#Glorious black shirt

[grazygardener]

[cheeseknives]

There's something beautiful about the fact that skinny jeans has become fashion stable for famous old men

[theinfinitedivides]

rewatched the Rebel MV for like the 987638638268290th time (bc Reasons) and like. just curious Cassies and i want to hear your takes on this what is with the focus on Yunho's left side. we know that's the side he gets cut on when he and Changmin break out of what i'm assuming was the mutant testing chamber but the skin basically regenerates itself there so that didn't last long. we know that's also the side that had some kind of reaction going on with the glowing vein pattern in that one shot when he looks up at the camera. he walks out of frame earlier (during the first chorus) with that side being the last thing we see. the dancers resurrect in the reverse shot and it's shot from that side, with most of his face hidden by the shadow of the cap. towards the end when he and Changmin are walking next to each other through the hooded Gottasadae meets Face ID(?)-esque crowd like the f*cking power couple they are tyvm we zoom in on that side again. someone explain to me what is going on here Changmin gets struck by lightning multiple times possibly levitated has his face glowing like he's been in the Old Testament and seen God (Moses ref????) meanwhile Yunho just seethes. figuratively, ofc, and serves c*nt while he's at it, but still

[dcxdpdabbles]

Bruce: Who is that? *Points to a man speaking to a student*

Damian: The new Gotham Academy hire, Mr. Fenton. He is adequate as an instructor, and I find his teaching of chemistry to be both educational and entertaining.

Bruce: Does he normally dress like that?

Danny: *Wearing a lab coat with science beakers all over it, stripped white and black pants, and a black muscle shirt with neon splatter paint* If you push this button, the beakers light up! 😊

Damian: Yes, he does. I plan to enjoy his instruction before his inevitable descend into madness. I will admit that I'll will have some regrets the day I have to place him in Arkham when he becomes a rouge.

Bruce: I dont think it will come to that. Some people just have different fashion sense. Just look at art teachers! It that doesn't mean their Rouges in the making, chum.

Random student: Won't the light up beakers be a danger in a chemical lab?

Danny: That's what makes chemistry fun. The boom. The glorious boom. 🙂

Bruce: I stand corrected. That was a rouge-in-the-making statement

Damian: It's rather pathetic how often you are wrong, Father. Perhaps old age is catching up to you.

[bi-writes]

simon being protective of his mail order bride scratches all the right spots in my brain.

mail-order bride

you're almost relieved when you hear the knock at the door. you've been a holding a tree pose for a few minutes too long, and the girl hosting the online yoga class is starting to fry your eardrums with her too-perky voice.

you're sweating bullets, and her hair hasn't moved a fucking inch out of her ponytail.

you mute the television, wiping your forehead before making your way to the front door. you open it with a sigh, not really knowing what you expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the average-dressed man standing on the steps there.

you blink, raising a brow when his eyes roam over you, and you realize suddenly that you're wearing workout clothes, which is showing off a little more than you'd like to some rando standing on your doorstep.

"uh..." you look around a little. "i'm sorry, can i help you?"

he smiles. it's a little unnerving.

"right, yeah, i'm starting a business around here, and i wanted to ask if you've been needing any help with any fixtures around the house. i'm giving a 50% discount if you give me a rating on google."

you open your mouth for a moment, frowning.

"uhm..." you shake your head, "sorry. we don't need any help right now."

"you live here alone? sometimes it's hard to spot when the electric's on the piss, y'know? need a keen eye," he laughs, coming up one of the steps. you shake your head again.

"no, thanks."

he's a wiry man, but he's tall (not taller than your husband, but taller than you). you step back a little and start to close the door. he comes up the steps. out of the corner of your eye, you see the cat slip out between your legs, hissing a little as the distance closes between you and the man.

"wait! can i give you my contact info? i don't have a card, but i can leave you my--"

the sound of simon's truck pulling into the garage gets both of you to look behind. simon doesn't even park all the way inside. he throws the truck door open, stepping out of it, and the man on your steps moves back away from you immediately, making his way off the little porch.

simon looks huge, more so than ever. his steps are heavy, boots hitting the ground like a warning bell, and he's wearing just a short-sleeved shirt that's showing off those glorious fucking arms. you have never doubted simon's strength, but he looks like he could flip a car with the anger that's leaving him in heavy waves. you're surprised that you are not afraid; you just know somehow that simon won't touch you.

"oi!" simon yells, and the man definitely understands he picked the wrong fucking house to be a creepy salesman at when his knees nearly buckle as he tries to walk away. "where the fuck do y'think y'r goin', you twat?"

you sigh deeply, not realizing how much you were shaking until you notice your hands trembling around the doorknob. you watch as simon catches the guy by his dirty jean jacket, nearly lifting him completely off his feet as he drags him towards the fence gate.

"hey! hey! i didn't do anything!"

"i saw ya, ya fuckin' arse, know exactly wot the fuck y'were doin'," simon growls, tossing him onto the sidewalk. he hits the pavement with a cry, holding onto his arm, and simon slams the fence gate closed before pointing at him accusingly. "'f i ever see ya anywhere near m'fuckin' house or even askin' m'wife for so much as fuckin' directions, i'll cut y'r bloody prick off, y'hear?"

you blink as simon comes closer, the cat retreating back into the house once they see him. he keeps walking, crowding you back into the house before he shuts and locks the front door. his chest is heaving, black t-shirt doing nothing to hide the puff of his chest and how large he makes himself when he stands up to other men. he doesn't even need to make himself larger; simon takes up enough space for two men combined.

"he touch you?" simon asks, his voice low. you see his fists clench, and you have no doubt that if you said yes, simon would go outside and paint the pavement a new color with the man's face.

you shake your head frantically, and he lets out a deep breath, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of your head and pulling you close.

he bends, pressing his masked forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes in slowly. he rubs at the nape of your neck, soothing you, and you smile when he pulls away, giving him those big eyes that say thank you, thank you, thank you.

simon cocks his head, staring behind you, and you turn with him to see the cat blinking slowly at the two of you from it's place on the windowsill.

"should get you a fucking guard dog instead," simon mutters, pulling his mask off and kicking his boots into the corner. you smile as he walks away, trying to cool your warm cheeks with the backs of your hands.

doesn't he know you already have one?

[rafesangelita]

rafe + gun play 🫠

warnings: dealer!rafe, bratty!reader, gunplay, a little self discovery lol

“will you put that down already? jesus, you’re going to kill somebody.” rafe took the loaded gun out of your hand, his tall figure towering over your own. you two had been stuck here at barry’s dingy trailer for about an hour already, rafe’s business partner leaving your boyfriend in charge of looking after his shit while he ran a few errands. “i’m bored! what are we supposed to do here, ray?” you followed rafe back inside, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

“just sit and look pretty. barry should be here soon.” he emptied the chamber of the gun, placing it on the kitchen counter. “but i’ve been doing that!” rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, “y/n..” his tone was firm, a warning for you to stop giving him a hard time. ultimately surrendering, you fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of your denim skirt. you two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes until rafe joined you on the couch.

“what’s your sudden interest in my gun about? i thought you hated that thing.” he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. you smiled, knowing he was warming up to you because he felt bad for getting stern with you earlier. “i did.. but i saw you use it the other day and i wanted to see how it would feel in my hands.” your hand was under his shirt, fingertips tracing shapes into the soft skin of his abdomen. “and what did you think?” he hummed.

“well, i don’t know. somebody took it away from me before i could figure out how i felt about it.” rafe shook his head, retrieving the gun before cautiously handing it over to you. running the pads of your fingers across the cold metal, you shivered slightly when your mind went back to the cracking noise it made when you first saw rafe fire it. “so?” he leaned in, the stark contrast between your pink manicured nails, and the black color of steel, making a humored smile form on his lips.

“it’s heavy..” you held it up, with rafe’s assistance of course. “it’s heavier when there’s ammunition in it.” he placed his hand over yours, making you grip the handle. “ammunition?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “bullets, babe.” you giggled, “oh, right.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple before bringing you up to your feet. “you see that beer can on the table? aim at it.” you tried to ignore the way the buckle of his belt pressed against your ass, a shaky breath leaving your lips once you had the gun pointed at your target.

“pull the trigger.” your heart was beating in your ears as you slowly pulled, flinching once you heard the hollow click of the barrel. “see? it’s easy.” you sighed in relief, jumping excitedly as rafe laughed along with you. “can we load it now?” rafe stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. “no.” he reached for the gun, making you move away before he had the chance to take it again. “give it, it’s not a toy-” he froze when you pointed it at him. even though there was nothing inside the damned thing, the sight of you smiling with a weapon in your hand was unsettling… and kind of sexy?

“aw, are you scared ray?” you pushed the metal into his chest, “sit down.” rafe did as he was told, holding his hands up defensively as he settled into the couch cushions beneath him. you couldn’t help the satisfied feeling that pooled in your belly from having your usually dominant boyfriend now bending at your will. “take your shirt off.” the corner of rafe’s lips lifted in a smirk. surprisingly for him, he was enjoying every second of you thinking you had the one up on him.

he slipped the garment off, your eyes traveling down his torso. god, your boyfriend was glorious. rafe leaned back, manspreading as you stood between his thighs. “what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you shrugged at his words, trailing the gun up his thigh “i don’t know.. maybe make you take your pants off next.” your next move was a bold one, but it riled up rafe in the best way possible. with the firearm now pressed against his erection, he was practically buzzing with the need to flip the script on you.

as if on cue, you heard the motor of a dirt bike riding up the dirt path to the trailer. rafe took your moment of distraction as a chance to grab the gun out of your grasp, which was deemed successful when he pulled you down onto his lap, the steel now digging into the skin of your thigh. “thought you were tough shit, huh?” you whimpered at the slightly painful sensation, his arm draped over your chest, holding you in place.

“no!” you squeaked, a shiver running down your spine as he trailed the gun between your legs, briefly touching your clothed cunt before bringing it up to your chest. “still think we should load it now?” rafe teased. you shook your head, confused as to why you felt horny with a gun pointed to your cheek. just as you grinded yourself against his hardened cock, barry walked in with a duffle bag. “what are y’all freaks getting into now?”

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg.  It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed.  Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it.  You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book.  The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.”  Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!”  Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean.  It’s important.”  Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!”  Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away.  Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed.  Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee.  You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell.  Straight there.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans.  If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room.  Bobby was always protective of you, his niece.  You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped.  Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer.  That man did not mince his words.  And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel.  Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg.  The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this.  If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk.  You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells.  You said he quieted the noise in your head.  Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home.  You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way.  Not that slutty was bad.  Dean liked slutty.  But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink.  That’s what was missing.  Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions.  A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move.  Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.”  You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack.  The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry.  He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside.  He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid.  You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt.  You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way.  The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were.  His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been.  He couldn’t.  As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.”  He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt.  He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…”  Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain.  The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan.  He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled.  He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths.  He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them.  Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening.  Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this.  You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down.  Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy.  You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped.  You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time.  You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat.  You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal.  Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other.  Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet.  Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare.  Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot.  Fuck, he was good with his tongue.  Everything about him was good except his image.  Bad boy Dean Winchester.  He was every woman’s wet dream.  He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen.  But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid.  Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot.  You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life.  He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm.  When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down.  He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while.  You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself.  “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it.  He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms.  It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you.  You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have.  Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this.  God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips.  His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.”  He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.”  You sighed.  Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it.  It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on.  He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you.  When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.”  You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said:  What can I say?  I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs.  Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved.  Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest.  You were both content.  Both had goofy grins on your faces.  Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?”  Sam said.  “I need that book.”

“NO!”  You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.”  Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!”  Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again.  In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name.  Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

[genderkoolaid]

another black trans man was murdered on Thursday, February 29, 2024. his name Righteous Torrence "Chevy" Hill. we currently do not know any details other than that he was murdered.

his friend posted two days ago on instagram:

our beautiful black trans brother, 35 year old Righteous Torrence “Chevy” Hill, was murdered in Atlanta, GA this weekend. he went by his nickname ‘Chevy’. he was originally from Macon, GA. he owned Evollusion, which is a black/queer owned LGBTQ+ salon in Atlanta that provided and dedicated full service to specializing in hair, nails, barbering and makeup. growing up as young black queer boys/kids , the barbershop experience can sometimes be a tricky space to occupy, this was something that Chevy understood and wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that. Chevy was a beloved son, brother, partner, and father. one of his last posts that had a photo of himself said : “if you truly know me, you know i am a humble, modest, private man, that i love my community, i have the love of God in me and will give the shirt off my back to any soul in need, also i never post pictures of myself, i never give myself credit, that stops today, i am my legacy!” (a close friend of Chevy asked if i could share more then one photo of Chevy, since he never posted photos of himself and in recent years he got the confidence to want to share more photos and now he won’t get the chance to) Chevy, hey king, hey brother, hey angel, thank you for everything, i lové you, we lové you, i’m so sorry. there are a lot of photographers in heaven who will be able to photograph you as the glorious black trans angel that you are. there will be a homegoing service/memorial for our brother

[illnessfaker]

tw: black+trans death

from the_yvesdropper on instagram:

our beautiful black trans brother, 35 year old Righteous Torrence "Chevy" Hill, was murdered in Atlanta, GA this weekend.

he went by his nickname 'Chevy' he was originally from Macon, GA. he owned Evollusion, which is a black/ queer owned LGBTQ+ salon in Atlanta that provided and dedicated full service to specializing in hair, nails, barbering and makeup. growing up as young black queer boys/kids, the barbershop experience can sometimes be a tricky space to occupy, this was something that Chevy understood and wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that.

Chevy was a beloved son, brother, partner, and father.

one of his last posts that had a photo of himself said :

"if you truly know me, you know i am a humble, modest, private man, that i love my community, i have the love of God in me and will give the shirt off my back to any soul in need, also i never post pictures of myself, legaey give myself credit, that stops today, i am my legacy!"

(a close friend of Chevy asked if i could share more then one photo of Chevy, since he never posted photos of himself and in recent years he got the confidence to want to share more photos and now he won't get the chance to)

Chevy, hey king, hey brother, hey angel, thank you for everything, i lové you, we lové you, i'm so sorry. there are a lot of photographers in heaven who will be able to photograph you as the glorious black trans angel that you are.

there will be a homegoing service/memorial for our brother

there aren't many details about what happened but apparently he was shot by a family member last wednesday, the 28th (at least this article was the one linked in relation to his murder.)

judging by both the IG post and the comments section he was well-loved by many people and those people have many good memories with him and nothing but good things to say. this is a comment that was left by tirajmeansgolden which was hidden by IG for some reason:

I started testosterone in February 2020. I hit this man up at the end of 2019 after numerous Google searches for an LGBT-friendly barber near me (and by near me... he was a good 35-40 minutes from the rural area I was in outside of Atlanta: but when I found out he was a trans man and that his business was the first and only LGBT hair bar, I knew it would be worth the trip). I was a dysphoric mess in his DMs one Sunday. I hated how my hair was growing out. I never had a "masculine" hairstyle before but decided one day I would buzz it all off myself, then allowed it to grow out a bit... I sent him a video and despite him being closed on Sunday, he told me to come through. I got my hair braided and he gave me my first really masculine fade. Explained the different terms. Lined me up. Was asking me about my decision to transition and provided some helpful advice + guidance. I told him how I was a therapist and he was hype and said he talked with a group of trans men and he would love for me to stop by and also give some mental health tips. So whoever said he was humble - wow, what an understatement. Such a community man! Made me feel SO comfortable because barbershops were a source of major trauma and triggers for me. They were such an integral part of my early transition (I just celebrated 4 years later week). And he was such an integral part of the Atlanta Queer community with hosting events like Queer Con. How I found so many other great resources + queer businesses/artists. May you rest in peace, Chevy. You'll be missed. You've made such a different in the lives of countless people. You definitely were living your Purpose + left a legacy behind ...

[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑 |

max verstappen x fem!reader

plot. when max visits years after your split, the strong facade you've worn crumbles at his fingertips

wc. 3.4k

warnings. smut 18+, angry n rough sex, p in v, degradation kink, reader cheats on her longterm boyfriend lol, oral sex (f!recieving), rough fingering (f!recieving), dry humping, name-calling, doggy + missionary style, dom!max and reader who thinks shes a dom, hairpulling, slight choking, and very angsty in some parts

Two seconds.

The amount of time it takes Max to grasp your door handle and trudge into the dimly lit apartment instead of patiently allowing you to let him in is two seconds. A fitted black suit adorns his body. His body, who glides assuredly into your humble kitchen. His eyes, who choose to ignore your irritated frame.

Then his lips. His big, red lips, who swallow the copious amount of popcorn that his hands were shovelling down his throat. His massive, veiny hands who used to intertwine perfectly in yours.

Him, Max. The figure leaning over your marble counters with slouched shoulders and forearms resting against the cool surface is Max. Two cups, he notices, stand side by side on the sink. A pink Stanley cup and a cheap protein shaker that isn't his.

Max’s fingers twitch.

From where you’re frozen by the door frame, only his side profile is visible. You curl your fists tight. Suddenly, wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Max.”

Your eye twitches at the acknowledgement you receive. Or lack thereof. The recently crowned third-time world champion huffs at the bowl of popcorn in his hands before turning to open the fridge. He doesn’t look very satisfied. But then again, he never really was when it came to you, was he? 

The light of the furniture illuminates Max’s face rather annoyedly, contouring his sharp jawline and the curve of his lips like it had a point to prove. This is what you could’ve had, it taunted, if you hadn’t broken up.

Much louder and more irritated than before, you call out for him. And then, your eyes meet. You had spent the last few years meeting his gaze solely through the rectangular box in your living room; now, you pinch yourself in disbelief—anger, as well.

“What,” you stutter, and almost curse yourself when you catch a glimpse of his cocky smirk you remember all too well. “What are you doing here, Max?”

The fridge begins beeping loudly. Rolling his eyes, the Dutch slams it closed, slipping past you and into the living room. You follow him. The room is lit up by what feels like a thousand scented candles and it’s cold despite it.

The blond collapses on top of your couch, and the cushions pull him in like they missed him. It’s been so long, they think, and you feel better than the girl who’d been crying on us when you left.

“Where’s that guy?” Max asks bitterly, eyes stubborn on the television before him. “The one you posted yesterday at that restaurant.”

Max doesn’t follow you on any social media anymore, and an evil part of you feels content with the fact that he’d had to manually search your name to see that photo. Last night, Scotty had made a reservation at a fine, respectable Italian place to commemorate your one-year anniversary. 

You had a good time; Scotty would quip about everything and anything, and you would laugh exaggeratedly. You two were a great pairing, you think— hope, for the sake of your sanity.

You make yourself home in the space next to him, pulling your knees to your chest and tugging at your shirt to cover your bare legs. “You need to leave. Now, Max.”

A quiet ‘hm’ slips past his lips. But he’s still stuck on the couch, toeing out of his dress shoes and crossing his legs together like it was his home—but, it isn’t. Not anymore. Not while you are evidently a meaningless speck in his glorious life.

When Max turns to you, disgustingly pretty blue eyes and all, you succumb to the tight grasp he has on all of your logic. “Business trip. Milan.”

An empty chuckle raises the tiny hairs on your arm and echoes across the room. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth; his eyes refuse to leave yours. He brings a cold hand to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; his fingertips leave burn marks against your cheek.

“You don’t even like Italian food,” he continues, because does he ever really know how to stop? “Does he even know you?”

And that. It shouldn’t have made you as frustrated as it did, not when you had gotten over Max. Totally. Completely. Utterly. “What, like you did? Max, you wouldn’t even give a fuck to remember our anniversary!”

The sarcastic glint in his eyes turns sour. “I had to race—Fuck! y/n, I was leading the championship, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Max, how could I forget? Red bull this, Red bull fucking that,” you seethe through gritted teeth, face inching closer to him and squinting eyes shining predatorily. “It’s been two years, Max, two years since you broke up with me. So, congrats. You got what you wanted—a trophy and a name under your belt. Why don’t you fucking leave me alone?”

Max’s breath hitches, but your uncontrolled panting inhales enough air for the both of you. Then, his hand wraps around the side of your neck, not squeezing, but it’s there. It’s warm, and it feels painfully refreshing against your skin, and your protests die in your throat.

The Dutch whispers an octave lower, and only then, when his minty breath tickles your cheekbones, do you perceive your proximity, “Because I think if you really wanted me gone, I would be by now.”

And, well. He might as well be ripping open your ribcage and twisting your heart until it breaks in half, crimson blood making a mess of the carpeted floor. 

You’re left speechless under his gaze because as much as you try to deny, you know it’s true. Max would leave as fast as he did two years ago if there was even a hint of honesty in your words.

“And you know what else I think?” Max takes your silence as encouragement to continue. “I think he doesn’t fuck you well enough if you’re this desperate for it.”

Somehow, you muster up enough irritation to murmur, “I—m’not desperate.”

“No?” he taunts, extending his thumb to the underside of your chin and tilting it upward. “Why haven’t you properly kicked me out, then?”

You rack your mind for a response, a reaction—fucking anything to prove you aren’t wishing he’d just inch a bit closer to close the gap between you. 

“I . . . I hate you, Jesus Christ,” you curse defeatedly, craning your neck upward and frantically meeting his stupidly large lips.

The kiss isn’t slow or loving; it’s wet and filthy and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a lingering taste of honey on his tongue when he brushes it between your parted lips, and you can’t help but pull him in deeper for more. 

The hand on your neck tightens significantly, Max’s breath tickling your upper lip as the other seizes around your under thigh and swiftly pulls you onto his lap.

A gasp flows out of your mouth and he greedily swallows it. You want to skin him alive when you feel him grin arrogantly, but then he presses a hand on your ass and lowers you flush against him—Him, and the massive bulge straining his black trousers—and the thoughts spill right out of your head into a gooey puddle beside your feet.

“I hate y— oh,” your murmur morphs into a shaky gasp when he rips his lips away from yours and attacks the canvas of your neck; you say those three words like you could them words into existence. 

And I hate that I still want you so fucking bad; those eleven words are left unsaid like you expect him to read your mind. But Max couldn’t two years ago, and you know he can’t now.

Your hands glide over his muscular frame, relearning the sharp edges and smooth skin of his body and you moan breathily when Max sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Y’might hate me, baby, but your pussy doesn’t. Fuck, she’s dripping all ov’me.”

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips. He’s not wrong— you could feel your slick coating your panties and rubbing against Max’s pants. You were usually one to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. Need him the same you did the first time you met, both young and inexperienced. Maybe more.

Probably more.

But he isn’t doing anything to relieve the ache between your thighs, so. Before you take matters into your own hands and grind your pussy against his covered dick, Max’s hands cup the mounds of your ass and lift you sideways to splay your body on the couch.

“Max,” you say like the breaths have been knocked out of your poor lungs, but it might not be so far from the truth.

Max positions himself in between your legs, hips and thick thighs parting them wide, and the itchy fabric against your naked skin spins your head in dizzying circles. You could fucking see the damp patch your slick left on his crotch. Your hips buck into the air; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

His dishevelled hair lay atop his head and you want to pull. His flush trails down his neck and you want to bite and kiss and mark it till pretty bruises litter his soft skin. Your hands and lips stay pliant under his body instead.

“Y’d only get this wet f’me, though, hm?” he groans when his fingers push your skimpy underwear to the side, unblinking like the sight of your glistening folds would disappear if he looked away.

I’m always like this for you, you feel the need to reassure, even when you aren’t here—especially when you aren’t here. But your blood still boils at his stupid hair and stupid smirk, so. He’s met with silence.

Growing impatient, Max slaps at your swollen clit, humming satisfactorily at the loud gasp you let out. He grazes his digits past the bundle of nerves, and your incessant need to murder him and fuck him till he realized he’d made a mistake letting you go only intensify.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I will leave you like this, shatje,” he ends up growling lowly, thick fingers hovering over your hole. “And then it’s your boyfriend’s problem.”

“Max, fuck off–”

The warm body abruptly stands up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this cold. But the empty sensation doesn’t last long, anyway. Max barely has any time to walk away before your fingers latch onto his forearm tightly.

You splutter, “M-Max wait, wait.”

When he tilts his head down to meet your eyes with a raised brow, you have no recollection of what you'd even wanted to say. 

“Please…please, just fucking help me.”

And apparently, that's all Max needs because his hands are immediately tugging your shirt off, lips trailing hot kisses in the divot of your tits. Your lips part around a moan when he purses his lips around your hard nipple, stomach stirring uncomfortably with need. His mouth leaves marks like cigarette burns in its wake; it stings against the wounds that have already healed years ago.

The Dutch doesn’t leave you much to dwell on before he lays between your thighs again, trails his hand across your body till his fingers nudge at your lips, and shoves his index and middle finger inside the wetness of your mouth. if you were slightly more desperate, you would've whimpered at the pleasent pressure on your tongue.

If.

“Fuck, lieverd,” Max exhales when you suck your cheeks in, wet muscle darting over and between his digits— wide, innocent eyes and all. “Can he get you like this? Fucking dripping and desperate for dick?”

You shake your head frantically because it’s true. Because he couldn’t, not like Max can. Satisfied, Max only presses against your throat slightly to watch you gag around him. He brings his hand back down to the space between your legs agonizingly slow and alas, pushes them both in like he’s in a rush.

“Max! Oh, oh m’God, fuck,” you gasp, the twinge of pain is quickly overshadowed by the hot pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach.

Your hips involountarily buck upwards into the fullness, but Max flattens his palm on your lower stomach to shove you down. Eyes rolling back and threading your fingers through his hair before tugging his insatiable mouth on your pussy.

“He doesn’t,” Max cuts himself off with a groan when his tongue flicks at your clit, familiar tasting slick pooling on his taste buds. “He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t make you cum as hard as I do, can he?”

He doesn’t expect a response; it isn’t even a question, as well as you’re aware. Max knows he’s the only person who can have you writhing and moaning on his fingers, cock, tongue— all three, one night.

And he’s right. But. Max’s control of the situation makes you feel queasy, so.

“No– ohh, fuckfuckfuck,” you moan, high and needy, when Max curls his fingers upwards, like a reward for agreeing with him. “He–, he fucks me better.”

From under you, Max’s face visibly dims, but you aren’t able to bask in the satisfaction it gives you before he drags his thick digits out of you—your hole clenching in protest, crying out at the emptiness when it fails to keep them inside—hooks his hands into the small of your waist, and your ass meets the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck–”

Your breath hitches when he flips you over on your elbows and knees. Back arched almost uncomfortably, furrowed brows with Max’s bruising hands on your hips to lift your ass further in the air. 

When Scotty slips into bed tomorrow morning, you hope he’ll see the ugly hues of blue and green on your tainted body and leave soundlessly.

Shaking your head at the intrusive thought, you curse internally. Scotty’s nice, and you don’t deserve him. Not when you’re willingly presenting yourself to Max, the folds of your pussy connected by the lewd lines of his spit and your slick.

"Y’wanna act like a whore?" Max whispers hotly from behind you– his breath tickles your ear and his hands rise to your hair, gather your locks into a makeshift ponytail, and tug it forcefully to tilt your head back, making you wince. "I'll fucking treat you like one."

A string of your desperate whines fills Max’s ears like a symphony, and he groans with you when you begin to grind your ass backwards against his dick. His dick. Fuck, Max needs it wrapped around your tight walls, milking him for all he has; needs to watch you writhe on his cock like it was what you were made for.

“I hate you,” you repeat, much more breathless than the other times you said it, and Max has the audacity to laugh.

Though, you guess it has more to do with the fact that all the while you were saying those three words, you were still needily humping your ass against his covered dick.

You still are, and it’s driving him fucking insane. Max curses when he realizes he’s still trapped by the confines of his pants. Whoever thought wearing clothes was a good idea?

Clumsily and with only one hand whilst the other grips your hair, he fumbles out of his suit. And Max throws the articles of clothing mindlessly—on the couch, on the floor. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t fucking care. 

A relieved sigh fills the room as the cool air wraps around his painfully hard cock. Your breath hitches when you feel the thick tip graze your pussy. His hand hastily grips at his base, aligns it to your folds, and coating it in your slick as he strokes it once, twice.

“Ah! Max, holy shit,” you blabber when his cock nudges against your swollen clit, and finally, thrusts his hips forward, the tip fitting snugly against your walls. “Oh, oh, fuck, moremoremore, please.”

And Max. Well, Max is doomed.

“Fuck, liefje, your pussy missed me so fucking bad, I know, I know,” Max coos when your hole clenches around him greedily, and spreads your cheeks with one hand, gazing obscenely at the sight of you sucking more and more of him inside.

The familiar stretch burns and yet your hips push back against his cock— three words ringing in your otherwise empty mind: full, full, fuller. Max’s hips stutter as he meets your movements halfway, fucking his stupidly massive cock into your wetness and tightening his hold on your hair.

You wish you could say you hate the pain as much as you hate him.

“Max, Max, Max,” you urge him as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you don’t really know what for; your neediness took over your senses the moment Max kissed you.

But Max, he’d already memorized all of it— all your tells, those things that pushed you over the edge—, protected them inside a dust-covered chest buried in his mind. It was no surprise he knew what to do with you now, filling you to the brim and pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Yes! Yes! Mm fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you sob happily, and Max wouldn’t fucking dare.

The man behind you tugs you upright with the hand on your hair, his chest flush heatedly against your back and tilting your head to pounce at your neck.

“Tell me,” Max growls slowly, slowing his assaults on your wet pussy, and now, you’re almost sure that your hate is reciprocated. “Tell me he means nothing to you.”

A loud yelp leaves your lips when he slaps your clit again, and a slight gush of slick slides down your walls, dripping lewdly onto his balls. Your hand reaches up to grip his hair and pulls his pillowy lips back onto your neck; tears brim at your waterline. You aren’t sure if it’s because of how badly you want to cum or miss him— you blink.

No, no, no. That wouldn’t be possible because. Because you don’t miss him.

“He’s nothing, Max, nothing compares to you,” you cry out, and Max falters.

Then, he pulls out.

“Huh? Wha…” You inhale sharply, feeling so stupidly empty.

Before you dig a hole for you and your pussy to crawl in and die, Max is swiftly turning you over by your hips and engulfing his dick in your walls again. Your mouth falls open again; Max takes it as an opportunity to press his lips against yours.

Your hands cradle his face and kiss him back gently like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. Like he isn’t projecting his pent up frustration for the last two years onto your wet, tight pussy. A muffled cry escapes your mouth when Max thrusts into you with newfound fervor.

His lips detach from yours, burrying his forehead into the crook of your neck to, hopefully, muffle his groans. “Max– ah! Oh m’God, I’m so close, please just.”

Max nods, wild and frantic and horny, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. He tweaks, pinches, and rubs at your clit until you let out a shriek and your thighs close instinctively around him.

He bottoms out, grinding helplessly inside the heat of your pussy. “Cum f’me, shatje, wanna feel you cum on m’cock. Fucking cum.”

And, well, if you were even the slightest bit good at denying Max, you wouldn’t even be in this position. So. You arch your back off the ground with a high, loud moan and savour the white specs in your vision that only Max seems to bring out of you.

He fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with short, wild thrusts. “Ah, fuckkk, if only y’were as good as y’pussy is to me, liefje, y’d be getting m’cock like this every fucking night— Fuck!”

Beads of Max’s thick cum fill you to the brim with a loud groan and a long string of curses, tainting your insides a heavenly white. His hips stutter when you clench around him, milking him for all he has just like he’d wanted. And, when Max pulls out with a shaky gasp, he takes another piece of your heart with him.

Maybe, if you make this same mistake enough, he’d realize he has your heart already, full and pieced together.

But Max was never one to take a hint, never one to read your mind, so you settle for the parts of him you can have once in a blue moon; you settle for him picking you up, carrying you to your bedroom, cleaning the mess between your legs, and pulling the covers above your naked frame; you settle for the scowl on his face when he notices the polaroid of you and Scotty on your bedside table.

“I hate y—”

Max leaves the room before you can finish your sentence. 

He knows.

authors notes dedicating this to @enchantecafe + @scuderiahoney bcs they were hor knee for max on this poll (me too) i hope you guys like it and thank you to @cafekitsune for the dividers once again xx

i feel like this isn't my best work but i'll post it anyway because i spent a lot of time on it and yolo. also i think i fried my brain with it.

also, writing this fic made me realize idfk how to write angry sex it just ends up being angsty so. i think at times theyre angry but as they go on, some of that tension dissipitates and they both realize they want but cant have each other. tried my best tho!! xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🐢

taglist in separate posts bcs tumblr chooses to be annoying <33

p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💚💚

[saturnville]

not in the mood, l. hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x black wife oc (she). summary: lewis simply isn’t in the mood for any games. warning: brief description of sexual situations, 18+.

tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neewrites @cocobutterqwueen

faceclaim: @/flamefaire

saturn’s command center 🚀: @cocobutterqwueen sent me a video of lewis getting handsy and well, here we are!

He hadn’t said much when he woke up in the morning. A kiss and a whispered, I love you, was the most her ears registered. He moved quietly and swiftly throughout their shared suite, a gentle kiss against her forehead here, and a caressing of her hip there, but he had not much to say.

She presumed he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or he was in his head about the upcoming race. Her husband, she felt, was his own worst enemy. Constantly comparing himself to who he was, beating himself for the things he could have and should have done, for the things he could do but sometimes failed at doing. By the way his eyebrows were stitched together and how his teeth visibly chewed at the inside of his cheek, she knew he was in deep thought.

She grabbed his face softly, her manicured nails against his skin lightly, “Get out of your head. You’re doing great and you will continue to be great.” He said nothing, but his deep brown eyes said everything his lips did not. Thank you. She smiled softly. “Let’s go then.”

-

“And I can’t ride with my wife because?” Lewis emphasized the latter part in annoyance, tapping his fingers against his phone case. They were on their way out the building and to her blacked out SUV when he was stopped by his security detail.

“They want you to arrive with the team. You know how this goes.”

Lewis opened his mouth to object, but her hand on his back stopped him. “Thank you,” she interjected. “He’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Mrs. Hamilton—“

It was her turn to plaster a picture-perfect but false smile on her face. She turned toward the guard with a singular nod, “Five minutes.” The guard pursed his lips and took a few steps backward.

“Baby,” she said once she turned to face him. She brought her hands to his face, running her fingers along his forehead and creased eyebrows. “Positive attitude. Get out of your head. And play nice, do you hear me?”

Lewi sighed and nodded. She smiled once more, this time more genuine. Her palms pressed against his stomach before soothing out his dark Mercedes shirt. She pulled a small notecard out her back pocket and put it in his front, a small tradition they had. Before every match (if she could), she’d write a small note to him and slip it in his pocket. He’d read it before the game, and whether the outcome was good or bad, he had something good to look forward to.

“Thank you, love.” Lewis pecked her lips and tapped her bottom before walking toward the security detail. “See you there.”

She blew a kiss and was soon escorted out to her hotel by her security detail to her vehicle.

-

The paddock always fueled her. The energy was glorious. Excited fans with grins that stretched from ear-to-ear, high-pitched screams of joy, and a rush of passion filled the atmosphere. She walked through the garage, fingers tapping against one another as she awaited the arrival of her husband.

He came into view a few moments later, the sour mood having returned just as quickly as it left. She sighed heavily. She called for him, “Hamilton!” and he turned quickly, his eyes catching hers from behind his glasses. His lip curled upward to a smile.

She rocked back and forth on her feet as she watched him weave through the crowd of people who were asking how he was doing, to which he replied softly, “I’m well, thank you.” But just as he was in arms reach, someone blocked his way to her, thrusting their arm against his abdomen. Something about “not mingling with fans at the moment.”

“That’s my wife and please, don’t touch me,” Lewis scoffed and shoved the man’s hand away which shifted the vibe in the garage entirely. The man looked at the driver with pure shock and almost disdain. Spectators raised their eyebrows in surprise and began to murmur amongst themselves. Sure, Lewis got annoyed just as every other person, but to see him act in such a manner was a surprise to all.

She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. Whatever was going on internally was manifesting externally and she planned to get to the bottom of it. The last thing she wanted to hear was how his managers would be upset about his snapping at a staff member. While it was deserved, she still couldn’t understand why he was in the mood he was in.

So, when he made it to her and slipped his in hers, she whispered in his ear, “Be on your best bevahior. We’ll talk about this later. Good luck.”

Through his glasses, Lewis’ looked at her. She wasn’t angry, but she was stern. If he couldn’t recognize her seriousness, he’d be turned on.

Lewis nodded and pressed a kiss against her forehead before retreating with his team. “Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

-

“You want to explain to me what today was about?” She said as soon as they stepped into their suite. She tossed her purse on the couch and sat next to him.

Lewis hadn’t met her eyes. His head was against the back of the couch, his hand over his eyes. His knee rocked back and forth as he pondered on her words. “I’m just not in the mood today, baby.”

“That I can see, but I think it goes deeper than that, honey. Hey, look at me.” She scooted closer, moving to settle in his lap. Lewis’ hand rested on her hip. He raised his head to look in her eyes, full of sensitivity and desire to understand. “What’s wrong, Lewis?”

“I’m tired, love. I’m just tired.” His eyes and his tone said what the lack of words didn’t. He was indeed tired, this she knew. From the scrutiny, from trying his best and feeling like he failed, from the expectations, from the judgements, from the facade he had to put on everyday. It gew exhausting. He could only keep it together so long before he burst like a broken dam.

She knew her husband. When he was in need of words of affirmation, he typically stopped communicating. It was a tell-tale sign that he was in his head and was dealing with the desire to be verbally appreciated. She knew her husband and knew how to make it better.

She nodded once, deciding not to push it further. “C’mon, babe.” She stood from his lap and held her hand out. Lewis looked at her, her hand, then put his in hers.

-

“Lewis,” she whispered against his jaw as they made love slowly and intensely. Her hands cradled his head against her chest, which he kissed and nipped on gently. Her words were caught in her throat as she moved above him as skillfully as she could. “You’re an amazing man, husband, and father.”

She could hear his breathing grow ragged as the intensity between them reached a breaking point and boiled over. His blunt nails kissed her flesh, causing her to hiss at the feeling. Her fingers were looped in his hair and she tugged slightly.

Through hazy eyes she looked at him. Her hands cupped his jaw and against his lips she said, “I love you. I love you…always.”

-

“Do you feel any better?” She asked after some time. Hours had passed and it was just them in the darkness of their bedroom, caressing each other softly as the insects sang a familiar tune.

Lewis nodded tiredly. “I do. It’s always nice having an attentive partner. Thank you.” His lips grazed her forehead to which she welcomed with a bashful smile.

“Hey,” she spoke up. Her finger nudged his temple which made him turn his face up. “And, please, try to avoid shoving folks in public. I understand your frustration completely, babe, but that could’ve gone south. Understood?”

Lewis pursed his lips but nodded nonetheless. She smiled widely and pecked his lips.

“Good.”

[avidfics]

giving into sevika's advances

summary: Sevika has been chasing you for weeks and you finally give in.

warnings: Grumpy sevika, bratty reader, suggestive topics, light touching, reader takes charge

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Fidgeting. During interrogations, Sevika has had plenty of macho men fidget under her weighted glare. It was one of her favorite hobbies afterall. 

But for her to be fidgeting? Disgusting. Yet, sure enough, her thumb was reflexively flicking her pocket knife open and closed repeatedly in a flash as her eyes kept catching any movement from the bar’s swinging doors. Waiting. 

“Does my eyes deceive me?” Finn, one of the flunkies on her team shout loudly to the other people on her team in the otherwise empty bar. “Is the great terror of Zaun nervous?” 

A chorus of ooohs echo around the room, ignoring the heavy ‘thud’ of Sevika spearing the wooden table with her knife. “If you like being able to move your jaw I suggest you shut your mouth. Or I'll do it for you."

“Do it” he tosses right back. A cocky smile bright as he swags over and proudly offers the side of his face. “But 50 bucks bets that you won’t, cause your sweet little assistant will be here any minute and you don’t want her to see the monster you really are.” 

The fucking idiot hit the nail on the head, and boy was that annoying. Two months ago you showed up, looking like a vision out of one of her dirtiest fantasies. You strolled into Silco’s main base, ass clad in black jeans that hugged you like a second skin and a blouse, though modest enough, had a few buttons loose at the top that provided a peek at your cleavage if someone looked down hard enough. 

And sevika did look. She wasn’t ashamed. Your tits were fucking glorious and made her clit so sensitive her eyes crossed.  

Jinx- the wacko- loved your confidence immediately and after an extensive background check, and minor threatening, Zilco hired you. 

And Sevika had been trying to get in your pants every single chance she got, even though you weren’t her usual easily submissive type. You were prissy, stubborn, and had a stick up your ass that she desperately wanted to take out and replace with her silicone cock. 

She was pussy whipped and she hadn’t even had a taste. Even her team had noticed. 

Which is why she had to work double time to keep them in check and why her fist slams into Finn’s metal jaw with a satisfying crunch. The pain in her knuckles felt good and a bloodthirsty smile slicks across her face even as she presses the pocket knife to Finn’s neck. “Pay up fucker. And let it be a reminder that I could give a fuck about some assistant’s sweet ass.” 

“Good to know.”

+++

The topic of your sweet ass was not what you were expecting to hear walking into Silco’s bar to handle some paperwork. 

Especially not from the Sevika. Who looked dumbstruck at you even with Finn’s collar bunched in her bruised fist and the tip of a knife to his neck. 

Crap she looked good af. A black muscle shirt clung to her frame and cuffed at her biceps. Her hair was in a half hazard ponytail with loose pieces falling into her eyes. Giving her a slightly crazed look that made your face heat. 

But once again, this was a reminder that Sevika was not someone to mess with. She was the second scariest person in Zaun, and the blood on her knuckles served as an excellent reminder not to fraternize with your superiors, no matter how delicious they looked in a fitted tee.  

“Please continue.” You swivel away from her stunned look in your high heels. “My ass and I will be making the rounds.” 

Mumbled curses and the distinct sound of Finn’s goan of pain follows you as you strid away, a purposeful swing in your hips, to another member of the team to get details on inventory. They give you an easy grin and answer your questions but clam up as a shadow falls over the table.

“Scram.” It wasn’t a question and they hurried away. 

You huff a sigh and plop a seat on the now forgotten stool. Crossing your legs just to see dark whiskey colored eyes fasten to your legs for a heated minute. “Sevika, feel free to leave. I wouldn’t want you to worry about my ass and I.” 

A hefty groan leaves her lips, and she drags her hand down her face. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Whatever. You begin your work on your clipboard. “That’s what you said.” 

A whispered “smart ass” is muttered before you jump at her taking your clipboard out your hands and invading your space. “Believe me.” Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that makes you shift uncomfortably on the stool in an attempt to alleviate a budding tingle. 

“Your ass is very much a concern of mine.” 

‘Prove it.’’ Is on the tip of your tongue but you hold back. Provoking Sevika would not end well for you or your ass. Get in, get the job done, and get out. Those were the rules. 

You reach your hand out. A demanding arch in your raised eyebrow to convey a bravado you truly didn’t possess. “Hand it over. I’m sure there’s a face you need to pummel in an alley somewhere.” A mocking smile plasters across your lips. “Better get to it.”

One step. That’s all it takes for her to encroach closer in your space. So close you can see the way her nostrils flare. “Face pummeling is on Friday’s.” A heat was simmering between the two of you, and the more time you spent in her presence, the more you wavered on deciding if you wanted to cool it or let it go unchecked. Especially as she hid your clipboard out of your reach so her hands were free to grab the wooden legs of your chair and scoot you closer to her.

“Ep!” You were so startled that you wrapped your hands around her wrist and immediately regretted it. Her skin was a contrast. One wrist was so warm to the touch, while the other held a stark coldness. You wondered what the duality would feel like wrapped around in clean sheets, preferably naked. 

None of this escaped Sevika’s notice. The mocking smile that once graced your lips is now mirrored back at you. “I like the sound of you bossing me around.” The words trail as her eyes fasten to your lips. “Do it again.” 

The irony that she was the one making commands wasn’t lost on you. “Leave me alone, Muscle-head. I’m way too much for you. Better stick to your usual simpering type.”

A smirk, the one she wears before charging head first into a fight, emerges. “You don’t think you're my type?” An eye roll in return has her releasing a small chuckle. The unexpected feel of a warm, calloused hand gripping your bare calf makes your facade of boredom slip as you frantically look behind sevika to check for wondering eyes. Luckily, you had seated in a secluded nook of the bar, where a wall partially hid you both. But all it would take is someone popping their head in the entryway to see the inappropriate way your boss was holding you and how much it was turning you on.

And those damn hands just won’t stay still. Your legs were crossed, one over the other, but that didn’t pause Sevika’s frisky hands moving up and down your exposed legs, her thumbs circling around your knees and in a soothing way that hinted at how they would move against your clit. “Think you’re mistaken babe. You might be a bit more brattish than other girls I’ve had, but I guarantee when I get you under me, I’ll have you whining for my touch just like the others.” 

A scoff gets choked in your throat with the new caress against your sensitive skin. There was no hesitancy in her touch, just a heavy grasp that urged you to ease your tightly crossed legs so her wonderful fingers could be closer to where you needed them. 

But you needed to come to your senses. Taking a chance, you lean back and feign falling off the stool, and are satisfied by the speed of sevika hoisting you back up to safety. But it gives you leverage to fist her shirt by the collar and fold her massive body over to your seated height. 

With the new vantage point, her macho act was so transparent you snickered at what you now realized. These past weeks you were sooo apprehensive when it came to Sevika’s blatant advances because you’d have to be insane to entertain the enforcer of Zaun. The fierce enforcer of Silco who made men taller than you piss themselves with just a sharp stare. 

The same woman, who harshly gripped your waist to make sure you were safely seated, didn’t have her usual malice in her eyes when it came to you. In fact, when it came to you, she was oddly docile. Still demanding, but with a gentleness that you never noticed. 

Perhaps, you could have some fun afterall. She’s still leaning over you as you take a chance to goad her. “Strange, from my observation you’re the one doing all the begging.”  The noticeable way her jaw tightens is almost humorous. “And it sounds so good coming from your lips.” 

You both were in a trance as you dare to cover her hands with yours. And the way her eyes flare totally made it worth it. “Maybe I was too hasty to turn you down all those times.” you murmured against check.

“Ya think,” she saids with a grumpy attitude but the way her hands are frantically palming your exposed flesh under your direction is a dead giveaway of her need. “Made me chase your ass for weeks.”

“Poor baby.” you coo against her sensitive ear. “Let’s make a deal.” Both pairs of hands move up your legs and reach past your skirt and to your upper thighs, scrunching up your skirt so much your panties are surely peaking through. You can feel the tightly held restraint it was taking Sevika to not overpower your hands. Just that knowledge made a delicious shiver shoot up from your core. “We’ll continue with whatever this is but with one condition. I get total control of everything while we’re together.” 

A rough scoff rakes up Sevika's chest, yet she presses herself even closer to your body. Her nose dragging up and down your collarbone. “Babe, ya know who you're talking to right? Think I’m that whipped that I’ll follow you around as if you have beer-flavored tits? Why would I when there’s a brothel right down the street?”

Asshole

“That’s up to you. But let’s test it out first, yeah?” Her quick head nod is the only green light needed as you smile with satisfaction. Slowly you remove your hands off hers. “What do you want?” you whisper in her ear. 

The answer is immediate. “Need to get between your warm thighs.” The second after you murmur a concession your legs are spread wide to accommodate Sevika’s bulky form that was now pressed against your panty-covered pussy. A tiny moan leaves your lips as she presses you even closer so you need to depend on her to avoid tumbling out the chair.

You dodge the hungry kiss she tries to plant on your lips. “Uh uh, musclehead.” You pry up in the chair, pressing slow, wet kisses along her neck. “I didn’t give you permission.” A slew of curses are tossed from her impatient lips as she throws her head back. Which is perfect for you as you continue to attack her neck. The image of her tortured face will be in your memory forever. “What’s your choice, love? Me or the brothel?” It takes effort but you reach your lips to her ear and suckle her earlobe.

“Shit. You fuck.” she groans. 

“Good choice baby. Go ahead and taste me.” A hand holds the nape of your neck as her full lips takes over and devours you with the most desperate kiss you ever experienced. All you can do was sit there and take it with the knowledge that you were still in full control. 

It was over too soon but Sevika wore a goofy overly confident wolfish grin. “Knew you’d give in eventually.”

The eyeroll was inescapable as you give her a patronizing pat on the chest. “Sure musclehead. Follow me to your office, your going to finish my paperwork while I take a nap.”

She grumbles but is right on your heels. Taking the clipboard in one hand and your hand in the other. “Guess this makes me your obedient lap dog now, huh?”

“You said it not me.”

[too-antigonish]

I could probably be happy recycling these for a Black T-Shirt Wednesday for a ridiculously long time.

Well I’ve nothing for HNW… but as @melbows pointed out last week..

When he looks this good who needs naked*

*well me obviously. But you know I’ll cope with this until he starts complying..

[vantetaes]

BOOK WORM {PT TWO} 🫧🥂

ONYANKOPON X ARMIN X BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! continuation of book worm

WARNINGS!!! mutual yearning, oral {f}, threesome, competitive men, whiny men

start of christmas break rushed like a breath of fresh air for your friend group. everyone making plans for trips, indulging in everything they couldn’t with the hellish exams, and even finding physical attraction along the way. the weather finally cooling down to jacket attire and twinkling lights draped from businesses.

the air is thick and warm with the smell of spiced cider and half-burnt sugar cookies, mingling with the sharp tang of pine from the christmas tree.

the spiked cider pressed flush to your lips, drawing in the flavor while the scene around you grew more intense. eyes scanning the small crowd of companions, basking in the way the christmas tree lights kaleidoscoped off their skin, illuminating everyone in a warm glow of red and greens. jean slaps down a green reverse card, smirking as he looked over at historia, who’s hand had gotten smaller.

“sash’, you saw that right? fuckin’ cheater.” mikasa huffed, slamming down a black ‘draw four’, confusing the other game players. you throw your hands up, legs crossing as you lean more into the couch.

“it’s not your turn! how is he cheating when yo ass don’t even know the rules to the game?” connie bit back, pushing the card back to the girl who looked a few seconds away from sliding him across the table. the game continues clockwise, a few huffs as draw twos and fours were thrown out.

“just be saying shit.” jean mumbled, throwing out his red card.

helplessly, your eyes were latched onto the blonde haired boy. his long golden locs slipping from the clip you jokingly put on him earlier in the night. his hand held one card, tucked under the table.

“uno out.” armin says simply, placing the card into the wild stack, drawing attention to his now empty hand. everyone halts in movement, the roar of the group growing.

“i told yall someone was cheating!” sasha agrees with her black haired best friend, lips curled down in a pout while placing her losing hand down.

“how did i cheat when you can’t play?”

eren recollects the cards, starting to reshuffle the colorful deck. you take the last swig of the drink, clinking the empty bottle against your rings.

“anybody want something to drink?” asking the group collectively, everyone shakes their heads no, too focused on winning the next game.

standing from your spot on the couch, armin shuffles to get up, moving the blanket that covered his shoulders, eyes meeting yours.

“i’ll come grab my beer.”

you inch around the pillows that littered the ground, avoiding slipping with socks on the freshly waxed wood. armin follows behind carefully, eyes locked on the curls that extended to your lower back, almost swaying in the wind. the air you left behind wrapping him up in an intoxicating spiral.

he felt like he was in a fucking cartoon. it’s felt like being lifted into the air completely, following a glorious scent his nose and body followed.

“minnie?” recollecting his thoughts, his eyes snap to you, the light from the refrigerator the only source of sight. you’re holding out a glass, staring at the man in concern.

your eyes pinned on him. the light cascaded a gentle glow on the left side of your body.

taking the bottle, putting it right back on the granite countertop, he begins walking towards you, the shadow from his height casting over you. your feet inch, moving backwards to the wall.

“we can’t right now, min.” your voice small and hushed. with you pressed against the wall, he smiles down at you, lips glistening in the dimly lit area.

“just one kiss baby. they don’t gotta know.” his hands come up, sliding carefully under your shirt. cold fingers slowly caressing your skin, pinching the places he knows you’re a little more sensitive. closing the gap more, he finds himself leaning over into your ear. the gusts of wind from his nose sends chills down your back. you couldn’t take it.

ever since you and armin had sex, you’ve spent almost everyday together. no more classes, no more tutoring, means a lot of time to lay

“please armin-“

with a quick motion, his lips are pressed into yours. the mix of cider and beer cascaded your lips. swallowing you in as his lips deepen. arms finding rest on his shoulders, you could feel the warmth beginning to pool in your underwear, coating you in hunger for him.

“we gotta go back.” whispering against his hungry lips, the head of blonde just shakes.

“one more.” the entanglement felt like it went on forever, hands clawing messily in his hair as he lifts you by the waist off the floor.

without wanting to, he pulls away, forehead resting on yours before setting you down on your feet again.

“i want you tonight.”

without saying anything else, he takes the beer from the counter, motioning for you to walk in front of him. falling for his bait, his hand places a light slap on your butt, the motion causing your skirt to fly up a little.

everyone sat in their same positions, new cards in their hands and pleasant smiles across their faces. you opt to take the same spot, alone on one of the two leather couches historia designed with.

the doorbell rings, a jarring sound that cuts through the noise. historia and sasha hop up to answer, and you sink deeper into your spot, trying to focus on the new game starting up, already getting glimpses of everyone hand. the laughter fades, replaced by a murmur of voices. then you hear his name.

your stomach drops.

when he walks in, it feels like the room shifts, tilts even. his presence is magnetic, confident as always, broad shoulders clad in a dark coat still dusted with snow. he greets everyone with a warm smile, the kind that once made you feel like you were the only person in the room. but when his eyes land on you, something in them flickers.

“yn, nice surprise, didn’t think i’d see you here.” he says, his tone casual but lined with something sharper.

you force a smile, your hands gripping your glass like a lifeline.

“well, to be fair i didn’t think you’d come.”

he shrugs, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

“historia invited me. hope that’s not a problem.”

“of course not!” you say, but your voice is too tight, hands begin to crate moisture.

the game starts, but the energy has shifted.

you knew your friends wanted you two back together. you knew that in the deepest parts of your body and mind, this wasn’t an accident.

onyankopon takes the spot next to you, legs wide as he adjust in the grey sweatpants. he was close, close enough that his knee brushes yours and you can smell the cologne he’s wearing. you can feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken questions hanging heavy between you.

you thought you were over it. but the man sitting beside you made it impossible.

across the room , armin is unusually quiet, his knuckles white as he grips his cards. your eyes flicker to him, noticing the seething anger he’s masking, face curling up slowly.

he watches as onyankopons fingers shamelessly danced over your arm, small conversation now consuming the both of you. how his eyes never left yours. how you were instinctively leaning into the man’s touch.

he hated onyankopon.

“so!” jean says after a particularly loud laugh from connie, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“how was finals for yall? stressful?”

the question feels innocent enough, but ony’s eyes are locked on you.

“same as always.” you reply quickly, too quickly.

“really? because you seem… different?” onyankopon presses, leaning in just slightly. you rear back a little, face furrowed in confusion.

the words are casual, but the undertone is unmistakable. your cheeks burn, and you glance at armin, who’s staring down at his cards like they hold all the answers in the world.

onyankopon doesn’t miss it.

his smile sharpens, twitching a little at the corners, his gaze flickering between you and the blonde.

“interesting.” he says softly, just loud enough for you to hear.

your chest tightens, the weight of his unspoken accusation pressing down on you.

the next round begins, but you can’t focus. your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the chatter around you. onyankopon leans over, head almost resting on your shoulders.

as the night progressed, you, ony, eren, and connie sat on the balcony, passing around a thick blunt. watching as the smoke escapes and quickly gets pulled back in by ony, he taps the burning tip against a small ashtray. carefully handing it to you.

“see i need me something like that.” eren laughs, rolling up another blunt, turning his body to shield from the stray snowflakes.

“something like what?” connie asks, taking the blunt from you in rotation.

“like them! they ain’t even together and all up on each other!” ony rolls his eyes, catching a quick glance at you.

“yall acting like i cheated on her or something.” he shook his head, using the arm thrown over your shoulder to wipe away the snow.

to tell the truth, you and onyankopons relationship was the most solid one you’ve been in. ever. there was no doubt in your mind that you loved him.

unfortunately, he loved football. too much for his own good sometimes. from trying to schedule days to see you and work around his practice, and you having extra classes this semester. you both decided it would be better if you stayed friends.

eren tucks the fresh blunt behind his ear, finishing off the one that circled through the small group.

“im going in, it’s too fucking cold out here.” connie bites, standing from him spot on the patio furniture. quickly tucking his hands into his pockets, the boy rushes inside the warm apartment. eren looks at you and ony.

“want me to spark?”

“you want some more or are you okay?” ony asks you, full attention and eye contact. his deep brown eyes sparkle in the moonlit night, using one of his fingers to push your curl out of your lashes.

“um, im okay.” eren nods, grabbing his beer before standing.

“where you going?” ony asks, reaching for his beer to finish off.

“back in, my fucking face froze.” with that, he shuffled quickly back in, sliding the door closed.

“what you been up to? since, well-“

“i swear im not falling apart without you, onyankopon, texas’s greatest quarterback, prodigy since eleven, uh- may i go on?.” tone joking, he shoves you a little in the arm, holding onto you so you didn’t actually fall against the side of the sofa.

“im glad. y’know i always want you to be good.” he’s leaning forward, elbows in knees, eyes focused onto the moving city.

“then, can i ask you a question?” you whisper, able to see your breath in the air, watching as it rises.

“you know you can.” he reaffirms.

“why did you decide football was more important than me?” in taking a sharp breath, he turned to fully look at you.

“so you think that’s what that was, yn?” nodding your head and unsure ‘yes’, he begins to slide closer to you.

“i never wanted to choose between you or football. i just wanted to get where i am, right now. i wasn’t motivated enough for the sport. wasn’t motivated enough for you. i was doing terrible.” his eye shimmered, glossing over a bit as his body’s warmth began to radiate onto you. without thinking, your palm comes up to caress the man’s face, nails running against the smooth skin. legs side by side, onyankopon leans into your shoulder, embracing the cool gentle touch of your fingers.

“i never wanted this to happen.” he raises his head from your shoulder, faces inches apart.

“me neither.” you push out, eyes look down to his lips. “kiss me ony.”

his lips take over yours with passion. moving at the same rhythm, you begin to lay backwards, eyes snapping to check the door. wrapping your arms around his neck, he starts to nibble at your earlobe, teeth gently grazing. one of his hands rest on your thigh while the other rest on your waist.

releasing a small, restrained moan, the man hums with enjoyment.

“let me get you back baby. everything’s different now.” listening to his pleas was getting harder to do as he snaked his hands up your sweater. gently teasing your stiffened nipples between this fingers.

“let me lift this up.” you lift your body a little, allowing him to pull your sweater up.

god he wish he didn’t. there on your right breast was indeed a large, circular, maroon and dark purple mark. without saying anything, he just pulls your sweater back down, not completely sure what he just saw only knowing it was blowing his high.

“wanna go back?” he asks, grabbing his empty bottle. your body jolts into a sitting position, confusion filling your brain, and panties.

“uh, yeah sure.”

-

“what’s that?” he asks, genuine curiosity fills the question. his jeweled finger points to the glass you held. the orange-brownish liquid.

“spiked cider. wanna try it? i don’t think you’ll like it.”

“you don’t know that!”

this is why you should’ve avoided the man. subconsciously watching how simple it is for you to treat him as if he’s your boyfriend, still. his lips press against the cool bottle, taking in a sip before immediately curling his face up. a loud laughs slips from your mouth before you can catch it, earning a side eye from the man.

“i told you.”

armin clears his throat, taking down the rest of his beer before throwing another ‘uno’. his gaze meets with yours, something else filling him now. this draws onys attention too. noticing the smoke coming from armins ears and nose, he decides, why not?

“armin!” onyankopon says smoothly, leaning back in his spot, his voice dripping with curiosity.

“you’ve been quiet tonight. nervous about something?”

“what?” armin replies, voice a little tight, helping shuffle some of the colorful cards.

“yeah man i mean- what- what im saying is we usually talk a little more, what’s up?” his tone was sweet but intimidating.

the question is a loaded gun. the air in the room shifts. armins head snaps up, his eyes low, and for a split second, he looks at you. it’s a mistake. a terrible, damning mistake.

when he turns back to you, it’s with a look that cuts through you like a blade.

“very fucking interesting, yn.” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. but it’s loud enough.

“onyankopon, let’s go talk on the balcony.” you start, your voice shaky, desperate to diffuse whatever bomb is about to go off.

“no,” he interrupts, his tone calm but laced with steel. “i think i get it now.”

the room quiets, the playful chatter fading as your friends start to notice the tension radiating from your corner. historia glances over, concern flickering across her face. jean raises an eyebrow, and sasha freezes mid-bite of a cookie. mikasa and eren both place their cards down, glancing at one another.

“what’s.. going on?” connie asks, breaking the silence, his tone half-joking but uncertain, still high from the balcony session. mikasa just shakes her head, indicating for him to be quiet.

ony doesn’t answer. his eyes are locked on you, unrelenting, his voice steady when he speaks again.

“tell me something.” he says, leaning in just slightly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“did it even mean anything? or was it just sex?”

“stop.” you whisper, your throat tightening, but it’s too late.

“or was it just convenient?” his words slice through the air, louder this time, the venom unmistakable.

the group stares now, all eyes darting between you, armin, and onyankopon. armin stiffens, his face pale as a sheet, his fingers clenching so tightly around his cards that they crumple.

“what’s he talking about?” sasha asks, her voice small, uncertain. crumbs of cookie falling from her glossed lips.

“yeah, are yall fucking each other or some-“ mikasa launches a used paper towel at the back of jeans head.

your vision blurs, heat rushing to your face as the walls feel like they’re caving in. you want to disappear, to melt into the floor and escape the unbearable weight of their stares.

but onyankopon doesn’t stop. he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound.

“don’t play fucking stupid.” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“watch your mouth, onyankopon.” armin speaks, jaw clenched in anger.

“shut the fuck up, mommas boy. like i was saying.” eren opens his mouth a little.

“let me finish. it’s obvious, right? finals week, all that tension, you two couldn’t help yourselves, could you?”

“ony-” you choke out, pleading, but your voice falters.

armin finally breaks.

“im sorry man.” he says, barely above a whisper.

it’s like a bomb goes off. historia gasps, sasha’s jaw drops, and jean lets out a low whistle, muttering, “no way.”

the room erupts into chaos, voices overlapping as everyone reacts, but all you can focus on is onyankopon. his eyes hadn’t left yours.

“can we please do this outside? all of us.”

at the end of the night, which was shorty after, nothing was said. not even in the group chat.

-

a week to new years.

it’d been two weeks since you’d seen either of the boys. only talking to your friends about the situation once before they respected wishes and never brought it up again.

your slippers padded against the floors, echoing off your walls. pink and gold glitter covers your floor, a few shards of broken glass ornaments lay when the small pine used to decorate your apartment. soft rnb lulls in the background, keeping your mind preoccupied as you box away what decorations you didn’t break.

lola, your ragdoll, sprints down the hall before extending her limbs, stretching from her nap on the bedroom widow sill. she drops down onto her side, licking off a spot on her belly.

“wow, you work so hard, you must be so tired!” you say sarcastically, bending down at your knees, petting the cat. nudging you with the wet tip of her nose, she begins to purr.

“what would i do without my sweet lola baby? you know just how to distract me-“

the doorbell rings once. your cat rears up, sitting and looking directly at your front door, a small meow breaks from her. you wait two minutes before determining it was an accident.

but then it happens again. reaching for your phone, you quickly open the ring app. the doorbell camera catches armin, swaying side to side, fingers fidgeting with each other. wasting no time, you wander over to swing the door open. in the hallway, all you could see was him getting ready to walk away.

“yes?” you answer softly. he turns quickly in his heels, you could’ve sworn he was going to burn a hole to the next floor down. his blue eyes light up once they’ve seen yours.

“yn. can we please talk?”

inviting him in, you apologize for the mess.

“i’ve seen worse from you.” joking lightly, he takes a seat at the bar chairs, watching as you wipe off the glitter from your black lululemon set.

“haha, so funny. are you doing okay? why are you all the way on this side of town?” taking the chair next to him, you could tell the man was holding something in. hands gripped into fists, eyes locked ground, you couldn’t react before he took your face into his hands.

his plump pink lips press against yours, groaning at the feeling of you beginning to kiss back. you couldn’t help but to cave in. feeling how soft and warm his lips were against yours. he pulls away, still connecting your forehead with his.

“please, yn. you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

before you could open your mouth to say anything to the man, another ring at the door pulls you away. armin walks to the living room, taking a seat on the couch, watching as lola made biscuits in the throw blanket.

you swing the door open, eyes wide when you see onyankopon standing there, eyes low and red.

“what-“ he just pulls you in for a hug, lifting you off your feet. naturally, your legs swing around the man’s waist, feeling his large hand across your ass as he holds you up.

you’re wearing his favorite set, smelled like his favorite perfume of yours. the hug lasted well beyond a full minute , unmoving from the hall. his head dips down to the crook of your neck, groaning a little.

“ony, now’s a bad time. i have something to straighten out inside. come back over later?” you try to climb down from his hold only to be held tighter. he just shakes his head, kissing the exposed skin of your neck before placing you down gently.

“let me just come in, you wont even notice.” your lips fold inwards, turning to look at the adjacent door.

“look. to tell you the truth, armin showed up like two minutes before you did.” onyankopons face drops, a laugh starting but ultimately ending up in a harsh frown.

“so you chose him?” he asks, stepping away from the door.

“no. ony, i didn’t ‘choose’ him. i’m going to hear what he has to say, then he’s leaving. if you can be an adult and stay to talk, i’ll hear you out too.”

-

“you’re a fucking idiot, why would she want to wait sixteen years for you to pay off student loans when she can have it all right now?”

“until someone knocks that rock of a cranium on your shoulders hard enough.”

you stood in the kitchen, throwing away trash and cleaning up your area. them coming over wasn’t going to stop your cleaning day.

“i can hear you two!”

finishing off the counters of your kitchen, you head back to the living room. watching as both men sit quietly now, head hung in shame and guilt.

“okay since the men in here want to act like babies, i’ll start. armin i really enjoy your company, you’ve been my friend for a really long time now and i cherish that. you know that.” the blonde man looks up at you, an expression of knowing but also pain crossing his ocean blue eyes. walking over to sake a seat in your chair, lola follows behind, waiting for you to sit before she jumps up, curling into your lap. you eyes flick to onyankopon who has his head thrown back, arm shield his eyes.

“onyankopon. you need to understand that whatever me and armin did happened when we broke up. we weren’t texting, weren’t talking. i had given up already. but you know i love you too.”

“i get it, yn. just something about thinking of his hands over you just- i never wanted to break up.”

“yet you were quick to leave.” he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, a bitter ‘ha!’ coming from his chest.

“yn. when we played there and talked, that was the most i’ve spoken to anyone personally in a really long time. you care about me, i care about you.”

“ugh i don’t know! it’s all just- complicated.” the two men make eye contact. a first, anger, hatred. then, as if they shared a brain, something shimmers in their eyes. onyankopon shifts in his seat, nodding at armin.

“then at least, let us make you feel better. you can tell us whoever you want when we’re done or we can just leave, princess.”

-

you’ve got to stop putting yourself in these positions.

armin sits in the chair you once occupied, watching intently, hand wrapped around himself as he stroked slowly. letting some saliva from his mouth fall onto his swollen tip. hands twisting to coat himself in the slick.

his eyes daze at how large onyankopons hands wrapped around your torso, holding your arms behind your back, as he bounced you on his length. lips attached to your swollen nipples, his eyes focused on your face above him.

“fuck, ony! just like that!” releasing your arms, he pulls you into a full sit on his dick. fingers digging into your waist. you feel it stretching and filling you up, pressing against your spot as the man nips at parts of your neck and chest. small red spots being left behind.

he picks you back up, holding you a little higher, using the leverage to fuck into you.

“look at me, ma. let me see how i’m making you feel.”

this was the position he used to love putting you in. showing off his strength but also how no matter what, he knew what was going to make you crumble.

“want your lil friend over here so he can see how to actually make you cum baby?” you whine, head lolling all the way backwards to look at armin. he was a mess under his own doing, shirt hoisted to his chin, hand still wrapped around his sticky skin. his eyes low, burning right into yours.

“oh fuck- i’m gonna cum! ony fuck! im-“ eyes rolling to the back of your head, youre shooting warm squirt all on the man’s bottom half. he lays you down on the couch, letting your orgasm shake your body while he rubs your side soft.

“come here.” onyankopon motions for armin to come over. the blonde man checks on you before turning to look at the other male.

“might as well go home.”

-

armin has you on your side, facing onyankopon straight on. his hand wrapped around your throat, other holding your leg up by the knee. his dick pumps slow, feeding you every inch of him while his lips suck at your exposed neck.

“min! min! oh my god-“ you cry out, feeling his he’s making your stomach bulge, your hands reaching behind to try to keep him from going so deep.

“keep your hands to yourself, baby.” he used his body strength to pull both of you up into a sitting position. with you facing your ex, armin folds your knees up to your chest, fucking into you from below.

“fuck- pussy so fucking nice to me baby.” he groans, slow strokes killing you.

“im so close armin please!”

onyankopon couldn’t lie. this was driving him crazy. watching as the drool falls from your pretty pink lips. how you’re pressed up against armin, his teeth marking your skin.

pumping his cock, his head falls backwards, listening to the moans fall from your lips. the sound of your pussy filling the space.

“im cumming! oouu shit, baby.” watching as the white ring formed around the base of armins cock becoming thicker as he continued to fuck into you. not caring about who you picked, just wanting you to feel your best.

“fuck- that’s not fair!” onyankopon watched as armin flipped you into a new position, aligning himself on top of you.

“stop being a fucking pussy and come help then.” armin bites back, positioning himself, he pushes into your clenching hole.

“ah! s-so sensitive i can’t take it!” you feel onyankopons hands rub from your breast, sliding up before taking control of your arms. holding you in place as armin beat you into the couch. the blonde digs his thumbs into the crease of your hips, dropping his cock into you.

“yes the fuck you can, ony go open her bedroom door.”

the two men help shuffle you down the hall, both grabbing at your body like vultures. you climb onto your bed, eyes locked with onyans. he fully strips himself, climbing right beside you. you attach your lips, humming into the kiss as his hands roam your tits.

“i missed you.” he whispers between a kiss, catching you off guard as armin turns your head the other way. he presses into you gently, fingers drawing faint lines on your spine.

“who do you want to fuck you, princess?” armin asks, watching as your head snaps back to onyankopon. the man wastes no time bringing you to his lap. lips reattached as he flips you onto your back.

“go sit behind her.” he instructs armin. the man climbs behind you, you feel his hard length against your back as your ex dips his head down.

his mouth places a few kisses on your bottom lips, begging a delicate as he possible could. he uses one hand, speeding you open before licking from your throbbing hole to the abused bud. letting some spit fall from his lips, his tongue spreads it around.

“oh! ony! love your fucking mouth so much.” armins hands play with your nipples, your hands up playing with his locks.

the man below sucks at the bud slow, eyes watching as your lips connect with armins. saliva coating both your faces in hungry affection. climbing back up, he pushes your legs back.

“hold them.” armin listens, holding your legs back while the other places himself at your entrance. his eyes watch you hungrily as he pushed inside, bottoming out.

“i know she missed me, look at how she’s taking me baby.”

he teasingly pulls out, watching as your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, before sliding back in. your pussy making noises as he continues to fuck you into the mattress.

“doing so well for us baby, taking all his dick huh.” armins watching down at you, lips curled into a smile while his hands played with your nipples.

“how this shit feel baby? you missed this dick?” ony asks, head quirked to the side as he watched himself fill you up. you nod, lost in pleasure and close to yet another orgasm.

“uhn uhn let me hear you say it baby. tell me how much you missed me fucking this pussy.”

“i missed you so much, daddy- oh fuck! im so close please- i cant!” he doesn’t stop, relentlessly pounding into you, feeling your nails dig into his arms.

“yeah, give it to me ma, come with me.” before you know it he’s releasing long white ropes across his body while armin is turning you around on all fours. onyankopon climbs into the spot armin occupied, smiling down at you.

“you’re doing so good, mama. just one more okay?” his large hand comes up to slightly rub the side of your face. tears flood as you feel armin start to fill you up. your ex watches as your face contorts into pleasure, looking as you peer back at his acquaintance.

it’s like they both were trying to find something important. slow strokes stealing your soul as he hikes one of his legs up, pressing down on your back with both his hands.

you could feel him in places you didn’t even know existed. face rested on onyankopons hands, back arched, armin digging into you from behind. your body’s on fire.

the sound of his balls slapping against your abused clit fill the room. your moans turned to nothing but gasps of air and drool falling out the corner of your lips. eyes rolled back into your head.

“one more, princess. just one- shit- one more.” he reassured, hips dragging quicker.

“pussy so good. m’i making her feel good baby?” you nod, lost in pleasure. he could feel you clenching around him. how your hands shot out to grab hold on your exs chest as you release all over armin. clear liquid shoots out as you collapse. the two men move off the bed, sighing at your beaten frame.

“you take her to the shower, i’ll wash her sheets?”

onyankopon agrees, picking you up bridal style.

“let’s go princess.”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[laswells-ashtray]

John is drunk, he knows he's drunk because everything is a little too funny and he's pretty sure he responded to someone with "nuh-uh" earlier.

He's mostly upright as he saunters between tables, fingers skimming along the top of tables just in case. He keeps his eyes focused solely on the path to the door. He's pretty sure that his lighter is tucked safely in the pocket that his smokes aren't but if he needs to, he'll thieve a lighter from a stranger.

He stumbles ever so slightly, splaying his hand out flat on a table that's a little too sticky to ignore. He glances up and is met with the sight of a shirt that's only partially buttoned and a hairy chest.

He blinks in an attempt to try and banish the drunken filter from his vision as he looks at the owner of the chest. It's a gorgeous man, with black hair brushed back and curling just under his ears. He's raising an eyebrow at John, mouth open in a half smile that John had completely interrupted by falling onto his table and John kind of wants to nuzzle into the scruff covering his jaw.

He briefly looks back down at the man's chest, it's littered with black hair and he's chesty enough that John could bite him and enjoy a mouthful of faintly sweaty man tit.

God, he's drunk.

"Are you alright?" The stranger asks, hand reaching out to brush over John's knuckles. If he doesn't hear that voice growling in his ear while the man strokes his cock by the end of the night then he might die.

The words are out of mouth before John can stop himself.

"Nice tits."

If his face wasn't already flushed from the drinking, heating up his face in a scarlet blush then the man might be able to see his mortification.

The stranger's eyes widen and his half-smile becomes a blatant smirk as he leans his elbows on the table and offers John a better glimpse of his chest.

"Thank you, you're the first to believe so."

He stares back down at the other man's chest and shakes his head in disbelief.

"Really? No way I'm the first person to tell you you've got nice tits, a truly glorious set, mate."

John mourns the fact that he won't be able to commit the stranger's laugh to memory in his drunken state.

"You are very forward, I like that."

Well, if John gets caught nipping at the man's Nikolai's tits with a hand in his trousers' palming at his cock as John grinds against the man's muscular thigh then that's his business.

[@callsign-selkie This was your idea and I am grateful for it.]

[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”