#and was able to just sit down and draw something

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH.3)

Our lovely gal, Nightmare, pays you a visit.

The dateables are arguing amongst themselves.

cw: reader gets injured this chapter and experiences a panic attack

(Also, I feel like I'm not doing Telly justice, if anyone has any tips on how to write him, I'd appreciate it)

“Hello, darling,” the familiar dulcet tones of Nightmare fills your ears, shadowy hands travelling over your body, “there’s something bothering you, I can smell it on you,” she purrs, sitting down next to you.

“Please, Nightmare, not tonight,” you plead, trying to roll away from her, but you can’t.

“What’s the matter, darling? Can’t move? Are you frozen in fear?” she asks mockingly, dragging one of her claws up your arm, “Let’s see what’s going on in that pretty mind of yours.”

Nightmare taps into your mind, travelling through the depths of your thoughts, “Oh-ho, yessss, that’s it, isn’t it, darling? You’re afraid you’ll be abducted by aliens?” she inquires, the infliction in her voice says she knows that’s not it.

“No?… Hmm… Maybe you’re afraid all of your clothes will suddenly disappear and you’ll have to live life naked,” she suggests, drawing from random anxieties you had once upon a time. You’ll need to have a chat with Diana about blabbing.

“Ahh, there it is,” her voice seems more sinister now, the room is colder, “is this what you’re afraid of? Let’s see, shall we?”

Suddenly, you’re standing in the middle of the kitchen, several of your partners out and about. Daisuke bumps into you, glancing over his shoulder to glower at you in a way that makes your skin crawl, “Watch where you’re standing, human. I don’t need you chipping the dishware.”

You open your mouth to apologize, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You stumble forward a few steps, into Abel’s wide chest, “Now what was that for? Can’t walk two steps in this house without breaking somebody, can ya?”

There’s several agreements from the others, throwing in snide comments about how clumsy you are, how you overwork them carelessly, how they only love you because it’s the only way to get you off their backs.

You stagger out of the kitchen, trying to make it up the stairs. Your pant leg gets over your foot, sending you face first onto the stairs; the taste of blood fills your mouth, but you pay it no mind, continuing up the stairs.

You fumble with the doorknob to the bedroom door, palms too sweaty to get it open, “Pathetic, can’t even open a bloody door without help,” Dorian scoffs, opening himself, sending you into the bedroom.

You choke on a sob, clawing at your throat to try and get words out, “Betty,” you manage to gasp, inching closer to the pink-haired woman.

She sidesteps when you go to hug her, staring down at you like you’re a pathetic bug, “What, sugar? Did your feelings get hurt?” she asks mockingly, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “I know what it’s like having the one you love ignore you, to insult you. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I-i’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you wail, sliding down the wall, hiding your face in your hands.

Everybody is in the room, mocking you, admitting how they hate you for what you put them through everyday, how they’d rather stay inanimate objects than have to deal with you anymore.

Koa, Mateo, Telly, Dante, and Abel are all forced to watch as you thrash around on the couch, tears streaming down your face, whimpering the same thing over and over. You won’t even be able to talk to them when you wake up and that breaks their hearts.

In the meantime, they settle for doing anything they can to help. Telly turns himself on, flipping through channels until he finds one of those lo-fi music ones you always seem to like. Mateo curls himself around you, being the best weighted blanket he possibly can.

“If I ever get my hands on that blasted horse lady,” Abel grumbles, shaking his head. He can’t do much to comfort you as a table, no matter how much he wishes he could.

“Nightmares are normal, Abel. I’m sure they’re fine, probably just dreaming about those weird face suckers,” Dante points out, giving the big man a squeeze.

“I believe you mean ‘face huggers,’” Telly corrects, hovering over you nervously. He told you watching Alien at midnight would give you nightmares.

“I believe, I don’t care,” Dante retorts, his lips curling up in a sneer at the television.

“Both of you, knock it off,” Abel orders through gritted teeth, setting his hat down, “We all know they ain’t dreaming about face sucker--or huggers--and the last thing they need is us arguing.”

“I agree, buddy,” Koa nods, clasping his hands together, pursing his lips. You might not be able to see or hear them without the glasses, but you can always feel a difference in the air.

“Let’s focus on helping them,” Mateo recommends, sniffling and wiping his nose on his puffy sleeve. He hates seeing you like this.

They all do.

You wake up with a start, tumbling off the couch. Your head knocks against the corner of the coffee table, making you cry in pain. You scramble to sit upwards, leaning against the couch; your chest heaves, unable to catch your breath.

You can taste blood in your mouth--you must’ve actually bitten your cheek--and something warm drips down your forehead. When you pull your hand back from your forehead, there's blood staining your fingertips.

Everything is overwhelming: the nightmare, the bleeding, the faint sounds of music, it’s too much. You want to curl up and die. Nightmare was right, it does scare you. The thought of your house hating you scares you. Is that why they’ve been avoiding you, because they resent you for using them?

Time seems to slow as you wake up, hitting your head on the corner of Abel. Abel’s heart is beating out of his chest, unwilling to slow down as blood drips down your forehead. He hurt you. You could have a concussion because of him. Maybe the others are right: they’re dangerous to you.

“Abel! Abel, hey!” Dante claps his hands in front of Abel’s face, trying to snap him out of hyperventilating.

“I-I… I did that,” he stammers, stepping away from the group of living room dateables.

“You didn’t mean to! They fell off the couch, if anything, it’s technically their fault,” Dante points out, which he realizes is the completely wrong thing to say at the moment, “Not that it’s their fault, you know what I mean! It’s nobody’s fault!”

“Alright, let’s take a step back,” Koa steps in between Abel and Dante, sensing the anger Abel is itching to release on Dante for blaming you.

“It ain’t their fault!” Abel shouts, jabbing a finger in Dante’s direction, seething at Dante for even daring to insinuate it’s your fault.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dante defends, throwing his hands up in surrender. Of course it’s not your fault!

“Aye! You both need to go cool off,” Telly shouts over the two of them, pointing their hands at opposite walls, “Y’all aren’t Baby, so I’m putting you both in the corner!” Both men abide, putting themselves in time out, taking time to cool off. The house is falling apart and they don’t know how to fix it.

You’ve finally calmed down enough to stand up, making your way into the kitchen, getting a glass of water to try and soothe your dry throat. Between the tremor in your hands and the seat slicking your palm, the glass didn’t stand a chance, slipping from your hands before you could even register it.

“No, no, no, please,” you sob, dropping to your knees to gather the broken glass. Daisuke is going to hate you even more now, “This can’t be happening,” you murmur, dropping the piece you picked up when it nicks your finger.

At this point you can’t tell whether the blood is from earlier or if the glass has cut up your fingertips. You don’t care either, all you can think about is how Daisuke is going to react to the fact that you broke a dish. You can already feel him staring at you with hatred.

You get the glass swept up, thankful that your broom isn’t secretly someone; you can’t hurt your broom. Your vision spots and you collapse onto the floor, bringing your knees to your chest, tears dripping onto poor Florence.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat to Florence, to Daisuke, to everybody you’ve used and upset.

[revelboo]

Asking idw megatron, whilst he's busy and or tired, stupid questions, like, 'if I was turned into an energon cube would you notice or would you just eat me?' Or 'if I was a mech, what would be my alt mode?' He doesn't know what's put you in this silly mood, but he's trying his best, because he loves you, despite his patience running thin 😭💕

Sorry about the radio silence today- it’s been a chaotic day at work

Curious

Megatron x Reader

�� Striding into his habsuite, he spots you on his berth sitting on his datapad screen drawing with your fingers and you look up at him as he vents and hooks a servo against the side of the pad, slowly tipping it up until you slide off. And he smiles tiredly at the indignant look you shoot him. After spending the day putting out proverbial fires, he’s exhausted. Apparently the Stunticons, mostly Vortex, had ambushed and attacked the Autobot Aerialbots and when Vortex’s team had backed him up, the Protectobots had gotten involved. Now Medbay is full of wounded. No one seems able to find those three psychopathic bugs. Still. “You left an imprint of your little aft on my report,” he mutters, tipping the screen so you can see. You’d also drawn all over Shockwave’s notes on Ore 13, apparently.

• Wrinkling your nose at him because you know he likes your aft, you stretch as he scowls at his datapad. You watch him ease down to sit on his berth with his back against the wall and you wander closer. Listening to him vent loudly when you try to climb up on him, not even really making an effort. Until he finally takes pity on you and lifts you up onto his chassis. “Hey,” you say as you sit down on him. “If I got turned into an energon cube, would you notice and still love me or just eat me?” And the look he levels at you over the top of his datapad has you struggling not to laugh.

• “If you were turned into an energon cube,” he repeats in exasperation. Why are you like this? Because you’re just smiling up at him, fully aware of how silly your question is and that no one else would dare waste his time with something like this. “Are we assuming I saw you turned into a energon cube? Because if I found a random energon cube just lying on my berth where you should be and didn’t see it happen, I’d assume it was a lazy poisoning attempt and dump it out. And then go try to find who’d taken you to murder them.”

• “Would you be upset if I was just gone without a trace because I got turned into an energon cube and you dumped me down the drain?” You ask and the back of his helm thumps against the wall with a growl. Struggling not to crack up as he stares at you. “Would you have a funeral for the empty energon cube? With flowers and a lot of fanfare?” And you laugh when he slowly and deliberately pushes you over with a servo to pin you on your belly.

• “I don’t enjoy or understand this game,” he mutters, frowning down at you as you squirm and push at his servo like he’s squishing you even though he’s being careful not to. Setting aside his datapad as you grin, he rubs a servo against your jaw. ‘Okay, okay. What do you think my altmode would be if I was Cybertronian? Would you still love me if I was-’ You start to ask and he mass shifts to roll you under him, listening to your laughter as he presses soft bites against your neck and shoulder. Because anyone else? He wouldn’t put up with this nonsense, but he enjoys when you want to tease and play. Letting himself relax a rare thing and you’re the only one who gets to see him like this.

[aviradasa]

So you know what frustrates me about going anywhere? Makeup.

My eyeliner was being a BITCH when getting ready for con.

But it got me thinking - since vampires can't see their reflection, how do they get ready?

If you please, I want a vampire grooming party of Poly!Lost Boys and SO getting ready for the night.

Marko doing her makeup, Paul helping with hair, David and Dwayne arguing over how she should dress for the evening (is it cold enough for a jacket, shorts or skirt, boots or heels?), whatever else you'd like.

Just some domesticity really, lol.

Ok, so full disclosure. This might suck cause I haven't written shit in MONTHS, but still, I hope you enjoy. I could not focus when making this, so if you see it switching from first person to third person, just know that I fully was very much confused and accidentally got to focused on my show playing in the background 😭

I love this request and even though im all for murdery evil vampires gotta love some cute domestic shit once in awhile 🖤 well anyways here is

Ps. Tumblr fucked up my paragraph spacing and I cant fix it 😭 also not proof read. Enjoy

Makeup help

Poly!tlb x new vampire!reader.

Pronouns used: (She/her)

Warnings: language (If I missed any, let me know)

Tag list: @theorizinganomaly @vxncevis @sillyturquoisepuffin @thelostsimp @adams-fav-roach @acotar-lover @angstinaofsantacarla @thatonegirl2 @gutlesscatherine

"Girl, you move one more time. i'm gonna draw a line across your face.” dwayne scolded as he was dangerously focused on getting the wing of her eyeliner just perfect. You were almost surprised he didn’t pull out a damn measuring tape at this point to make sure it was even.

“ ok that's not really my fault that's on him-OW ” I had retorted gesturing to Paul who in everyone's opinion was having too much fun teasing, spraying, and making sure you had the biggest and wildest hair out of the bunch. 

But his methods were as crazy as he was, and it was a constant tugging on my scalp. At one point, you almost thought you were gonna get tugged out of the chair you were currently seated in at your dining room table,now turned salon, apparently.

The boys were already done getting ready for tonight's adventure. But you were struggling. Thankfully, they were able to step up and give you a hand. Even if it included ripping your hair out and practically beating your face in with a beauty blender, possibly even stabbing your eye out if Paul didnt stop jerking your head around while dwayne was doing the best he could.

“Oh shush, it dont hurt that bad. You dont have anything to complain about.” Paul defends rolling his eyes with that cheeky mischievous grin on his face. He knew he could probably be a bit more gentle, but in his opinion, his methods were only effective when it was painful, so he didn't give a shit about any complaints you had.

“Man just cut the shit for 5 seconds. im almost done.” Dwayne muttered, finishing the last wing, the difficult part of your makeup being finished. He certainly was no expert when it came to makeup, but marko has insisted he do the liner cause he has the most steady hand, you didnt mind it at all either watching him try his best was hilarious and also kind of sweet especially when he would ask you or marko how to go about it.

“ Marko, it's your problem again.” He had joked slowly rising from his seat, not before sneaking a brief kiss to you cheek. Right as Marko sits back down, swatting him away from you like a dog. And to be fair, the look dwayne gave him in response fit the gesture well as he muttered something under his breath after as Marko added his last bit with a hint of amusement to his tone

“ok goodbye, i will tell you if i need you again.” he told him as he picked up a makeup brush. Your base was already done, but he still had to add the fun stuff. So, of course, his concentration was key. Though you just thought the whole interaction was silly

“ Hey, maybe you should go see what David's up to, I bet he's probably struggling.” I suggest to dwayne. It's not that I didn't trust David's judgments in cloathing, but I did have a few concerns. So luckily, dwayne took me up on the idea and reluctantly made his way down the hallway.

You see, i was the newest vamp of the group, and while i saw it as more of a blessing than anything else, it did come with its curses. AKA, the struggle of

The boys wanted to go out tonight with me. which was fine before there proved to be one problem.

I couldn't see myself in the mirror anymore. So, as they were all getting ready, I was sitting there struggling in my bathroom before I worked up the courage to ask for their help. Then, of course, they agreed, and I not only became their undead mannequin for the night but also apparently the victim of their fashion critiques. 

Apparently, they are experts all of a sudden.

“What the hell is this? We let her go outside in these?” david had immediately said to dwayne as he entered the room. Seeing david looking through my closet completely unamused.

“The colors clash, the material is cheap. That looks like she stole it off your ex girlfriends corpse from the 60s..” he carried on as he scrolled through the many hangers as dwayne just rolled his eyes at david last little comment and joined him by the closet door.

“ its not all like that though. There's a cute skirt right there.” He pointed out a black leather skirt that had ties holding it together on the side. “Yeah put that together with some fishnets, and some big ass boots and it will look great.”

Dwayne put together as he grabbed the skirt from the closet. Holding it up to look over for any imperfections.

“Paul gave her that you really want to give him more of an ego tonight?” giving him a look like that of a mother correcting a child in the grocery store. But in reality he was just petty and probably wanted to be right.

“Instead of giving you one? Always.” Dwayne replied with a small grin as he tossed the skirt onto the bed for consideration. Extremely proud of himself for finding it. Leading both him and david down a rabbit hole of digging through every piece of clothing i own apparently.

Back in the dining room was controlled chaos. My makeup was finished and now I was Instead helping Marko paint his nails all while getting my hair tugged at. He could have very well painted them himself but he didnt feel like it, so the job was given to you.

“Paul i swear to god if you yank my hair one more time i'm gonna hurt you.” I sat giving him an empty threat as I was suddenly yanked back only able to lift the nail polish brush away from Markos hand by a second.

“ Hey how the hell do you think i get to look this awesome every night. Time and pain. Suck it up girl.” He defends with a little laugh as he sets down his torture devices- (hair tools) before gently fluffing up some spots with his fingers. Surprisingly he was quite the perfectionist when it came to how his work looks on you.

“Ok flip it and shake your head. And it should be done.” He says taking the nail polish from your hands handing it back to marko so he can finish them himself. Once you flip your hair down for a few last details Paul's fluffs up the bottom a bit more, and as you shake it out he almost drowns you in how much hairspray he used, but to your surprise when you flip it back up you're pleasantly surprised with how nice it feels, yeah you can't see it but by what your can feel it is big and fabulous, just like you wanted.

“Holy shit thats amazing! Thank you.” you tell him With a huge smile reaching over i yank him into a hug as thanks. Not only was I happy with the results, but also that my head was finally free and I no longer felt like I was being scalped. 

“Thank you thank you, I know i did awesome as usual.” He replied proudly casually sitting back in one of the chairs next to me after being released from my grip. he was about to put his feet up on my table but I shut that down before it even started. Sometimes he wondered if your jokes about having eyes everywhere were actually true of not.

“Paul I swear to god if you put your feet on my table I will cut them off.” I warn as I go back to markos nails he had gotten about halfway done with his other hand but your wanted to finish what you started and he really appreciated it. Paul on the other hand decides to heed your warning though and keeps his boots planted firmly on the floor.

“Oh hell no”

“What even is that?”

“Nope burn this.” 

Is all that can be heard from my bedroom.

You see what started as arguing over what to dress me in just ended up in them both judging and roasting your wardrobe together. By this point they have been through almost everything having picked out only the skirt and boots so far. And as david flicked through the closet dwayne was in the dresser seeing if there's anything he could work with

“What about this?” Dwayne asked tossing a simple black tank top at David which he surprisingly caught.

“ That could work, it's simple. I like it.” He replied tossing it onto the bed with a shrug. To be completely fair he couldn't care less what you wore tonight. He just wanted to go out there, fuck up some people's night and do whatever else there is to do, and as funny as going through your stuff was he was bored of it and just wanted to get a move on.

“Ok so that's an absolute no.” Dwayne replied to him in a smart ass tone going back to digging in the drawer 

“ what do you mean? Its quick and easy. It will work”

“Oh yeah sure, cause quick and easy gets the job done just lovely, wait a minute are your roots showing right there?”

“Fuck off.” David remarked obviously not very amused by the comment as he pulled out a jacket from the back of your closet tossing it onto the bed as the last sort of finishing touch right before Dwayne threw a new shirt down, snatching up the old one.they both have to agree that they did pretty good

After they were done tweaking a few things they finally went to go collect you from the other two who were now currently just hanging out and vibing to the music you had put on prior while the three of you work on cleaning up your dining room  making sure all the hair stuff,makeup and anything else of the sort were put back properly.

“ Hey we got some clothes set out for you.”

David tells you as he and Dwayne exit the room looking rather proud of themselves to tell you the truth,and you weren't sure whether or not you should be excited or terrified. So you went with a mix of both. Giving them both a quick thank you, you give David a brief kiss on the cheek before wandering off towards your room. 

If you were surprised about Paul or marko being able to do hair and makeup for you you were just as if not more surprised at how well those two threw something together so fast that actually looked really nice to you, and once you put it on you really wish you could have seen it. Cause you felt amazing. 

Not just because of your look, but because of how much you appreciated those 4. They really stepped up and helped you tonight so you could have fun with them and be confident while doing so and it meant more to you then they knew.

So when you stepped out of the room after grabbing your purse and other random crap you may need you were practically jumping with excitement. 

And as you all excited the apartment you didn't give a damn about anything else, not even the fact that your neighbors probably wouldn't be to thrilled about the group of teenagers running through the hallways of your building whooping and hollering for the beginning of the night just beginning, or the aftermath of them deciding to do tricks on the bikes in the parking lot. 

Not one shit given. You were immortal now, and even though it came with some pesky challenges, you have everything you need. 4 asshole vampires and an infinite food supply called Santa Carla

[wolfertinger]

(Anon)

"love being able to live rent free in some ppls heads 💜"

This is not the gotcha and not the own you think it is, Salem. You're living "rent-free" in people's heads only because they're appalled by the abhorrent shit you do on a daily basis, which is NOT a flex in any means. Sometimes you say and do such shit, that it's impossible to NOT think about what bigoted/shallow/hypocritical thing you said, for the next few days. Like with the "intersex people are underrepresented especially in queer spaces", a recent example. I'm going to be thinking about that for a while, and NOT because it's a good take. You're just a clown, Salem, with very memorable circus acts. And your klansfem girlfriend, too, is very memorable, for her transphobic, racist neonazi rants. Once again, rent-free not for a good reason. Still going to remind you, that she said "so what if it wasn't consensual" (paraphrased), in response to Sawyer opening up about the rape from Torin(?). We all remember.

I don't know, man... Have you tried being known for something good, other than drawing furry pinups with shallow representation? Anything else, at all? Maybe then you'd live in people's head rent-free for good reasons, lmao.

And, we also live in your head rent-free, Salem. You constantly check this blog and read every post, we know this. How ironic. You're not as badass as you think you are, sit your ass down.

i will be honest here a moment. i do often find myself sympathizing with salem. i understand what it must be like, to be under constant surveillance. but he seems to forget, all of this is done because of him. he chose, to crawl back into the spotlight. he chose, to use puppychans corpse as a platform, to cry about poor me, poor me. he chose, to not bother to grow in three years, he decided to remain the exact same person he was at 17, still bitter, hateful, immature, and short-sighted.

i WANT salem to be better, deeply. it hurts me, that someone so young and talented is willing to throw it all away, over people that will never care about him. he thinks, if he runs with "problematic" types, they are less likely to call him out. but he does not realize, if it will further their own careers, or save them from scrutiny, these spaces will pin the blame on you just as quickly. salem himself even did so, blaming acidneko and the server owner for being "too much", as if he did not willfully engage with their feral x child nsfw art.

salem makes it extremely difficult, to feel bad for him. he will take any good will given to him, wring it dry, and have the balls to tell you to get more.

[demigod-shenanigans]

-I love this format of comment! It’s actually also my go-to way of commenting because I find it easiest to just stream of consciousness ramble as I’m reading.

-I do think Leo knowing how to sew makes a lot of sense from that perspective, actually! It’s really practical and I can see her wanting him to know how (especially since she probably had to fix his torn clothes a lot since he was for sure a bit of a wild child).

I feel like in this universe specifically, sewing is one of the things he just didn’t have the patience to sit down and learn as a fidgety little eight year old because he found it boring, and he always regretted that later. I do also assume that specifically sewing symbols and stuff into fabric is a skill that’s a bit different (though presumably not totally disconnected) from the practical “sewing patches onto torn clothing”-skill. I wouldn’t know for sure, though. I, personally, cannot do either, lmao

-Something something Leo being funny as a coping mechanism specifically because if he’s serious about everything that happened and everything he went through he just wouldn’t be able to deal with the weight of it

-His powers are his burden and also specifically doing last honors for Jason as his best friend is supposed to be his honor duty/burden as per camp tradition, but giving him that final sendoff means acknowledging he’s gone for good and beginning to let go, but while Leo’s modus operandi may be running, specifically, the letting go thing isn’t something he’s quite as good at

-I am sorry you found the funeral scene upsetting but I’d also be lying if I said it being upsetting wasn’t entirely the point. It is a funeral scene, after all. (One of my favorite lines from this whole chapter is the “This version of Jason had never been for the gods. This version of Jason was just for them.”-bit. Something something Jason spent his whole life as a plaything for the gods and they’re refusing to let that be his legacy in death too. Something something remembering Jason, first and foremost, as a kid and a friend instead of a hero and a soldier.)

-That is an absolutely gorgeous description and if you are ever at any point interested at giving a shot to drawing this I’d absolutely love to see your take on it. Obviously the fire won’t hurt Leo but there is a lot in there re: Leo holding onto the (symbolic) ghost of Jason’s person even at the risk of his own destruction. The very Romeo and Juliet/Pyramus and Thisbe imagery of “I’d rather have it be you and me in death than be left behind to grieve you”. Also Leo is generally more Thisbe than he is Pyramus but I do think at least a little bit of Pyramus finding Thisbe’s bloodied cloak in the context of Leo holding onto Jason’s shroud.

-Poor Festus has to deal with so much grief, my heart aches for him. Canon only semi-addresses him but you cannot convince me that the way he’s acting at the beginning of tlh is entirely due to the messy control disc. I think he was grieving Beckendorf and didn’t know how to handle it.

-I don’t know where the original audio came from (maybe a sketch? No idea), but the mourning person joke came specifically from eeveevivii using audio from two people joking around at a funeral and making it specifically about Leo and Percy joking around at Jason’s funeral, which, yeah, I could absolutely see from a coping mechanism POV. That reminds me, I meant to put it in somewhere that that’s where I got the joke and then I forgot, so I should probably add that. Whoops.

-This was a bit different in the original draft but the box ended up being more symbolic than important due to its contents. Originally, Leo ended up with Jason’s sword, but that got replaced by something else that made more sense for the story, so now it’s more a representation of how Leo usually tends to handle grief—shove it in a box, maybe make a joke about it occasionally and outside of that, never, ever acknowledge it exists. He’s gonna keep that metaphorical box shut because he’s not prepared to deal with everything that might spill out if it opens. One specific bit of the contents will come up again later though ;)

-LOL, yeah, would be a bit difficult for poor Leo to get married with the other groom missing 😂😔

-Thank you for bringing up the bit with the kids because no one else did and I’ve been wanting to yap about that for ages. I tinkered with that scene a bunch because I was trying really hard to hit that sweet spot of it technically being platonic enough that it makes sense for Leo to be thinking it while he hasn’t figured out he’s in love with Jason yet while also getting across “if the topic of d distant future with kids popped into my head the only person I ever imagined raising these kids with was you”. Also, I know she’s not described super in-depth, but as a fun little detail for me, the girl on Jason’s shoulders does absolutely look a little like Sofía.

-This is indeed the parking garage scene from the ask!! And I am honored you’re so excited about it 😌

-Very interesting interpretation of the scene! Tragically, I’m not going to be able to say very much, because, well, spoilers, but I loveeee reading theories :D

Will only confirm the thing I specifically said in the comments, which is that it’s a parking lot because that scene is from The Burning Maze. As for what it means, well… you’re going to find out eventually :)

-Also don’t worry about reading the fic fast, I’m overjoyed you’re reading it at all, please feel free to enjoy it at your own pace :D

Once again thank you for your lovely comment!

The choiceless hope in grief (chapter three)

They waited until nighttime to hold the funeral, both because Jason had liked looking at the stars and because that posed less opportunity for the neighbors to wonder why the strange family that had just moved here was burning tie-dye bedsheets in the yard in the middle of the day. Tristan didn’t ask exactly what it was they were doing. After a few weeks with them, he was probably used to their antics. It was a nice night—not too warm, but also not super cold. The sky was clear and beautiful. Leo’s heart was too heavy to enjoy any of it. With a gulp, he walked up to the unlit campfire, spreading the bedsheet across it with Piper. They had to keep it partially folded so it fit into their makeshift fire pit—the purpose of this wasn’t to accidentally burn down half of Tahlequah. Piper let go of the shroud and stepped back, nodding to him. Leo gulped. Right. He was supposed to light the shroud on fire.  If the deceased didn’t have a partner, it was camp tradition for their closest friend to do final honors. Despite all of Leo’s faults, that was him. Besides, he was the one with the fire powers. He was the obvious choice. This was supposed to be his job, and his burden.  He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Rating: Teen and Up

Chapter Word Count: 3.6k

CW: Themes of grief. (This is a funeral chapter, so, that should perhaps be obvious, lol) First | < Prev | Next >

———

Chapter 3: Festus torches a bedsheet

Leo and Piper picked out a simple white bedsheet to use for the shroud. It wasn’t fancy, but it was easily available and they made the most of it.

They tie-dyed it, both of them ending up with splotches of purple and orange all over their arms and clothes in the process.

Once the bedsheet was dry, they spent a whole afternoon stitching—and, quite frankly, doing a terrible job. They were both utter garbage at it. Hopefully, “it’s the thought that counts” still applied with dead best friends.

There was something kind of comforting about just sitting with Piper, working in silence on different ends of the same piece of fabric. In knowing that, if nothing else, Leo could at least do this for her.

“Jason would have loved this,” Piper sniffled when they inspected the final product.

“You think so?” Leo asked, building up to an entirely misplaced joke so he didn’t split open right there. “Personally, I’m not sure. He was such a stickler for rules, he might be offended that his shroud doesn’t meet demigod funeral regulations.”

“Shut up. You know he would have loved this,” Piper repeated, voice quavering terribly as they folded the shroud into a more compact form so they’d be able to carry it outside with ease later.

They couldn’t do a full funeral pyre—Piper’s backyard didn’t have the space, and they didn’t have the materials—but they’d built a campfire, and that would have to be enough.

Jason had already gotten a proper hero’s funeral. This wouldn’t be that. It wasn’t supposed to be.

“Pretty sure I poked myself with my needle and bled on the bedsheet at one point. If we end up summoning Jason and/or a random demon by accident, that’s totally my bad,” Leo warned, because he absolutely couldn’t be serious right now. He couldn’t. He’d shatter if he tried.

It wasn’t closure, but Leo still felt a bittersweet satisfaction when he looked at the finished product.

It was tradition to represent the godly parent with the shroud. They’d decided to say fuck that. 

Jason’s shroud was a mess of orange and purple dye. It had symbols stitched all over it, but none for anyone’s godly parent.

It had Piper’s dagger and a small flame for Leo so the three of them could be together one last time. 

The rest was just memories. A mess of stitches that was only recognizable as a bird’s eye view of the Grand Canyon if you had a particularly vivid imagination. A cartoonish taco and marshmallows and twin video game controllers. The Superman logo. A meteorite among a sky full of stars.

And, Leo’s final contribution: a terrible likeness of a ridiculous wolf plushie from the time they’d dragged Jason out of camp to go to a fair after he’d mentioned he’d never been. Despite the fact that it was his first time, Jason had somehow been the only one of them who’d actually managed to get a prize out of one of the terribly rigged claw machines. He hadn’t even cheated! There was truly no justice in the universe.

If Leo closed his eyes, he could still hear the way Jason had laughed that afternoon, his eyes sparkling and his usually neat hair a disheveled mess from all the rides Leo and Piper had made him try. They hadn’t let him live the wolf plushie down their whole ride back—they’d jokingly dubbed it his son and repeatedly asked him to name it. Jason had rolled his eyes at them and then promptly given the plushie up for adoption to one of the younger campers when they’d gotten back to camp, despite their horrified protests about how he couldn’t do that to his child.

Leo wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when he remembered it now.

Above all, this shroud was a tribute to Jason. Not to the version of him that most people had known, either. It wasn’t a tribute to Jason, the hero of Olympus, or Jason, the son of Jupiter and champion of Juno. 

Because sure, Jason may have been all of those things, too, but most of all, he’d been their friend. The guy who’d stayed awake with Leo in the sewer and tried to cheer him up. The guy who’d spent all night on the roof of his cabin with Piper, recreating a memory Hera had made up and making it theirs. Who was kind and just the right amount of goofy and had learned to loosen up and laugh at their antics. Who believed in the people he loved even more fiercely than he believed in the deities he’d been raised to worship.

This version of Jason had never been for the gods. This version of Jason was just for them.

~~~~

They waited until nighttime to hold the funeral, both because Jason had liked looking at the stars and because that posed less opportunity for the neighbors to wonder why the strange family that had just moved here was burning tie-dye bedsheets in the yard in the middle of the day.

Tristan didn’t ask exactly what it was they were doing. After a few weeks with them, he was probably used to their antics.

It was a nice night—not too warm, but also not super cold. The sky was clear and beautiful. Leo’s heart was too heavy to enjoy any of it.

With a gulp, he walked up to the unlit campfire, spreading the bedsheet across it with Piper. They had to keep it partially folded so it fit into their makeshift fire pit—the purpose of this wasn’t to accidentally burn down half of Tahlequah.

Piper let go of the shroud and stepped back, nodding to him.

Leo gulped. Right. He was supposed to light the shroud on fire. 

If the deceased didn’t have a partner, it was camp tradition for their closest friend to do final honors. Despite all of Leo’s faults, that was him. 

Besides, he was the one with the fire powers. He was the obvious choice.

This was supposed to be his job, and his burden. 

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He held the fabric in his hands, all those memories of everything Jason had been, and he couldn’t do it. The lump in his throat felt bowling-ball sized, and he could hardly see what he was doing through the veil of tears that just wouldn’t stop.

Even after everything he’d told himself and promised Piper, he just couldn’t bring himself to close the lid on Jason’s figurative coffin. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.

Leo didn't have to light the shroud on fire.

They’d let Festus come out of suitcase form for the evening, because it was only right that he also got to attend the funeral, weird looks from neighbors at the tiny plane flying back and forth above the house be damned. When Leo stood frozen in place with his hand on the shroud and couldn’t bring himself to light it, Festus creaked in sympathy, giving him another moment before promptly torching both Leo and the shroud. 

Leo didn’t have much capacity for focusing right now, so his clothes got a little singed, but he didn’t care. The fire felt familiar and weirdly soothing against his skin.

Festus creaked sadly, and Leo wiped at his own eyes with burning fingers, which was without danger for him but would have caused most other people to go blind in an instant.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said weakly, genuinely grateful for the warmth even though the night wasn’t super cold and he was technically dressed for the weather. He knew this was Festus being affectionate with him. It was Festus being affectionate with Jason, too. In a way, Leo was glad all three of them had gotten to be a part of this.

He kept his other hand on the burning sheet for another moment, afraid letting go would mean losing Jason all over again. It was a stupid thought. Jason wasn’t even actually here.

Finally, he wrapped his arms around himself and stepped back, sobbing quietly.

He was supposed to say a few words. That was how most funerals went—not just Camp Half-Blood ones. He’d actually wanted to come up with something to say, but every time he’d tried to focus on it, the pain got too intense for him to handle.

“I can’t do this,” he said quietly, the flames draining out of his body from the sheer intensity of the cold, raw grief. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure if he was apologizing to Piper for not being able to do any of the things he’d promised, or apologizing to Jason for disappearing and failing to cheat fate and getting him killed.

Whatever the case, he didn’t think he deserved either of their forgiveness.

Piper stepped forward and took his hand, squeezing it gently. Telling him it was okay, even when Leo knew it wasn’t. Even when it felt like he was failing both of them all over again.

“Jason, you were maybe the bravest, kindest person I knew,” she began, her voice quavering. Her hand shook in Leo’s—her whole body was trembling—but unlike Leo, she kept talking despite her tears. She’d always been stronger than him. “You did everything to protect the people you loved, up until the end. I wish you’d told me about the stupid prophecy sooner. I wish you didn’t always make yourself carry everything alone. I just- we both loved you a whole bunch, okay? I just need you to know that.”

“Why did you always have to play the fucking hero?” Leo cursed, squeezing Piper’s fingers a little too tightly. He could barely form the words. To no one’s surprise, the burning shroud didn’t answer. “This isn’t fair.”

“It never is,” Piper said in a quiet, broken voice. She pulled Leo to her chest. “We shouldn’t have to just accept this after everything we’ve been through. But as mad as it makes me, that’s all we can do.”

Something burned in Leo, then—a tiny, glimmering spark of grief and anger and despair, screaming that this couldn’t just be it. There had to be something they could do. He wouldn’t just accept this was how things had to be.

“I miss Jason. I just want him back,” he said, trying to pretend that was something that could happen, and not the same desperate wish of a crying eight year old that refused to be pulled away from his mother’s tombstone because she couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t be.

Half the reason he’d kept everyone at arm’s length for so long was he’d never wanted to feel loss like that again. But here he was—feeling just as small and helpless as he had back then.

“Yeah, I know.” Piper was still trembling against him. His shirt was wet with her tears. “Me too.”

Gods, Leo couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep talking about this. He couldn’t keep thinking about this. He couldn’t keep Jason’s stupid face out of his head for ten seconds and at this rate, he was sure he was going to lose it.

“I hate funerals,” Leo sobbed into Piper’s shoulder. “I’m just not a mourning person.”

It was a completely stupid thing to say. For some reason, it helped, though.

“Did you just make a pun?” Piper half-laughed, half-sobbed, looking at him in startled disbelief. “And it wasn’t even a very good pun. It’s literally the middle of the night.”

“Fuck off, I’m grieving. Actually funny Leo will be back in five to seven business days,” Leo said, clenching his trembling fingers into her shirt. “Besides, Jason liked my shitty puns.”

“Yeah, he did.” Piper sniffled. “Thank you for doing this with me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t thank me. The last time I should have been there, I wasn’t.” Leo was trembling so hard that he genuinely thought he might have shaken himself to bits if she hadn’t been holding onto him. “Besides, I kind of failed massively at everything you asked me to do, so-”

“I don’t care,” Piper interrupted, hugging him so fiercely that it knocked the air right out of Leo’s lungs. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

For the longest time, they just stayed there, sitting in the grass, holding each other until the flames died and all that remained was the pitch-black night.  ~~~~

Leo spent half the night numbly staring up at the ceiling. He had been right. The funeral hadn’t helped him. All it had done was cause him to cry himself into a pounding headache. 

He’d done it for Piper’s sake—and looking at her sleeping face that was almost peaceful, he was glad he had—but unpacking all the emotions he’d tried so desperately to lock up had still left Leo feeling like shit.

He felt like someone had taken him apart and put him back together all wrong, conveniently forgetting to put some components back in at all. Every part of him that had belonged to Jason had been violently ripped out, and now Leo was left with a bunch of sparking cables.

None of this was right. Nothing would ever be right again. 

Jason was dead. He’d been larger than life, and now he was gone, just like that. Even after weeks of living with that reality, it still felt completely surreal. Time should have stood still. The whole world should have stopped spinning to mourn a loss like that. But it didn’t. The world just kept turning, completely unmoved by Leo’s grief. Life continued. And all that was left of Jason were memories, an empty dorm room and a single box of belongings that was collecting dust under Piper’s bed.

All Leo could do now was mourn the six months he’d lost, and every single memory they’d never get to make. 

Worse, maybe, was the fact that he had to mourn a future he’d started to take for granted—one where Jason was present for all of his birthdays, and his wedding, and the opening of the machine shop Leo had dreamed of since he was a kid. One where they were the kind of lame adults who had barbecue night once a week and spent a lot of time reminiscing about all the bizarre shit they’d gone through as teenagers. One where Leo got to corrupt a little blond kid into being his troublemaker accomplice, and a girl with dark curls sat on Jason’s shoulders, making a mess of his hair. One where they got to grow up and grow old alongside each other.

Leo had no idea how he was supposed to face a future without Jason. Every fiber of his being ached, but despite the pain, he wasn’t sure any of this would ever feel real.

Leo hadn’t imagined any sort of future for himself in a very long time. He’d spent years just trying to make it through the day. Anything beyond surviving had been a minor concern.

But then he’d met Jason and Piper, and he’d foolishly allowed himself to dream.

And now here he was, staring at the ceiling, mourning a world that would never exist.

~~~~

Leo dreamed of fire.

This in and of itself was not unusual. He was a demigod son of Hephaestus. Dreams of fire to him were about as shocking as Percy eating blue food or Annabeth designing a building that utterly defied the laws of physics. 

Leo’s first thought was that this was a call from his dad, who was sick of his moping and wanted to offer helpful, comforting insight like “this is why machines are superior to demigods. You can’t just rebuild demigods when they die.”

He wondered if there was a way to hang up on a godly parent. Man, he really needed to figure out how to cancel this crappy dream vision plan he’d been automatically opted into. That was what he got for never reading the demigod terms and conditions.

But it wasn’t his dad. He’d been in Hephaestus’ workshop often enough that he could recognize it on sight, and that wasn’t what this place was.

Leo looked around, confused. He was in what looked like a standard underground parking garage. 

Except, unlike what Leo assumed to be the norm for underground parking garages, this one was both completely empty and had a raging fire tornado in the middle of it. 

Despite the fact that Leo was standing decently far away, the air felt uncomfortably warm—and if he, who was usually completely unbothered by flames of any kind, could tell, that meant it had to be scorching hot.

It was the kind of heat he’d only felt twice in his life. Once when he’d blown himself and Gaia to bits, and once when he’d been eight years old.

Leo shivered. He could feel his whole body trembling, everything in him trying desperately not to remember.

“What the hell is this?” he yelled into the empty parking garage.

The parking garage didn’t have the decency to answer.

Except it suddenly wasn’t empty. 

There were figures crouching behind the columns. Most of them were blurry, more shapes than people Leo could recognize.

But one of them…

“Piper?” he asked breathlessly. She was right in his line of sight, halfway across the empty car park, pressed closely to one of the columns.

Piper didn’t look up. Her gaze was fixated on the swirling cone of fire. Flames rolled outwards from the storm’s center in waves. They collided with the columns, including the one Leo was standing behind. The column provided some protection from the fire, but didn’t help much with the heat. 

“Piper!” Leo repeated, louder this time. Panic gripped his heart. If he could tell it was hot, how painful did it have to be for her?

He had to get to her. He had to make sure she was okay.

It was a frustratingly slow process. Leo kept having to duck behind columns to dodge the fire. Usually, he wouldn’t have bothered, fire-resistant as he was, but this was the kind of heat even Leo wasn’t brave enough to mess with.

The final blast of fire before Leo got to her left Piper’s hair and one of her sleeves singed.

“Pipes?” he asked when he kneeled down beside her, his voice small. “Are you okay?”

She did look up, then, but she was looking past Leo like he was invisible.

He looked her over frantically. Her face was a mask of pain. Her arms… Leo gulped. Piper had been burnt, and badly. 

Leo couldn’t be burnt like that, but he knew it must’ve hurt like hell. He had no idea how Piper was even staying upright.

“Come on, we have to get you out of here,” he said, but it was hopeless. She didn’t seem to hear him.

More fire rolled past the column they were crouched behind and Piper winced at the heat, but she just stayed right there like she was pinned in place. She wasn’t running. Why the hell wasn’t she running?

Instead, she unslung something from her back—was that a blowpipe?—and aimed it right at the fire tornado.

“What, are you planning to knock the fire unconscious?” Leo asked, exasperated. Piper still didn’t seem to even notice he was there. She just poked her head out from the semi-safety of the column and took aim at the fiery cone, with no regards for how hurt she already was and how much worse it would get if whatever was controlling the fire got more pissed off. “We have to go!” 

Leo wasn’t thinking. He just knew instinctively that if he didn’t get her away from the firestorm, Piper wouldn’t make it.

He grabbed for her arm in blind desperation, pulling her back into cover.

Piper screamed in agony, dropping her weapon and clutching at the spot he’d touched. She curled into herself with a terrible whimper. 

Leo pulled away in horror. In his panic, he’d forgotten about the burns on her arms.

“I’m so sorry. I- I was just trying-” he said, his voice breaking. He’d gotten Jason killed, and now he’d hurt Piper. What kind of awful friend was he? “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Piper bit out, furious. It wasn’t her voice. There was something resentful and ancient about it. “Look at you. The little demigod who defeated Gaia. Do you truly believe you can save your friend? Whose flames do you think caused these burns?”

The scene shifted. Piper was running. The parking garage behind her had exploded into a wall of fire that was rapidly catching up to her—nipping at Piper’s heels, then enveloping her. She screamed as the flames swallowed her whole.

Leo was screaming too. He tried to reach out, to find her in the flames, but he couldn’t move. He could only watch as she disappeared in the wall of heat and smoke.

Suddenly, it was Leo at the center of the firestorm, flames pushing outwards from his supernova center.

He tried to rein his powers in, but they wouldn’t listen. The more he tried to control them, the more fiercely they pushed back, rolling outwards, swallowing everything in their path.

Leo was eight and the machine shop came down around him. He was sixteen and the sky was on fire. 

He was almost seventeen and everything he’d ever loved continued to be swallowed by the inferno of his dumpster fire life.“You are a child of flame,” the voice that wasn’t Piper’s taunted at the back of his head. “Anything you touch, you burn.”

———

Notes:

I’ve always had several grievances with how Jason’s death was handled, and one of the main ones was the fact that his arc was about finding his place between two camps that he both felt like he belonged to, only to have his arc end with him dying and getting a Camp Jupiter Funeral with zero of his CHB friends (or his sister) present. Yeah, no. We are not doing that. We cannot have the point of Jason’s arc be “he is of both camps” only to reduce him back to just Roman in death and for half of his friends to not even be given proper space to mourn him. Let him be of both camps!! That was the entire point! Grrr.

Anyway, obviously Leo and Piper are the specific focus of this fic, but since they were also Jason’s strongest ties to CHB, it makes sense to have them do the honors.

There’s some personal bits in here, specifically Leo’s thoughts on a future he always just assumed Jason would be a part of. I had a loved one pass away a few months ago, and it’s really strange to come to terms with the realization of how much of the future you’d taken for granted. And suddenly all that’s left is this mental image of an empty chair that you always thought they’d fill.

My relationship with that person was completely different than Leo’s was with Jason, but that feeling remains vaguely the same.

On a (slightly less? Potentially more?) depressing note, the plot is starting to kick in a little bit there at the end! Not fast—partially because I wanted to avoid messing with the ending of ToA too much, meaning the majority of this fic takes place after Tower of Nero—but some stuff certainly is going on here ;)

I would loveee to hear if anyone has thoughts on that last bit. I considered giving some extra context since what that scene is won’t be equally obvious to all readers, but I decided I may actually just wait and see if someone in the comment section draws the right conclusion :)

Tag List: @poppitron360 @bookIshpolythist @lilyfrey @lady-silkwing @intenebrisobscurat @manygeese @ann-rex

[ajastu]

sigh...

[puts on my clown hat] alright. i need to say something.

people trying to say that trans/nonbinary representation in veilguard is the worst thing thats happened to the trans community in the last half a year (im exaggerating here but u get my point) need to sit down and ask themselves a couple of questions.

1. Are you nonbinary? If not, do you know someone who is? Have you talked to them about their experiences and what its like to not fit into the strict gender binary that permeates our society on almost every level?

2. Do you think that your experiences are universal?

if you answer no and yes in that order, then i'm going to have to ask you to please put the keyboard aside and go do some self-reflection.

Because frankly. I'm kind of starting to get sick of seeing binary people try to talk about this while completely not understanding the experience and also thinking that their personal perspective is the only true and correct one.

Like, the amount of times ive seen people COMPLETELY misinterpret the scene with Taash and Neve talking in the dining room is ridiculous.

Some things are just not about you. And that's okay <3

[angellambdraws]

Pregnant Loof and a little lawlu wip

[skitskatdacat63]

Wow! A genuine ref page! Here's to hoping I make some more! Soon, I wanna start filling in answers to one of those oc ask game posts, as a sort of, get to know my oc thing, create a reblog chain as I go :) so stay tuned for that if you'd like to know more abt her! But if you have any questions now, lmk!

Also I really love this process gif that makes it look like she's genuinely winking

^ essential comparison, had to draw the chibi to game that expression out tbh

[finalset]

I’ve been so artblocked lately im honestly surprised I pulled that drawing I posted earlier out of nowhere …. It was rly spontaneous and I really like it but my brain is back at zero again which is annoying bc I actually enjoy creating right but there is just such a disconnect rn …

[reloaderror]

Something just fucking crawled on me

[non-un-topo]

Wish there was an elixir that wasn't alcohol that you could take that just makes you write/draw and not care about the quality of your work or about what your potential audience might think

[pronounrespector]

send me art requests if you dare

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Tonight’s the night Joel Miller finally let’s his feelings for you show. Or; Joel Miller half-assedly teaches you how to ride him.

Warnings: PWP. UNPROTECTED P-IN-V, big age gap, Joel is 57, Joel takes your virginity! Wow! Riding/lap riding, tummy bulge, daddy kink, creampie, pussy and cock pronouns, mentions of female masturbation, Joel, BIG DICK Miller.

Author’s Note: Here, take this no beta’d word vomit while I work on reqs! ;)

It was Joel’s neck covered in kisses, stained the color of your muted red lipstick. 

It was Joel’s hands firmly purchased on your waist as you humped his denim-clad thigh. 

Kissing him with a will and invite for his tongue. Vibrations of your moans shook down his throat. Your body finally starting to settle into his lap as he sat in the middle of your bed, your white shabby comforter detailed with a pattern of little pink flowers pooling around him, his legs tucked underneath his thighs. 

You sure as fucking hell were bound to lose the daughter-of-the-year award if your daddy comes home to a dirty house and a Joel in your sheets. 

He pulled away, the kiss ending in a sharp, wet sound. 

“This. Off.” He ordered, his eyes flicked to your top.

A free hand came up, his fingers curling underneath the hem of your tank –the same impossibly tight one that your tits have been threatening to spill out of all fucking day. Rolled over your head and thrown to the floor beside your bed, bound to be forgotten about and eventually hidden away underneath your bed skirt to be found again in the coming months.

Willing and ready you found yourself leaning in on your knees, hovering over his lap as you squirmed out of your shorts. Joel’s hands reached to pull it down your thigh at his best attempts to help you. Quickly those hands came in focused on his own clothes, his dick suffering underneath the confines of his tattered jeans.

He worked the clasp of the belt with his thumb, struggling to manage precise movements while the only light spreading into the room would be the pale glow of the moon that snuck through the slit between your curtains. Finally with a click the belt had loosened, able to thread out from the loops of his jeans, falling to the carpeted floor with a muffled sound of metal clanking against itself. 

Leaning back you awaited what you knew was to come- nearly whimpering just from the twisting low in your belly. Thick digits clamped the zipper of his jeans as he pulled it down. After a few difficult tugs down his thighs his cock sprung out. Quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it motion accompanied by the sound of the thick length slapping up against his tummy.

Luckily, you didn’t blink. 

You couldn’t sit, not yet at least. Your body stilling as your brain faltered for a moment, the sight of his painfully blushed tip, precum crying from the slit– well, was distracting. It made you ache.

You stood up, your legs bucking as you tried to fight off the dizziness, giving Joel time to kick off his jeans as you kicked your shorts off of your ankle, your panties followed up. It was slow, it was fucking messy. It was two seconds away from his palm and your waist already missed the warmth. Luckily, he was quick to the scene.

His hands squeezed into the plush of your thighs, pressing his nose into your navel, craning his head forward to draw a path down to your pelvis, pressing a firm, sweet kiss to the soft skin. The pull his hands were giving your legs was silently telling you he was ready. His bare chest inflating and deflating with every long, deep breath. 

Something different twisted in your gut now. You were anxious. 

“You know I haven’t–” 

“I know.”

He did know. But he also knew a couple other things too. He knows how you fuck your pillow every night to the thought of this, he knows how you make your fingertips abuse your clit till your wrist burns. Secrets that had flurried out of your lips as you two stumbled through the doors earlier that night. 

Things you most definitely admitted to too quickly, though, you felt it couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sit. He ain't goin’ in on his own.” He said simply. Truthfully, he made a good point. 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you slowly began lowering yourself, his hand splayed on your lower back. Closer… Closer. Until you were there, your warm, wet, bare pussy pressed against his writhing dick, now bowed between your folds. Safe and warm but not quite happy. 

Joel was shocked he hadn’t lost his mind yet.

His fingers crawled up behind you, finding the clasp to your black push-up bra and undoing it, letting it fall into his grasp before– you guessed it, throwing it to the other side of the fucking room. 

He brushed your hair out from blocking your breasts, the flesh tender, swelling with each breath. 

“Fuck me. Why’ve you been hidin’ these from me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, an act of attitude turning into one of pleasure half way as his calloused thumb runs over a half-hard nipple. 

“I wouldn’t have minded if you noticed them before.” 

You knew your pussy was making you say that. Though, there lied some truth. You couldn’t say if Joel did walk up to you and grab your tits before all this that you wouldn’t have slapped him across the cheek. 

He swallowed as he let his face nestle between your breasts, his nose dragged up your sternum before halting at your collar.

“You would’ve.”

He stated. Simply. The palm of his right hand soothed down your waist, running his thumb across the divot between the top of your thigh and your hip before working over to your cunt. Pressing the pad firmly against your clit. Swelling up under the hood. 

“You like touching yourself here?”

Oh great, he remembers. 

Oh fuck, he remembers. 

“Yes.” You breathed. The feeling making your hips stutter into the touch. 

You were quick to get impatient especially in your pretty little head beneath every other disgusting thought, you really knew you didn’t need the foreplay, or, any more at least. You came for the real deal and that’s exactly what you wanted from him. Needed.

“Fuck me Joel, c’mon.” You were frustrated.

He would’ve told you to wait another minute, get real ready which is what he was making sure you were. He could feel how you pulsed against his cock. The pressure he felt in his length was unbearably numbing. 

He guided your legs to tie a knot around his hips, wrapping a strong arm against your lower back. 

“Gonna put your hand here– right on my chest.”

Your fingers had clung around his thumb as he guided your hand over, splaying your palm flat against his chest, his nipple pressed between your middle and index. 

“Like that?” You questioned, bordering innocence. 

“Like that.” 

Your other hand rested on his knee, that light touch turned into a firmer grip at the feeling of his cock jumping between your slit. It was a warm, sticky mess of precum and your own juices. 

“Lift.”

His breath fanned out against your neck, a warmth already creeping up your skin there. You obeyed once again, lifting your hips just a bit so he could grab ahold of his base. Trying to ignore the pulses, he glided his cockhead through your labia. Puffy, aching, leading a path to your opening. Drenched. 

It’d be a tight fit, that was for fuckin’ sure. 

He started slow, pushing– pushing. His head in a constant nod to check between your entrance struggling to stretch around his bulbous head and your beautiful, little face. 

“Breathe.” He reminded. “C’mon babygirl, let ‘Im in.”

Your hand moved up, cupping his nape instead of contently settling on his chest. You had to breathe. 

You let out another mewl as it got heavier– the pressure, the feeling of him invading your cunt. He was unnaturally large. You could excuse that maybe the female body wasn’t built to take a cock so over the six-inch mark. 

That was until you felt it: Your muscles relaxing enough to take him in with a tender inhale. Popping past your virginity, your eyes glossed over as you finally let out the moan that had been stuck in the middle of your throat since you got in his lap. Your fingers threading between the damp curls that fell against the back of his neck. 

“There she is.” His breaths were quick to turn shallow, feeling your muscles clamp down. An unwelcoming-welcome into your walls. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl…” 

“Joel–” You’d whimper, the feeling was heavy, tight. You could only imagine how he felt. 

A broad hand finds your hip, guiding you into quick, strong movements as you worked your hips back and forth, soon enough– bouncing. Joel’s balls were heavy, hitting your ass in a staccato rhythm. He was a pleaser, there wasn’t a second doubt about that fact. He fucking needed you to feel every. Last. Inch. 

Though, there was a dichotomy. Fucking your brains out or trying his best to find the words to help you. Teach you. Ultimately, it had to be the second option. Another deep pump and his head curved to kiss a soft give on your gummy walls making you moan. Loud.

If only your eyes had the strength to open– turn your head to the side to look at the hands of your clock, though in the dark room you wouldn’t have much luck anyway. Dad would be home around one– AM, Jesus Christ, It’s not that you had hoping that Joel’s old cock would be outta you soon. But at this rate, you’d need to clean, do the dishes– wash your fucking sheets now, apparently. Worry was quickly fucked out of your head, an uncontrolled rut of Miller’s pelvis led to his tip bumping into your cervix, grazing along the tissue. Fuck, that made your head spin. 

“Don’t think.” He noticed. His lips pressed against the top of your breast, hands sliding to your ribs.

“He’s too big to think, daddy.” Shaky. You had enough in you to tease him. 

His lips traced all the way to the tip of your nose, planting a firm cloying kiss there. Then your cheek, your eyelid as it fluttered shut. He could’ve came right there. He pulled you closer, his hips jumping into yours. Every now and again the rocking would get fast– thrusts mean before they slowed to calm again. His brows knitted together before he found himself taking your hand into his again. Sacredly bringing it to his chest for the second time, right below his clavicle. 

“Right there– feel that? Feel how fast you got my heart goin’, baby?” 

At first you could think the worst and assume he was trying to insinuate he was going into cardiac arrest– no, he wasn’t that elderly. W–was he? 

“I– I do.” You stammered. Nodding quickly as you pressed your hand deeper.

But once you really felt it. Heavy bumps against the middle of your palm. A fast thump-thump-thump–. It wasn’t long until you felt your gut twist. Your mouth fell slack with a sharp whine, you could feel every motherfucking vein throbbing, your walls gloving him tight, giving him zero room to breathe. 

“I do.” 

You repeated. Your thighs felt hot. Hot as in; like all the blood in your body decided to all go there. Making them buzz, your legs occasionally kicking out. Now with your body ready and begging, screaming to just reach that climax already, you were really fuckin’ struggling. It was a war between you, your body and Joel’s cock. You’ve never tried harder to keep a poker face in your life. You were teetering the line, you were gonna cum. Joel could see that. See your facade slipping. 

“She’s real good, y’know.” He said, “Squeezin’ me like she needs it.” 

“She does.” You were quick to reply to his praise, it sounded more like a cry than anything. Something that was making his ego inflate. And his cock. 

“Hurry– my– Jesus. Christ.” It was like he was waiting for your next words to push deeper, harder. His thrust pausing midway to really drive himself in. “Dad– dad’s gonna be home soon–” 

Joel bit back a smirk at the mess he was making of you. Understanding how it must’ve felt for you. Poor, pliant girl. Completely cock-drunk and there was no way around the fact. Your body squirming, wriggling against him. His fingers dug into the soft plush of your ass. 

“Hm? Daddy’s right here, baby.” He cooed.

Oh, you were gonna fucking kill him after this. 

He withdrew, his jaw slacked as shallow, shaking breaths puffed out from salvia slicken lips. The slick, glistening head of his dick quickly forced right back into you, continuing the rhythm he had found that perfectly suited. Back and forth. Back. And. Fucking. Forth. 

His eyes locked on you. Not your face: your thighs, him between your thighs. The bump-out in the low of your tummy showing just where his cock was. His thumb ran right above where his base was buried, up, up, finding that pretty pink pearl hiding beneath the surface. With a firm pressure, he began thrusting his thumb forwards and back. Your cunt fluttering every time.

“Feel that? Feel me?” His cock curved up, pressing against yet another dizzying spot.

Your slender fingers moved down your highly sensitive body, haphazardly ghosting over your low stomach. And there you felt– him. So close, so intimately close. 

“C’mon, cum f’me, baby. I know you need’ta…” He urged.

It was your final straw, apparently your body’s as well.  

“Fuck, fuck–Joel–!” You felt the knot in your pelvis pinch tighter. “Daddy– fuck–!”

It was a choked cry as your hands spastically found his shoulders, fingers squeezing into the muscle painfully hard. A thick, pulsating numbness that made your walls spasm around Joel’s cock, forcing your head to be thrown back, eyes squeezing shut. You wanted to scream. Your body scorching hot, every damn inch of you. It wasn’t an orgasm you had given yourself from pure clitoral. No, so fucking different. It was– wetter. Joel’s hips slammed upwards a final time. This time faltering, stopping to press right into you as he came. Balls drawing up as thick, hot ropes of semen filled your poor, abused cunt. Painting your walls an opaque white. 

“Shh shh– s’okay.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, salt and pepper facial hair tickling, testing your sensitivity. 

Your clit rubbed against the greying, wiry curls crowning his base, a mixture of your orgasms dripping down his shaft, your lips parted, heavy pants mixing with whines continued to shamelessly drip off your tongue. And suddenly, Joel stopped, you swore, from what you could see, the color drained from his face– 

“Pill?” 

Pill–? The fuck was he– oh.

Oh, motherfucker. 

The aftershocks of your climax still buzzed throughout your body, clouding every inch of your breathing– the fog especially swelling inside your head, though, you mustered up enough to reply.

“I thought I told you. No.”

You stated. Firm.

Funnily-e-fucking-nough, you did tell him. Granted, maybe it was mutterings of a half-baked version of you, but, inevitably, still you. Your head fell forward into his chest as his hand wrapped around his base, wincing as he pulled himself out of you. His dick throbbed, aching to bask in your warmth once again. It was one helluva way to kill a moment. Whatever moment that was supposed to be. 

Your body still bloomed with warmth as he laid back with you, soothing his palm down your arm.

“The pharmacy is right on my way here.” He murmured. “I’ll pick up Morning After’s before you even wake up.”

His promise was calming to you, a lazy smile came over your face as you relaxed with him. He was trustworthy, this wouldn’t be a man who’d say something like that and not follow through, this was, well, Joel. It was Joel. 

You could always rely on Joel. 

Sweet silence was soon rudely interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling into the asphalt, Fuck fuck fuck! That was your dad’s truck, the brights shining blindingly through your sheer drapes, you and Joel laying in bed, well, like deers in headlights.

You so rudely pushed away from Joel, stumbling over to the bath robe hanging on the knob of your closet door– and Joel, well, was too fucking slow is what he was.

“You need to get the fuck out!” You hissed.

Joel, standing in the middle of your room with a cock still slick with both of your cum, scrambling to find his fucking boxers– did you have a fucking void in your floor?! He picked his jeans up, tripping into them as you placed your hands on his arms, pushing him towards the window–

“Jesus, sweetie– h-hold on–!” 

That’s the thing, you couldn’t. As soon as you heard the front door open your stomach sank, nauseatingly low.

“Out, NOW!” 

You were harsh, sure. But for all the right reasons. You felt bad kicking him out in unzipped jeans and no shirt, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead only forcing him to do the walk of shame alllllll the way back to his house. Which luckily was only a block away. Anyone with eyes and a window facing the sidewalk could see him– so theoretically, everyone in the neighborhood. 

You were just about to slam the window shut into his fingers before he stopped you, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb running along your bottom lip like he had the time. 

“See you in the mornin’.” 

He smiled. Lazy, tired. But genuine. It made your stomach flutter. 

“See you…” You returned the smile. Shutting the window as silently as you could as you watch him stumble his way out of your yard. 

The fact you had turned this poor, fifty-seven year old man into a hormonal teenager again was starting to set in. 

[loregoddess]

why does art have to be so art

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[dannyriccsystem]

i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.