces her foot incessantly and the fidgeting doesn’t hide the shaking of her hands. Her eyes tell you she’s somewhere else - a place you think you recognise from all those years ago.

You know what she needs, watch her distant eyes flit down to the sight of your hand over hers, bringing her back to the surface. Baby steps.

When the vet gives the verdict, that the issue shouldn’t last longer than a week, injects antibiotics into the scruff of the dog’s neck, Ellie’s shoulders seem less tense and you set off home.

There are thoughts that sometimes should stay internal, impulses you probably shouldn’t act upon.

But you love her. And you’re older. Less kind feelings about the concept of regret.

“Are you okay?”

She sighs, a slight croak in her voice but she smiles,

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. You-uh still living with Dina?”

“Mhm, but don’t drop me off there.”

Ellie turns to face you, eyes glancing back at the road repetitively,

“What? You don’t- You don’t have to do that-”

“Obviously I don’t. I want to.”

There’s a slight pause as she looks over your features and then shifts her focus back to the road, whispering,

“Okay.”

Then, Ellie looks up at the dog through the rearview mirror.

“You scared me there, old man, thought you were gonna throw up on my bed or something. Shit in the bathtub or something.”

You chuckle and she grins in that adorable way that drew you to her in the first place,

“I don’t know, dog’s are dumb. They do dumb shit.”

She tells you she just calls him Buddy and Buddy seems better already. He sleeps soundly in the backseat as Ellie’s fingers tap idly against the steering wheel. She glances over at you now and then, like she’s trying to make sense of the thoughts in your head through the expression on your face.

The door to the old house is like a portal to the old world, and when it’s open, you’re stepping into a memory. You can’t figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Ellie drops her keys onto the counter and moves to let Buddy settle in the corner of the couch, running her hand over his fur with veiny hands and tender movements, you almost feel a phantom touch down your spine. What it elicits in you seems a little dangerous.

A worn pair of sneakers is sprawled out by the door. How the fuck does she still have those?

You take a seat by the dog and try not to sound too tense,

“How have you been? I mean… with everything?”

It’s a loaded question, and she knows it, maybe too much so. Her jaw tightens for a moment, but she exhales slowly and settles beside you, her knee brushing yours, and, even though she’s very aware of it, she doesn’t move it away.

“Sobriety?” she asks, her voice careful. You nod.

Ellie leans back, resting her head against the couch. She stares at the ceiling, her fingers drumming against her thigh before curling into fists and imprinting crescent moons on her palm. Is she fighting the urge to pull away? She was always retreating when things got too close, too real. Your stomach is sinking.

“It’s… hard,” she admits, taking you by surprise though her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Some days are better than others. I haven’t…”

She pauses, taking in air like it’s suffocating to think about.

“I haven’t used anything in a while. Not since LA.”

“Good. I’m glad, Ellie. That’s good.” you say softly, knots loosening in your heart, but you keep your eyes trained on her, analysing every little expression, every little movement. Her lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile.

“Yeah. But it’s not just about not using, you know? It’s… so much… Everything else. Dealing with everything else… It’s so hard not to keep… chasing something, distracting myself, running away instead of facing it…

I fell into it so quickly before… I shouldn’t have… I should’ve tried to let you in.”

Swallow, the memories are filling your mouth, and they sting your insides as they move through you, still sharp as ever. Peace is all you need for her. Peace is all you need for her.

You don’t really go to her gigs anymore. It’s a wonder she still does them, comes home drunk out of her mind every time.

It’s haunting her every day.

The door opens, not surprising. You could hear her fuck around with the keys outside the door for a while before a gust of wind washes over you. She rushes to the bathroom and throws up again, dry heaving because there’s nothing to come out but alcohol.

It’s almost 4 AM. You rise to your feet and crouch down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back and feeling the nubs of her spine and the ripples of her ribcage beneath her thin T-shirt.

“Stop,” she spits out with a scratchy throat and through a choked sob.

You sit with her for a while, until she gets up and walks to her office.

The door closes behind her, leaving loud nothingness in her workroom.

As you lay in bed, gasps carry through the air. You wish, with everything in you, there was a way to heal these wounds, but you can feel it sinking, crashing.

“We can’t change the past, Ellie. And even if it hurt, I don’t blame you for what you did. You needed to leave. And… I just wasn’t what you needed at the time… You weren’t ready for a relationship. Running was all you could do.”

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispers, her voice firm despite the tremble in it,

“It’s weird… You’re right. I think I needed to get away from this place… Being here… The posters, the books, the desk, it’s like I kept finding little pieces of… kid me. And Joel.”

Her voice almost catches on his name but she looks at her hands and navigates the minefield of memories, so much better than she used to be able to.

“But looking at them now… I just… I feel like I can face it.”

Laced through her words, images of his face. Grief which rushed through her, mind, heart and soul. The guilt - the longing, that burdens her spirit, little by little, pieces dissipate into fireflies and fly away. Fragile steps towards being able to look him in the eye - the essence of him left behind in her life.

250,000 Miles is whirring through an old CD player, there’s a box of stir-fry on the table by Ellie. You’re sitting before her, laughing at her for pretending to know how to use chopsticks, and at the fact that she’s absolutely tanked at this game of Catan. But she’s grinning at you, and her chest feels warm.

“Alright, it’s literally 1 AM, we need to pack this up. I’m becoming delirious.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You scoff, your lips still curved into a smile, getting up to carry your dishes to the sink, “Shut up.”

She scoops the empty cans of cola vanilla scattered around the table into her arms and drops them by the sink to rinse them out beside you as you dry your hands. You catch her smirking and nudge her, watching her scoff and whisper,

“What?”

Ellie turns to you and her cheeks are tinged pink. You're grinning at her and she's smiling at you and it feels so natural, the soft curve of your back, the chub of your cheek, natural to fall back into that old rhythm; it’s so easy to forget that she isn't years back in the past, to just lean in so you can feel the warmth of her breath fan your lips.

An exhale catches in your throat, a sharp thrum in your chest as your eyes flit down to her lips. You begin to close the distance, but hesitation is inevitable. The fear of hurting, of falling into the ravenous love you felt before it's ripped away from you again.

Ellie doesn’t push, her eyes dropping to the space you give. She knows she fucked up. You have a girlfriend, and you want to be nothing more than friends.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her voice thick with regret.

But you need her to know now, that you want this as much as she does, that you need her as much as she needs you. That you miss her so much.

“I broke up with Alexis.”

Ellie looks up at you with those wide eyes.

“Let’s take our time, Ellie. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

She can’t help the way her eyelashes flutter, lips curve down into a reverse smile.

The couch is a tight squeeze with Buddy still asleep at the end of it.

You told her you were okay with sharing the bed, but she insisted, not wanting to push any further after what transpired earlier. The living room is cold - must be a draught coming in from somewhere. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep here.

Hesitant again, she sits up, and then makes her way to the bedroom, taking her place on the left side of the bed, facing you. And when you open your eyes, she doesn’t turn away.

“Night, El.”

“Goodnight.”

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shy2-29 · 2 days ago

Text

Stealing Enhypen Member’s Hoodie | pt.1 l.hs

pairing: idol!heeseung x reader

part 2 (coming soon)

authors note: literary creamed when I saw Riki and Heeseung’s rodeo choreography with Bada Lee (Ik im late) only writing for enha’s hyung line and if you wanna be tagged in the next one :3

wc: 671

warning: not proof read, pet name (baby, darling), teasing, lmk if I missed anything

drabble underneath the cut

—

After a long day of creating music in the studio, Heeseung can’t wait to go home; to see you. He misses everything about you. Your smile, your smell, the way you talk—it’s everything to him.

Getting home, he notices the lights off. That’s odd—you should be home by now. He immediately checks his phone to see if you sent him any messages but it’s dead. Where could you be this late?

“Boo!” You scream from behind sneakily. But Heeseung doesn’t jump like usual. He turns to you slowly, looking you up and down as he see’s you in his favorite black hoodie, the hood tightened around your head, making you look extra cute.

He smirks at you, pretending to be mad. He grabs the bottom of the hoodie, pulling you closer to him as his hands rest on your waist. “Look who’s wearing my hoodie again.”

You look up at him innocently knowing you’re in trouble. “It’s cold..” you complain as he smiles at the obvious lie. It’s the middle of summer.

He leans down to where his cheek is now next to yours. He nuzzles softly against your collarbone before speaking into your ear, “Just admit you think I smell good.”

You scoff at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck. “*And* that I missed you because you were so busy at work and never picked up any of my calls!” You whine, pulling him closer to you.

“Ouch. You know I have a life to live outside of you, right?” He teases you, knowing you’d pout. He pulls back to look at your face and he smiles at the grumpy face you’re making. He caresses your cheek jokingly, “Aww, my poor baby.”

“Your baby..” you huff, clearly not amused. You loved it when he called you pet names, but not when he teased for a response so you try to act tough. But Heeseung knew better, of course. He pulls you closer to him by your waist, now making your faces level. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, “Does my little baby get pouty when I don’t give you my attention?”

He kisses your ear as his hands start roaming your body slowly. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he enjoys the shiver he feels from you. He then whispers into your ear, “Don’t worry; I’m all yours for the night. You can have all the attention you want, okay? As long as you’re still wearing my hoodie.”

You shiver and nod, your pout going away as a smile forms on your face. He grabs your chin and looks right at you, “But next time, you can just tell me you missed me. You didn’t have to steal my hoodie.”

“I did!” You protest, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “your notifications were off!”

He chuckles, knowing that was his fault. He knew you’d try and call him while he was making music but he didn’t want to get distracted so he turned off all of his notifications. He runs his fingers through his hair before grabbing your chin so he can look at you again, “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to any of your calls. I swear I’ll never turn off my notifications and leave my baby hanging ever again.”

“Pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky. He shakes his head, knowing you’re such a child, but he smiles and intertwines his pinky with yours nonetheless.

“He chuckles softly before lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He holds onto your thighs, making sure you stay in place as he walks over to the couch. He sits down with you still in his lap, placing his chin on the top of your head.

“I really did miss you, you know.”

“You did?”

“I swear I did. You have no idea how many times you came into my head while I was working. I just wished I could have come home to you sooner.”

pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 | masterlist

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keepingitformyself · 1 day ago

Note

Hello, how are your day going?? could you please write a fluff natasha x reader where r loves to draw and paint and is very good at it? giving some drawings to nat, doodling on her arm when r is bored, drawing/painting nat thinking she isn't noticing (ofc she does baby is a super spy🤏) and having a sketchbook with a looooot of sketches and drawings of nat. R could try to teach nat how to paint while they have those cute dates where they do a painting of eachother yk? also, idk if you'll want to add that but after i finished Arcane, my dream was to draw Vi's back tatto on someones back, so if you want to maybe r could ask to make it on nat

hope you can understand my ideas, english isn't my first language :/

everything is blank until you draw me

A/N: hello! thank you for requesting. hope you enjoy :))

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha first noticed your quirk on the way home from a mission.

it’s hot in cairo around this time of year. humid, sticky weather. everyone was suffering from mild heat exhaustion, suits were unzipped and shallow breaths were heard among the jet cabin.

it was a taxing mission. the team was silent in a quiet mourning.

but you sat in your seat in a far corner, barely showing any sign of the discomfort everyone else was in.

instead you had your face pushed into a leather bound journal in your lap, a pen in hand. the strokes you were making on the paper were far too wide for you to be writing something down.

no, you were drawing. natasha concluded.

no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to point it out.

natasha didn’t really pay any heed to it. she was more concerned with passing around iv packs to the team, making sure they didn’t pass out.

when she got to you, you immediately closed the journal on your lap. her eyebrow rose at your behavior, but she didn’t question it. there was a boundary that you were entitled to, and she wasn’t one to cross any lines unless she needed to.

you looked up at her expectantly, wordlessly she handed you an iv pack, but you shook your head and pushed her hand away.

“i’m okay.” you said. “my body is good at regulating body temperature.”

natasha didn’t say anything, she already knew this, but call it good camaraderie. though, she tried not to notice the way your hand twitched in your lap, the same hand that covered the journal under it.

“save it for someone who needs it.” you added after a few seconds.

she considered you for a few moments. for the most part you seemed fine, aside from the slight twitch in your hand. she figured you just wanted a moment for yourself so she let you be.

natasha gave a curt nod before continuing on.

the quiet hum of the quinjet was the only thing that could be heard as she moved through the space. natasha had stolen a glance more than twice between you and her task at hand.

she wouldn’t pry but her fascination had grown more as she thought about the way your hands wrapped around the worn journal. how your fingers flicked at the edges of the frayed pages.

later that evening, when the team had finally settled back into the compound and were settled in their sleeping quarters, she found you again.

it was very late into the night. nearly nearing two in the morning.

this time you’d found a small nook by the large windows in the common room, you’d looked off into the night horizon, the pen in your hand making rapid strokes across the paper.

natasha didn’t try to hide her curiosity this time.

“drawing again?” she asked, her voice was soft.

you flinched at her voice and natasha noticed the way your hand tightened around the journal. your mouth opened and closed, as to find the words to ask how she’d noticed your recreation of putting pen to paper.

as if reading your mind natasha spoke up,

“i think you forget that i’m a spy and it’s my job to notice these things, Y/N.” she joked, plopping down on a seat near to you.

you glance down at the book in your hands, a sheepish smile graces your lips.

“it helps me…process.”

natasha tilts her head, elbows resting on her knees as she leans closer.

“can i see?”

you hesitate, but gulp down your nerves and slowly turn the journal towards her. the whole page was filled with dark shadows, lines to imitate the image of smoke, jagged lines to form silhouettes of crumbling buildings, faceless people running, catching their final moments of breath, and of them being carried away with help.

it was haunting, terrifying, but deeply fascinating all the same.

“is this from today?” natasha asked, voice careful.

you nodded. “it sounds weird, but…i remember things when i’m drawing them.” you pause, chewing your lip, “and i don’t want to forget them…not fully. so it’s like i take the weight of it and i trap it here, instead of…”

“…instead of carrying it.” natasha finished for you, her green eyes meet yours with a understanding.

you nodded again, looking down.

“it’s good.” she said after a moment. “you’re really good.”

the faintest smile graces your lips,

“i’ve been drawing since i was kid. but it’s kind of different now…it can be something really nice to look but sometimes it just gets really—”

“dark.” natasha finished again.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. natasha knew exactly what you’d meant.

over the next few weeks, the habit of drawing became something natasha couldn’t ignore.

on long missions, you’d often scribble quietly in a corner. at meeting briefings you’d doodle into the margins of notes. and once, she had sat beside you during a meeting when you’d wordlessly slid your journal towards her.

it was a sketch of her.

she was surprised, there was so much to look at. to unpack. she didn’t know whether to be impressed with how well you drew her or to be impressed with the way you’d captured her.

she didn’t how to place what it was; something vulnerable or strong, or both.

“you drew me.” she said softly.

you shrugged, a soft blush coating your cheeks.

“you’re interesting to draw.”

natasha smirked, she didn’t say anything, but she’d felt a small stir in her chest at your words.

then on you grew more comfortable with your sketches dedicated to your new muse.

it started off small—a simple sketch left on the table one morning before natasha had left for a solo mission. she’d found it tucked under her designated coffee mug. a doodle of a little black widow spider spinning on a web, with cartoonish eyes and a cute little bow on its head.

the detail was impressive, even for a quick piece, and at the bottom you’d written a small note.

thought your namesake could use a makeover. meet widow 2.0: terrifyingly adorable.

come back in one piece.

she smiled at your note, and without a word tucked the small piece of paper into her pocket.

after that, it became sort of a ritual. before a mission, whether it was long or short, you’d leave her something— sometimes a sketch of her infamous batons mid-strike, other times a miniature rendition of the team in cartoonish proportions.

there was one where you’d drawn a mini portrait of natasha smirking, with exaggerated sharp cheekbones and fierce eyes. the caption on it read,

don’t worry, i dialed down the intimidation factor…slightly.

they were ridiculous, but natasha loved it.

one day, natasha approached you in the common area, holding a new doodle you’d slipped into her jacket. it was a small portrait of her, but unlike the others, this one showed her more casual. more real. no weapons, no scowl, just her leaning with her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips.

she held it up with a raised brow. “you’ve been busy.”

you glanced up from your journal, a shy grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“you noticed.”

“i always notice,” she replied, and the warmth in her tone made your cheeks flush.

“just thought you could use the reminder,” you said, shrugging. “you’re more than just a fighter, you know.”

natasha stared at the drawing for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. then she folded it carefully and slid it into the inside of her jacket pocket.

“thank you,” she said simply, but her voice carried the weight of everything she didn’t say.

other times, you’d hand her sketches directly, usually without ceremony. a scrap of paper passed her way while the team prepped gear, a folded corner of your journal you tore out just before a briefing.

they ranged from serious-battle-ready stances and sharp silhouettes to utterly absurd, like the one of natasha holding a massive sandwich, labeled

big hero energy.

and natasha kept every single one.

“you know you don’t have to keep these, right?” you teased her when you caught her slipping another into the pocket of her duffel bag.

“i want to,” she said without hesitation. “they’re like…good luck.”

you didn’t argue with her logic, but a small smile lingered on your lips as you turned back to your journal.

unbeknownst to you natasha had a growing collection of your sketches tucked away in her bedroom. a small metal tin, the kind where you gift holiday cookies in—where they’re carefully preserved.

she’d look at them sometimes. when nights were long or dark and life was too heavy, she’d pull one out and trace the lines with her fingers, remembering the way you handed it to her with that quiet, knowing smile.

eventually though, your art started to spill over the edges of your journal.

it became part of your rhythm together. a constant, quiet act of trust. but there were moments, especially in the middle of long missions, when you didn’t have your journal or anything to draw with.

it started as a joke.

one night during a stakeout, the boredom and restlessness started bubbling out of you, and you found yourself tapping your fingers against natasha’s arm.

she caught your arm mid-tap and raised and eyebrow.

“no journal today?” she asked, smirking.

“nope,” you replied, frowning as you remembered how much in a rush you were that you forgot your journal. you leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“guess you’ll have to entertain me instead.”

“or,” she said, producing a pen from one of her pockets, “you could make yourself useful.” she handed it to you with a playful glint in her eye.

you hesitated for a moment before taking the pen from her hands and uncapping it.

“don’t complain if i mess it up.” you warned, shifting closer.

“just try not to make me look ridiculous.” she said, but the slight curve of her lips said she didn’t really mind it.

after that drawing on natasha became the norm when under a circumstance that denied you paper.

on long flights you’d trace floral vines curling up her forearm, and she’d be asleep as it happened. and during long nights in safe houses you’d sketch constellations of the stars on the back of her hand.

natasha never washed them off until she really had to.

sometimes, you didn’t even ask anymore. you’d just give her a look and she’d extend her arm towards you, wordlessly inviting you to begin.

and as your pen traced her skin she’d sit still, occasionally glancing down to see the progress.

“what’s this one?” she whispered. you’d drawn a small sleeping wolf, curling under a moonlit sky along her bicep.

“strength.” you replied softly.

natasha didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened in a way that made your heart stutter.

your drawings become more than just a way to pass time. they became a language of their own. a way of grounding yourself, of tethering your anxious thoughts to something steady.

and natasha became part of that steadying force.

“do i ever get to draw on you?” she teased once.

“maybe,” you said leaning back to admire your work. “if you’re good.”

she chuckled, shaking her head. a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

it was a silent agreement between the two of you now. you’d find your solace in the lines you traced along her skin and she’d find hers in letting you.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #natasha romanoff imagine

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vasilva-art · 2 days ago

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Soo, that's how I see them! What are you thoughts? I'll explain myself below! - Big spoon/little spoon I mean, Ranma likes to hold Akane in his arms and it feels like the right thing (aka "manly" thing) to do, but he can't resist to the idea of relaxing a bit. Akane, on the other hand, loves feeling like a safe place for Ranma. - Lends/borrow clothes Okay maybe I forgot for a moment that Ranma canonically borrows clothes from Akane, and I didn't move the red square enough to the right way....... But there's something so warm about seeing your girlfriend wearing your clothes in the morning... Ranma probably loves it. After all, it's the "manly" thing to do and Akane looks really cute with oversized clothes. His clothes. Hmmmm I was thinking about it A LOT when I drew the red mark. - Pet names I've been reading a lot of Rankane fanfics, so I got used to Ranma calling Akane by 'Kane or tomboy - Introverted/Extroverted Ranma slightly leans toward being introverted because he spent most of his childhood just travelling/fighting with his father. So maybe he's not used to being around other people but he manages pretty well - Affection through words Akane can learn how to communicate her feelings better, but my boy Ranma spent so much time communicating through fighting that I think it’s a lost cause. His love languages are physical touch and quality time for sure.

- Confession Ranma is afraid of rejection, so he needed to be 100% sure Akane liked him back before managing to say anything. Akane has her pride but over time she gets that side of Ranma.

- Bugs It's said the only thing Ranma fears is cats so... yeah - Drives the car I didn't think too deeply about this one since I don't drive but I think they would be okay - Cooking Maybe I was too kind with Akane, but!!! If in Ryugenzawa arc she got to cook a curry that tasted ok, I believe she'll handle basic cooking in the future! Ranma will take on the housewife role when he wants to eat more elaborate meals or to treat Akane. - PDA Yeah, after everything they've been through, they would prefer some privacy - Overprotective/chill going I think the "touch my fiancée again and you'll be dead" thing is self-explanatory - Has NO relationship experience Self explanatory.

#vasilvasart #ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #ranma ½ #akane tendo #rankane #headcanon

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reverie-starlight · 3 days ago

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skincare with keigo bc I'm never not soft for him and want to take care of him forever. happy birthday !!!!!!!!

gn!reader, no physical descriptions, lots and lots and lots of fluff. he is my baby. also I don't have a real skincare routine, so I'm apologizing in advance for how lackluster it may seem. this is in the pre-moving in together stage of your relationship, but not too early on either, if it matters to you!

keigo watches you curiously through the doorway that leads to the master bathroom as he sits on your bed cross-legged. he doesn't want to disrupt whatever it is you're doing (you seem very focused), but he's extremely interested in what you're putting on your face.

he thinks you look stunning with the fluffy animal headband on and some shorts paired with one of his old shirts. he thinks he could look at you like this forever, actually.

he watches you smile slightly and lean over the counter to get closer to the mirror. "I can feel you staring at me, you know."

his heart flutters and he tries to ignore how hot his face feels.

you stand up straight again and turn your face towards him, beckoning him over with a wave of your hand. as if he's been waiting for you to do just that, he gets up and saunters into the bathroom.

"so... what exactly is all this?" he asks, settling behind you with his arms around your waist, inspecting the different bottles and containers.

"they're skincare products. see?" you hold up one of the tubes for him to read, going back to spreading the cream over your skin.

"hydrating... morning and night use... huh."

you pick up on the curiosity in his voice and look at him through the mirror. “do you want to try my skincare routine for yourself, keigo?”

he hesitates and you give him a moment to decide, though you have a feeling you know what he’s going to say. eventually keigo does nod and you peck him on the cheek. “I’ll get you a headband, just a second.”

moments later you're sitting on the counter, shoving a white headband with panda ears over his head. he stares at himself in the mirror, watching you adjust it so his hair is pushed back from his forehead.

"you're so cute," you murmur, smiling at him and resisting the urge to press kisses all over his face. "okay, brush your teeth before we start. I've heard doing it after messes things up."

"really?" he sound skeptical.

you shrug. "I dunno if there's any merit to it but I've seen enough people mention it, so I just do it this way now."

he nods and reaches behind you to grab the red toothbrush you keep for him whenever he sleeps over. you sneak a kiss against the corner of his mouth when he's close enough and it makes him grin.

once he's done brushing his teeth, he steps away to spit into the sink and wipe his mouth before returning between your legs. "alright, what's first?"

you grab a tall tube and present it to him the same way he's seen people online do it in those viral review videos. "face wash. it helps get all the dirt and grime out, and it's good for sensitive skin."

you wet your hands in the sink and raise them to his face to dampen it. "this one suggests using it on slightly wet skin for better results."

he lets you pat him until you're satisfied, and he watches as you put some of the gel on your hands. "close your eyes."

you don't need to tell him twice.

keigo happily lets you massage the product into his face and you giggle a bit when he leans into it. "does it feel nice?"

he nods a bit. "so nice."

"alright, it's foamy now, you can wash it off."

he blinks, returning to reality, and does what you say. once all the face wash is gone, you tap a towel against him, careful not to rub. "okay, would you say your skin feels dry, oily or a combination of both most of the time?"

he thinks about how his skin can get a bit itchy and wind burnt from all the flying he does while on patrol. "very dry."

you nod and grab the tin he was looking at earlier. "this helps with that."

you scoop a bit onto your index finger and smooth it over his cheeks, forehead and temples. "there," you smile softly and cup his face in your palms. "now you'll be even softer, which I honestly didn't think was possible, but here we are." he's certain his pupils are heart-shaped at this point. your entire aura is tinted pink and red and there's cartoon hearts bubbling up around you. he wonders if you have a secret second quirk he doesn't know about or if the mind really is as powerful as they say.

he doesn't know how exactly to filter the intense emotions running through him as you continue to dote on him, so they just well up inside of him until he can't stop the quick and sap-filled "I love you so much," from bubbling out of his mouth.

you pause a little at how... thankful he sounds. you know that he isn't used to being pampered- not that he's ever explicitly stated that, you just kind of put two and two together based on his career and what he's told you of his past- but you hadn't realized how much it would affect him.

so you smile at him and tilt his face down to kiss his head, careful not to get any product on your lips. you return the sentiment, happy to be of service to him for once, and ignore the way your insides are turning to goop at his expression.

you'll have to dote on him more often. not only because you want to see him like this more often, but because you want- no, need to make up for all those years he must have felt discarded and used and overworked... he handles it well. he's accepted his duty and thrives in his field. you know he does, otherwise he would have snapped long before he met you, but... it hurts to realize that something as simple as skincare is enough to toss him into unknown territory.

once you're done with the moisturizer, you slip the panda headband off of him and blink away the tears threatening to fall. he's still wearing that appreciative expression, heart eyes and all, so you pull him close and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"I love you more than you will ever know, keigo," you mumble into his neck. "don't ever doubt that, okay?"

his arms find their way around your waist and you feel him nod against your head. you reveal your face to him and press your forehead against his, gently nudging noses.

comfortable silence lingers for a bit before he whispers "you smell good."

you snort and pull back. "it's the moisturizer, it's pear scented. do you want to head to bed now? the counter is cold."

he nods again and picks you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him despite the fact that the distance from the washroom to your bed is only less than twenty steps.

as soon as you're both under the covers and he expels one of his feathers to turn the light off, you beckon him over to lay on your chest.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp and tailing down to scratch the nape of his neck. he lets out a content sigh and he presses soft, sleepy kisses to any bare skin he can find without moving too much. you almost laugh at how quickly you're able to get him relaxed.

you know you'll miss his weight on your body by time you wake up- he'll be long gone for an early morning patrol. even so, at least you'll be comforted with the knowledge that he was able to get a good night's sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love him :(

#hawks x reader #hawks x reader fluff #hawks fluff #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x reader fluff #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader fluff

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alastor-simp · 2 days ago

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Birthday Boy🥳 - Angel Dust x Female Reader Part 2/2 (R-18 MDNI)

❥Warning- This story contains sex (NSFW), so if you underage and reading this, Please skip it.

❥Summary: Angel's Dust birthday party just finished and now you are wrapped like a present for him😏

❥Tags - Angel Dust x Female Reader, Flirting, Teasing, Fluff, Lingerie, Cosplay, P in V Smut, Birthday Sex, Licking, Boob Job, Spanking,

❥Notes - Here is the Part 2 of the sexy spider birthday smut. I had posted this a few months ago but it got deleted, so here it is again. Enjoy!

❥Credit - Divider credit to @cafekitsune

❥Part 1/2 of Story here: Link

"Sooo~, does the birthday boy wanna open up his present? Your voice spoke in a whisper, as you continued to lay back, body wrapped in the red body bow gift that was hanging on your sensual body. Angel Dust remained unmoving on the bed, brain still trying to wrap his head around your seductive presentation. He felt his member beginning to rise, which you caught as you looked down, happy that he was responding to you. "I can see that you love your gift~." Moving your foot towards his length, you rubbed your toe on it, earning a moan from Angel.

Laughing softly, Angel moved your foot away with his hands, as he slowly moved to hover over you, eyes glistening with desire. "You're driving me insane here, toots. I will gladly accept my present." Four of his hands laid touches all over your body, earning a small moan from you. Pushing his head closer to yours, foreheads touching, eyes serious, as he softly gazed at you. "Open your mouth, please."

Whispering out, you obeyed his instruction and opened wide, tongue sticking out. His tongue soon connecting with yours, joining them together in a wet kiss, causing you both to moan. Two of his hands, wrapped around your lower back, hugging you closer to him, deepening the kiss. His eyes remained opened, staring at your reactions, you were always so cute he thought.

His lips were so sweet, tasting like the cake that he just had downstairs. Your hands moved to his head, rubbing the back of his fluff while holding his cheek with the other, Drawing away from each other, leaving a string of spit behind, you both stared at each other, softly panting from the intense kiss. His lips drew back to kiss you again, then moving to your cheek, your eyelids, your forehead, then slowly moving down to your neck, sending shivers down your back. His kisses stopped at your red covered breasts, tongue sticking out to lick across his lips. "Time to unwrap my present now~!"

Hooking his fingers on the red bow, he slowly pulled it down, your breasts springing out in full view. He devilishly smirked, hands moving to cup your soft mounds, thumbs flicking your nipples. "Ah!" You continued to moan at the sensations, as Angel continued to play with your breasts. "So soft and perky~. I wonder how they taste?" Tongue sticking out, Angel bent down, sticking one of the nipples in his mouth, while his fingers continued to torture the other. "Mmmmm Angel~." This felt so good, he was crazy with his tongue. His tongue continued to twirl around your nipple, making it harden as the one he was pinching began to turn red from the ministrations.

Removing his mouth from you, he stood up, his shadow casting down on you. Displeased that he stopped, you were going to tell him to continue, but stopped when you saw him remove the red thong he was wearing, showcasing his long erection at you. Taking note of your silence, he smirked at you, "Like what you see, toots?" You giggled at him, lips pulled into a smirk. "Yes....do you?" Legs spreading out, you allowed Angel to get a good look at your string-held crotch, dripping in your juices. Eyes widening at that, Angel stilled for a second before smirking back at you. "Very~."

Leaning his body over you, he sat on your belly area, his dick presented in front of you. "I'm gonna fuck your tits babe." Positioning closer to your chest, Angel placed his erection right in the middle of your soft mounds, engulfing it with your breasts. He slowly started to move, his lengths moving in and out of your breasts, the tip popping out in front of your face. "Ahhh...my satan, this feels incredible!" Throwing his head, Angel moaned out in pleasure, moving his hips faster. You were moaning as well as the way he was touching were breasts while giving himself a boob job was so addicting, it made your toes curl a bit. Wanting to satisfy him more, you stuck out your tongue, licking the tip of his length whenever it popped out of your breasts, making him moan louder. "Ahhhh...babe....keep doing that..and I'm gonna..." Angels voice was raspy with need, wanting very much to come.

Humming, you continued to lick at his tip, hands raising up to grasp his behind, pulling him closer towards you. Moaning out your name, Angel drew to a halt, cum shooting out on your face and tongue. Closing your mouth, you swallowed what was in your mouth, gazing up at Angel, hungrily. Angel looked back at you, seeing your messy face giving you an apologetic smile, "Sorry about that....Let me clean you up." His hand reached for a napkin plus a small bottle that was below his bed, using the napkin to wipe away at the excess cum on your face. Once he was done, he kissed you again, napkin throw across the room without a care in the world.

Pulling away, Angel leaned back, bottle of mysterious substance, probably lube, in his hands, while the other two had grabbed at your string thong and moved it to the side. Popping the bottle open, he poured the liquid on your lower lips, body jolting at the chilly feeling. His fingers then slowly began to spread the lube all over, inserting them inside every now and then, trying to make it bearable enough for you, when he has to enter. "This feels so good!" Your thoughts scream out, as you continued to moan at the sensations. Retreating his fingers out of you, Angel grasped his length, positioning it at your entrance, but refused to enter. His face appeared hesitant, as he continued to look at your entrance then back to you. "Listen, its my first time doing this with a dame...so I'm gonna need some reassurance that I'm doing alright."

Blinking up at Angel, you slowly burst into laughter, earning a confused look from Angel. One of your hands grabbed his, giving it a soft squeeze, "I'm prepared Angel, don't worry......plus since I am your birthday gift, you can do whatever you want with me. Spank me, lick me, bite me, do whatever your heart desires~"His colored eyes widen at you, dick springing back to life at your seductive words. The hesitation was gone, replaced with a very turned on look, as Angel smiled, showing his golden tooth at you. Slowly pushing his hips forward, Angels rod slowly began to enter you, hitting your inner walls, making you groan.

There was a small sting when he entered, causing your eyebrows to knit together in pain, but it quickly disappeared, leaving only the sensation of him being fully inside of you. He moved his body back down, hovering over your body, as he was panting from how amazing your insides felt. "You okay?" He was still questioning you, worried if he was hurting you. When he got a nod of approval from you, he started to move, hips moving back and forth, rod caressing your inner walls. The pleasure was slowly increasing the more he moved, causing you to wrap your hands and legs around him, drawing him even closer. A harsh slap was soon met to your butt cheeks, making you jump, "Yeah, you like it when I spank you....right babe?" Angel smirked at you, giving another harsh slap to your behind, making you scream from the pain and pleasure. "Ahhh..yes....do it again!"

Angel awarded you with another round of slaps, cheeks burning red. His movements grew faster, causing your head to fall back on the bed. Silencing your moans, Angel pushed his tongue back inside of your mouth, kissing you while gyrating his body faster, ready to come at any moment. Soon your vision turned white, as you felt your body shake from the rough orgasm, nails clawing at Angels back, earning a groan from him. His hips drew to a stop, come exploding inside of you, yet he kept his mouth connected with yours, swallowing your moans.

He slowly moved his head back ending the kiss. His eyes were gazing at you lovingly, hands moving to caress your cheeks, as he placed another kiss to your forehead. His head then dropped to your chest, as he heaved a sigh. "Best....birthday....present.....ever!" Chuckling at his cuteness, you ran a hand through his hair, tousling his white furry locks, "Glad you enjoyed it.........wanna go for round 2?" Hearing a muffled snort from him, he lifted his head, magenta eyes gazing at you, "I'm all for a second round, toots, but lets just cuddle for a bit, okay?" It felt like your heart skipped a beat, hearing that adorable phrase from him. Your hand continued to rub at his head, while the other pulled him in closer, squishing his face back into your soft mounds, "Okay."

-END-

Putting tag list in comments since not working well

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formylovetodaryldixon · 14 hours ago

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"Marley's stickers." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

After returning from a supply run with stickers for his daughter, Daryl is no longer sure if giving them to Marley was a good idea when he finds his crossbow covered in them, especially when he has to leave again with his group.

@eline720: Allright. I see you write with a daughter. Can i please have a one shot when the daughter of Daryl have find stickers. And Daryl searches for his crossbow. Only to find it full of stickers on it. And then the daughter comes in with even more stickers but didn't see Daryl. I find it cute. But i can't write. So thank you so much if ur gonna do it :)

A/N: Hey, Love! Thank you so much for your request. I didn't have internet when I wrote it and I only read your request once, so it's not exactly how you asked :( but I REALLY hope you like it! Thanks♥

The first airs of spring enter the house the moment Daryl closes the door of his home.

He had been out of Alexandria for 3 days on the almost last supply run: there was one more on the south and that would be it. Sitting in the living room next to her mom, Marley jumps off the couch the moment her blue eyes meet her daddy's, a smile growing on her little face that her dad returns. She is about to be 5 years old, and is easy for Daryl to pick her up in his arms the second she reaches him. Marley practically presses her entire little body against her daddy's, her arms around his neck in a tight hug. For a moment, they stay like that in silence, letting the warmth of their embrace speak for them first, before telling each other how much they had missed each other.

When Marley finally pulls away a little bit to look at Daryl, he smiles the second she kisses his nose, something he did all the time as Marley grew up.

“I missed ya so much, angel.” Daryl uses one hand to push back an obstinate strand of his daughter's hair which almost always fell towards her face, looking into her eyes. “Did ya miss daddy?”

“I missed you so much, daddy.” Marley nods, pouting in her brave attempt not to cry when two nights ago, a nightmare woke her up and he wasn't there. “You will have to leave again?”

Daryl can see the sadness on his daughter's face as he walks to sit on the couch next to you, leaving on the floor his backpack and the crossbow that he held in one of the straps before sitting his daughter on his lap.

"Jus’ one more time, okay, angel? Then ya, me and Mommy can stay home all day. I'll finally let her teach me how to make those brownies ya love so much."

"But you'll have to wear the apron and everything." You try not to smile too much, but you love the way Marley's face lights up at his words. "You know, so you can get the full experience."

“Fine.” Daryl says with a slight hint of false annoyance, but he leans forward to kiss your cheek in greeting before turning his attention back to Marley. "I found some things for ya, angel. I even found some books without pictures for mommy."

“Boring!” She says giggling, but making a face she learned from her daddy.

In response, you wrinkle your nose.

"I gave birth to you but sometimes I don't recognize you as my daughter, baby."

Marley laughs, and it is a sweet and a warm sound that makes Daryl smile as he uses one hand to open his backpack and grab the things he found at a paper store. It is a book with pictures for children, some boxes of colors and sheets of stickers of cartoon animals, some with positive little messages, and when Daryl hands them to her, Marley smiles, her lips curling upward.

“I love them!” She has to tilt her head back a little to look him in the eyes, earning a kiss on the cheek that makes her giggle again. “Thank you, daddy. You are the best!”

She slides off his lap to go to the dining table behind the couch, leaving the two of you for a moment, but when your eyes meet, you chuckle.

“When we met, you swore you didn't love anyone and look at you now: you are a big softie for your daughter.”

Daryl chuckles, too.

“Dun get jealous, woman. Ya know I love ya too.” His fingers catch your chin in a gentle grip as he leans forward. Daryl presses a kiss on your lips, resting his forehead against yours for a moment. “I missed ya too, Mrs. Dixon. All of ya.”

You let out a soft giggle, loving the fact that you are a Dixon too.

“I missed you too, love.” You pull away slowly. "I'll get the food ready, okay? Marley didn't want to eat dinner until you arrived."

Daryl nods as you get up, getting up as well to walk towards his daughter. Marley is painting, with some colors scattered close to her, and she giggles when he picks her up again, sitting in the chair with her on his legs because Daryl knows she loves when he paints with her. And after a while when they finish the first picture, Marley pulls off a sticker of a yellow fox holding a sign: you did it! and sticks it on his vest at the height of his heart.

Daryl hides his smile, frowning playfully.

“You did it, Daryl Dixon.” She smiles. “You did a very good job.”

“Did he?” You joke the moment you put two plates on the table. “It seems a bit messy to me.”

"What? Ya’re crazy, woman, this is a masterpiece." Daryl looks at you as if you've gone really crazy or don't know how to appreciate art. "We should replace Marley’s drawin’ on the fridge and put mine up."

“No!” Marley frowns too. "Now I don't think you deserve the sticker, daddy."

“Hey!” Daryl covers it with his hand when she tries to take it back. “Ya gave it to me, young lady. S’daddy’s now.”

Marley giggles, forgetting the matter quickly.

When dinner is over, Daryl holds his daughter’s hand as they walk up the stairs towards the second floor to get Marley ready for bed. He does it alone to make up for the days and nights he had lost with her, finally tucking her in before telling her one of those stories about he and Uncle Merle playing when they were kids. Marley grew up loving Uncle Merle, and although she didn't know he was a jerk most of the time, Daryl knew his brother would have loved his niece.

Waking up the next morning, the sunlight in that warm season of the year bathes the place and the white walls, and finding himself alone, Daryl rubs his face with one hand, pushing some strands of his brown and long hair out of his face in the way. But the moment he stretches out his arm, Daryl can feel something sticky against his bare chest: and when he slightly raises his head to look down, he frowns as he sees a lot of stickers around his tattoo. So he just chuckles, putting his head back in the pillow.

And when Daryl walks into the kitchen; you're eating a strawberry while making breakfast as he finishes buttoning his shirt up.

“I think I’m gettin’ old, peach.” His voice is deeper in the morning, and you chuckle as he passes you by, kissing you first.

“Why?”

“I used to be a light sleeper ‘fore we had Marley, and now I can't feel when our daughter decides to put stickers on ma body while I'm sleepin’.”

You laugh.

“Where?”

“Around the tattoo on ma chest. Had to check that she didn't put ‘em on ma back too.”

You're smiling, loving the situation too much.

“But you pulled them off, right?”

Daryl clears his throat, watching the kitchen clock.

“I’m gotta get ma stuff from the garage. Told Rick we’re leavin’ before 10.” He walks the other way, leaving the room towards the garage that is behind the dining room. The hallway the connects the two parts of the house is empty until Marley walks from the other side, hiding her hands behind her back. "What are ya doin’ in the garage, lil’ mouse?"

Her hair is a little bit messy in the mornings, and Daryl smiles as he watches it.

“Nothin’, daddy.�� Marley smiles back, surrounding him without turning her back on him. “Love you!”

The moment she reaches the door, she runs back to her mom, leaving Daryl alone as he walks into the room. He learned to put his stuff on the highest shelves when Marley was a baby, and although you two never left her alone in that place, now she had learned not to go near the tools, but when Daryl finally gets to the place where he had put his crossbow last night, not so high this time, he has to close his eyes for a moment.

He's not upset, just... embarrassed.

Daryl takes the crossbow, putting one of his backpack’s strap around his shoulder before walking back into the living room. The moment he takes a step into the room, he can see Marley sitting on the chair next to the table, but when you look up, you have to cover your mouth with one hand, eyes slightly open in surprise: the crossbow is full of colorful stickers, all over it.

“Marley Rose Dixon, care to explain this?”

His voice is always deep, and even though that is the first time Daryl has used his daughter's full name, she looks back at him, eyes smiling because she wasn't even the slightest bit afraid of her daddy, no matter how serious he gets.

"Last night you said that when an object has only one color it was okay for me to color it, daddy."

Daryl sighs.

“I meant the pictures on yer book, Marley. Not daddy’s stuff.”

Marley looks confused, and you rub your face with one hand, trying to kill a laugh.

“I can take them off. It will only be a few minutes.”

Daryl scratches his forehead, not ready to face the jokes and laughter that were to come from Rick and Glenn as he comes closer to you.

“S’okay. I’m runnin’ late anyways.” He holds the back of your head with one hand, pressing a kiss on your lips. “Ya can laugh after I’m gone.”

You nod, closing your mouth when he dares to slap your butt playfully, kneeling next in front of Marley to look into her eyes.

“Ya can put all the stickers ya want on daddy’s chest, but not on his stuff. Okay, ma lil’ angel?” He says softly, smiling when she smiles back. “Good. Now give me a hug.”

Marley wraps her arms around his neck, his free hand hugging her small body.

"Please take care, daddy. I love you."

“Love ya too, baby.”

Daryl kisses her cheek, getting up to leave his home once last time. The sun is warm on the exposed skin from his sleeveless shirt, but the moment he reaches Alexandria gate where one member of his family is waiting next to the passenger door of the truck, Glenn has to cover his mouth in shock, trying really hard not to laugh.

“Shut up.” Daryl says, almost threatening like when they met in Atlanta.

Glenn bites his lips, raising hands in a sign of peace.

“Now I love my little Marley even more.” He says after a few seconds, but hearing his niece’s name, Rick walks around the truck, laughing in surprise, so loudly when he sees Daryl's crossbow in his hand, so much so that he has to put his hands on his knees. “Wait! How is it that Rick can laugh?”

Daryl narrows his eyes at Rick, hating him for a moment. But ignoring the laughter, Daryl opens the passenger door and puts his things on the floor before climbing in, closing it with a little more force than necessary.

“Are ya done? I got a lil’ girl at home, ya dickfaces. Now let’s go ‘fore I shoot an arrow at yer faces.”

Rick has to put a hand on his chest to calm down, walking around the truck to get inside while Glenn does the same thing on the seat behind them. A man in charge of the gate opens it for the small group, and as the truck moves down the road, Daryl looks outside the window, waiting for the moment when he could return to his girls, no matter what jokes he had to endure first.

@fluffy-dixon

#daryl dixon imagine #dad!daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon

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chasedeys · 2 days ago

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I instantly thought of you when I heard him say “we locked our eyes”, would you like to share your thoughts on that? Please?

hi hello 😭 WHY i mean SURE but WHY 😭 is it because i yap too much on these two oh god you guys I'm so sorry

i fear i don't actually have much to say other than it just being pure joemarr usual bullshit of being so in tune with each other's bullshit that they just 'don't need words' and understand each other so perfectly well that joe can just do the griddy instantly and ja'marr follows suit without pausing and do the celly with him and and laugh at his stupid ass doing that shit so badly in front of so many people when i'm pretty sure joe has refused to do the griddy so many times before 😭😭 though then again this is just the usual scoring-then-team-celly thing lmaooo even if nobody else (but tee in the back from afar!) followed suit but it is special because joe burrow is doing ja'marr chase's trademark celly!! (the idea that people point at ja'marr to do the griddy to his face in various degrees of proficiency is still so funny to me I'm sorry mike gesickis point and griddy is still ingrained in my fucking head 😭 then grants griddy after sacking joe too oughughguh stop)

IT'S LIKE SO CUTE TO ME THOUGH maybe it's just because ja'marr was the closest one running to him and reaching him first so joe looked to him first and joe was all a bit awkward with the ball lmao he was holding it and looking and circling around like what the fuck do i do now with my celly and!! he said he locked eyes!! with ja'marr!!!! for help!!!!!!! ja'marr shrugging at him like 'what do you wanna do now' giving him the spotlight it's your moment what kind of celly do you wanna do i'm right here with you hyping you up no doubt about it and there's ja'marr right there in front of him of course he's going to embarrass the ever living shit out of himself doing the fucking griddy so soooo badly (i remember him doing it in the nfl is post saints game in that tunnel looking towards ja'marr too!!!!! insane. only doing the griddy looking at ja'marr. crazy. and also post afc north wins cigar smoking i think idk but still.) and ja'marr automatically mirrors him falling over himself laughing because oh? joe fucking burrow??? doing the griddy??????

but focusing on the 'locking eyes' aspect it does bring up that they do 'lock eyes' pretty often no? like they find each other across the field to stare at each other and communicate via brain waves or some shit read each others mind through eye contact and face twitches and literally anything else other than verbal words so that's super cute to note! also its soooooooooooo important to me how they BOTH keep mentioning how they keep giving each other looks lmao like at first you'd think only ja'marr being the one to mention him giving joe looks and joe clocking it but no!! joe saying ja'marr gives him looks for him to get him the ball and when ja'marr gets asked about it he gets so?? excited?? like oh! yeah! joe mentioned the looks to you? "i do give him looks i didn't even-" cute cute ANYWAY super into how joe mentioned them locking eyes sorry got ahead of myself 😭

BUT IN ALL HONESTY in this context 'we locked eyes and i just started hitting it' (lmao insane word choice) it's more of a the minute joe looks at ja'marr he knows what he's going to do the griddy because it's ja'marr in his sights. it's not that joe 'reads ja'marr's mind that ja'marr wants him to do the griddy and he's doing it because ja'marr wants him to' it's because oh! that's my guy! my guy who has this cool fucking celly that's his trademark and i've never done it for him and i have literally no fucking idea what to do so you know i should do it now that'll make him laugh lol and boom they're laughing at each other super cutely in this game that took like 10 years off my fucking life

#ask #ja'marr chase #joe burrow #joemarr #its so funny to me how he did the griddy out of fucking nowhereeeee #he has consistently refused to do it no?#only does it for afc north cigar wins and like that saints game in the tunnel lmao

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neverthatsirius-jo · 2 days ago

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GATHER ROUND!! GATHER ROUND!! NEW MEL STEVE FIC HAS BEEN POSTED? AND WHAT IS THAT? ITS DEDICATED TO SILLY OLD ME? 🥹 AND ITS FRIENDS TO LOVERS??????????? 👹

i saw the notif this morning and to be quite honest i smiled and went back to sleep because i was really tired buT, i read it as soon as i woke back up again. i just wanted to take my time to write the proper reblog it deserves <3

The Christmas lights cover you from head to toe as if you had been decorating yourself in them. His eyes sparkle with amusement, but he keeps his lips in a tight line to stop himself from laughing.

can’t laugh actually cause that could so easily be me

“You can laugh, it's okay. This is pretty funny.”

“I’m not going to laugh at you, angel.”

“Laugh with me then.”

love you steve rogers you can laugh at me all you want, please do.

You look over to see Bucky smirking proudly at the sight of his best friend kissing you and Sam making fun of Bucky for not knowing how to take a photo without the flash on.

HAJRJSHSHH UGH THIS IS TOO CUTE I CANT

So this fluffy fic is my holiday gift to you my dear Jo!! @neverthatsirius-jo ♡ I know how much you adore Steve, so I knew I had to write something for him just for you!!

i’m fangirling so hard rn. and it was the kind of fic i eat right up !! guyys, i love lifee. i love fanficc. i love my mutuals. i love melll 😌✨

loved the scenario (i can’t get the image of steve carrying heavy boxes around my living room out of my head now but that’s besides the point), and the ending with bucky and sam’s teasing IRJEISHRBR I CANT STOP SMILING

this made my entire week and i’ll be thinking about it for days to come. love you, melll <3

Tangled Up In You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

Summary: When you and Steve get tasked with decorating the living room of the Avengers Compound, it seems like the perfect opportunity to spend some time with your crush. However, a certain tangled mess of lights would prove to make decorating a bit more difficult than you had anticipated.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. established nickname -> angel

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> putting up christmas lights isn't as easy as it looks

a/n: And the secret is out! ₊˚⊹☆ This little winter drabble event was started because I wanted to do some gift giving for the holiday season. ˚୨୧⋆｡ So this fluffy fic is my holiday gift to you my dear Jo!! @neverthatsirius-jo ♡ I know how much you adore Steve, so I knew I had to write something for him just for you!! Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

main masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

You grumble an incoherence under your breath, stepping back and looking at the piles of cardboard boxes littering the living room of the Avengers Compound. Each one is filled with various holiday decorations you and Steve have been “tasked” adorning the living room with.

Last night, during the team’s weekly game night, it was decided that the two people who lost the most games by the end of the night would be stuck with the responsibility of decorating the only undecorated room left in the Compound—the living room.

Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately for you—you and Steve were the two losers of the night. You didn’t mind having to decorate on your day off, and you certainly didn’t mind spending the afternoon with Steve. He was one of your closest friends—a friend you have been secretly crushing on for months. You were hoping that this time together could help you muster up the courage to finally ask him out on a date.

Fingers crossed that, unlike last night, luck would be on your side when asking him.

While Steve brought in the remaining boxes from the storage room, you were going through each of the cardboard boxes to try and get an idea of what you had to work with. This was your first holiday season at the Compound, so you didn’t have last year's decor to reference back on.

You make your way over to one of the larger cardboard boxes, one whose height goes up to your waist. You notice the word lights scribbled on the side of it in black permanent marker before you open it. Inside, as you expected, are an abundance of Christmas lights. All an extensive tangled web of cords and bulbs. You couldn’t tell how many sets of lights were inside, but you did know whoever stored them previously did so without a care in the world. Now, they were left in a mangled knot you’d have to find the patience to undo.

Maybe luck wasn’t on your side today…

You huff as you begin pulling the strands of lights out of the box. Your eyes go wider by the second as they appear to be never-ending. Almost as if you were pulling the lights from a magician’s hat, yards upon yards of string poured out. It made you wonder if Wanda had enchanted the box for it to have been able to fit so much.

By the time the box was empty, you were in the midst of the pile of lights, carefully trying to make a path by sweeping the cords on the ground with your foot. This backfires on you quickly as the cords end up around your ankles. When you try to free them, your wrists somehow end up joining in on the vine-like restriction.

The pattern of you trying to free yourself from the web of lights only to end up getting more entrapped by them continues until you can no longer discern where you start and where the lights end. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ridiculous situation you have gotten yourself into.

“I think there’s only—” Steve's words freeze in midair along with himself as he walks into the living room and sees the predicament you’re in. The Christmas lights cover you from head to toe as if you had been decorating yourself in them. His eyes sparkle with amusement, but he keeps his lips in a tight line to stop himself from laughing.

“Y/n, how did you…?”

“Please help.”

Embarrassment bubbles within every ounce of you—to say the least—and with no dignified explanation of how you got like this, you look everywhere but at Steve. Staring intently at the ground when he sets down the boxes in his arms and carefully makes his way over to you.

“I think you took out the lights Tony used last year to outline the roof. That’s why there’s so many of them,” Steve explains kindly as a way to make you feel better, delicately pulling at the lights around your body to find the ones easiest to take off of you first. Your eyes slowly make their way to meet his baby blue ones. Your embarrassment melts away at the gentle way he’s staring at you—no judgment in sight. However, you don’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitch as he holds back a smile.

“You can laugh, it's okay. This is pretty funny.”

“I’m not going to laugh at you, angel.”

“Laugh with me then.”

The nickname he uses only for you is enough to bring a smile to your face, but when a few light chuckles leave his lips at your permission—your smile widens until your soft laughter joins his.

What happens next will forever be unexplainable to both of you. Somehow, in the midst of trying to untangle you, the string of lights find themselves around Steve’s chest constricting his movement. You try to help him, but you’re not in the best position to. So from here on out, you go back and forth trying to help one another only to end up enveloped further by the lights.

You both laugh it off until you realize how close the lights have tangled you to each other. If you step any closer you’d be pressed up against Steve, the mere possibility sends your heart racing. Your nerves get the better of you, attempting to step back only to almost slip backward if it weren’t for Steve reaching out to catch you before you did.

Ultimately, pressing you up against him so you wouldn’t fall.

“You alright, angel?” He asks you tentatively, scanning you over as if you had fallen.

You nod slowly, the words getting caught in your throat at his proximity. The scent of his cologne, an earthy spice that is mixed with something that is entirely him fills your senses, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter dreamily.

Your eyes gravitate to his lips and when they do his breath hitches. Your gaze shoots up to meet his and in his pretty blues you swear you see the same desire you hold.

You’re dying to kiss him, and you think he is too.

Steve’s eyes lock on your lips, and that’s all the confirmation you need to gather the courage to pull him in for a kiss. It starts hesitant, yet sweet, both of you testing the waters of what it feels like to kiss one another. It doesn’t take long for Steve to deepen the kiss, wanting to pour his feelings for you out in the open. The dilemma of the lights is long forgotten as the kiss consumes all of your thoughts.

The snapping sound of a phone camera isn’t enough to break the kiss, but the flash that follows it is. You look over to see Bucky smirking proudly at the sight of his best friend kissing you and Sam making fun of Bucky for not knowing how to take a photo without the flash on.

“Seriously, you two?” Steve shakes his head at his friends, his cheeks rosy with a hint of bashfulness at the way his best friends are acting. You can feel your face getting hot as well, knowing there was no way you were ever going to live down getting tangled up in Christmas lights with Steve.

As for the picture of the kiss…you were definitely going to ask Bucky for a copy later.

When you tune back into their conversation, Sam has a shit-eating grin on his face, “You should make that this year's Christmas card.”

“Sam!”

You giggle at Sam��s teasing and at Steve’s attempt at scolding him. Steve seems mortified until he notices the way you don’t seem to mind the teasing. He stares at you with a fond expression, wanting more than anything to be alone with you again.

“Don’t you two have chores to do? Y/n and I are kind of busy here,” Steve motions to the web of lights that cover you and him from head to toe. Despite that, the twinkle of mischief in Sam’s eyes tells you he’s not done with either of you yet.

“Kissing or decorating?”

“Sam!”

After a few more rounds of teasing that leave Steve wondering when the earth will swallow him whole, Sam and Bucky finally retreat—leaving him alone with you once more.

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you angel—I promise,” Steve apologizes to you, an endearing embarrassment on his features. You shake your head with a soft smile, intending to tell him not to worry about it until an idea pops into your head.

“How about you make it up to me tomorrow? We can check out that new coffee place down on Orchard if you’d like,” you suggest, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you await his answer. He lights up at your suggestion, “I’d love to. It’s a date then?” That last part comes out as a whispered question, wondering if you’d see it the same way he did.

“It’s a date,” you confirm, moving against the restricting lights enough to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

So it seems luck was on your side all along after all.

#[🤍] ; jo’s readings ── ◡̈#[🎀] ; moots ── mel <3 #steve rogers x reader #I FEEL LIKE MY REBLOG FALLS SHORT IN COMPARISON WITH THE FIC BUT IM BAD WITH WORDS #I LOVED IT #LOVE U MEL #IANEISNWJS #IM SO HAPPY #TEEHEE #<333333 #also my headcanon is that wanda did to something to the lights because everyone was tired of steve and reader and reader dancing around eac #each other #the tag was so long it didnt let me write more

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tateypots · 2 days ago

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To Be Your First Part 2

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word count: 3k

A/N: This is my second submission for @romanarose Dead Dove December. So it’s dark. Please read the warnings and tags and if it’s not for you, scroll on by. Please protect yourselves.

Summary: This is the same story as To Be Your First but from Joel’s perspective. Again, it’s dark.

Warnings: Non-con, DDDNE, intoxication, somnophilia, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, virginity loss, age gap, dirty talk. Let me know if I missed anything.

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Joel was careful not to get caught staring at you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. And he definitely didn’t want your dad, his friend and neighbour to catch him ogling his 19 year old daughter in her skimpy bikini.

He’d known you the majority of your life, becoming firm friends with your dad when he moved in next door when you were just 4 years old. You’d called him Uncle Joel when you were younger and Sarah, 10 years your senior, had been your babysitter before she flew the nest. So it was definitely wrong for his cock to get hard at the sight of your beautiful body, at the thought of your smooth skin and soft pussy. But he couldn’t help it. You’d been a late bloomer but by God had it been worth the wait, returning from your first year away at college transformed into a Goddess. He couldn’t decide if he liked your tits or ass more. He dreamed of those beautiful thighs squeezing round his head. God he would like to bury himself between them and stay there for the rest of his life.

He’d excused himself to the bathroom and jerked himself off frantically, coming so quickly he caught himself by surprise. It took him a good while to clean his spunk off the floor and counter, making sure he left no trace of his depravity behind. Midway through his clean-up he heard the sound of you and your friend giggling filtering in through the open window of the bathroom. Your bedroom window must be open too.

“So you’re really going to do it? About time!” Your friend teased. He hadn’t caught her name, he’d been too busy trying to wrench his attention from your chest.

“Shhh Anna lower your voice,” you giggled, “but yes. Started on birth control and everything. Brad has booked a hotel in the city. He knows it’s my first time and wants it to be special.”

“I can’t believe you’re still a virgin,” Anna laughed.

“Yeah because all the boys in high school were such catches. No way was I doing it with any of them. And Brad is so amazing so I’m glad I waited.”

“When is the momentous occasion?”

“Two weeks. He wanted to go this weekend but we have the block party and it’s our turn to host this year. My mom is stressing the fuck out and if I told her I wasn’t going to be here she’d go ballistic!”

Joel couldn’t listen anymore, the blood was rushing in his ears and he felt lightheaded. His clean-up finished he snuck out of the bathroom, careful not to make a sound, and down the stairs, avoiding all the ones he knew creaked. He didn’t want you to know he’d been eavesdropping.

“You ok Joel, you been up there a long time,” your dad said as Joel entered the living room.

“Stomach’s a bit iffy, gona head out.”

“Ok sure thing, you don’t look so great if I’m being honest. Feel better soon, let us know if you need anything.”

Joel made his escape and made the short walk back to his house, trying to decipher this feeling that had overtaken him. Disappointment? Jealousy? Anger? Probably a mix of all 3. You were going to let some undeserving little shithead touch that pretty little pussy. His pretty little pussy. He wasn’t sure where that possessive hunger had come from but he didn’t doubt it. You were for him he was sure of it. It was his destiny to be your first. You’d had a crush on him in your early teens he knew. He thought it was so cute how you’d get breathless and flustered around him. You still did on occasion. It had given his ego such a boost. And now you were going to throw away your virginity on some boy who wouldn’t know how to please a woman if he had a step by step guide, when you should be trusting it to Joel. It looked like if he wanted it, he’d have to take it. And he didn’t have much time to plan.

______________________________________________________

The day of the street party rolled around and everything was prepared. Tonight was the night and Joel was high on the adrenaline coursing through him. His timing had to be on point. He didn’t want this to be a rushed fumble, he wanted to take his time with you. He knew the drill with parties at your house having attended several over the years. Upstairs was strictly off limits so he didn’t have to worry about being interrupted by any of the other guests. He just had to make sure to pick a time that would mean your parents would be occupied and unlikely to make an appearance. That meant in time with the fireworks. They’d both be involved in the setting up and no way would either miss them after the amount they’d spent on them, a fact your father had grumbled about to Joel numerous times over the last few weeks.

That just left the issue of how to get you up the stairs and compliant. A fairly easy solution, if not very elegant. Joel was going to get you shitfaced. He knew your parents let you drink if they were present so it was easy enough to sneak extra shots into your red solo cup through the night. You were well on your way to being good and drunk when your dad had cut you off. Joel had conspiratorially slipped you another couple of drinks when your dad wasn’t looking with a wink. The little giggle you gifted him with the last one went straight to his cock. It had been easy enough to slip in some of the crushed up pain meds he’d brought with him into that last one.

Knowing the time was close he slipped into the house picking up a glass and a bag he had stashed earlier from the kitchen before sneaking up the stairs. He grabbed a towel and some washcloths from the closet opposite the bathroom and entered your room. He pulled back the covers on your bed and laid out the towel. Just as with his cum in the bathroom, he didn’t want to leave behind any traces and couldn’t risk you making a mess on the bedsheets. He filled the glass with water and dampened the washcloths in the bathroom before leaving them all on your nightstand. Happy everything was in order he snuck back downstairs.

His intention was to go out and bring you back into the house under the guise of getting you some water but as he moved towards the kitchen he heard voices. He peeked round the door and saw you slumped against the counter with that little fucker Brad admonishing you for being so drunk.

“Look at you, you’re hammered. You’re a disgrace!”

You slurred out a string of nonsense, punctuated by a hiccup.

“Whatever. Sort yourself out.” Brad stormed out, leaving you slumped against the counter. Joel thanked his lucky stars. No one would even see him with you. Divine providence he thought. Further proof that this was meant to happen. He saw you stumble your way through the kitchen and was there to catch you as your legs gave way.

“Easy darlin’.”

He bent down and swept your legs from under you. You moaned and your head fell into his chest as he carried you up the stairs to your bedroom. He left you on the bed atop his carefully laid towel before closing and locking the door behind him.

You were almost completely unconscious now. He removed your shoes carefully before pulling up your torso to remove your dress, leaving your pretty tits on display for him finally as you slumped back onto the bed. He was painfully hard at the sight, his cock ready to rip the seams of his pants.

Next he pulled your underwear down and off your body. He stood there a moment to admire you fully.

“So fuckin’ pretty.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off you for another minute. One hand on either knee he prised your legs apart, letting out a soft groan at the first sight of your perfect pussy. His hands stroked up your thighs, revelling in the softness of your skin. Once his hands reached the tops of your thighs he couldn’t stop himself from giving them a squeeze. His left hand pulled out his phone, already open to the camera and hit record as his right hand skated over your mound and down to run his fingers through your folds. He found your little clit with ease, rubbing over it with gentle pressure. The moan that you let out nearly had him coming in his pants.

“Yeah, that feel good baby?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

That was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. Dropping his phone he leant forward and began lapping at your pussy, licking and sucking your clit as his fingers travelled lower in search of where you were open for him, feeling your arousal beginning to drip out of you. You let out another moan just as he slid two fingers inside of you. You were so fucking tight. He couldn’t wait to get his cock in you. His tongue kept working your clit as he fingered you, picking up speed and curling his fingers to hit that spongy spot that would have you seeing stars.

He wasn’t even sure if you would be able to climax in your current state but he felt the tell-tale tightening of your cunt round his fingers.

“Yeah that’s it baby, can tell you’re getting close, such a good girl.”

He leaned back in, his tongue working furiously over your clit and his fingers relentless inside of you, your moans music to his ears as your pussy fluttered and clenched on his fingers and your slick gushed over his hand.

“Fuuuuck baby, such a good job, making me so happy coming so hard.”

He looked at your face and realised you were completely passed out. He placed a quick kiss on your clit and pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to enjoy the taste of you. He was ready to bust. He need a minute to gather himself or this would be over before it even started. He pulled himself off you and took a few deep breaths. He let his hands roam over your body for a few minutes, groaning when he finally got hold of your tits, so soft and supple and perky. They fit his hands nicely and he loved the way they felt when he squeezed them. He ran his thumbs over your nipples before pinching them, earning him a whimper from you.

He took off his shirt, and pulled his aching cock out, pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs before climbing back between your legs. He lay on top of you fully, pressing a few little kisses to your lips and jaw before kneeling back up and picking up his phone again. He wanted to immortalise this moment. Hitting record again he lined up the shot. Running his hand over your pussy to gather some slick he then used it to pump his cock a few times, coating himself in you. Gripping the base of his cock he lined himself up with your hole and pushed the fat head in.

“Oh Jesus, fuck.” Your pussy clamped down on the intrusion as you let out a whimper. He worked you open with small shallow thrusts, pushing in a little further each time until his dick was about half way in you. Moving his free hand to grip at your hip he rammed himself forward with one powerful thrust, his balls connecting with your ass as he split you open.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

His brain short circuited. He remained still, unable to move, unable to think of anything but your tight, warm, wet pussy gripping onto his cock like it never wanted to let go. He’d never been inside a cunt as perfect as yours. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. As sense returned, he pulled out slowly. Still recording. He bit his lip so hard it bled to stop from coming when he saw your blood coating his cock. It was his. Your virginity was his. Fuck you Brad.

He pushed in and out a few times slowly, making sure to capture how your pussy opened for him with his phone. He knew he’d never get tired of watching these videos. He then deposited the phone on your nightstand, still recording. He lowered his body over yours, taking his weight on his forearms before thrusting into you, slowly at first but building pace as he went, soaking up all the moans you let slip and relishing the sinful sounds of your wet pussy swallowing his cock and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

He tried to keep quiet but couldn’t control the grunts that slipped out with each magnificent thrust into your heavenly body. He saw your eyelids flutter open and watched as your face contorted in confusion but he never let up from the steady snap of his hips.

“Ssstop.”

“Shhh baby its ok, be over soon”

“Huuuuuurts.”

“It’ll pass baby. Ohhhhhh fuck, you’re taking this cock so good. So wet for me, so tight, such a good girl.”

Your eyes drifted closed again and he continued to use you. He never wanted it to end. You came round every few minutes, he whispered reassurances in your ear each time between grunts.

Knowing his time must be growing to a close he began to ramp up his speed, snaking his hand between you to rub at your clit. He had to feel you come on his cock. He hadn’t failed to notice that your moans were coming quicker and louder. You were tightening around him, he leant his head down to suck your pretty nipple into his mouth. As he grazed it with his teeth he felt you climax, your pussy pulsing and clenching around him. It was divine and it made him feel like a God. He stilled his hips inside you to fully enjoy your climax and the feel of your walls clamping down on him.

As the aftershocks abated he picked up his thrusts again, not even bothering to build up, railing into you, chasing his own high. It didn’t take long, you released another beautiful noise and his orgasm barrelled into him. He buried himself as deep as he could and let go, spurting deep inside you with a long, low groan of satisfaction. His arms gave out beneath him at the intensity of it and collapsed on top of you, driving into you a few more times, releasing further ropes of his hot white seed.

“Fuck yes, oh yes, yes, yes”

It was the most intense orgasm he’d ever had in his life. He wished he could steal you away, take you whenever he wanted. Worship your body day and night.

Forcing his mind back to the present he pulled himself out of you, looking down at you he saw that your eyes were open. He didn’t know when you had woken up, too lost in the pleasure your body provided. You blinked once before your eyes slipped closed and you fell back asleep. He bent over to kiss your forehead before pushing his cock back into his pants.

“Did so good for me princess, I’m so proud o’ you.”

His first order of business was to take some photos of your tits and his cum leaking out of your pretty pussy. They’d complement the videos he’d taken of his earlier exploits with you nicely. Then he got his fingers back inside you, sweeping out as much of his semen as he could, then wiped down your folds with a damp cloth before placing a quick kiss there, he couldn’t resist giving your clit another hard suck, earning a delicious noise from you in reward.

Next he gathered up the towel from underneath you. He took a minute to admire the mess of fluids staining it, a mixture of his cum, your slick and your blood. He could get hard again just looking at it. He folded his prize carefully and placed it into the bag he’d brought along with the soiled washcloths.

Next he wrestled you into some pyjamas that had been lying on your bed, shorts first then the top. He couldn’t stop himself from playing with your tits one last time, licking and sucking your nipples before pulling the top down over them and hiding them from his view. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he saw them in person. He’d love to see them covered with his cum one day.

His best hope was that you’d wake tomorrow dazed and confused, having forgotten the events of the evening entirely and be too distracted by your inevitable hangover to notice pain where it shouldn’t be. Your inexperienced pussy had taken a beating tonight, but he slipped some more of those strong pain meds into the water by your bed that you’d hopefully drink in the night just in case. His body had been numb for days when he’d taken them for his bad back so they’d hopefully do the trick.

Zipping up his bag he moved over to your window, opening it fully, he quickly checked the coast was clear before tossing the bag the short distance over the fence that separated your house from his own. He quickly threw his shirt back on, leant down to give you another quick kiss and headed back down to the party.

#dark!joel miller #tw noncon #joel miller x reader #smut #deaddovedecember2024

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