#21 days of gratitude | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mavrintarou · 5 months ago

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[11:21 AM] Sakus Kiyoomi

Went on a writer's block and vacation, trying to get back into the game again. Had to distract myself with some Kiyoomi, here's sweet Omi.

Warning: Smut, pregnancy talk, daddy Omi in progress

Strong and long arms tighten around your waist, a face buried against your shoulder blades as you can feel warm breath fanning through the material of your shirt. Looking over your shoulder, you can see the dark mop of curly locks that are messy from not being properly dry the night before.

Normally, you would have offered to blow-dry his hair but yesterday, Kiyoomi returned home from training in a foul mood. After two years of dating and two years of marriage, you knew it was best to just let him cool off on his own.

You only smile and silently let him know he knows where to find you when he feels better.

You would do your best to make the rest of his night better by heating dinner and pouring him a glass of his favorite wine. Though he wouldn’t be in the mood to talk, you sat across from him and watched him eat.

“Thank you for dinner,” he murmured, his mood a little cooler than a few minutes ago.

“You’re welcome,” you smile, “would you like me to get a bath going for you?”

“Please,” he whispered with a small smile, one you knew that he appreciated your small gestures.

You waited for him in bed but at some point, you must have fallen asleep.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes shot open and you looked over your shoulder, “Omi?”

He hummed, tightening his embrace and holding you close. “Thank you… for everything.”

You blinked, then rested your head back on the pillow, taking a moment for his words to register. It wasn’t unusual for him to express his gratitude, but you found yourself uncertain about what exactly he was thank you for.

“Thank you for always taking care of me, and understanding me.”

You maneuvered around in his arms and faced him. “Of course, but you don’t need to thank me.”

Kiyoomi pressed his lips to your forehead. “Of course I do, I don’t say it enough but I am grateful for you and the things you do for me. You understand me like no one else. Like heating food for me, getting a bath going for me… even using your ridiculous towel warmer and warming up my towel for me, setting out my clothes for me… you blow-dry my hair for me…”

You reached to touch a spiral strand, “except yesterday…”

He chuckles, “except yesterday, but I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” you say pressing a kiss to his lips. “What happened? Who made your day so bad? Tell me, I’ll fight them.”

His lips curve into a smirk, “it was mom.” He pulls you into the crook of his embrace. “My mom called and gave me the talk, that’s all…”

Your fighting words a moment ago humbled you, you certainly weren’t going to fight your mother-in-law.

You pull back and stare at him, “the talk? About what? You’re twenty-seven years old, what talk is your mom having with you?”

“Grandkids.”

Your mouth is shaped into a big O.

“She wants grandkids…”

You nod your head and then frown, “and that made you upset?”

“Well, yeah,” he responded, his tone carrying an evident clarity. He gently moved your hair aside with his fingers. “You’re my wife, and it’s your body. With today’s technology, childbirth is dangerous and hard on a woman’s body and health. Whether we have kids or not isn’t solely my decision.”

You nuzzle his palm, “well, you play a crucial role though.”

“Well, yeah but…” he paused and narrowed his eyes, “you’re the one carrying the baby for nine whole months.”

“I don’t see the problem here, Kiyoomi.”

“Omi,” he corrected. He let out a sigh, “it’s not a problem, my whole point that I tried to get my mom to understand is that it’s a choice of ours to have children and she shouldn’t be pressuring us.”

“Do you feel pressured?”

He rolled his eyes, “no, I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

You loved this man so much.

“I don’t feel pressured,” you assured, resting a palm over his chest. “Babies kind of sounds nice, don’t you think?”

“Kind of?” he mimicked with a chuckle, he pulled you on top, so you’re straddling him. “A baby sounds nice, let’s start with one first.”

“Like right now?”

You can see him hesitating. “I provide what I can, but you will be the one bearing most of the weight. Is it something you want, Y/n?”

“For a long time now,” you answered instantly.

You’ve longed to start a family for quite a while now. You simply hesitated to broach the subject because it hadn’t been raised by either of you yet. Amongst all your married friends, the two of you were the only ones who hadn’t started a family yet.

“You didn’t say anything!” Kiyoomi exclaimed before bursting out laughing. “I’ve been having baby fever for half a year now since Shoyo had his second boy.”

You frowned at him, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Kiyoomi leaned up and pressed a kiss to your forehead, nose, and lips. “It doesn’t matter what I want, you are the most important person to me and it’s your body. If you didn’t want a baby, I would have been okay with being an uncle.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “You’re so thoughtful, Omi.”

“It’s all thanks to Atsumu, he gave me an earful of being conscience of a woman’s body and their choices.”

You pull back and look at him in the eyes, “you didn’t answer me, so is right now too soon to start?”

Kiyoomi pressed his lips to your neck, his teeth nipping your skin. “No, we’re quite behind actually so we should hurry and… practice… cause practice makes perfect…”

His bulge is more prominent now and you grind your hips against it causing him to groan deeply and sexily. The only thing preventing him from thrusting inside you was the flimsy materials of both your undergarments.

You push him flat down on the bed and move to grab the waistband of his boxer briefs and freeing his cock only. Tugging your panties aside you aligned him at your pussy and sank on him feeling him fill you.

Kiyoomi’s large hands grip your thighs tightly before sliding up to grasp your waist. He pushed himself into the seating position, adjusting you on his lap, making you feel him deeper within you. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

His palms fondle your tits, massaging them before pinching your hardened nipples. “I love your tits, they fill my palm already but I can only imagine how much bigger they would be when they’re full of milk.”

Your hips rocked against his, making you both moan and groan together. His grip slips down to your waist, his nails digging into your skin.

You knew your husband well enough that he was desperate.

So, you waited for him to voice himself.

“Please,” he whispered almost in pain, against your collarbone, “move… move baby…”

Leveraging against his strong wide shoulders, you rocked your hips, teasing him momentarily before leaning forward to kiss him while bouncing on his cock. Your bedroom instantly echoed with lewd smacking clamor.

“Ah!” you moaned when Kiyoomi leaned onto his back and began to thrust up into you, impatient about your pace. Your back arched, pussy clenching around his cock that was hitting deeper. You can feel every contour and grove of his cock.

Kiyoomi growled your name repeatedly with each thrust almost as if he was engraving himself deep within you.

Very few times has he come inside you, and all those times were accidents because there was no condom and he could not pull-out in time.

You squealed as you’re flipped onto your back with your husband towering over you with dark hungry eyes. His messy curly hair made him extra sexier than usual.

Your eyes watch his long fingers trail up your arm until they find your fingers, interlacing them. He pins your hands beside your head, “look at me, Y/n.” You do as he commanded. “I want your eyes on me as we cum together.”

You nod, unable to find your voice.

He kneels in between your legs, pushing your legs wider to accommodate him. With no warning, he pounded into your pussy with an extreme speed. His grip against your hand tightened as you tried to free your hands to touch him.

“Cum, baby – cum for me…” Kiyoomi whispered in a low hush tone. “Because I want to cum for you, I want to cum deeply inside you. I want – no – need to cum inside you… put a baby inside you…” his breath haggard with his powerful and deep thrusts that he punctuated each time he said the word cum. “Now I can cum inside you all I want… must… fill… you… with… my… cum.” His teeth nip your collarbone, “must impregnate you now.”

You cried out, legs tightening around his hips. Your pussy tightening and trembling around his cock as it continues to pound and rub against your sensitive walls. “Omi!”

His hands rips away from yours and he shifts himself onto his knees, lifting your hips along, making you arch your back. “You like that? Me wanting to impregnate you? Me breeding you?”

Where is your Omi? Who is this Omi that’s speaking such lewd words to you?

“Omi – wait –…” your words cut off as he thrusts hard and deep, faster than before.

“Ah!” Kiyoomi groaned.

Your eyes widen and you gasp. The sensation of feeling Kiyoomi ejaculate inside felt different than the other times. It may have been the overstimulating thrill but you felt each spurt of cum.

He lowered your hips without withdrawing his cock just yet. A palm presses against the triangle of your womanhood and you gasp your husband’s name.

“I feel myself…” he murmurs, applying pressure, which makes you cringe – not from pain, but from a peculiar sensation. “I… I don’t want to pull out.”

“Hmm?” you hummed, half understanding him.

“My cum will flow out and… it will be wasted,” his voice laced with concern.

You giggled and reached for him to pull you up. He tugs you until you both are in an intimate lotus position. You looked down where you both are bonded as one. Kiyoomi has never stayed inside you longer than needed to, so to have him ‘plugging’ you this way felt erotic.

You cup his face and look into his eyes, “I’m sure your strongest sperm is swimming and making its way to where it needs to be.”

. . .

E/n: he's so dreamy.

>>>@queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa fluff #daddy Sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi sakusa #kiyoomi sakusa x y/n

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joelhoney · 1 year ago

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#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads.

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.”

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?”

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past.

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.”

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages.

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately.

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts.

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous.

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained.

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom.

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on.

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his.

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight.

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—”

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him.

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small.

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.”

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts. The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever.

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller tlou #the last of us #tlou x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou smut

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twobluejeans · 1 year ago

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HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 10: xoxo, barbie series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 10! i recommend listening to marjorie by taylor swift to this chapter so u feel the vibe.

TWITTER, july 19

INSTAGRAM, july 19

liked by camilamorrone, lewishamilton, and 6,348,164 others

yourinstagram just wrapped up the european leg of the Eras Tour, and my heart is bursting with gratitude and emotion. this journey has been an extraordinary one, and i couldn't have asked for a more incredible audience to share it with.

last night, we closed out this chapter in the city where my mother was born, and i have no words to express how special it was. the energy, the love, and the connection we shared in that moment made it the best show of my life.

to everyone who came out to the shows, sang along, danced, and created memories with us, thank you from the bottom of my heart. your passion and support have been the driving force behind every performance, and i’m endlessly grateful for the moments we've shared together.

this tour has been a journey of self-rediscovery and growth, and i’m so lucky to have such an amazing team by my side. the dedication, creativity, and hard work they've poured into every detail have made this experience truly magical.

as we move forward to the next leg of the tour, i carry with me the love and warmth of each city we've visited. your energy and enthusiasm have fueled my spirit, and i can't wait to see where the Eras Tour takes us next.

from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being a part of this adventure. let’s continue to make memories, share moments, and celebrate the magic of music together. here's to the journey ahead! 🦋🫧

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INSTAGRAM, july 20

yourstory 8h

viewed by henrycavill, aarontaylorjohnson, and 4,563,134 others

yourstory 8h

viewed by carlossainz, gretagerwing, and 4,17,123 others

INSTAGRAM, july 20

liked by landomybbgirl, f1ewis, and 612,122 others

enews click link in bio to read everything we know so far about the controversy that is y/n l/n’s and charles leclerc’s breakup.

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dutchverstappen_ n e ways…

ripy/nsferrariera CAUSE KARMA IS MY BFFFF

leclerc16ferrari i love charles but to say this isn’t well deserved would be lying 💀

INSTGRAM STORIES, july 20

yourstory 58m

viewed by rudeth, badbunnypr, and 1,578,193 others

yourstory 28m

viewed by landonoriss, authurleclerc, and 643,183 others

TWITTER, july 20

INSTAGRAM july 21

liked by selenagomez, ana_d_armas, and 9,449,167 others

yourinstagram happy birthday to my guardian angel! today, as i celebrate another year of life, i can't help but remember the incredible woman who brought me into this world. we share the same birthday, and though you're not physically here with me, i feel your presence in every beat of my heart.it’s been 15 years since you left us, but your love, guidance, and beautiful spirit have never faded from my life. you were not just my mom; you were my best friend, my confidante, and my rock. losing you at the age of 12 was the most challenging thing i’ve ever faced, but i’ve carried your strength and love with me every step of the way.you were there for all my firsts - my first day of school, my first dance recital, my first guitar lesson. you taught me kindness, compassion, and the importance of staying true to myself. your unwavering support and belief in me still resonates deeply, even when life feels overwhelming. i often find myself looking up at the night sky, knowing that you're shining down as one of the brightest stars. your light continues to guide me, reminding me that no matter how tough life gets, i have your love to carry me through.so, here's to you, mom - the strongest, most beautiful soul i’ve ever known. thank you for being my guardian angel and for making every birthday feel like a celebration of your love and spirit.

wishing i could hug u one last time,

your y/n/n. 🤍

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fernandoalonso she’s watching over you and she’s so proud of how far you come. she’s by your side always, front row at all of your concerts. forever with you wherever you go, your guardian angel

bellahadid she’s so proud of u, babe. we all are 🖤

sabrinacarpenter happy birthday 💗

TWITTER, july 21

INSTAGRAM, july 21

liked by tchalamet, carlossainz, and 15,732,135 others

yourinstagram oh god, i’ve cried at least 3 times trying to type this so hopefully fourth times the charm.

as i take a moment to reflect on my unforgettable journey on the set of Barbie, my heart is overflowing with emotions. i can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the incredible opportunity i was given and the remarkable people who made it all possible.

to the extraordinary visionary, greta gerwing, thank you for trusting me with the role of Barbie and for guiding me through this artistic voyage. barbie played a big role in my life as a little girl, i adored every barbie film series and for you to chose me as you barbie is something i will always be in debt to you for. your passion and creativity was infectious, and i’m forever grateful for the chance to collaborate with such a talented director. the experience has left an indelible mark on my soul.

and to my lovely cast-mates, fellow Barbies, and Kens, you are the heart and soul of this film. each one of you brought a unique and irreplaceable energy to the set, and i in awe of your dedication and talent. together, we laughed, cried, and supported one another, creating a bond that will last a lifetime. thank you for being my rock on-screen and off-screen. you are my true stars. ⭐️

the memories we've made during the filming process will forever be etched in my heart. from the exhilarating moments of shooting magical scenes to the heartwarming conversations behind the scenes, every single second has been a treasure. the friendships that blossomed during this journey are the kind that go beyond the silver screen, and i feel incredibly blessed to have shared this chapter with each one of you.

i can't help but be proud of what we've created together. the love, effort, and dedication poured into Barbie shine through every frame. it’s my hope that this film will not only entertain but also inspire and touch the hearts of all who watch it. i want each person to experience the same excitement and joy that filled my heart while bringing Barbie to life.

thank you to the entire production team, crew members, and everyone behind the scenes for your tireless efforts in making this dream come true. your passion and commitment to the project have been awe-inspiring, and i’m forever grateful for your hard work and dedication. 🙏

so here's to Barbie and to all of you who made it an unforgettable adventure. let’s spread its magic far and wide, and may it bring joy and wonder to audiences around the world. thank you, from the depths of my heart, for being a part of this incredible journey. i love you all!

BARBIE is out now in theaters everywhere. 💕

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dualipa 🎀💞

fernandoalonso_offical Felicidades cariño, estoy increíblemente orgullosa de ti. Te extraño

sabrinacarpenter i’m sick of kens i need an alan

yourinstagram sabrinacarpenter agreed.

gretagerwing Fourth pic 🥹 my babies!! Love you Guys!!

americaferrira obsessed with you and your performance! can’t wait for everyone to see it

florencepugh IVE RETURNED A CHANGED WOMAN AFTER WATCHING BARBIE

y/nsreputation she’s in her barbie era

lolaransdell_fan33 am i the only one who thought ryan gosling was kinda too old to play ken? like the age difference between y/n and him is weird too💀

yourinstagram lolaransdell_fan33 he was and is kenough.

robertdowneyjr Proud of you, kiddo. Anyways, go watch Oppenheimer in theaters today 🖤💣

yourinstagram robertdowneyjr how do i pin this comment??

TWITTER, july 21

ally’s radio 📻: YASS WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!!!! what r our thoughts?

@incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife@mrsmaybank13@black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx@lilsiz@ohthemisssery@leclerclvr

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #heartbreak on tour #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #charlesleclerc #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #daniel ricciardo x platonic!reader #landó norris x platonic!reader #f1 instagram au #f1 wags #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #forumla one #taylor swift

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ninguitar · 7 days ago

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ROCKSTAR GIRLFRIEND, 𓈒𓈒 lara day !!!

pairing. lara raj x f!r genre. fluff wc. 800+ notes. heard lara say sumn ab being a rockstar gf nd knew i NEEDED to make this rn esp w how she sang pink + white already !! 🥹 ( MASTERLIST. )

now playing ⋆ pink + white by frank ocean

as a musician, lara always wanted to have your input on any of her demos, frequently dragging you to the studio at night. and tonight was like no other evening, your clock reading 12 in the morning.

your phone quietly notifies you beneath the sheets, as you rub your temples, a myriad of frenzy notifications from your girlfriend appearing on your lockscreen.

[ lara ♡ ] come to the studio asap !!! need ur opinions ( 11:45 pm ) [ lara ♡ ] missed uuuu 🫂🫂 ( 11:46 pm ) [ lara ♡ ] are u awake… hello ?? 😭😭😭 ( 11:47 pm ) [ lara ♡ ] PLEASE 💔💔 might shave my head if u dont respond ( 12:05 am )

god, even through text lara was spewing out silly remarks; she knew how much you loved her goofy comments. with your hand set on your phone keyboard, you type out equally silly, frantic messages to lara.

[ y/n ] im awake im awake😭😭 lara wtf !!! dont shave ur head ill miss running my fingers thru ur hair💔💔 ( 12:21 am ) [ y/n ] ill be there soon im changinf rn baby🙏 okayy love u byeeee ( 12:21 am )

even when these late evenings spent listening to lara's demos became frequent, neither of you couldn't help but savor the moment, knowing how packed your guys' schedules usually were.

strong senses of gratitude always came back to the two of you, whenever you guys could spend even a minute with one-another, where lara wanted to have your plush lips against hers forever.

grabbing a random sweater from your closet, you slide it over your torso, hastily grabbing your car keys. turning on the car ignition, you hurriedly drive over to the studio, the street lights strobing through your windows.

parking near the entrance, you wait to be buzzed in through the door, while the breezy air began to drift against your face, feeling your nose getting red. texting lara, you try to heat yourself up, regretting not wearing a heavier sweater.

[ y/n ] where are you? ( 12:47 am )

before you could send another message, lara comes rushing out the door, her arms hastily snaking around your waist, with her neck buried against the nook of your neck. a barely audible, mumbled "missed you," escapes the red-haired girl's throat.

you squeak under your breath, as you try to drag her into the building, your nose gradually becoming redder from the bleak coldness.

"it's cold, why didn't you just wait for me in the car?" the indian girl murmurs, her hands cupping your jaw to emphasize her words. a gentle smile tugs the corners of your lips at the girl's heartwarming worry.

you squeeze her hand in assurance, as you press your lips against lara's plush ones, while she drags you into the studio. the indian girl sits you down on the couch, pulling in a seat for herself.

she pulls out a guitar case that sat to the right of her, as a playful grin adorns her face, a guitar pick in her ring-clad hand.

you eagerly sat down on the couch, your leg crossing over the other, as heat flares on your cheeks at lara beginning to strum to the slow rhythm, anticipating for her melodic voice.

NOW PLAYING: PINK + WHITE BY FRANK OCEAN

your heart practically jumps out of your chest from the indian girl's voice raising high, following the sweet, up-beat notes of her guitar. your mouth holds agape, enthralled by your girlfriend's beauty and the intoxicating melody.

"that's the same way you showed me, showed me/you showed me love." ♬

"glory from above/regard my dear." ♬

with the music swelling, you couldn't help but swoon even more for lara raj, your eyes softening at the fact that she spent time perfecting the song. lara's angelic, dulcet voice accompanied by the melody causes a cascade of sweet, exhilarating memories to emerge.

"god, you are surreal," you mumble, as your hand curls around lara's wrist, pulling her onto your lap, as she rids herself of the guitar, "you're drop-dead gorgeous, y'know that?"

you couldn't help but feel tears brim your eyes, as you bury your head against the crook of the indian girl's neck, murmuring out long strings of praise. your hands find themselves to her hair, entangling them in her red tresses.

"sooo… did you like it?" a chuckle escapes her breath, as her hand rests on the back of your neck, meekly drawing circles on it with her thumb. her hand gently pulls your head to meet you face-to-face, her hand now cupping your jaw.

in lieu of an answer, you swiftly press your lips against hers, your actions taking lara's breath away. her lips were confident and passionate against yours, reciprocating the feverish desire you had for her.

"have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?" you drawl out against her lips, as the indian girl huffs, her lips hastily moving back to yours with an urgency, conquering yours with a fervor that left you wanting more.

"i missed you," lara raj professes, as you both lay down on the couch, your eyes locking onto hers, and continuing, she murmurs, "that's my sweater, isn't it?" which elicits a series of giggles from the two of you.

that's the way everyday goes

every time we lose no control

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction

@jellaaa @yeetaberry127 @angelixstorm

#fics 　.#kpop imagines #kpop x reader #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye lara #katseye lara raj #katseye lara raj x reader #katseye lara x reader #lara rajagopalan

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ichiegoichie · 9 months ago

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🤎 Day 15 ☘️

20th February 2024

🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎

READ 3 articles

Morning and Night SKINCARE routine

2 episode of PODCAST

10 minutes EXERCISE

5 minutes MEDITATION

24 minutes WALKING

20 minutes YOGA

☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️🤎☘️

#acceptance #gratitude #growth #self discipline #self discovery #self improvement #self reflection #spiritual growth #spiritualguidance #wisdom #21 day challenge

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jealousmartini · 2 months ago

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જ⁀💌. My everyday affirm and persist routine ⊹₊ㆍ💬ಌ

── .✦ ┆ 𖤐 ┆ ␥

[ 000 :: Morning hours ]

1st 2 hours of the day // 9:00 am to 11:00 am

✦ — 15 minute, gratitude + optimism vaulting

Something along the lines of... "Good morning diary, It is (whatever time it is) and I am feeling well rested and refreshed. I still am in complete awe at my room, my belongings, my appearance, my lifestyle that I have manifested for myself. I've even manifested stuff I didn't know I'd like because of how active my manifestations have been."

Or "Dear diary, Everything about my life really is perfect. I always wake up refreshed to see everything from my 4D manifested like it should. I am so grateful to know about the Law and being a master manifester. Its a relief knowing all of my efforts and discipline doing robotic affirming everyday and night would ultimately be rewarded. It's a blessing knowing I am infact immortal and i am the creator of my reality, therefore everything HAS to work in my favour."

Or "Dear diary, I can't help but feel so proud of myself whenever I look in the mirror. I seriously impress myself with my own beauty, I am so stunning I can't believe I just woke up looking this good. My skin is flawless, my body is gorgeously curvy, my face is stupidly pretty, even my bed hair looks cute. I am blessed with indescribable beauty and my beauty never peaks."

I personally believe that with power comes gratitude. I am already a very grateful person naturally, so it doesnt feel right to not speak my gratitude and appreciation towards my life, the things I have manifested and the lessons I have learned. It's like a prayer to me.

∘₊ ✧──────────────────✧₊∘

✦ — 1 hour and 45 minutes, robotic affirming

This can be of anything I am manifesting at the moment or just vague blanket affirmations like "My life is perfect" "Everything is rigged in my favour" "I am" etc.

[ 001 :: Afternoon and evening hours ]

Middle of the day // 12:00 to 21:00

✦ — 9 hours, fulfillment and persistence

I just do this whenever my desires appear in my mind. I'll persist in the fact it is mine by experiencing it in imagination or just saying it is done/it's already mine and move on with my day.

[ 003 :: Overnight hours ]

Last hours of the day // 21:30 to 3:00 am

✦ — 6 hours, overnight robotic affirmations

I know I don't have to robotically affirm for that long overnight but it is something I personally like because not only am I disciplining myself to stick to my routine, but I am reminding myself I already have my desires while I'm feeling sleepy.

I also like to incorporate emotions especially when shifting (ik shifting 🤝 manifestation just bare me) I like to feel the intention of waking up in my dr like im a night away from holiday or something. Excitement and fear are usually my emotions of intention

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

#martini yaps!#loablr #loa blog #shiftblr #desired reality #master manifestor #law of assumption #dream life #4d reality #shifters #loa

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natsaffection · 10 months ago

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hey, love 💕

i was thinking about the my sweet baby universe again(i love it so much 🥹) and could you write something like baby goes to nat's office for a surprise visit on their anniversary or something like that, but she's only wearing lingerie under her coat (or maybe just full naked, it's your call 🫣) and i feel like nats reaction would be vert enjoyable hehehe 🤭. anyways, i think you'd make a great fic, thanks honey ;)

Happy anniversary.

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+!

Warnings: Age gap! (N= 37 R= 21), thigh riding, Mommy kink, begging, fingering, slight overstimulation

Word count: 1,6 k

A/n: for the extra feeling, listen to Dead Man's Arms by Bishop Briggs when the smut starts, its heavenly. 🫂

In the soft glow of the morning light, you stirred from your sleep, stretching beneath the cozy blankets. Groggily, you opened your eyes to find Natasha's side of the bed empty. A hint of disappointment flickered, thinking Natasha might have forgotten the significance of the day.

But as you sat up, you noticed a delicate note lying on Natasha's bedside table. Curiosity was piqued and you eagerly unfolded the paper. In Natasha's elegant handwriting, the note read: "Happy anniversary, my love."

A hint of warmth spread through your chest and a bright smile graced your face. It was a simple but profound gesture, an acknowledgment that, while Natasha was still navigating the nuances of relationships, she had taken a moment to acknowledge and celebrate her love.

Joy simmered within you as you imagined Natasha at work, carrying the weight of her responsibilities and still finding a moment to express her affection. The anniversary had started on a sweet note, setting the tone for the surprises that awaited them and confirming the depth of their connection.

As you entered the living room, you were met with a breathtaking sight - every surface was decorated with an abundance of flowers, delicate roses and soft petals. The air was filled with the sweet scent of love and effort. You stood there in a daze and watched the romantic spectacle unfolding before them.

With careful steps, you continued into the kitchen, where another heartwarming surprise awaited you. The table was set with an enchanting breakfast spread - freshly baked pastries, assorted fruits and a pot of steaming coffee. A note with Natasha's distinctive handwriting caught your attention.

„Y/n, Every detail is a tribute to us. Enjoy the surprises and know that my heart belongs to you, today and always.”

Overcome with emotion, you turned around to see Maria, the maid, quietly taking care of her duties. “Did you do all that?” you asked incredulously.

Maria shook her head with a warm smile. “No, Ms. Romanoff was up all night making sure everything was perfect for your anniversary. She wanted today to be special for you.”

You felt a rush of gratitude and joy. The thoughtful gestures, the romantic atmosphere and the effort Natasha had made to create a magical morning touched you deeply. You enjoyed breakfast with a heart full of love, knowing that every bite was a taste of the affection with which Natasha had made your anniversary unforgettable.

Inspired by Natasha's romantic gestures in the morning, you felt a wave of excitement to return the love. As you thought about ideas for a surprise, a mischievous thought came to mind - one that would add a dash of spice to the day..

As the minutes passed, you carefully planned the surprise, carefully choosing a sexy ensemble that you knew would make Natasha's heart beat faster. The anticipation grew, and with every second that passed, You couldn't help but grin at the joy you were about to unleash.

In the beating heart of the city, you strolled the busy streets to find the perfect surprise for Natasha on her special day. The charming lingerie boutique beckoned and you entered, greeted by a selection of delicate lace and seductive fabrics.

The saleswoman with a strong sense of elegance guided you through the boutique's offerings. Soft whispers of satin, intricate lace patterns and the promise of seduction filled the air. Feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation, you began selecting pieces that fit the celebration you had envisioned.

In the locker room, the atmosphere became more intimate. Soft lighting highlighted the details of the lingerie, and as you tried on different ensembles, the mirror reflected a journey of self-discovery. The delicate lace hugged your curves and each piece told a story of sensuality and sophistication.

As you admired the reflection, the anticipation of surprising Natasha grew. The salesperson, recognizing the significance of the occasion, offered words of encouragement and added expert advice on the art of seduction to the experience.

Once back home, the chosen ensemble adorned your figure, with each piece carefully chosen to create a captivating appeal. The underwear, a secret beneath her elegant coat, promised a moment of passion and connection with Natasha. Once you were satisfied with the sight, you threw a nice coat around yourself and made your way to her office.

When you arrived, Natash's assistant took you straight to her and as you entered her office with an innocent smile, you closed the door with a soft click. The soft click of the door drew Natasha's attention away from the stacks of paperwork.

“Y/n! what are you doing here?” You are trying to keep your composure, but feeling a tinge of nervousness, "I just wanted to add a little... spark to your day."

Natasha, astute as ever, noticed the subtle signs. Your slight trembling and a tell-tale blush adorning your cheeks. A knowing grin played on Natasha's lips. “Ah, you’re trying to surprise me, aren’t you?”

You, surprised by Natasha's perspicacity, stammered, "Well, I... I thought it would be a fun way to celebrate our anniversary..“

Natasha enjoyed you nervous state and leaned back in her chair, her eyes filled with playful mischief. “Come here, darling. Let’s see what delightful surprise you have in store.”

As you approached and slowly took off the coat, Natasha's eyes lit up with anticipation. The atmosphere in the room changed, filled with the promise of a celebration that combined the sweetness of their love with the spicy surprises of their desires.

Natasha's eyes widened, a hint of surprise, before a seductive grin appeared. “Well, this is a wonderful distraction,” she remarked, her gaze lingering on your enticing ensemble.

Playing the innocence card, you approached the desk and ran your fingers over Natasha's stressed-out paperwork. “Happy anniversary, Natasha,” you cooed, shy smiling giving away your secret intentions.

Natasha's stress was momentarily forgotten and she leaned back in her chair, fascinated by the sparkle in your eyes.

"I've been craving something more than just paperwork all day." You grinned and slid a hand down Natasha's thigh, your closeness becoming more intense. "How about a different kind of...stress relief?"

Your mind becomes clouded with a lustful haze that blinds your insecurities when you can utter the next word without an ounce of resistance. "How about I make you feel good this time?“

It wasn't until the words left your mouth that you realized what you had said and the shock hitting both of your faces at the same time. You regret it and consider pulling away completely, but before you can, a sneer appears on her lips again. "That's not how it works, Malysh." Her arm quickly wraps around your waist and moves you so that you're standing between her legs.

Without warning, she pushed your body against her thighs and a soft gasp escaped your mouth. “Be a good girl for me and let me do it.” She looks up at you and her arm moves around your waist again. Your clit begins to rub against her thigh, and Natasha's moved her legs just the same to show you how to move your hips.

Her hands grasp your waist, holding you tight and giving you stability. Not only the feeling of your pleasure as you rub against her thighs, but the way Natasha maintains control and dominance even when she's beneath you sends you completely into subspace.

Her other hand works on your breast, her fingers massaging the flesh with gentle pinches before she takes it into her mouth. You can't look away from her, and neither can Natasha, even though your cheeks are very flushed and inflamed. The eye contact you share as you ride her thighs while she sucks on your breasts will put you in a trance you won't be able to break.

But soon you have no choice but to close your eyes. It doesn't come from desire, but from need. Because your orgasm threatens to erupt within you on a scale that neither of you were prepared for.

Her mouth opens as her tongue licks your breasts, and it all begins before you reach your climax.

Her hips buck against yours and her moans echo through the silent room, loud enough for the staff to hear, but you don't care as the pleasure rings high in your ears. "Good girl."

You were still in a trance when Natasha picked you up and placed you on her table. She grabbed your legs and spread them in front of her, “Don’t make a sound, Y/n, or I’ll stop, do you understand me?”

You nodded eagerly, your skin tingling as Natasha slowly slid her tongue from your thigh down to your pussy. You arched into the touch, squeezing your eyes shut again as Natasha's thumb slowly swiped over your clit.

“Nnngh.” You try to stay silent, holding your palm over your mouth. Another of her fingers rubbed your clit and this time she pushed inside.

Shortly afterwards, Natasha picked up speed and thrust into you again and again. Her arm moves up to your head to hold you tighter, “I-It feels so good!” you whimper into your hand.

„Oh, I know..“ Natasha smiled and pressed her thumb lightly against your clit, rubbing eagerly, circles against the smooth, throbbing bud. You felt the pleasure building inside you again, an unimaginable heat and pressure deep in your stomach that was aching to be released.

The thumb on your clit stoked the heat into an inferno and you felt your control suddenly slip and your voice become high and desperate again. “Oh God, Mommy! Ah, it's too much! I’m going to – I’m going to–” you babbled, clinging tightly to Natasha’s free arm.

Natasha’s voice was soft, urging you to your climax again with gentle movements and touches, “It’s okay, let it out. Come for me.“ You gasp. “Oh, fuck!” The heat in your stomach exploded throughout your body and you climaxed a second and final time.

Natasha gently ran her fingers through your hair and cooed softly to you as your climax passed, leaving you shaking and exhausted. “Thank you for the perfect anniversary my love.”

#natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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moonrisecoeur · 11 months ago

Text

gratitude — leon kennedy

author’s note: i don’t love doing taglists bc it’s kind of tedious but a couple people asked to be tagged so i’ll tag them in the comments of this post! please send asks/write comments/add tags to reblog if you liked this! that would be wonderful!

wc: 3.6k

content: sub!leon x fem!reader, sugar baby leon, mommy kink, orgasm control, pegging, hickies mentioned. leon is 21 reader is ‘slightly older’.

warnings: mentions but not depictions of financial abuse, dubcon, and prostitution (seen in a negative light; we support sex workers here)

this is a birthday gift to angel! @angelofwoe go give her some love :)

—

5. 4. 3. 2. 1…

incoming call from ‘leon ken(nedy)’

accept or decline?

you look over at your phone while you’re waiting at a red light, driving home from work. you smile, like clockwork, leon calls you at exactly 5 pm each day, and most of the time, you’re coming home. to him. the thought still makes your heart jump a little bit. leon is waiting at home, your home, and now his home too, for you.

he’s waiting for you.

god, your stomach does somersaults. he’s perfect.

you answer the call, clicking it on and waiting for it to connect the two of you, “hello?”

“hey!” he says, and you missed his voice. you smile softly at his enthusiasm, “what should i get and/or make for dinner? don’t know if you trust me to cook in your kitchen unsupervised yet…”

“i would let you,” you say, looking out the window, “though maybe i’d stop by a cafe for dinner on my way home.”

“hey, c’mon now!” he tries to defend himself, but he laughs, god you’re obsessed with that sound, “okay, okay, fair. i get it. really, though, what’ll it be?”

you think for a second, and you realize that leon doesn’t really ever get a choice, he just goes along with whatever you want, “hmm… why don’t you pick, baby?”

he goes silent for a second, “you sure?” and when you make a sound of approval, even though he gave you a chance to back out, he sighs, “fine. don’t say i didn’t warn you when we’re eating chicken nuggets tonight.”

“wow, what fine cuisine, leon,” you smile.

—

“wow, what fine cuisine, leon,” he smiles at the sound of your teasing voice. he can’t help liking you. i mean, how is he supposed to not like you? not only do you take care of him, buy him nice things, but you’re also so fucking pretty? what the hell?

“anyway, i’ll see you soon, baby. miss me a little bit, but not too much, okay?” you tell him, breaking him out of the daze that is listening to you talk. he feels bad that he wasn’t really paying attention to what you were saying.

“y-yeah. i’ll see you at home,” he stutters, quickly hanging up, clutching his phone to his chest. home. your… home. god, this was bad. he was going to go insane one of these days if you didn’t stop being so goddamn perfect.

leon had this preconception forever ago that sugar daddies and mommies and whatever the hell else were always old, decrepit people who gave you money for basically doing your best not to gag when you see them naked. people you take advantage of, who you give your body to in exchange for being able to afford anything. it’s an exchange, sex for money (no, sex for power). which would make him a… prostitute? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t want to know.

but god, you are so much more than that, practically his dream woman. sure, you’re a little older than him, but it’s not like girls his age are soft and sweet with him like you are. they expect so much, they expect him to be the perfect boyfriend 24/7. he could do it, sure, but it would be an act. a desperate act of manipulation for him to get what he wants.

what does he want? well, that’s the tricky part. he tries not to let on too much how intensely this one thing affects him, even with you. it would be too much power to let you have over him, and you already have way too much.

truthfully, you… leon doesn’t like to think about it, but you could take advantage of him if you really wanted to. he’s so used to such an easy lifestyle, he can’t go back to struggling and barely paying his bills. you really could use him for the one and only thing he has to give you whenever you please, and it’s not even that he can’t stop you, because he knows he’s stronger than you, but he knows you could dangle your financial control over his head and he would be at your feet, on his knees in an instant.

he doesn’t know why he even bothers to think about it. he knows you’re not like that. hell, he looks at you with half decent puppy eyes and you’re sending him more money just because he looks cuter than usual today. if anyone is the master manipulator here, it’s him, not you. you have only pure intentions, and leon appreciates that even if he can never 100% trust it.

—

leon is a weird sugar baby. he doesn’t ask for things, he doesn’t use up all of his allowance, he doesn’t beg you for every shiny thing that catches his eye. he’s simple, not demanding, not exhausting you of every last penny in your account.

not that you would… really care? leon could do anything, absolutely anything, and you’d forgive him. he doesn’t need your forgiveness, not for the sassy little jokes he makes, not for the way he awkwardly says the wrong thing at the wrong time in conversation. leon was easy to forgive. easy to adore.

but, that's off topic. you try not to think about how lovable the pretty thing was. too easily you could get lost in him, never make it out alive.

he’s not demanding, he just uses your money to pay for his rent and take care of himself, his bills, his utilities and groceries, stuff like that. or well he used to use the money to pay for his rent, but now that he’s moved in with you, he doesn’t even have that expense anymore. he might treat himself and buy himself a little something small he normally couldn’t afford. the rest he’ll save.

can you blame the guy for being so cheap? he finished the police academy, but the job he had lined up fell through. so what is he supposed to do? work a minimum wage job? serve tables until he dies or his body gives out on him? sue him for wanting better for himself.

and so… he met you. he had no intention of using you.. at first. but even now he feels bad. he truly can’t get on board with being a sugar baby, he feels like he’s extorting you. you have to tell him each and every time his bank account number skyrockets that you will always have enough to continue your lifestyle, what's the point of just having the rest of it sitting around when you could be giving it to a pretty little thing like him?

still.. sometimes leon feels awful. can’t help it no matter what you tell him.

he just can’t really afford to say no to the money, because now he has all of his debt paid off and an emergency fund and a savings account for fun trips to take you on and another one for expensive gifts to buy you as a small, tiny, miniscule thank you. it’s only one part of how he really shows his gratitude. you’ve given him a better life than he could ever give himself, and he will never forget that.

how else does he show his gratitude?

–

you make it home, and immediately see the containers of chicken nuggets on the kitchen counter. you chuckle, again, endeared by leon’s choice of cuisine. it was what he wanted, after all, and you always let him have whatever he wanted. it’s so representative of him. they’re inexpensive, perfect for someone so frugal like him. they’re a comfort food, easy on the stomach, they’re delicious, and that’s probably all of the comparisons you could make between chicken nuggets and leon kennedy before you burst out laughing in delirium.

“oh thank god you’re home…” he says softly, reaching to grab your bag and your coat to put up so you can sit down, “i’m so glad you’re back, you must have worked so hard today.”

you lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips before doing so, and he’s immediately left dazed after just one little half-a-second long kiss. his eyes follow you as you collapse on the couch, “yeah, it was a long one. just glad to be back with you, baby.”

his heart aches for you as you sink into the couch, exhaustion present in your entire demeanor, seeping off of you through the cracks in your composure.

he knows what’ll make you feel better. or at least… he hopes he does. if you’re not in the mood, he’ll just laugh awkwardly and try to play it off.

he takes a deep breath in, bracing himself for the awkwardness that always comes with saying this word, “…mommy,” he whispers, and he immediately has all of your attention, suddenly all that exhaustion in your soul is replaced by an intensity that he can’t quite understand.

one word… and you’re already losing your composure? he didn’t know he was that good.

“baby…” you coo back to him, almost warning him. as if you’re saying, if you start this, you better be ready to see it through.

“wanna help you… feel better, mommy…” he says, his fingertips brushing against your thigh. fucking tease.

you always look at him like he puts the stars in the sky, but now? you’re looking at him like you want him seeing stars.

“you sure?”

“positive,” he mumbles.

again, this is all he has to give you. his love, his soul, his… body. he doesn’t want this to be transactional, sexual submission for money. he’s not a prostitute, but he genuinely has nothing else that even comes close to the value of gifts and money and just fucking everything you’ve given him.

you don’t ask for sex too often, even when he knows you’re horny. you’re so obvious but so understanding that your kinks and preferences are a little foreign to him. in his defense, he’s had one girlfriend right before he met you and she was the most vanilla person in the goddamn world. genuinely he could have switched positions on her and she would have thought it was too much.

“take me what you want from me, mommy,” he whispers, and yet for someone so inexperienced, he does it so well.

so well that you can’t help pouncing on him, pinning him underneath you. he feels your gentle yet firm grip on his wrists, the way your hair falls in front of your face as you hover on top of him, and he just has the softest urge to tuck it behind your ear. he can’t, but he wishes he could.

he doesn't get the chance to think about it much when your lips find his neck and he is immediately melted by their softness, their gentleness that makes him want to just break down and sob. he just wants to be treated softly, just wants to be held down and kissed like you’re doing right now.

“please,” he breathes, ironic because all you do is steal his breath away. your lips touch just over his subtle adam’s apple as you switch sides, pressing kisses into his neck, collarbone, and shoulder. he kind of wants you to bite down, leave red and purple aching bruises covering his neck, make him shudder and tremble with every love bite.

he knows you won’t.

“i don’t damage what’s mine,” you’d said once, and it left him dizzy. so casually asserting your ownership over him like that had his cock twitching in his pants. you very quickly learned to take advantage of his affection towards your possessiveness. you have to be subtle and you can’t do it too much, but every once and a while, you take your opportunity. you make your small little comments, you add ‘my’ in front of a pet name, you eye him like a piece of meat (intentionally being obvious so he’ll notice), etc.

your possessiveness is even better if it’s sort of objectifying. he might just like it more.

he wishes he could touch you, but what would it even be for? if you wanted him to make you feel good, you’d have shoved his face between your legs, tangled your fingers in his blonde hair, moaned as he ate your pussy while looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, so full of an emotion you wanted to study in detail. it couldn’t be love, there’s no way. you settle for something else, even if it’s less satisfying.

devotion.

—

and even with your cock buried deep, deep inside of him, stretching him open and filling him up entirely, he’s still got that same glimmer of devotion in his eyes, but that’s irrelevant.

it’s irrelevant because he’s a desperate mess of a man right now and it’s all you should be concerned with, “mommy, fuck, please, i—”

“say you belong to me, pretty boy,” you groan in his ear, his body shivering and trembling at the pleasure that’s about to hit him. he’s gotta wait for your permission, though.

“yours, yours, fuck, all yours, my fucking body belongs to you, you can- you can use it whenever you want, however you want, for however long. it doesn't matter,” he cries,’s his voice raspy, he trying to keep himself together and he’s failing miserably, “fuck, fuck, god, and i- my body… i owe you my body as a thank you for- oh, f-fuck!- for your m-money, i- it’s all i can give you that’s worth anything-.”

“…yeah? you owe me?” you smirk, pressing your hand against his lower stomach, feeling the bulge your cock inside him. it drives you insane. he’s babbling about something you don’t care to listen to. something about being indebted to you, that sex is him paying you back for how perfect you are. you don’t listen. it’ll just make you sad.

“gonna give me what i want, right? because you owe me,” you say. sure, you felt bad, but you never said you were pure good. you’re entitled to leon and everything he could possibly give you, aren’t you?

he tries to speak, but your cock always makes him as stupid as can be. he tries, oh he tries, to respond, to say yes, i’ll give you everything, i’m all yours to claim and keep forever, but the sounds come out as jumbled moans out of the back of his throat. he gives up trying to talk, clearly that’s beyond him now, and communicates his feelings by holding your waist gently, his fingertips pressing against your skin.

he moans out absolutely pathetically as you thrust in and out of him, keeping him held down with your hands pushing down on his shoulders. his body contorts to your will, his soul too. you could do anything to him and get away with it, with him in this beautiful headspace.

he’s gorgeous like this, and you take a moment to admire him. glassy, distant , tear filled eyes, sweaty blonde hair, skin little with small marks of whatever lip product you use. god, he’s nothing less than fucking perfect.

if only you both didn’t have responsibilities in your everyday lives because the only thing that could make him prettier is if he was like this every single day, fucked out of his mind, desperate, stupid from the pleasure of your cock pushing firmly against his prostate.

“gonna cum, baby?” you ask maliciously, knowing he didn’t have enough of his mind working to even register the question, “gonna give yourself over to mommy? live in her home, let her keep you as a pet? couldn’t leave her even if you wanted to, and you definitely don’t.”

he looks for an out as his eyes shift up at the ceiling, still somehow finding it in himself to be shy.

“look at me,” you growl, one hand moving to his face to cup his cheek, fingertips brushing against his jaw. he obeys, making weak eye contact, blinking the tears away from his eyes, “ask me for permission to cum.”

cruel? yes, because the most his stupid mind can come up with to say is that pretty name you make him call you, “m-mommy…”

you remember him looking at you confused, almost a little uncomfortable, when you said you liked that name. it definitely tracks, you’re his sugar mommy… and you expect him to call him mommy. not exactly revolutionary, but his hesitancy to do so is what makes these moments truly special. earlier, he said it intentionally, mainly to get your attention and get you riled up, distracted from work and responsibilities.

but now? he truly can’t help it falling past his lips. every time he says it, or more accurately moans it, he feels even more attached to it, attached to you. he’s imagined saying it more casually, in everyday conversation, but he could never get over how humiliating it felt.

you graciously let him call you by name most of the time, something he has been endlessly grateful for.

but in this headspace, leon can’t think of a single other word but mommy.

“c’mon, sweetheart. won’t get any easier to think with mommy’s cock deep inside of you. mommy can wait all night sweetheart, but i’m not sure you can.”

he can’t. he knows he can’t cum because you haven’t given him permission, but he can’t ask permission if you keep saying things that make him dumber and slower. he can hold off his orgasm for a while when he tops, he’s gotten decently good at that, but with your cock filling him up like this? he would be lucky if he lasted another minute.

“fuck- ah, mommy… m-mommy, plea…. please…” he breathes heavily, trying so damn hard, it melts your heart how badly he’s trying for you.

“please what, baby? you know i’ll say yes, just ask mommy what you want.”

wet cheeks and trembling lips from him make your heart ache for him. you’d give him anything.

“c-cum, mommy?…. c-can i…?”

you nod, biting your lip, almost more excited than he is to watch him fall apart, “mhm, ‘course, baby… let go for mommy, i got you… here…” you say, taking a hold of his cock to jerk him off through his orgasm to get everything you can from him, milk him for all he’s worth. his body tries to give you everything it can.

his eyes shut tightly as he gives you the loudest moan probably… ever? you’ve never heard him cry out like that, and you wish you could have recorded it to go back and hear it again. his voice breaks, and he takes a sharp breath in, holding it as his muscles tense and spasm until he’s left achy and exhausted and filled to the brim with pleasure.

“awhh…. so cute, baby…” you mumble, “c’mon, give me all of it, don’t make me make you cum again. if it’s anything like the first, you might just pass out, sweet boy.”

“ah… oh, oh my god,” he breathes heavily, twitching, “mommy… mommy, i- mommy, please… please, mommy,” he can’t stop thinking about it. mommy is all he can think about like this.

he cries, literally. the kind where you can’t help sobbing and sniffing and you curl in on yourself in a desperate attempt to self soothe. you half expected it; leon usually cries after more intense sex. he doesn’t know why, but usually he’s embarrassed of it and tries to hide it. he must just be too far gone right now to care.

you pull out, earning a desperate whine that makes you want to rail it back into him, balls deep, watch him squeeze his eyes shut tightly and him scream in pleasure, but you restrain yourself. he's crying right now. even though he would technically consent, he wouldn’t really want it.

you take 30 seconds to clean both of you off, and those 30 seconds are tortuous to him, even if you’re praising him the whole time.

that’s it. his greatest weakness. praise.

no, your praise.

to be told he’s good, to be told he did a good job, to be told you’re proud of him. he sobs as he soaks in your praise like a sponge. he wants to listen to your sweet words every single day for the rest of his life. you whisper to him how he’s perfect, everything about him is, how you adore him, wanna give him everything so he’ll stay with you forever, etc.

in his defense, he has absolutely zero control over what he’s saying right now, but he looks up at you, with tear-filled, red eyes, his bottom lip trembling just slightly, “you don’t have to give me stuff… i’m always gonna be yours.”

and it hits a nerve you haven’t felt in a long time. maybe it’s the subspace he’s in, or maybe you’re reading the situation wrong, so you don’t push it, but something inside your heart feels… off.

to put it bluntly, he shouldn’t be yours. he should find someone he could really love to spend his days with. there’s no reason for leon to stay with you if you stopped giving him money, paying his bills, and taking care of him. at least, there shouldn’t be?

oh, unless…

–

a couple hours later, you’re sitting at the kitchen counter with him, eating cold chicken nuggets and giggling about whatever you were watching on tv. leon looks at you a little differently than usual right now, his eyes softer, fonder than you’re used to. his eyes carefully track your more animated hand movements as you passionately explain something about this show. he has no idea what you’re talking about; he just likes hearing you speak.

he kisses the corner of your lip when you jokingly ask if you have anything on your face, which turns into a full kiss that leaves him a little breathless, that feeling of excitement and nerves returning in his stomach.

yeah, he thinks to himself, pure, unadulterated beauty.

as you kiss, he pulls back to look into your eyes, looking at you as if you held up each individual constellation for him, with a godly reverence that would almost turn you on if the moment wasn’t weirdly romantic.

“baby…?” your voice sounds shaky and unsure, and he doesn’t miss your lack of composure.

maybe that was a good thing. a sign.

he chuckles, “nothing, mommy… nothing at all.”