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astrcmoni · 21 hours ago

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୨♡୧⁀➷cupid’s kiss ୨♡୧⁀➷

MASTERLIST

synopsis: the city hums around you, a fleeting backdrop to roses, laughter, and the heat of her gaze. by night’s end, only tangled limbs and breathless whispers remain—fragments of a valentine’s you’ll never forget.

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

genre: fluff, smut

wc: 12.2k

warnings: car sex, cunnilingus (r! receiving), sexual teasing, talk of cum, making out ( let me know if i missed any)

authors note: i know this is coming out late but take it anyways. hope you enjoy this, happy valentine’s day everyone 💋

the soft melody of an old r&b song drifts quietly throughout your room, threading through the warm glow of the bedside lamp. the air is thick with the scent of vanilla and shea butter, settling into your skin like a second layer, like something familiar. your body sways slightly, hips moving in time with the slow rhythm, a motion so natural it feels like breathing.

your fingers find the lip liner with ease, wrapping delicately around its sleek body before lifting it to your mouth. the deep burgundy wax blooms against your skin as you trace the curve of your bottom lip, slow and steady, like painting something sacred. your cupid’s bow follows next, the tip of the pencil pressing just enough to carve out the shape, to sculpt without effort. your ring finger grazes the edge of your lips, the warmth of your skin melting the pigment just enough to blur the lines. slow, deliberate strokes soften the burgundy, blending it inward, fading like dusk into the fullness of your mouth. the color settles into something effortless, something lived-in—like you’ve been kissed, like you’ve kissed back.

your hand drifts to the tube of clear gloss lying discarded on your vanity, the light catching its sleek surface as your fingers wrap around it. you twist it open, pulling the wand free with a quiet pop before guiding it over your lips. the gloss drenches them in liquid shine, turning the deep berry into something richer, something decadent. it clings to every curve, catching the light with every slight movement. you part your lips just a little, watching how the gloss gleams, how it makes your mouth look fuller, softer—irresistible.

you lean back in your chair, eyes locked on your reflection, watching the way the gloss glows under the soft light. the burgundy, now hugged by gloss, looks like wine under candlelight—deep, warm, and impossible to ignore. you smack your lips together slightly, the wet sheen catching for a moment before settling again. satisfied, you reach up, fingers curling around one of the pinned rollers, sliding out the clip that holds it in place. the strand unfurls, falling in a soft wave against your shoulder.

this motion repeats, fingers working with practiced ease, unpinning each roller, letting the fresh blowout cascade around your face. the weight of your hair feels different now, lighter, freer. the song shifts, a familiar melody slipping through the speakers, and without thinking, your voice joins in—barely above a whisper, tracing the lyrics with quiet ease.

you reach for your black comb, running it through your hair, each strand slipping over the wide teeth like silk unraveling. the motion is rhythmic, soothing, a quiet kind of ritual that settles you further into the warmth of the moment.

the song playing is familiar, comforting—a melody wrapped in nostalgia, threaded with slow, honeyed vocals that make you feel like you’re sinking into something soft and golden. everything about this moment feels unhurried, like the night itself is waiting patiently for you to step into it. the scent of your perfume lingers in the air, a quiet presence mixing with the rhythm of the music, and for a second, you close your eyes, letting it all settle over you like a second skin.

nights like these make getting ready easy, slipping into the three-hour routine you’ve perfected over the years. there’s a tranquility in it, in the way you take your time, in the way you indulge yourself with each step. so when billie had told you earlier this week that on friday—valentine’s day—she was taking you out, you’d immediately started planning. appointments were booked, outfits were considered, and questions were asked, most of which she refused to answer, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. “can’t give up the surprise,” she had murmured against your cheek, her breath warm, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. she did love to entertain your excitement, though, only telling you what she wanted you to know—just enough to keep you on edge, just enough to make you anticipate. dress cute but comfortable, that was all she’d given you, and somehow, it was enough.

the sound of keys jingling snaps you from your reverie, followed by the quiet creak of the front door unlocking, then locking again. a smile tugs at your lips, your heart picking up its pace just slightly as you hear the familiar weight of her footsteps approaching.

billie’s socks slide against the hardwood floor, the sound soft but distinct, accompanied by the light jangle of her keys in her pocket and the faint rustling of bags in her grasp. you don’t turn around just yet, but the curve of your lips deepens at the sound of her voice.

“baby, where are you?” her voice carries through the house, warm and familiar, wrapped in something easy, something tender.

“in here,” you call out, still running the comb through your hair, smoothing out the last few strands.

a few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, still bundled up from the february cold. the soft glow of your vanity lights catches the flushed pink of her cheeks, the tip of her nose slightly red from the chill. the red roots of her hair peek out from under her beanie, strands slipping loose beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. her eyes find yours instantly, flickering with something warm, something knowing.

she steps inside the room, making her way toward you, the scent of winter clinging to her clothes—cold air and something faintly sweet, like the bakery she always stops at on her way home.

your head tilts slightly to the left as you notice her hands hidden behind her back, her body language giving her away before she even speaks.

“hi, mama,” she starts, her voice soft, threaded with something breathless, like she rushed home just to give you whatever she’s holding.

she reveals her hands, stretching them toward you, and your breath catches just slightly. deep red roses, wrapped in crisp black paper, petals full and velvety to the touch. the contrast is striking—the darkness of the wrapping making the red stand out even richer, deeper. it’s intentional, you know that. billie has always had a way of making things feel like more than just gestures.

you turn fully to face her, your hands lifting as you take the bouquet, your nails grazing over the back of her hands in the process, a fleeting touch that makes her fingers twitch slightly. your fingertips brush the petals in quiet admiration, feeling the delicate texture beneath them. the scent fills your nose, heady and intoxicating—rich yet soft, like something meant to linger.

billie watches you, studying your reaction, the corner of her lip twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. there’s something in the way she looks at you—like she’s memorizing every detail, like she’s already picturing you in her arms later tonight. the warmth of it spreads through you, slow and deliberate, settling in your chest like a steady flame.

“these are gorgeous, babe. thank you.”

you tuck the flowers against your arm before reaching up, fingers finding the familiar warmth of her face. her skin is cool from the outside air, but she leans into your touch instinctively, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into something soft.

“it was nothing much, but you’re welcome.”

she inches closer, her breath warm against your lips before they finally meet—soft, lingering, unhurried. the kiss is brief but enough to send a slow shiver down your spine, enough to make her chase your lips when you pull away. her mouth parts slightly, instinctively, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

you chuckle under your breath, running your thumb over her lips, the smooth acrylic gliding over her plump skin—slightly sticky from your gloss. she lets out a soft hum at the touch, and just as her hands start to settle on your waist, you gently push her back.

“actually,” you start, rising from your vanity with ease before walking toward your side of the shared closet. “i have something for you too.”

billie watches you with open curiosity, shifting her weight, eyes following every move you make. she tugs at the hem of her hoodie absentmindedly as you crouch down, disappearing slightly into the closet’s dim interior.

your hands glide over folded sweaters, past stacked shoeboxes, feeling your way toward the back until your fingers brush against the satin ribbon-wrapped handle of the basket you’ve been carefully putting together for the past few days. you lift it gently, pulling it into the light, and stand, turning toward billie with a small smile as you stretch the basket toward her.

her eyes widen slightly, face lighting up as she takes it, fingers tracing over the red bow with something reverent. she shifts the weight of it in her hands, eyes scanning the contents nestled carefully in soft pink tissue paper—the little details that only you would think of, the things you know she’d love.

a candle that smells like vanilla and warm musk, the kind she always lights the second she gets home. a handwritten letter, its rose-colored envelope sealed with a kiss of your burgundy lip liner. a small plushie tucked beside her favorite snacks, something soft, something sentimental. and at the very center, a small box tied with a silk ribbon, holding a delicate bracelet that catches the light just enough to glint, subtle but intentional—just like her.

her smile spreads into a grin, the small gems on her teeth catching the glow of your vanity lights. she lifts her gaze back to you, something playful settling in her eyes.

“are you trying to one-up me?”

“always.” your response is immediate, your voice carrying the same playful lilt as hers.

billie exhales a soft laugh before setting the basket down carefully on your vanity, her fingers lingering on the ribbon for a moment before she turns back to you. without hesitation, she steps in close, arms slipping around your torso as she pulls you into her warmth.

you melt into it, arms looping around the back of her neck, fingers instinctively tangling together as your thumbs rest against her skin. her red roots brush against your knuckles, the smaller pieces of hair swaying slightly as you rub slow circles into the nape of her neck.

she leans down again, lips finding yours in a kiss slower than the last—soft, sweet, deep enough to make your breath hitch. it’s just enough to leave you wanting more before she pulls away, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“i gotta shower,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you with something unreadable, something lingering. “but thank you for the gifts.”

her hands slide from your waist, moving with purpose, fingers trailing over each curve of your body as she makes her way up to where your hands rest against her neck. carefully, she unlaces your fingers from each other before cupping them in her own, holding them between you like something precious.

she squeezes once, gentle but firm, like a silent promise.

“i’ll be quick,” she adds, voice low, almost teasing. “don’t miss me too much.”

she takes a step back, her blue eyes raking over you in slow, deliberate strokes, like she’s committing every inch of you to memory.

your brow quirks in light confusion. “what? do i have something on me?”

billie huffs out a small laugh before reaching for your hand, lifting it above your head with gentle ease. “nah,” she murmurs, spinning you slowly. the skirt of your dress fans out as you move, fabric catching the soft glow of the vanity lights. when you come back around to face her, her smile has deepened, something playful tugging at her lips. “just admiring, that’s all.”

your eyes roll instinctively, but the warmth spreading across your chest betrays you. placing your hands on her chest, you give her a gentle push, the fabric of her hoodie soft beneath your palms. “will you hurry and go clean up so we can go?”

“pushy, pushy,” she teases, but she leans in anyway, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, her lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. the hum she lets out vibrates against your skin before she pulls away, fingers already toying with the hem of her hoodie. she strips down with ease, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she makes her way toward the connecting bathroom.

you shake your head at the mess she leaves behind, turning your attention to the bouquet still in your arms. you place the roses in a vase, arranging them carefully, the deep red petals almost glowing against the dim light of the room. the scent of them mixes with the faint traces of billie’s cologne still clinging to the air, something warm, something familiar.

the sound of water rushing through the pipes fills the space, followed by the muffled slide of the shower door.

“so, are you excited for tonight?” billie’s voice carries over the hiss of the water.

“i would be if i knew what it was, billie.”

“the whole point of a surprise date is so that it can be that—a surprise,” she teases. “just trust me, babe.”

you hum thoughtfully, bare feet padding softly against the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. heat rises to greet you, steam curling around the glass shower door, clinging to the mirror. you lean against the doorframe, watching as billie’s figure shifts behind the fogged glass, her movements slow and unhurried.

“should i be worried?” you ask, voice laced with playful suspicion.

“no, not at all,” she says smoothly. “but you might wanna wear something cute and comfortable.”

“so, no heels then?”

she hums, considering. “mm… not tonight. your boots would look really cute with your fit.” a pause. “but you’ll still look fine as hell no matter what you decide.”

you shake your head, grinning. “flatterer.”

billie laughs, the sound soft and unfiltered, mixing with the warmth of the room. you stay there, talking about everything and nothing, letting the conversation weave between teasing remarks and familiar comforts.

soon enough, the water cuts off, the steam thick in the air as billie steps out. a towel is wrapped loosely around her torso, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, trailing slow paths down the curves of her body. the scent of her vanilla body wash wraps around you as she moves past, something rich and sweet, something undeniably her.

your eyes follow her, drawn to the way her damp hair drips against the towel slung around her shoulders, how her fingers comb through the strands with ease. she moves toward her side of the dresser, pulling out pieces of clothing with the same quiet deliberation she does everything else.

she hums softly as she gets dressed, a song that’s been playing faintly in the background, one you hadn’t even realized she was paying attention to. your gaze lingers as she buttons up her black shirt, her fingers sliding each button into its designated slot with ease. the fabric molds against her frame, and your focus catches on the slight flex of her biceps as she adjusts the cuffs, rolling them up just enough to reveal the lines of ink along her hand.

her eyes flick up toward the mirror, lips twitching into a smirk when she catches your gaze in the reflection. the soft glow of the vanity lights frames her features, turning her crystalline blue eyes into something almost ethereal, something impossible to look away from.

“you getting distracted?” she teases, slipping rings onto her fingers with practiced ease, the metal gliding against her skin. she picks up a delicate chain next, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck, all without breaking eye contact.

“what? no, shut up,” you mutter, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. the warmth in her stare makes your stomach flip, but you ignore it, turning your attention to your jewelry box instead.

the sable black wood is smooth beneath your fingertips, the hinges sighing softly as you lift the lid. inside, nestled among delicate chains and glinting rings, rests a golden watch—slim, dainty, timeless. the light catches on its polished surface, tracing over the fine links of its bracelet, the minimalist face gleaming under the glow of the room.

with careful fingers, you lift it from its place, the cool metal whispering against your skin as you drape it over your wrist. the clasp clicks softly as you fasten it, the weight settling against you like it was made to be there. the gold catches the light, warm and radiant, an understated elegance that feels like a quiet kind of power.

you reach back into the box, extracting a necklace, its chain the same golden shade as your watch, its charm a simple letter. the ‘b’ sways lightly between your fingers, gleaming under the soft light. before you can put it on, billie stretches out her hand, palm up, a silent request.

you don’t hesitate. you never do.

stepping behind you, billie takes both ends of the necklace, the cool metal hovering just above your collarbone as her fingers slide over the clasp. her touch is featherlight, the brief brush of her knuckles against your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. she hooks the clasp into place, then adjusts the necklace so the charm rests perfectly at the base of your throat.

but she doesn’t step away just yet.

her hands skim down your sides, fingertips grazing the fabric of your dress before settling on your hips. her eyes meet yours in the mirror, a silent moment stretching between you, filled with something unspoken, something deep.

your own initial rests boldly against her neck, a silver version instead of gold, the contrast striking yet complementary. a matched set, tied together in quiet devotion.

billie breaks the silence first, her voice soft but sure. “c’mon, we better go before we’re late.”

her fingers lace through yours, warm and familiar, and she leads you downstairs without another word.

you both move in sync, slipping on your shoes, grabbing your belongings with the kind of effortless ease that only comes with time. the door swings open, and the cool night air greets you, crisp and full of promise.

and just like that, you step out into the night, hand in hand.

the restaurant hums with low chatter and the soft clinking of silverware, but in your little corner booth, the world feels quieter, smaller—just the two of you wrapped up in each other. the dim lighting bathes the table in a soft amber glow, reflecting off wine glasses, the edges of flickering candlelight, and the soft sheen of your girlfriend’s silver jewelry, each little detail seeming to highlight the intimacy between you.

dinner feels like a secret, just the two of you tucked into the booth, close enough that your thighs press together, the warmth of her body a constant against yours. the room is alive with the sounds of the evening, but here, it’s just you two—the scent of rich food and something faintly floral lingering in the air, heavy with comfort and quiet affection.

instead of sitting across from each other, billie pulls you in beside her, her arm draped casually around the back of your seat, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

“you look so pretty,” she murmurs, her voice soft but sure, fingers tracing lazy, comforting patterns over your thigh, each stroke a promise, a reassurance.

you turn your head slightly, catching the fond smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. “you’ve said that three times already.”

she shrugs, her lips curling into an easy smile, unfazed by your teasing. “and i’ll say it again and again. and again.”

you roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters at the simplicity of the compliment. the sincerity of it makes the moment feel like something sacred, tucked away just for the two of you.

you lean into her side, your head coming to rest on a familiar shoulder, and breathe her in. her scent is intoxicating—vanilla with something deeper, more complex, something both soft and strong, feminine and masculine in perfect harmony. it clings to her skin, lingering in the collar of her shirt, curling into the space between you both, the scent threading through the warmth that lingers in the air.

“you smell so good,” you murmur, voice soft, just above a whisper, letting the words dissolve between your lips and her neck, filling the space around you with the quiet, tender intimacy of the moment.

billie huffs out a small laugh, fingers still toying with the lace of your stockings where her hand rests on your thigh. “i sure would hope so,” she teases, the smirk evident in her voice even before she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head, her lips warm against the crown of your hair.

“why can’t you ever just accept the compliment?” the back of your hand meets her chest in a gentle hit, teasing but full of affection.

a soft chuckle escapes billie, her fingers still tracing idle patterns along your thigh. with a shift, she pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up in the dim atmosphere as she angles it to capture the moment. she snaps a few pictures—one with your faces close, the other where she leans in just enough to plant a kiss on your temple. her lips curl into a playful grin as she murmurs, “i hope you know that you’re really pretty.”

the phone is set aside, forgotten, discarded in favor of the quiet moment shared between you, the flashes of her smile and the soft hum of her voice lingering in the air, more cherished than any photograph could ever capture.

not long after, your plates arrive, the scent of rich spices and warm dishes curling into the air, drawing you both back to the present. you straighten just enough to reach for your fork, but billie’s arm doesn’t leave your side, her fingers still tracing small, absent patterns over the lace of your stockings.

dinner is slow, unhurried. you steal bites from each other’s plates, laughing at the most random things, exchanging soft kisses that feel like nothing and everything all at once—moments so small but somehow monumental in their own way. the world outside this booth fades into the background as you talk about everything from childhood memories to plans for the future.

the night is intimate, effortless—woven together with the kind of love that doesn’t need grand gestures or fireworks, just the softness of shared space, quiet compliments, the lightest touches, and the way your scents linger together in the small moments.

by the time dessert arrives, the last remnants of dinner sit on the table—half-empty glasses, a shared dessert plate with only a few crumbs left behind. the warmth of the evening lingers still, like the soft, steady beat of her heart beneath your palm. billie’s arm is still around you, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your hip, the world outside the restaurant fading into something almost dreamlike.

billie reaches for the black checkbook the waiter left behind, flipping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist. her gaze lingers on the receipt for a moment, brows lifting slightly at the total, before she hums in approval, a quiet, satisfied sound that melts into the warm, dim atmosphere of the restaurant.

with your head still resting on her shoulder, you tilt your chin just enough to steal a glance at the numbers, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “not bad,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, the words slipping out like a secret only the two of you share.

she lets out a soft chuckle, nudging you gently with her elbow. “you got a pen?” she asks, tapping the checkbook with her fingertips, the quiet request cutting through the gentle hum of the restaurant. “they forgot to bring one.”

without hesitation, you reach for your purse, fingers sifting through its contents, the familiar feel of soft leather under your fingertips grounding you in this quiet moment. you pull out a sleek, black pen, placing it in her waiting hand, watching as she takes it with a quick, fluid motion.

you watch as she signs the tip portion first, the ink gliding smoothly over the paper in practiced strokes, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper almost melodic in the stillness. then, with a small flourish, she signs off at the bottom—B.E. the letters are clean, effortless, holding a quiet confidence, the kind that’s always been so distinctly her. the way she carries herself, even in the smallest gestures, leaves an imprint on everything she touches.

after capping the pen and handing it back, your girlfriend slips a hand behind her phone, pulling out her sleek black american express card tucked safely in its case. the metal glints in the dim lighting as she slides it into the pocket of the checkbook with a satisfying tap, the motion final, almost ceremonial, as if everything is in its place now.

“there,” she leans in, her voice low and smooth against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “all taken care of. so, are you ready for part two?” the waiter comes back around to your table, taking the little black book and slipping away to the back.

your hands wrap around her forearm, pulling her a little closer as you lift an eyebrow, brows shooting up in surprise at her question. “there’s more?”

“baby, there’s always more.” she grins, lips widening into that familiar, knowing smile of hers. she shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, the warmth of her lips lingering.

your eyes wander around the restaurant, your mind spinning with endless possibilities of what could be next, the anticipation building. “where are we going?”

she smirks, slipping the black card back into her phone once the waiter returns, the subtle click of the card’s return echoing between you. “that’s for me to know and you to find out.” her tone is teasing, playful, as if she holds all the answers, but she’s not giving anything away just yet.

you purse your lips, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes for the thousandth time that night at her crypticness. but the corner of your mouth lifts, betraying the smile that threatens to break free. sliding out of the booth, billie stands, offering her hand to help you out of your seat, the warmth of her palm a comfort against yours. you take it without thinking, the connection between you electric, her hand soft but firm in yours.

she pulls you into a quick kiss, a soft press of her lips to yours, pulling away with a small hum of satisfaction before intertwining your fingers again. without missing a beat, she pulls you toward the door, your steps in sync, the cool night air just beyond, waiting to greet you both.

turns out, part two is top golf.

you burst out laughing as soon as she parks the car, the sound echoing into the quiet night. “seriously?” you ask, incredulous.

she grins, unbuckling her seatbelt with that familiar confident flick of her wrist. “what? you thought i was gonna take you to some bougie rooftop?”

“i don’t know what i thought,” you admit, still chuckling. “wasn’t expecting this though. but just so you know, i’m gonna win and whoop your ass in the process.”

“if you say so,” she replies, her voice laced with playful arrogance. “we all know i’m the real mvp when it comes to this.” the competitive fire in her voice sparks yours, and just like that, the trash talk begins.

the night air is crisp as billie opens the car door and steps out, the neon blue and green lights from the towering topgolf building ahead casting a vibrant glow that dances across her face. you pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the cool bite of the night, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your competitive banter. billie jogs around to your side, opening the door for you with a proud little smirk.

“chivalry isn’t dead, i see,” you tease, taking her hand as she helps you out of the car, your fingers intertwining effortlessly.

she winks, that signature glint in her eyes. “not when it comes to you.”

you round the car, making your way to the trunk. with the press of a button, the trunk pops open, and you dig around until you find what you’re looking for—a pair of random sneakers that somehow always end up in each other’s cars. you quickly slide off your boots, switching them out for the more comfortable pair of shoes before slipping your hand back into billie’s.

together, you make your way to the building, your footsteps light but purposeful.

inside, the atmosphere is buzzing—low music hums over the speakers, filling the space with an easy energy. the scent of fresh food and warm pretzels hangs in the air, mixing with the excitement that pulses through the crowd. billie leads the way, her fingers laced through yours, guiding you toward a private bay on the upper level.

you step out onto the platform, the cool breeze kissing your skin as you take in the sight of the open-air range stretched out before you. small targets glow in various colors across the field, the soft thrum of the city’s skyline flickering faintly in the distance. the air is crisp and clean, nipping at your skin with the promise of something new.

“i won’t lie, this is pretty cool,” you admit, leaning against the railing, your voice quieter now, soaking in the moment. “didn’t expect this for valentine’s, though.”

billie grins, grabbing a golf club from the rack, her fingers curling around it with the same ease she handles everything else. “you know i like to keep you on your toes.”

she moves toward the tee, rolling her shoulders like she’s about to do something serious. you cross your arms over your chest, watching her with a mixture of admiration and amusement. she plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and grips the club with entirely too much confidence, as if she’s the queen of golf—never mind that she’s never swung a club in her life.

“you’ve never golfed before, have you?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“nope,” she replies confidently, rolling her shoulders again, a small huff escaping her. “but i’ve watched golf before. can’t be that hard.”

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head. “famous last words. okay, we’ll see.”

“watch and learn, baby.” she takes a deep breath, a focused look crossing her face as she swings the club—

—and completely misses the ball.

a laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes anyway. she straightens up, staring down at the untouched ball with a look of pure betrayal, as if it’s personally offended her.

“that was practice,” she mutters, giving you a look of mock annoyance.

“uh huh, sure it was,” you tease, barely holding back another laugh.

she tries again—this time, she makes contact, but the ball barely rolls off the tee, a soft, unimpressive nudge that doesn’t go anywhere near the target. you double over laughing now, unable to hold it in, while billie pouts, gripping the club like she’s debating throwing it across the range.

she tries once more, swinging with more force this time, the ball barely rolling off the tee again, stopping embarrassingly short of the edge.

“oh wow,” you say, feigning awe, crossing your arms. “real impressive, tiger woods.”

billie groans, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “this shit is so annoying.”

you step toward her, shaking your head fondly. “here, let me help.”

“okay, first of all, that’s not how you hold it,” you say, sliding in behind her, your voice warm against her ear. you wrap your arms around her waist, gently guiding her hands to the club. billie relaxes against you, her body fitting perfectly with yours as she tilts her head just enough for her nose to brush against your cheek.

“this is just an excuse to be all over me, isn’t it?” she murmurs, her voice dropping low, just enough to send a shiver down your spine, making your heart beat a little faster.

you smirk, letting your hands linger longer than necessary as you adjust her grip. “maybe.”

her breath is soft on your skin as you guide her through the motion, adjusting her stance, speaking in a calm, steady whisper. she listens intently, her usual cocky confidence melting into something else—vulnerable, trusting. you pull her arms back with yours before swinging forward together, your hearts aligned for just a moment. when she swings this time, the ball sails smoothly through the air, slicing the cool night sky before landing in one of the further targets.

billie gasps, her eyes wide in disbelief, and then she breaks into a triumphant cheer. “did you see that?”

you laugh, clapping along with her, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “okay, i’ll give you that one.”

“i’m such a natural,” she says smugly, grabbing another ball with a flourish, her pride practically radiating from her. “bet i can do it again.”

she tries. and she fails.

you don’t even bother hiding your laughter this time, the sound spilling out freely, echoing in the open space. billie glares at the club, as though it’s personally betrayed her, before she sets it down with a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat.

“alright, your turn,” she declares, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward, her fingers warm and confident in yours.

you smirk, stepping up to the tee. “are you sure? i really don’t wanna embarrass you more than i already have.”

“girl, please,” billie scoffs, crossing her arms with a raised brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “let’s see what you got.”

“don’t say i didn’t tell you so,” you warn, your voice playful, but with a hint of challenge. billie rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

grabbing the club from her hand, you turn back to the tee, adjusting your stance, lining up your shot with precision. the cool air brushes against your face, but all you feel is the steady calm in your chest. you take a steady breath, the world slowing down as you pull back. and then you swing—watching as the ball soars effortlessly through the air, its trajectory perfect, landing dead center in one of the smaller, harder-to-hit targets.

you smile to yourself, turning to billie, who’s staring at you with wide eyes and a mock pout. “well, i guess i did warn you,” you say, voice light but triumphant.

billie crosses her arms over her chest, her grin impossible to suppress. “alright, alright. you’re good. but i’m still gonna beat you next round.”

billie lets out a low whistle, her gaze lingering on you with a mischievous smile. “well damn. look at you.”

you grin, turning toward her, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. “what, impressed?”

she gestures lazily toward the club in your hand, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “nah, just realizing i have no shot at winning.”

“it’s all love for the game, baby. all love.” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before handing her back the golf club, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

the night stretches on, the air growing cooler but the energy between you two never faltering. playful bets are made, stolen kisses shared, and competitive spirits run high, but it’s never about the score—it’s the moments in between, the laughter, the teasing, the way your fingers always seem to find each other in the quietest moments.

at some point, billie decides she’s had enough of golf and just wants to watch you play. she leans against the railing, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. her smile is soft but mischievous, and every time you line up a shot, she can’t resist making sly comments.

“bet you can’t hit that red target.”

you take a breath, steady your stance, and with a smooth swing, you nail it. the ball rips through the air, landing right in the center of the red target.

billie’s eyes widen, a laugh escaping her lips. “i mean, okay, but can you do it again?”

you don’t even hesitate, stepping up and lining up your shot once more. this time, you hit it even more effortlessly, the ball flying through the air with a perfect arc, landing in the same spot.

billie’s mouth drops open in awe, a laugh escaping her. “oh,” she says, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to process what just happened. “so you’ve clearly done this before.”

you glance at her, a smirk tugging at your lips as you shrug casually. “i told you i was gonna win. all them summers working at the country clubs are finally paying off.”

her gaze softens as she looks at you, something between admiration and amusement twinkling in her eyes. “you’re a showoff, you know that?”

“maybe,” you reply with a wink. “but you love it.”

when the game winds down and the competitive fire starts to fade, the two of you pack up the equipment and make your way back to the car. hand in hand, you walk in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night around you soft and distant. the car sits idly in the driveway, the engine’s hum now silenced, but neither of you makes a move to get out just yet.

the warmth of the evening clings to you both—the laughter, the touches, the shared moments. you lean into one another, heads resting against the soft leather of the car seats, letting the night wash over you. the radio hums low in the background, filling the quiet space between breaths, the soft melody a perfect contrast to the silence surrounding you.

billie traces lazy circles on your knee, her fingers moving with an absent rhythm as she speaks in a softer tone, her voice barely louder than the hum of the radio.

“i just can’t believe…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she drops her head against your shoulder, pressing a soft smooch against the exposed skin of your neck. you feel the warmth of her breath, the weight of her presence, before she continues, her voice playful but with an edge of disbelief. “i got hustled on valentine’s day.”

you chuckle softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “i told you that i would beat you, did i not?”

“you did, you did.” her body shakes with laughter, the sound rich and deep, filling the car with warmth. the vibrations of her amusement carry through her body, against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. she tilts her head slightly, looking up at you with that familiar glint in her eyes. “did you have fun?” she asks, her voice soft, almost tender, as if she already knows the answer.

you glance at her, caught in the way the streetlights reflect in her eyes, the way the soft curve of her lips pulls at your heart. something about this moment, about her, feels like it’s suspended in time.

“yeah,” you murmur, leaning into her, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. “i really did. thank you.”

you shift slightly, turning towards her. your hands find her face, cupping it gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. you tilt her chin upward with your fingers, and she meets your gaze, her lashes fluttering slightly as if she’s still processing the moment. you don’t rush it. you take your time, breathing her in, feeling the weight of her in your arms. you brush your nose against hers, the tip of your lips grazing her skin, before closing the space between you.

when your lips meet hers, the kiss is slow, tender—a stark contrast to the fiery ones you shared earlier in the night. it lingers, soft and sweet, and when you pull back, your hand still rests gently on her jaw, your breath mingling with hers. your eyes trace over her face, soaking in the small details—the way the moonlight dances across her freckled skin, the cool acrylic of your nails making contact with her soft skin beneath her eyes. her blue eyes meet yours through thick lashes, steady and knowing.

you push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, admiring the vibrant red gradient in her hair. the soft, colorful streaks stand out against the dim light, adding to the allure of the moment. “my pretty lady,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your words falling into the quiet void of the night.

billie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her eyes soft and full of affection. her hand drifts to the side of your neck, cupping it gently. she pulls you closer, bringing your lips back to hers in a kiss that’s even more lingering, more desperate this time. her fingers tighten slightly around your neck as she murmurs, “c’mere.”

her voice is soft, but the way she tugs you forward, the way her fingers press against your skin—there’s no hesitation in her touch. no second-guessing.

you shift your body, moving onto your knees and climbing over the center console, settling yourself into her lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before. the familiarity of her body beneath yours feels like home. billie tilts her head back, her eyes heavy with desire, and she looks up at you, her hands already smoothing over your hips, guiding you closer.

you lean down again, kissing her once more. this time, it’s deeper, slower. no rush. just the two of you, lost in the quiet space of the night, in the warmth of each other. her fingers trace over your body as the kiss deepens, and everything else—the world outside, the night, the distractions—fades away, leaving only the feeling of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the rhythm of your hearts beating together.

billie’s fingers slip under the hem of your dress, tracing slow, teasing patterns along your hips, the light touch sending electric shivers up your spine. her lips move against yours with a quiet urgency, each kiss deepening, pulling you closer into her orbit. the taste of her—of warmth, of something sweet and just a little dangerous—lingers on your tongue. she sighs softly as your hand slides into her hair, your nails grazing her scalp just enough to make her shiver beneath your touch.

the moment stretches, pulling you both deeper into it, a world of soft breaths and whispered sighs until you finally break apart, just enough to catch your breath. the air between you feels thick, charged with something both tender and intoxicating.

and then you notice it.

a faint tint of your lip gloss smudged against billie’s mouth, glistening faintly under the dim light, a soft shimmer against the dark of the night. you blink, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. then, you let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but playful.

she frowns slightly, brows knitting together in mock confusion. “what?”

you swipe a thumb over the corner of her lips, smirking as you catch the gloss. “you got a little something there.”

billie blinks, feigning confusion, her eyes wide as if she’s innocent in all of this. “huh. weird.”

you tilt your head, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin. “oh my god, were you kissing a girl?”

billie gasps, her eyes widening in mock horror, hands rising to her face as if she’s genuinely scandalized. “what? no, ew. i would never. didn’t even know you could kiss a girl.”

you narrow your eyes playfully, dabbing at the smudge again with your thumb, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “mhm. sure. then where’d this lip gloss come from?”

her lips twitch, fighting the urge to smirk. she tilts her head slightly, the glint of mischief in her eyes as she leans closer. “i don’t know, maybe i just like the taste.”

you snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “i knew you liked wearing my lip gloss. every time i put a new coat on, you’re there to take it off.”

billie hums in amusement, letting her hands slide lower over your thighs, her touch warm and possessive as she pulls you closer. “i only like it when it tastes like you.”

her fingers tighten slightly around your hips, pulling you just a little closer as her breath warms the space between you. she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, “what flavor is this, anyways, hm?”

you barely get the word—cherry—out before she’s leaning back in, her lips pressing to yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and all-encompassing. she tastes the answer for herself, her mouth devouring yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race.

billie’s lips are warm and insistent against yours, a steady rhythm pulsing between you. her hands are firm on your hips, guiding you closer as she presses you down against her lap. it’s like she can’t get enough, pulling you closer still, urging your bodies to align. the teasing, playful pace from earlier has shifted into something heavier now, something more desperate, more urgent. a charge fills the air, and you know there’s no turning back from this.

her hands move with purpose, effortlessly sliding your jacket off and tossing it into the passenger seat. she crawls back up, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, tracing the sensitive curve of your spine as she leans in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw. your breath hitches, and you tip your head to the side, exposing more of your neck as she continues her slow descent, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

billie hums softly against you, the sound vibrating against your skin, before her tongue flicks out, teasing before she sucks gently at the spot. her teeth graze your skin lightly, just enough to send a jolt of heat through you. the sting is subtle but enough to make you shudder, and she feels it, her grin widening as she pulls back slightly, knowing she’s marked you.

you hesitate for only a moment, fingers fumbling at the buttons of her black shirt, your freshly done acrylics not quite cooperating. you huff, frustration creeping in as you try again, but each button seems to taunt you, stubborn and unyielding.

billie notices the shift, the slight furrow of your brows, the barely-there frustration in your movements. she chuckles softly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your throat as she murmurs, “i’ll let you rip off my shirt,” her voice low, almost playful. “if you let me rip off your stockings.”

you immediately shake your head, a small, defiant smirk tugging at your lips. “hell no.”

her teeth graze your collarbone, a teasing bite that sends a shiver down your spine. “why not?” she asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

“because i like these stockings,” you argue, fingers still fumbling at her shirt. “you’ll ruin them.”

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk only deepening. “you’re literally about to ruin my shirt.”

her hands slide lower, smoothing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, and your resolve weakens. you bite your lip, still determined to win this little battle, but the buttons refuse to cooperate. billie watches you for a moment longer, her breath warm against your skin, before she lets out a soft laugh.

“just rip it, baby,” she whispers, her voice slipping into something softer, something more inviting. it’s a command wrapped in honeyed sweetness.

you glance at her, lips parted, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you finally give in. gripping the fabric of her shirt in your fists, you yank, feeling the fabric tear free with a satisfying rip. the buttons scatter across the floor of the car, a soft clatter lost beneath the hum of the engine. her shirt falls open, revealing the lacy red bra beneath, the smoothness of her skin glowing under the dim light.

billie groans, a low sound that sends another wave of heat rushing through you. her smirk widens as she takes in the moment, teasing, “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

you exhale, half amused, half breathless. “you’re ridiculous.”

she hums, hands sliding back up your thighs, fingertips brushing the tops of your stockings with a deliberate slowness. “mmm. and you still have these on,” she says, her voice soft with amusement.

you barely have time to react before her fingers hook under the thin material of your stockings, pulling with a sudden, almost greedy force. they rip apart with a sharp sound, fabric tearing easily, and you’re left breathless at the sound of it echoing between you.

“billie—” you gasp, your words cutting off as she grins at you, the heat in her eyes unmistakable.

she leans in, kissing you again, her hands gripping your bare thighs now, her touch firm and possessive as she pulls you closer, pressing you flush against her. she’s got you exactly where she wants you, and in that moment, you realize she always has.

the car feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you two shrinking with each touch. billie’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, your back—and it only takes a slight shift for her to pull you closer. her lips find your neck with a hunger that leaves you breathless, pressing kisses along your pulse, each one lingering, tasting, claiming you. you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours, the way her chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm syncing with the soft hum of the car, vibrating the air between you two.

billie’s lips tease your skin in that slow, deliberate way she knows drives you crazy. she finds a tender spot along your collarbone, sucking gently, and you can’t help but gasp. your hands slide into her hair, fingers gripping the strands as you pull her closer, your body melting into her touch, giving in to the way she makes you feel.

you want to tear away every last bit of space between you, want to feel every inch of her pressed against you, but there’s something intoxicating about how she keeps you on the edge, never letting you get too comfortable, too settled.

billie’s fingers trail over your bare thighs, skimming dangerously close to the places you crave her touch, but always pulling away before you can get the release you want. your hips shift, grinding ever so slightly against hers, the movement subtle but enough to make her gasp, her lips parting against your mouth as she leans into you.

“billie,” you murmur, voice strained, thick with desire.

she smiles against your skin, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at her lips, before pressing another soft kiss to your pulse. “i know. i know,” she breathes, her voice low, full of that dangerous teasing she knows you can’t resist.

your hands run over the half-ruined buttons of her shirt, the black fabric hanging off her shoulders, and your fingers graze the warmth of her skin underneath. billie shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your nails lightly scrape down her chest, sending a shiver of her own through you.

restlessly, you shift in her lap, pressing your hips against hers again. the friction makes your breath catch, your body aching for more, and billie groans, her hands sliding down to your back, trying to pull you even closer, her grip tightening around you.

“baby,” you breathe, nails dragging lightly across her chest. “we’re still in the car…”

she laughs softly, the sound rich and low as her lips brush over yours, pulling you closer still. “i know,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “but we’re already here, and you’ve been driving me wild all night. i want you, so bad, babe.”

a beat passes, the tension building between you two. you glance at her, debating whether you really wanted to do this outside, but the temptation is too strong, and you can’t resist any longer.

“fuck it,” you say with a smirk, pulling away slightly. “get in the back.”

you climb off her and crawl into the back seat, billie following you, her movements fluid, eager. she climbs on top of you as soon as she’s in, her lips crashing against yours with a renewed hunger, a fire that’s impossible to put out now. the world outside doesn’t matter anymore—only this, only her, and only the eternal burning need that’s been building between you two since the moment you met.

“you look so pretty laid out for me,” billie murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she leans back in to catch your lips in a searing kiss.

the movements are slow at first, deliberate, like neither of you want to rush, to break the fragile moment. but the tension is undeniable, building with every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath shared between you two.

she’s intoxicating, her lips leaving fiery trails along your neck, her hands roaming over every inch of skin they can reach. each caress feels like it burns, leaving you desperate for more. and you… you’re lost in it, every brush of her fingertips sending jolts of electricity through your veins, something wild and uncontainable awakening inside you.

the heat of the car presses in on you, the soft hum of the radio playing a low, almost forgotten tune, the scent of billie’s perfume mingling with the natural, heady mix of your bodies—it all swirls together into a dizzying, intoxicating fog, until all you can focus on is the way her body fits so perfectly against yours, the way she makes you feel like you’re being consumed, like you’re everything to her in this moment.

her fingers trail up your sides, grazing the sensitive skin of your breasts, and you shiver under her touch, your body aching to get closer, to feel all of her pressed up against you. the heat in your chest swells, that ache becoming almost unbearable.

you can’t take it anymore. your hands find the fabric of her shirt, fingers tugging at it, desperate to get it off, to feel her skin against yours. but billie’s already one step ahead, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, her fingers finding their way to the waistband of your underwear. the feeling of her pressing against your skin has you gasping, your hips bucking instinctively, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you.

“billie,” you breathe, eyes locked on hers, your voice trembling with need.

she looks down at you, eyes dark with hunger, her lips curling into a grin. “gonna make you feel so good, mama,” she promises, her voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

you nod without hesitation, your breath catching in your throat as your heart races in time with the pulse between you.

with that, billie’s hands slide up to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, revealing the soft skin of your breasts beneath. she kisses her way down your neck again, her lips moving with purpose, each kiss leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you gasp, unable to focus on anything but the way her mouth worships your skin, the way she makes you feel like you’re the center of her universe.

you can barely keep up, barely focus as her hands move expertly, slipping the dress further down your body, inch by inch, until it pools at your waist. billie pauses for a beat, her hands resting on your bare thighs, and she looks up at you with a grin that sets your pulse racing, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“god, you’re perfect,” she breathes, her voice raw, full of desire as she continues to trace soft patterns on your skin.

you bite your lip, a mix of excitement and need building inside you, ready for whatever she’s about to do next.

before you can respond, billie’s lips are back on yours, kissing you with a hunger that feels almost desperate, as if she can’t get enough of you. her hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of exposed skin, making you shiver with the intensity of her touch, the contrast between the warmth of her skin and the coolness of the car’s air intensifying the need coursing through you.

billie’s fingers trail slow, lazy circles over your thighs, her touch featherlight, teasing, like she’s savoring every second. the dress is bunched around your waist now, exposing more of you to the cool air, but the warmth of her hands keeps you grounded, keeps you tethered to the moment. you shiver beneath her touch, anticipation humming in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending on fire, alive with the promise of what’s to come.

your hands move quickly, eager, tugging at the last of her clothes. you want to feel all of her, need her as much as she needs you. as soon as her shirt is off, her skin exposed to you, she slides her hands to the band of your underwear, her fingers tracing the wine-colored elastic before she moves lower, teasing your pussy through the fabric, sending waves of heat rushing through you.

her touch is maddening, and it elicits a gasp from you, your hips rising instinctively as you try to rub against her fingers, desperate for more.

“billie, please,” you breathe, voice strained with need, the word a plea, a quiet demand for more, for her to finally give you what you’ve been aching for.

she leans back slightly, her eyes flickering over you with a predatory gleam, lips curling into that smug, knowing smirk she wears whenever she knows she has you exactly where she wants you. her hands slide lower, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, grazing over the fabric that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t push any further—just lets her knuckles skim over you, her touch barely there, a slow, teasing build that has you aching with need.

you whine softly, shifting against her lap, trying to press closer, but billie tightens her grip just enough to hold you in place. “patience, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and dripping with amusement, each word a promise that makes your chest tighten. “i’m taking my time with you.”

her lips find your inner thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive skin. the warmth of her mouth sends a shiver through you, a tremor that runs deep, and you exhale shakily, fingers gripping her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. billie hums at your reaction, pleased, and kisses you again—this time, her lips linger, her tongue flicking out ever so slightly against your skin.

you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back against the cool leather seat, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “baby…” you breathe, the word thick with the need she’s ignited in you.

“hm?” she muses, feigning innocence, before pressing another kiss a little higher, her thumb brushing teasingly over your panties. the wet patch grows beneath her touch, your breath hitching with the frustration of wanting her to go further, her fingers never quite where you need them. her teasing is maddening, and it’s almost too much, yet somehow, it makes you crave her more.

she continues like this, slow and deliberate, working her way up your skin with open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at certain spots, her teeth grazing over the tender flesh just enough to make your breath catch. each movement is calculated, like she’s drawing you into a pattern of her design. when she pulls back to admire her work, a dark mark blooms against your warm skin, and you realize she’s left her mark on you—not just physically, but mentally, too.

a pleased hum vibrates against your thigh as she starts again, her lips mapping out a pattern you can’t quite understand yet. your body twitches under her touch, a restless energy coursing through you, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but she huffs a laugh and nudges them apart again with ease, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as she does.

“don’t be shy now,” she teases, her breath hot against your skin, fingers inching closer to where you need her most. “you were just begging for my fingers a second ago.”

you shoot her a glare, but it melts into a shuddering sigh when she presses another firm kiss against the inside of your thigh, sucking just enough to make the sensation linger, leaving a burning heat in its wake.

she’s careful with it—meticulous, almost—as if she’s an artist, and you’re her canvas. every kiss, every mark she leaves, is deliberate, calculated. you barely notice at first, lost in the sensation of her lips on your skin, each touch pulling you deeper into a haze of want, but then she pulls back slightly, running her fingers over the fresh bruises she’s left with a satisfied smirk, her eyes dark with desire.

“there,” she murmurs, her voice low and breathy, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a quiet challenge in her gaze. “a little love note, just for you.”

your chest still rises and falls in uneven breaths, and your stomach flips at the sight—small, darkened spots forming an unmistakable shape. a heart. billie had kissed a heart into your thigh, the skin bruised with passion, marked by her deliberate touch. you can almost feel the heat of her lips lingering there, the soft press of her mouth still tangible against your skin.

your heart stutters in your chest as you look at her, something warm and fond flickering beneath the haze of desire that clouds your mind. it’s impossible to ignore the way she makes you feel—alive, adored, cherished. she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her thumb brushing lazily over the top of your underwear, still teasing but softer now, gentler, almost playful in the way she traces patterns over you.

“you like it?” she asks, her voice dripping with a knowingness that only adds to the fire in your veins.

you bite your lip, your hand coming up to run through her soft hair, the strands slipping through your fingers like silk. “yeah,” you murmur, your voice hoarse with the weight of your feelings. “you’re ridiculous.”

billie laughs, the sound light and melodic, but there’s a tenderness to it, an affection that tugs at something deep inside you. she presses a final kiss to the center of the heart she’s left on your thigh, her lips soft but lingering, marking you with something that feels like ownership, like love. “only for you, baby,” she says, her words a promise, a whisper just for you.

she pulls herself back up, lips brushing against yours, and you kiss her slow, deep—tasting her like you need her to breathe. your hands tangle in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, as you lose yourself in the warmth of her body against yours. the heat of her touch, the press of her chest against yours, is enough to make your head spin, but it’s the lingering sting of her love bites against your skin that keeps you grounded, reminding you of the way she worships you—takes her time with you—tenderly, patiently.

her fingers trace the edge of your underwear, teasing at the waistband before slipping underneath, slowly peeling the fabric down your thighs. the pace is maddeningly slow, deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second of it. you inhale sharply as the cool air grazes your skin, the shift of temperature making every nerve stand on edge.

a soft smile curls on billie’s lips as her gaze flickers up at you, dark and heavy with desire, before her middle finger traces the line of your slit, gathering the slickness of your arousal.

“mm, you’re so wet, baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick, resting her head against your thigh as she watches you squirm beneath her touch, delighting in your reaction.

you moan softly, hips instinctively lifting, desperate for more. “billie, please… just… fuck,” you whine, your body aching with need. your hand slides down to grasp hers, trying to guide it, but she gently moves your hand away, a teasing glint in her eyes as she watches your frustration grow.

“stop it, just tell me what you want from me mama.” she continues her lazy strokes on your slit as she speaks, her knuckles occasionally brushing against your clit.

“i want your mouth, billie come on, please..”

“see that’s all you had to do. just had to be nice and patient.” she plants another kiss to your inner thigh before removing her fingers from your core. wrapping her slick covered fingers around your thighs, the coldness of her rings contrasting against the warmth of your skin, while moving her face down to where you craved for her the most.

she plants a kiss on your mound right above your clit before moving lower, each smooch slower than the last. her lips move against your flesh in open mouthed kisses, sending fluttering butterflies all throughout your body, before stoping at your dripping hole. darting her tongue out, she licks from there all the way back up to your clit, moaning at the sheer taste of you.

you gasp as her lips press against your cunt, a shiver running through your body. your hands instinctively find their way to her hair, fingers curling around soft strands as she kisses you with slow, deliberate movements. her touch is tender yet full of intent, each kiss a promise of more, but also savoring the moment.

her fingers gently trace the curves of your thighs, the warmth of her hands sending waves of anticipation through you. she takes her time, exploring you with a patience that only intensifies the longing building inside you. every kiss, every gentle press of her lips, feels like it’s drawing you closer to something almost ethereal, the world around you fading as you lose yourself in the sensation.

you feel the weight of her affection in every movement, in every deliberate, lingering touch. the softness of her lips contrasts with the fierceness of the emotions she evokes within you. you cover your face, overwhelmed by the way she’s making you feel—utterly cherished, completely in tune with each other. her presence surrounding you.

“uht-uht,” she murmurs, pulling back slightly, her breath hot against you. she places your arm gently back at your side, her eyes locking with yours. “i need to see you, my love.”

you nod, unable to speak, lost in the intensity of the moment. billie leans forward, her lips leaving soft, lingering kisses against your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. her gaze is steady, her eyes dark with intent, as she watches you closely.

with a delicate touch, she traces the line of your slit, her fingers grazing over your clit, sending waves of warmth and desire in their wake. her movements are slow, almost reverent, while she slides her tongue in your soaked cunt, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. each kiss, each touch, each caress, makes you feel as though time has stopped, and it’s just the two of you, locked in this tender, intimate connection.

you can’t help but moan softly as she continues, your body responding to the feeling of her tongue filling up your spongy walls, every nerve awake and alive. your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your legs clench shut around her head as you arch into her touch instinctively. billie moves her fingers from around your thigh and over to your stomach, pressing down against the pressure that’s built up in your tummy and that’s enough to make you snap. her lips curling up into a soft smile as she watches you unravel beneath her, her hands gently massaging your thighs, grounding you.

when she pulls away, you lean up slightly, watching her, your eyes searching for her every movement. you can feel the lingering warmth of her touch, and the space between you seems to throb with a quiet intensity, each second stretching longer, pulling you deeper into the moment.

leaning on your elbows, you study billie, captivated by the way she savors every drop of you, her movements slow and deliberate. she’s taking her time, and you can’t help but marvel at the tenderness with which she handles you, as if she’s savoring a rare treasure. her fingers graze your thighs, soothing you in the aftermath, the cool air brushing over your skin contrasting with the warmth of her touch.

“you’ve got a little something on your face,” you murmur teasingly, your voice soft and still shaky from the intensity that’s passed between you. your chest rises and falls in rhythm, trying to catch its breath, the air thick with the memory of her.

billie’s eyes twinkle with a playful glint, her lips curling into a smile that promises more. “oh, do i?” she replies, voice smooth, teasing. the faint traces of you on her skin glimmer softly beneath the streetlights, each speck a reminder of the connection that’s left its mark on both of you. she leans in, her breath warm against your lips, and plants a kiss that’s gentle at first, but deepens as her tongue dances with yours, lingering just long enough for you to feel the passion she still holds for you, every movement deliberate and drawn out.

breaking away with a soft sigh, you reach down, fingers brushing the cool floor as you retrieve her torn black shirt. the fabric still holds the heat of the night, the memory of everything you just shared, and with a playful smile, you bring it to her face, wiping away the traces of your cum off her chin. billie’s laughter bubbles up, soft and content, mingling with the quiet hum of the night air. she nestles into your chest, her head resting against you as her fingers lazily trace patterns along your hip. each touch is soothing, almost reverent, as though she wants to savor every moment, every last bit of you.

“you always get me so messy,” she murmurs with a teasing smile, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. you can feel the warmth of her breath, the sweet weight of her words hanging between you two. her fingers continue their gentle path, her touch warm against your bare skin.

“well, you’re not exactly innocent in all this, billie,” you reply with a smile, still catching your breath. the air between you is thick with affection, soft and gentle, the aftermath of everything you’ve shared unfolding around you in the stillness. the quiet of the night feels like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a peaceful, contented embrace.

billie grins at you, her gaze catching the dim light of the room. “true,” she says, her voice playful yet soft. “but now i have to clean it up.”

you laugh, the sound light and carefree, the weight of the moment easing into something warm and familiar. the two of you begin to gather your clothes, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the night didn’t have to end. the warmth between you both lingers even as you pull your jackets on, the fabric settling over your shoulders like a soft blanket.

the quiet hum of the world outside seems too peaceful, too perfect, as you both step out of the car, your hands intertwining as you walk toward the front door of your home.

the house is dark and quiet when you enter, the warmth inside wrapping around you both as you kick off your shoes, your jackets still draped over your arms. the night feels like it’s been stretched out in the best way, the both of you in sync as you move through the space.

you both pause in the hallway, your eyes meeting for a brief moment that holds more than just a glance. a slow, lingering kiss follows—gentle, soft, yet carrying the weight of everything you’ve shared tonight.

“happy valentine’s day,” billie whispers against your lips, her voice tender as she pulls away just enough to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

you smile back, warmth flooding your chest, knowing that this night, this moment, was exactly what you both needed. “yeah. happy valentine’s day indeed. it’s been nothing short of perfect,” you whisper, your arms wrapping around her as you hold her close.

and with that, the night continues on, the soft hum of the house surrounding you both as you settle into the quiet comfort of each other’s company. the world may continue outside, but in this space, with billie in your arms, you know that no moment could be more perfect than this one.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs @thefeverburningalive @st0nerlesb0 @blohshlover11 ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x black girl #billie eilish x black reader #billie eilish x y/n

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mischievousmoony · 2 days ago

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𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ as president of a fraternity, your boyfriend has pledges at his beck and call. so naturally, he tasks them with handing you valentines roses throughout the day ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, american!james (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It starts with a knock at your door early in the morning. You let your roommate answer it while you continue to enjoy your yogurt and granola at the kitchen counter. You don't think anything of the hushed whispers between your roommate and the visitor until she swings the door wide open, revealing a stranger in a suit and tie.

He's looking right at you, holding out a single red rose in your direction. "M'lady," he says simply.

You hesitantly slide off your stool, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shuffle forward in your fuzzy slippers.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the rose. Just as soon as you do, the boy scurries away.

Your roommate shuts the door as you stand idly by, twirling the flower between your fingertips. "Weird. I wonder what that was about," she muses, but you have an inkling. This has your boyfriend written all over it.

The next well-dressed mystery man finds you in line at your favorite cafe on campus.

He hands you the rose with a slight bow, the same practiced "M'lady" you've heard before, then turns on his heel and walks away without another word.

When one of them shows up in your lecture hall, you sort of want to die on the spot. The sight of a man in a suit at ten in the morning catches almost everyone's attention. Their eyes follow him as he makes his way across the large room and down your row, finally dropping the rose on the desk in front of you with a bow of his head and the familiar greeting.

By lunchtime, you’ve collected a dozen roses. But apparently, that was just the warm-up.

In the dining hall, they come in an endless stream, one after another, only minutes apart. They come while you wait in line to order. While your food is being made. The entire time you eat. Each boy, a stranger. Each one handing you a rose with the same solemn "M'lady" before disappearing.

You try to ask what’s going on, but they never answer. Just a nod, a rose, and then they’re gone.

"Sirius," you huff, placing the bundle of flowers on the desk you share with him in your next class. "What is this?"

If the flower delivery boys won't tell you, you hope your boyfriend's best friend might be kind enough to give you some insight.

Sirius snickers as he plucks up one of the roses, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent with exaggerated appreciation.

"What pretty flowers you have. Where ever did you get them?" he teases, clearly finding enjoyment in your situation.

"Come on," you complain, swiping the rose from his hands and neatly setting it back with the others.

He chuckles, finding it sweet that you're so careful with the flowers even as you mock annoyance. "What do you think? It's Valentine's Day. Does he need another excuse to shower you with flowers?"

You chew your lip to hide your grin. "They're pledges, aren't they?" you ask, even though you're pretty sure you know the answer.

"Who else would they be?"

By the end of the day, you have an armful of roses. You had to grab a brown paper bag from one of the dining halls just to carry them all, and the flowers are packed in so tightly that the bag barely contains them, the petals peeking over the top and spilling over the edges.

Much to your dismay, a handful of the roses have shed a few petals due to the less than ideal setup. With a determined stride, you make your way to your car, intent on getting the delicate gifts home and into water.

As you near your car, you notice someone leaning against it. He looks just like the others, dressed just as formally as the rest—except this time, there’s a bouquet of flowers in his arm instead of a single rose. And, of course, you recognize him by the back of his head.

You press the button on your key fob, unlocking the car with a beep. James flinches slightly at the sound, then turns quickly—his eyes searching until they find yours. The moment he sees you, his expression softens, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, baby," James says, his voice warm with affection.

"James," you greet back with a sparkling smile to match his own.

He holds his arms open for you, and after setting the grocery bag of flowers on the hood of your car, you happily step into his embrace.

"Happy Valentines Day," he murmurs into your hair.

You return the sentiment, giggling as you lean back from the hug to see his face, keeping your arms around him. "It was certainly and interesting one."

"You didn't like my flowers?" he teases. The wind picks up, sending a loose strand of hair into your face, and he gently lifts one of his hands from your waist to tuck it behind your ear. His touch lingers, his hand settling on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"I love them," you say, your voice earnest as you instinctively lean into his touch. "Though I will admit it was a little embarrassing when one of them came into my lecture hall."

"What? When? They were supposed to catch you before you went into any of your classes." James pouts slightly. Even if you are just teasing, he didn't mean to embarrass you with his stunt.

"It's okay." You lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips, an effort to smooth the pout from his face. "I don't want to tattle on any of the pledges."

A quick peck isn’t enough for James, as evidenced by the way he pulls you back in almost immediately, pressing his lips to yours for a real kiss. It's gentle at first, but James can never get enough of you. His arm tightens around you as he deepens the kiss, the cellophane wrapped bouquet in his hand crinkling behind your back.

"Don't crush my flowers," you mumble against his lips. "I only have so many."

James pulls away, a laugh escaping him. "So, you liked them? All the flowers?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability as he asks for reassurance.

"I really love them," you promise. "Although, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of them."

"We'll find a vase for most of them." James smirks, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he continues, "As for the rest... I'm picturing candles and a bed covered in rose petals."

"Oh, are you?" you tease, leaning back in and brushing your lips against his. "I think that can be arranged," you murmur, before locking your lips together again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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harmoonix · 2 days ago

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I wait for your love ♡

~ Valentines Edition 🤍 ~

Channeling Song:♡♡♡♡

Note for everyone reading this: I love that the Valentines happened to be on a Friday because it is the day of Venus. I hope that you celebrate the day of love even if you are single, because im sure you are loved beyond measure. 💗 by me, harmoonix ♡. Have a lovely reading.

- Venus aspecting the MC can indicate the love relationship being supported by many people. Having the relationship everyone likes and getting cool with it

- Earth Risings can possess a beautiful body. Their body might be beautiful naturally and that's what makes them special

- Libra Sun, Moon or Rising have a tendency to care too much for people. Sometimes going into extremes and getting hurt in the end

- Ariana Grande has Chiron in her 8th house of Leo, she craves attention from people who happens sometimes to be taken, she has to heal her trauma related to painful relationships

- Cancer Moons can crave lots of satisfaction in their relationships if they don't get it, these natives may end up feeling depressed

- Cancer Risings age beautifully as well. The moon ruling their 1st house helps by keeping their skin so good!! Angelina Jolie is also a good example

- Libra Mars or Mars at 7° 19° can feel trapped in relationships with people who don't share the same values as them

- 1° 13° 25° on Venus can indicate being new-ish with the relationships, you like to have long and passionate relationships and you may not date as many people as others

- 10° 22° degrees on ascendant can put a dark energy on you. Dark doesn't have to be bad. You just intimidate others

- Your Venus sign can also indicate how you feel about your ex after ending a relationship. Do you remain friends? or do you break the contact forever?

- Gemini Risings are always on point about making everyone feel comfortable around them. Lady Gaga for example.

- 8° 20° degrees on Moon are obsessed with physical touch. Some of them can be touched deprived which aligns with the sensitivity of their souls

- MC aspecting Mars can involve lots of drama and competition in their careers and throughout their public image.

- Mars or Saturn in the 10th house are the perfect example for 'Fighting to achieve what you want' because you know you deserve it

- Sun in the 3rd house placement to create lifetime relationships can be with everyone since Sun is social in this house. You get along so well with people

- Jupiter aspecting Moon (especially in good aspects) shares so much kindness with the people. They can see the goodness in people

- Jupiter at 5° 17° 29° degrees can present beautiful face features such as eyes, lips, and noseshape. You can complete everything with wearing jewels

- Jupiter at 2° 14° 26° degrees cna present beautiful hair and voice. They can be gifted with finding a good job/being wealthy

- Jupiter at 11° 23°/7° 19° degrees can unite people with their love and humanitarian soul. They are gifted with generosity at heart

- Moon x Pluto aspects represent the 'I can't get you out of my head' line. They're unforgettable at their core

- Leo Placements especially Risings/Sun i think they are favored by others without any effort. Is just their energy and people love them for who they are

- Venus or Moon in the 3rd house can be incredibly close with their siblings (if they have). Sharing a beautiful bond with your family members

- 12th house placements, especially Sun/Moon/Mercury , have a powerful subconscious, so powerful that it tends to get stuck sometimes and to forget about their feelings

- Moon in the 4th, 7th, 9th, 11th houses 》 'Home is not where you go. Home is the people you have around you'

- Neptune in the 12th, 1st, or 8th house are addictive people. You become addicted to them or they to you

- 6° 18°/12° 24° degrees on ascendant 》 being more open-minded, don't criticize yourself too much. Don't fall for others' delusions

- If you meet people who have 8th house placements, they can change your life, or your life will be changed after meeting them. Can it happen if Saturn/Pluto/Moon are involved

Happy Valentines Day 💗💗💗

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elodieunderglass · 2 days ago

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Your jockeyposting has enthralled me (certified non-horse girl) and made me curious—how much familiarity do jockeys have with the horses they’re riding? Is it normal for a given horse to have a Long Term Jockey or are the jockeys like. Called up a week before and asked to race a horse they’ve never met? (& interested to hear any Killy lore related to this)

Thank you so much! (In reference to Killie the jockey OC and random posting about horse racing more generally.)

In general, racehorses never have a long-term or even a repeat jockey, and vice-versa! Jockeys usually aren’t familiar with the horses at all.

There are three main situations where they might be, though; if they’re retained, if they’re nepo babies generational and have a trainer in the family, or if they’re amateurs having fun. So with apologies for making a really long post, I’ve structured this as a writing reference.

Retained Jockeys

Killie’s a retained jockey for a stable (very unusual - not many jockeys are good enough, and not many stables have the resource to employ one) and he and Thunder share an especially eccentric owner who likes to watch them paired up.

And hey, if we were unbelievably ultra-rich people with no moral compass, “putting Killie and Thunder in a jar and shaking them together, briskly, to see what happens” would be a fairly legitimate hobby.

I’m not an expert or personally involved in the industry, so if you were thinking of doing some writing in the setting yourself, a starting point for a retained jockey’s life is this “day in the life” video, of champion flat jockey William Buick, TW for discussion of weight.

youtube

Generational

Jockeys may handle horses as family businesses. In real life, “racing dynasties” are influential. A very lucky jockey, retiring in middle age with piles of winnings, often wishes to become a trainer; especially prosperous ones buy a stable operation, move in their family, use their reputation and connections to get owners to send them horses, and start chucking their own children on the horses as a source of labour. The children grow up, stick around home, and naturally keep getting chucked on horses for their day job. Next thing you know, you have a lot of grandkids and horses around the place, so you might as well keep going with it. Everyone pretty much lives at Grandad’s stable together, and then you get cousins scuffling on the day job like this:

That’s how Killie grew up, as the result of several generations of jockeys becoming trainers producing jockeys. but moving to a retained post was both a) the only logical move if it’s offered, and b) an escape from his parents, who are astonishingly awful. and if you are that kind of nepo baby, like Killie, it makes so much sense to flee the country (move to the uk and constantly pretend you’ve just dropped your phone in a horse’s water bucket, glubglubglub, BYE MA.)

Press “keep reading” for the amateurs and then what everyone else is doing.

Generational steeplechase jockey Jonjo O’Neill Jr does a day in his life here. he knows the horses and is doing admin, management and stable work … at his family’s massive operation.

youtube

Amateurs

Finally, in the UK, you can ride as an amateur jockey - usually in types of lowkey local steeplechases, like “point to point” - and basically anyone can do this. horse racing is fun, but you need a license to do it with other people, and the license remains incompatible with owning a registered racehorse. So technically your best friend could share a horse with you, in all but paperwork, and they could be the trainer and you could be the amateur jockey, and you could wrangle your way into actual races with a horse that you knew. It wouldn’t work very well as a day job (the horse would only race like 2x a month, netting you like £300 a month out of your friend’s pocket, plus the absurd costs of transporting/entering everyone) but if you were writing a crazy story in which some good friends and their pet racehorse decide to make it rich, that’s how you could do it.

Everyone else

Everyone else (including generational jockeys whose grandfathers didn’t have the foresight to establish a proper dynasty) just scrabbles around.

Most races aren’t high-stakes! There are a lot of basic boring races every day. (though, if you ask jockeys, there is apparently never quite enough work.)

horses might live at the stable of their owner but more commonly their trainer (some owners are both).

Jockeys cannot own racehorses themselves.

In the UK racecourses are randomly scattered around the country, usually hours away from each other. They all usually have several races every day.

Jockeys in the UK are paid £157.90 for Flat jockeys and £214.63 for jumps riders per race. They get this flat rate for everyone, whether they’re experienced or not! Their expenses are fairly high, and as freelancers they have to cover them all. The real attraction pay-wise is that they get a “cut of the purse” (percentage of prize money) if they win first, second or third place in a race. It’s a small percentage that they have to share with their agent, but there are sometimes some super-big stakes, where you can earn your year’s wages all at once.

Of course, you need to be piloting a pretty good horse in a high-stakes race to have a shot at that.

jockeys are a rare professional athlete that work every day, and they want (but are never guaranteed to get) a few rides every day. This usually means travelling across the UK constantly every day.

Racehorses usually only race once a week or less. They definitely don’t “work” as often! Their schedules rarely match up to jockeys. Driving them around the place is also a huge pain.

Jockeys live all over, and most of them are known to spend several times more hours driving between jobs than they ever spend sitting on horses. They get up very early each day, often “riding out” (doing early morning horse exercise) for trainers before hitting the road, often driving for several hours between races. This has been flagged in many sports medicine papers as one of their many wellbeing risks.

At any rate, with hundreds of jockeys travelling randomly around the country, getting injured and suspended and with stats fluctuating constantly, trainers work through agents to book jockeys - often not getting the one they want.

There are also considerations like trainer suddenly deciding they want to get a different (better) rider instead, leading to the one they booked getting “jocked off”.

All of everyone’s stats, from horses to jockeys, are publicly available, and everyone can study them obsessively. Trainers will request jockeys who have attractive stats - that’s not just “winning” stats, but weight/strategy/experience that might match the horse (+ terrain + conditions, etc). In their turn, jockeys with better options may turn down an offer of a horse with terrible form (I.e. a big loser, or a dangerous animal, or one that looks incredibly dodgy in race videos.)

Often trainers try to get the same jockey for their horse, but in all this chaos it’s not always possible, and everyone has to constantly pursue their own best interests.

Particularly winning jockeys and particularly influential trainers may gradually come together in working relationships, and as a horse gradually emerges as a favourite and the stakes rise, you’ll start to see it working more often with the same people. For example, in the Grand National, the jockeys will probably know the horses.

In conclusion, it’s common for the first time the jockey touches the horse to be when they’re thrown on top of it, prior to the race.

They get around this by studying form (race statistics), watching videos of the horse, and of course speaking to the trainer about their desires/instructions/strategy.

OKAY that is the MOST information that I could possibly have given!! I don’t know why I know all this!!! Thanks!!

#jockeyposting 🏇#Killie #I’m not recommending you watch these videos because they’re quite boring and I hate watching videos myself #but I would feel bad if I wasn’t including primary sources when discussing someone else’s day job #also in the William Buick one at 11:45 you get to see him making himself into a popsicle #and the light leaves his eyes which is very amusing #I was also like URGG should I talk about Godolphin or not #and decided this was already too much work but we. GODOLPHIN. they’re untouchable.#they have unlimited resources because royal billionaire. there you go.

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milunalupin · 2 days ago

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❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know… if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”

#nicole's conversation candies #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus x you #remus imagine

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sunrisecaminus · 2 days ago

Note

Hello ! Can I request Optimus or Starscream with a reader who has self-doubt and struggles with validation (maybe work/academic related if thats ok)? (Fluff/comfort)

Message - Ok Optimus wasn't hard, because he is a sweetie pie, but omg Starscream was so funny to write for because I always saw him as the type to think of self-doubt as weak and is not good with comforting. Hopefully this was good enough, but I liked this a lot!

Optimus and Starscream x Reader Headcanons

Summary - Headcanons of human reader being comforted by Optimus and Starscream when they have self-doubts.

Type of Headcanons - Comfort/Fluff

Optimus

~ This man was kind of the same as you in a way and never wanted to let you go through his problems as well.

~ Whenever he gives you something important, he notices a lot when you are nervously telling yourself not to fuck it up…Yeah he is going to work on you.

~ Optimus would tell you a lot that you can work while playing music, which helped him a lot before the war with being an archivist.

~ Now he is embarrassed on spilling his music choices to you, because you have no idea what the Cybertronian music sounds like and might talk to Ratchet later to find out. He will never let you listen to his old favorite music playlist.

~ Optimus will compliment you on your work whenever you are done, which in turn makes you flustered and say "noooooo" a lot. He finds it adorable and when you guys are alone, shower you with kisses and words of affection to hear more of your constant whining.

~ You have no idea why, but being on his shoulders while working on something helps you be more confident. Either the matrix is giving you support, or being on something tall helps you feel like you are on top of the world.

~ He understands your feelings whenever you feel as though you are not good enough for the other Autobots.

~ "You are just as important to the team as everyone else…maybe more."

~ The one thing you both love to do when you are not having a good time with your confidence is to walk around in nature. It doesn't have to be green tree and beautiful skies though, both of you drive to the middle of the desert and walk around. No cities, trees, or people. Just you, the sand, and Optimus taking one slow step at a time because how small you are.

~ You both talk about funny stories, trying to keep your mind off a project you got a low grade on.

~ "Why don't I take you back? You can sleep with me for the night?"

Starscream

~ I am so sorry, but this man is so aggressive with his compliments.

~ He has no idea why you think this way and insults you, making it worse XD

~ "Why do you think such low things about you? What? Is your stupid human brain not working?"

~ After explaining to him why you think those thoughts, that was when he took your problems personally.

~ If you had these thoughts because of a bad childhood, this man would honestly ask where this bad person lives to blow up the house.

~ If you had depression or another mental health issue, he would help by taking you to Knockout and have a fun movie night.

~ If you just wanted to get your mind off of your self doubt, there are two things this man could do.

~ Either he would distract you by talking about his life before the war and what went on.

~ Or he would take you flying. Better get use to the g-force, because he does loops and twists a lot.

~ He would compliment you on your achievements, even if they were small. You could do the laundry for yourself and he would call you his best sweetspark in the universe and congratulate you on finding your strengths.

~ Ok this may seem a bit dark, but he would defend you from Megatron…even if it costs him a wing and an arm. Megs is probably one of the many reasons you feel down.

~ He would love to dance with you from time to time. Turning on elegant music and twirling you around with his fingers.

~ "You are wonderful darling, don't let some useless slag get to you."

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x y/n #transformers x human #optimus prime #optimus x human #optimus x reader #starscream #starscream x reader #starscream x human

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heliosunny · 11 hours ago

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you have written for both hsr and genshin. any plans for zzz? (also anything for yan!alhaitham pls...... NO PRESSURE BTW!!!!)

I played zzz during the time they release Harumasa and stopped after that. My poor phone couldn't handle Genshin either so I stopped at the beginning of Natlan. My poor laptop is holding on for its dear life since I abuse it w Hsr :)))) Maybe I'll watch people play for the story and characters. I don't want to ruin any character and write things without basic knowledge.

Also, here's a short fic for Alhaitham.

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The first letter arrives on a Monday.

You nearly miss it, slipping your textbooks into your bag as the final bell rings. A crisp white envelope sits neatly atop your desk, unmarked except for your name written in precise, elegant handwriting. The paper is thick, too formal for a casual note from a classmate.

Curiosity wins over caution. You unfold the letter, eyes skimming the words written in deep black ink.

You always prefer sitting by the window, even though the sunlight strains your eyes after a while. I wonder—do you realize how often you rub them when you think no one is looking?

You walked to class today with precisely seven minutes to spare, just like always. Routine is something you value, isn't it? It makes you predictable.

You are an anomaly among the ordinary, an equation I find myself drawn to solve. It is only natural for me to observe.

No signature. No indication of who wrote it. But the words feel… meticulous. Too structured to be a prank. Too detailed to be random.

You glance around the now-empty classroom, your pulse picking up speed.

Someone has been watching you.

You clutch the letter tighter, fingers pressing into the fine paper as a chill creeps up your spine. Who would write something like this? And more importantly—how long have they been watching you?

Shoving the letter into your bag, you push your way out of the classroom and down the hall, searching for something, or rather-someone grounding.

Your friends are waiting at your usual spot near the lockers, chatting about the latest test results. Their presence should be comforting, but the words in your bag linger like a shadow at the back of your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” One of them nudges your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lied “Just tired.”

You’re about to forget it—convince yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange prank—when your eyes flicker across the hallway.

There, leaning against the far wall, flipping through a book like he’s indifferent to the world, is Alhaitham.

The school’s resident genius. Top of every class. Speaks as if the rest of you are equations to be solved rather than people.

You and your friends don’t interact with him much. He’s polite, but distant—aloof in a way that keeps most people at bay. It’s not that anyone dislikes him, but there’s something too precise about him, like he only engages when absolutely necessary.

Yet now… you can’t shake the feeling that his presence is off.

Because for someone so absorbed in his book, his gaze lifts at the exact moment you look at him.

And he holds your stare.

It lasts only a second before he turns the page, unreadable as ever.

You shake off the strange feeling and went home right after.

The second letter appears on Wednesday, slipped neatly into your locker between your notebooks.

You hesitated today before stepping into the classroom. As if something was weighing on your mind. I wonder, was it the letter? You can lie to your friends, but not to me.

After all, I know you better than you think.

This isn’t a joke.

The handwriting is the same, as if each word was chosen with purpose. The unsettling detail is there too, the kind that makes your skin prickle.

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. The hallway is full of students, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations, laughter echoing off the walls.

No one looks suspicious. No one is watching.

Still, you don’t mention it to your friends. Not yet. You tell yourself it’ll stop if you ignore it.

The Third Letter - Friday. This time, it’s waiting in your backpack when you reach for your notes.

You’ve stopped looking around as much. You’re trying to pretend this doesn’t bother you. Smart. But pointless. You will notice me soon.

Your hands are clammy as you shove it deep into your bag, heart hammering.

This is escalating.

Someone has been close enough to touch your things. Close enough to slip a letter into your backpack without you noticing.

You force yourself to act normal. Laugh at your friends’ jokes. Keep your routine. But the unease lingers, curling in your stomach.

---

It happens late on a Tuesday afternoon.

You’ve stayed behind to finish some work in the library, your friends already gone for the day. The school is quieter now, the usual buzz of voices replaced with the rustle of pages and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

You reach for a book from the shelf and—

Something slips out.

A letter.

Your breath catches as it flutters to the ground, face-up.

You recognize the handwriting immediately.

Your fingers shake as you pick it up. But before you can even read it, a shadow falls over you.

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you” a calm voice says.

Slowly, you turn.

Alhaitham stands there, hands in his pockets, unreadable as always. But this time, there’s something else in his gaze—something sharper.

It takes a second too long for you to find your voice. “...What?”

His eyes flicker to the letter in your grip. His expression remains impassive, but the air around him feels off.

“I was going to retrieve that later” he says simply, as if discussing the weather. “But I suppose this works too.”

No.

No way.

But the letter in your hands says otherwise. The handwriting. The way it just happened to be inside a book you grabbed.

It’s been him.

This entire time.

Alhaitham watches you carefully, as if calculating your next move.

“Well,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Now what will you do?”

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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angels-read-fanfiction-too · 2 days ago

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Some very quick Eltingville valentines headcannons ^^!

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

Bill Dickey:

He did NOT know it was valentines day

The type of guy to complain about how it was made up by company's to make money or some other joyless crap

If he did get you something, it would probably be simple and related to something you both like so he could borrow it lol

Gets kinda defensive and embarrassed if you try to pull anything lovey dovey on him but if you give him something important to him and something that shows you care about him and his interests, he will be very touched!

After that gift, he isn't very physically affectionate but he does just generally stand and sit much closer to you

Probably brags about whatever you get for him to his friends, rubbing the fact that he has a partner and they don't in their faces

I imagine he gives you some money for you to spend yourself since it was so last minute and didn't want to get you a bad valentines present so just figured this was easier

Pete Dinuzio:

He sets up a little movie night!

He doesn't fully get the appeal of valentines but he knows he's gotta put in some kind of effort

Lots and lots of chocolate and snacks for you two to share! If you can stomach the movie he chooses

He might let you choose the movie this time but only with the promise that he gets to next time

Definitely tried to pull some FREAKY shit...

Just thinks it's natural for couples to do that kind of thing on valentines and that you two should too

I don't know how but i get he still kinda stinks after a shower, i don't know how to describe it but i could never imagine him smelling anything but bad

You can decide if you want that stuff to happen but it will definitely start with a steamy make out session to an insanely gory scene in a disgusting horror movie

Josh Levy:

I can imagine him asking his mum on what clothes he should get you; something simple like a cardigan or a top or some pyjamas

Invites you over and asks his parents to leave (which they don't do) so he's kinda pissy when you get there

You both have some dinner together that his mum made and he probably gets forced to wear something slightly less slobbish. Nothing fancy, just maybe something that doesn't reek and has something other than a geeky reference on it

He still has that dune t-shirt underneath his jumper and immediately gets back into that after dinner

I can imagine Bill as Greedo318 trying to bother him on his night with you since he previously mentioned to the club that he'd be going on a date

It's your choice wether you want to try to talk him out of fighting back against Bill's very clear rage bait but either way, you'll have to calm him down after lolol ^^

He truly appreciates having you around and having someone to truly understand him away from the mocking the club gives him and he tells you that on that night <3

Jerry Stokes:

Also forgot lol ^^

Rushed to the shops on the day to get some flowers but there was only kinda shitty wilted ones so he had to make do

He didn't really clean himself up much but probably did a once over to check if he was looking particularly grimy and did a small wash if he was

He rings your doorbell and gives you the flowers when you answer, happy but also nervous since he almost forgot valentines with his first partner!

"Beedee beedee beedee! Happy Valentines, buck!"

He gives you a kiss on the cheek and comes in to hang out with you

You both do pretty mundane everyday things and it's just very comfortable ^^

You two might do some doodles of your dnd characters kissing or writing a little story about how they could meet lolol!

Probably pretty bad at kissing but he does kiss you so points for confidence!

You two are like always touching in some way through out the night; holding hands, kissing, hugging, sitting right next to each other so your legs are touching etc

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

Sorry this was so short but happy valentines everyone!

#eltingville club x reader #eltingville club jerry #jerry stokes #jerry stokes x reader #jerry stokes x you #the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #bill dickey #bill dickey x reader #bill dickey x you #pete dinunzio #pete dinuzio x reader #pete dinuzio x you #josh levy #josh levy x reader #josh levy x you

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noahthesatanist · 1 day ago

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demonolatry intro

Step One: Get Your Reading Straight

If you want to take this seriously, you must get your hands on some solid books. Not just the surface level crap that everyone regurgitates, but actual texts that present demons as what they are: ancient divine spirits, not edgy, misunderstood villains. Two books you NEED:

The Goetia Devils by Rev. Cain – Forget the old grimoires that call demons “liars” and “deceivers.” This book gives you real insight into their nature their personalities likes and interest and background It’s absolutely required reading. The Goetia Hymns by Rev. Cain – You want to actually call upon demons? Use these. 200 prayers and hymns for everything to all 72 goetic demons it is one of a kind

If you can’t get them, I wouldn’t mind sending info from them because this knowledge deserves to be shared with those who are serious about it. But do not just rely on basic "Google" tier knowledge.

Step Two: Stop Thinking Like a Christian

One of the biggest things that screws people up when they get into demonolatry is that they still carry Christian baggage. I dont mean that in the laveyan way of erm no war happened rather they didnt lose anything they fought and secured freedom, hell is not a prison yahweh and his slaves have no power over hell

Demons are not waiting around for "redemption," they already found salvation they are smart noble beings with their own wants and needs likes and dislikes they are not playing the game of Yahweh’s petty universe. They are the opposition, the divine rebels, the rulers of the Infernal Empire that will ensure hells ultimate victory You are not "selling your soul" (seriously, kill that thought), you are joining a side and that side is about power, knowledge, and liberation from the shackles of the false god.

Step Three: Pick a Few Demons to Start With

You do not need to call all 72 Goetic spirits at once like some overexcited fool. Work with a few to start, and get to know them personally. I can recommend good beginner demons

Step Four: Create a Sacred Space

No, you don’t need a massive ritual room, but at least set up something to dedicate to your work. Even if it’s a small altar in a private place, it helps to create a focal point for your devotion and rituals.

What you can include: A black or dark cloth (symbol of the unknown, the abyss, the infernal realm). Candles (color depends on the demon you are working with). Sigils (drawn or printed out, charged with your intent). Incense (sandalwood, myrrh, or frankincense work well). Offerings (wine, blood, poetry, personal dedication).

And before someone asks no, blood offerings are NOT required, but they are powerful .If you’re not ready for that, stick with incense and dedication first.

Step Five: Start With Meditation, Not Begging

This is where most people fuck up they start demanding favors from demons before even knowing what they’re doing. No. Stop.

Start simple: Sit in front of a sigil. Focus on it until it "moves" or shifts.

Chant the demon’s enn quietly. See what sensations arise.

Write down thoughts, visions, or dreams you experience.

Most people expect some loud, booming voice or shadow figure in their room. No. Demons communicate through impressions, emotions, synchronicities, and deep intuitive knowledge. If you’re not developing those senses, you’ll miss 90% of what they are trying to show you.

Step Six: First Invocation

Once you feel a connection, you can start formal invocations. The best approach is a polite, but firm invitation NOT "commanding" like some delusional Christian grimoires suggest.

Light your candles, incense, and set up your altar space. Draw or place the sigil of the demon. Chant their enn while focusing on their sigil. State your intention clearly and respectfully. Be patient and observe. Demons may communicate through thoughts, emotions, or later dreams and signs. Close the ritual properly. Thank the demon, extinguish candles, and ground yourself.

Step Seven: Keep a Grimoire

If you aren’t writing things down, you’re wasting your time. Period.

Log your meditations. Write down any dreams, symbols, or feelings. Keep track of what works and what doesn’t. Note what offerings and rituals seem to get the strongest results.

Demonolatry is a living practice, not a fixed set of rules. The more you explore, the deeper your understanding will be.

Final Notes: What NOT to Do

🚫 DO NOT command demons. You are here to learn, not to act like some arrogant king. 🚫 DO NOT expect quick results. Demons test your patience, intelligence, and dedication before revealing deeper wisdom. 🚫 DO NOT treat this like a trend. If you’re just here for aesthetics, they will ignore you at best, punish you at worst.

Demonolatry is a lifelong path of study, experience, and revelation. If you’re serious, then welcome aboard. But if you’re just looking for some quick magic trick or spooky aesthetic, you might as well quit now.

#satanism #satanic #theistic satanism #theistic luciferianism #hail satan #lucifer #hail lucifer #luciferian #ave satanas #occult #demonaltry #demon #demonolatry #demonology #goetic demons #luciferianism

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phoenixblaze1412 · 1 day ago

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Hiii love your page sm! Wondering if I could request Dottore with Fem!reader who is like The Herta from HSR? 💜💜

In the cold, clinical corridors of the Akademiya, brilliance often hid behind veils of eccentricity. You were no exception, with a personality as peculiar as it was captivating. Detached from the world’s expectations and deeply engrossed in your intellectual pursuits, you found fascination in everything strange. Your aloof and deadpan demeanor often put others off—but not Dottore.

Dottore—Zandik, as he was known back then—was equally ostracized, though for vastly different reasons. His methods were merciless, his goals unrelenting. Yet, despite his cold, calculated nature, he found himself inexplicably drawn to you, the odd scholar with a penchant for creating strange automatons and making unsettlingly blunt remarks.

The first time you met, Zandik was dissecting a particularly rare desert creature, his movements precise and methodical. You walked in uninvited, holding a curious automaton in your hands. It was a strange, humanlike small version of you with spindly limbs and an almost lifelike gaze.

“Is this where you hide when you don’t want to deal with people?” you asked flatly, tilting your head as you observed him.

He glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

You ignored his question, setting the mini automaton of you on the table beside him and poked its cheek. “Do you think it’s creepy? People keep saying it’s creepy.”

He stared at the automaton for a long moment, then back at you. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

“Anything I tell it to,” you replied with a shrug. “But mostly, it’s just fun to look at. Like you.”

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t take it personally,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “You have a very symmetrical face. People like symmetrical faces.”

That was the beginning of your strange dynamic—equal parts baffling and fascinating.

Your personality was a study in contrasts. You were perpetually calm, unbothered, and mildly sarcastic. Dottore, on the other hand, was intense, driven, and occasionally prone to fits of anger when things didn’t go his way.

You often made comments that left him speechless.

One day, as you watched him conduct a particularly gruesome experiment, you looked over his shoulder, “You know, most people would find this horrifying.”

He didn’t look up. “And you don’t?”

You shrugged. “It’s gross, sure, but it’s also fascinating. Kind of like you.”

He paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You have a strange way of giving compliments.”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you,” you said simply, your expression blank. “Just stating facts.”

While you found entertainment in experimentation, Dottore was wholly consumed by it.

“Why do you care so much about proving everyone wrong?” you asked him one night as you tinkered with your automaton.

“Because they are wrong,” he said, his voice cold and sharp. “Their ignorance holds back progress.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’re very passionate about being right. It’s almost cute.”

He scowled. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” you replied, your tone flat. “You just make it easy.”

Despite your differences—or perhaps because of them—you and Dottore found yourselves gravitating toward each other.

He was often intrigued by your automatons, though he’d never admit it outright.

“What’s that one supposed to do?” he asked one day, gesturing to a new automaton of you that you’d been working on.

“It sings and dances,” you replied, pressing a button on its back. The automaton began to hum a haunting melody, its movements eerily lifelike as it twirled around in one place like a ballerina does.

Dottore raised an eyebrow. “And what purpose does that serve?”

“It doesn’t need a purpose,” you said with a small smile. “Not everything has to be useful.”

He huffed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You often found yourself drawn to his intensity, even if you didn’t always understand it.

“Do you ever stop working?” you asked him one evening as you sat on a table, watching him scribble notes.

He didn’t look up. “No.”

“That’s unhealthy, you know,” you said, resting your chin in your hand.

“And yet, I’m perfectly fine,” he replied curtly.

You leaned closer, a small smirk playing on your lips. “You’re fascinating, you know that?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes narrowing. “You have an odd way of showing affection.”

“Who said anything about affection?” you teased.

Centuries later, after the fall of Khaenri’ah and the passage of time, you and Dottore found yourselves in Sumeru under very different circumstances.

You had disappeared from his life long ago, your fate unknown. He assumed you were dead—another casualty of the calamity that had reshaped the world. But as fate would have it, your paths crossed again during the Sumeru Archon Quest.

When you first saw him, standing tall and imposing in his Harbinger robes, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite symmetrical face.”

He froze, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “You.”

“Me,” you replied, as calm and unbothered as ever.

His composure quickly returned, but you could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

“Everyone thought I was dead,” you said with a shrug. “But here I am. Surprise.”

At first, your interactions were tinged with the same mix of sarcasm and curiosity that had defined your relationship in the Akademiya.

“You’re still as insufferable as ever,” he muttered one day after you teased him about his methods.

“And you’re still as intense as ever,” you shot back. “It’s good to see some things never change.”

Despite your bickering, there was an undeniable tension between you—a connection that neither of you could ignore.

"Oh? I thought you didn't like to study about the way of how I make my automatons yet here you are, having different automatons of yourself. Do they sing and dance as well?" you asked as you looked over at the different segments working, some would stop their work to stare at you (mostly the Akademiya segments) while others would simply give you a small glance and go back to their work.

"They do not do as such. Think of them as replicas of me who acts and thinks the same way I would. They have their purposes." Dottore replied as he went back to looking over his reports.

"Yet you still made them all have a symmetrical face. How endearing." you stared back at the Akademiya segment and cupped his face, your fingers caressing the segment's cheek before pulling your hand away. You swore you could have heard Dottore let out a huff of annoyance.

As you spent more time together, the walls between you began to crumble.

One night, as you worked side by side in his lab, he glanced at you and said, “I missed you.”

You looked up, surprised by his admission. “You did?”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “More than I thought possible.”

For once, you didn’t respond with sarcasm. Instead, you reached out and placed a hand on his. “I missed you too.”

Your relationship was far from conventional, but it worked. You balanced his intensity with your calmness, and he grounded your whimsical nature with his focus.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he told you one day as you tinkered with an automaton.

“Coming from you, that’s a compliment,” you replied with a grin.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dottore #dottore x reader #zandik x reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader #gender neutral reader #female reader #herta #hsr #honkai star rail

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astralazuli · 10 months ago

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So there's that D&D class quiz going around, & I took it & was so deeply offended I got Paladin.

& so I have had conversations with both Bestie & Birdfriend about this grave insult & they both were like, "Well... They have a point?" & informed me that my desire to absorb hits meant for others & deep drive to help whenever I actually can & strong convictions make me a bit Paladin-coded.

& I am just so... Idk. It's just interesting to get glimpses of yourself from other people's POVs. To be told that my defining characteristics are protecting & healing others & being incredibly fighty about the things I care about... Especially as someone whose brain specifically fixates on whether I care enough, do enough, give enough... Yeah. It's just kinda wild.

Anyway, I'm now adjusting my self-perception to include the fact that if I were a D&D character, I would be an Oath of the Ancients Paladin & not a wizard & that actually that's okay.

#I don't Believe many things #because I prefer to stay open to new perspectives #& think that a balanced approach to life involves embracing a certain level of ambiguity in reality #but the things I do Believe in?#Oh I Believe them with all my heart.#I don't know how my belief system will change in the future #But I do know that above all else I believe in Kindness #Kindness to yourself Kindness to everyone around you Kindness to nature #The point of society is to ensure Everyone is treated well & can enjoy existence as much as possible #The point is Joy. The method is Kindness.#& if you aren't fighting for Everyone to be taken care of & respected & treated with Kindness #then I am not interested in your revolution.#If you hate the people against you more than you love the people you're fighting for?#You're missing the goddamn point.#(Please note I'm speaking of Kindness as a separate concept from Niceness.)#(Sometimes you cannot be Kind without being Not Nice to someone who is doing unkindnesses.)#(But I feel like a lot of people mistake that concept for an excuse to deny those they disagree with Kindness.)#(& my dudes you don't actually have principles if they only apply to people you like & agree with.)#There is no freedom until everyone is free includes the people you don't like.#While I am not free right now due to my various axes of oppression & the oppression others face #I'm also not gonna be free if we straight up murder & imprison the current oppressors #Trading one oppressive system for another isn't actually all that radical???#Just 'cause you think 'the right people' are being oppressed doesn't make oppressing them okay?#Like I'm a leftist because I believe Literally Everyone should be allowed to live whatever fulfilling life they want #so long they as aren't doing a damage to someone else in order to do so.#Not because I think I think the wrong people are oppressed.#Hm now that I've written this fucking essay on ethics in my tags #I am seeing Bestie & Birdfriend's points...#Birdfriend legit said that I'm the '**smacks others while screaming** BE! KIND! TO! EACH! OTHER!' type of Paladin.#I guess they were right.

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linabirb · 1 year ago

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also hi while i was talking about my ocd and anxiety during today's therapy session my therapist literally googled the wikipedia definitions of the things my brain called me to prove that it's wrong and that those thoughts don't matter

#for example my brain really likes to make me believe that i'm a hypocrite of some kind or a liar or a manipulator #and when she was talking about hypocrisy she was like #'usually people like that act nice but actually hate everyone around them but also-#believe they're better than everyone else. you don't “pretend to be nice” you're just being polite while also establishing boundaries-#and you also don't believe you're better than them your brain is just trying to protect you bc it can feel that those people are suspicious #and being nice while having your boundaries to protect yourself isn't hypocrisy it's a natural response to trauma'#and i was like '. okay'#this isn't about anyone here btw!! this is about some irl people #[ 💚 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 ]#edit: stupid tumblr got the order of the tags wrong..

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mortalityplays · 1 year ago

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I know you have all probably seen the esims for gaza posts circulating. Some of you have probably looked at them and thought maybe you should help out, but have weighed up the daunting process of signing up for something you're unfamiliar with vs. the gut-wrenching scale of the things people are going through on the ground right now, and you've put it off or questioned whether it will make enough of a difference vs. some other future kind of activism you could put that $6+ towards. I'm not calling you out or scolding you, it is natural to feel conflicted and ambivalent about the multiple calls for aid that you are seeing on social media.

but consider this: what would you do if you suddenly had to leave your home? how would you cope? how would you begin to plan where to go next, or figure out what to do to take care of yourself? most likely you would reach reflexively for your phone.

telecoms access is not a petty luxury in 2024. a loaded esim means the ability to call family members and find out where they are and whether they're safe, and whether they need anything you can provide for them. it means access to maps and regular updates on the situation unfolding around you. it means you can look up whether it's safe to drink rain water, or how to tie a type of knot you've never had to think about before, or how to treat an injury without medical supplies. it means the ability to tell people outside the situation what you are seeing, what you are feeling, what you are thinking. it is an absolutely crucial resource. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

many many people have observed that internet access is changing the way the world understands genocide. internet access is life or death, and it is shaping modern history in front of you. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

please, please visit gazaesims.com and spend 5 minutes and $6 to change the way this plays out for everyone.

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pearlywritings · 11 months ago

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Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the sheets. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction.

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them.

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible?

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you.

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip.

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight.

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

10K notes · View notes

strang3lov3 · 4 months ago

Text

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter.

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there.

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew.

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration.

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.”

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.”

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.”

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add.

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.”

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.”

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.”

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been.

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.”

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.”

“You are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.”

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle.

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?”

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things.

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed.

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home.

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.”

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him.

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.”

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases.

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.”

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.”

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse.

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.”

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.”

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.”

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?”

“Just lay down, Joel.”

“Did you take that from my fridge?”

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so.

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!”

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him.

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.”

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.”

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time.

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature.

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly.

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.”

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.”

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.”

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.”

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man.

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man.

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

“Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.”

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him.

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.”

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.”

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing.

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.”

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.”

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him.

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.”

Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

“Just - just a second.”

“Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.”

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone.

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone.

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them.

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.”

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now.

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.”

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.”

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.”

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -”

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.”

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest.

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying.

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it.

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles.

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest.

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.”

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips.

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?”

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

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