#as is everyone on this site huh?

[omnivoric]

Its love

You think the love of people like me is unpure

Evil

Disgusting

Maybe it is

But its love

Every kind of love can be that way

Every kind of love

can be as dirty as

A public toilet

When you don't wash your hair for a month

A backalley dumpster

Or

It can be as pure as

the first ray of sunshine

A babys first laughter

Newly fallen snow

It doesn't really matter who you love

More so how you love that person

-nivo

[cecoeur]

Fun for fanfic and all. But in no reality, Max irl would ever think of that Martin post. It has been 8 hours, almost half the drivers on the grid posted about him. Pierre fucking gasly did it, of all people! And we are to think Max is tossing and turning in his sleep over Daniel? No, you know where he is? He is bloody streaming. Yeah, when his organisation is nailing the final nails to Daniel’s legacy (after they have done the same to Daniel’s career) all he had to offer was a comment on daniel’s post. Daniel was good for him as long as he picked up that one point that his shitty teammate couldn’t do. Max, like the rest of red bull, will think of Daniel as a footnote for their “bigger picture”.

Listen. This is not going to be an eloquent response but here goes. I get that you’re upset but this take…it ain’t it, bud.

The absolute last person I’m worried about having Daniel’s back in this or any situation is Max Verstappen. Max has been a genuine friend to Daniel from the beginning and equating his social media engagement or him living his life (?) to his level of love or respect for Daniel as a person and a driver is shortsighted and incredibly unfair.

Max was THE only person in the RedBull “family” over the weekend supporting Daniel during what was clearly a mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting weekend. We heard and saw proof of that on multiple occasions.

If you don’t want to take my word for it, take Daniel’s. He said many times in multiple interviews after the race on Sunday (and before) what max has done for him and meant to him over the years.

Most of all I think it’s important to remember that just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The most meaningful interactions are not broadcast for the entire internet to see and consume because quiet frankly that’s not the fucking point.

[pasdetrois]

when are we as a society going to discuss the lear/cordelia and prospero/miranda parallels...

[russellius]

Why do you have to be so anti everyone? you have a really good blog but it's just not fun anymore

... what 🧍🏻‍♀️

[235uranium]

ik ppl joke about tumblr users having bad taste in music but i never took it seriously since i do like most of the popular ones. but holy shit there's some wild takes on that music poll

[squipdop]

ngl getting blocked by a person with a canon url is kind of hilarious. i feel like i stepped on my blorbos toes one too many times

[undead-moth]

Because this is such an excellent post I'm going to try to keep my infodump here brief but I can't pass it up:

Whether or not something that happens within a story is "realistic" is determined by an agreement made between the writer and the audience in the premise.

The writer establishes the rules of the world and promises not to break them as long as you, the audience, promise to believe anything that happens without breaking them is real even if they aren't plausible or possible (re: realistic) in real life.

This is where the term "suspension of disbelief" comes from. If the writer asks you to suspend your disbelief higher than they initially promised in the premise, that means they broke one of the rules, and something has happened that goes against what you agreed to believe is plausible or possible for the purposes of immersing yourself in the story. If a story asks you to suspend your disbelief too high from the outset, that means something about this story is just too implausible or impossible as a premise for you to immerse yourself in personally.

When something "unrealistic" happens within a story, it very specifically refers to what shouldn't be plausible or possible within the story's universe -

It does not refer to what is implausible or impossible in real life.

This is why criticism of tragedies, horror, and musicals are often missing the point, and don't offer productive analysis. It doesn't matter if someone in real life would "wait a few minutes" to see if Juliet wakes up. It doesn't matter if losing cell service is "convenient." It doesn't matter if no one "bursts into song" in real life. None of these genres have the same rules as real life and they're not meant to.

If these genres are asking you to suspend your disbelief higher than you're able to, it's fair to not be a fan of them. It's not fair to insist all of these genres actually suck just because they don't conform to the specific height at which you personally prefer a story to suspend your disbelief.

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[zuxigo]

sometimes I hear about immigrant/diaspora groups that make me go

[eli-am-confused]

hi maybe dont say weird stuff in the rbs of an art post. just a thought

Hi! I probably shouldn’t and wouldn’t normally replay to stuff like this but as you’re in anonymous so I don’t know who’s work I should stop commenting on and in case anyone else thought the same I’d like to clear the air. Say sorry and give my reasonings I guess.

If you are an artist and i made you uncomfortable by saying odd stuff when reblogging then feel free to message me to tell me and I won’t do it again for your art. I’d also like the chance to properly apologize in the right context to what I’ve said. When I rb something it’s cause I really enjoy it and when I say stuff it’s cause I have a lot of thoughts and need to get them out, but if you’re uncomfortable with me doing that with your art I totally get that. It’s no big deal or a problem at all for me to stop.

For me when I make art and people say weird stuff when rbing (wanting to eat it our squish a blorbo or throw blorbo against a wall or just having thoughts on the general idea of the post) I personally actually get really excited about it because I get to hear others thoughts and it makes me feel they enjoy what I made all that much more rather than someone just rbing with nothing or the general tags that apply (any form of rbing is loved and cherished very deeply don’t get me wrong, sometimes you’re just not in the mood to write or just can’t think of anything to say and that’s ok I get like that too). (I do thank everyone that has ever reblogged my work or messaged me to tell me they like my work. I just get shy and don’t know how to respond but I do keep it very close to my heart every time)

I’d also like to say that if you’re not an artist who is uncomfortable with me adding my two cents on your art then you simply don’t have to be on my blog. In fact, no one has to read what I have to say at all, that being someone who I’m rbing from or not. Easy fix there.

But again if you are an artist just message me and I won’t do it again for your work. For ANYONE who I have ever reblogged from who didn’t particularly like what I had to say, I am sorry and please just tell me. This isn’t meant to be an attack or anything I mean everything very genuinely, the last thing I want to do is make someone supper uncomfortable. So please just tell me if I’m going too far.

Sorry about the odd post I just think this deserves to be addressed as I have had the thought that I may have gone too far on occasion. And very often don’t remember what I’ve said even just hours later.

[smallteacake]

fuck "AI" and fuck all of you assholes who keep stealing people's work to train it on.

[roboticskulls]

rrrrrrrRRRRGAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

[goldfades]

next time | chapter three, DAYLIGHT

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you try to move on from a past relationship finds yourself caught between a safe relationship with a new football player and a magnetic attraction to joe burrow. kylie tries to guide you towards stable relationships but you struggle with the lack of passion and excitement in your current romance.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | kinda angsty, past relationships mention, dalton kincaid mention!!!, ummm nothing else.

The bass thrummed low through the floor, the sound vibrating beneath Joe’s feet as he leaned back against the bar, whiskey glass in hand. The postgame party was in full swing—players scattered around in groups, some deep in conversation, others basking in the high of the night. The exclusivity of it all made things feel a little more intimate, a little less like a spectacle, which he appreciated. No cameras, no media, just guys celebrating with their people.

He had barely touched his drink, rolling the glass between his fingers as he let his eyes scan the room. He wasn’t really sure what—or who—he was looking for.

“Yo, man, you good?”

Joe barely turned his head as Ja’Marr slid in beside him, a bottle of beer in hand, eyes sharp like he could see right through whatever Joe was thinking.

Joe exhaled through his nose. “Yeah.”

“Uh-huh. That’s your favorite answer these days.”

Joe didn’t bother arguing.

Ja’Marr took a swig from his bottle before nodding toward the far side of the room. “Travis is here with Taylor, obviously.”

Joe followed his line of sight, catching a glimpse of the couple. Travis, as usual, was in the center of everything, laughing loudly, talking with damn near everyone in the room. Taylor was settled in a booth nearby, not nearly as deep into the scene as her boyfriend, but smiling nonetheless.

And next to her—

Joe blinked. There was someone next to her. Someone he didn’t recognize.

And yet...

Something flickered in his chest, sharp and sudden, like a stray ember catching flame.

You were sitting comfortably, legs crossed, your body angled toward Taylor as you talked, deep in whatever conversation they were having. Unlike the other women at the party, she wasn’t dressed to be noticed—no skin-tight dress, no exaggerated effort to stand out. Just effortless. Simple. Like she belonged without trying.

Joe couldn’t look away.

Something about her felt... familiar, though he couldn’t place why.

Ja’Marr must have noticed, because he let out a low chuckle. “Ohhh. I see what’s happening here.”

Joe finally tore his eyes away, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

“Nah, man, this is interesting,” Ja’Marr mused, leaning against the bar. “You actually interested in someone? Haven’t seen that in a minute.”

Joe ignored him, but that didn’t stop Ja’Marr from grinning.

“Who is she?” Joe asked before he could stop himself.

Ja’Marr arched a brow. “That’s Kelce’s sister.”

Joe turned back toward her, brow furrowing slightly. He’d heard about Travis’s sister in passing but had never actually seen her before. She was always in the background, tucked away in the spaces where the cameras didn’t reach.

But now? Now he was seeing her.

Really seeing her.

Ja’Marr smirked. “Didn’t know Travis had a sister, huh?”

“I mean... I knew.” Joe tilted his head slightly. “Just didn’t know she was... her.”

Ja’Marr let out a laugh. “Oh yeah, man. That’s her.”

Joe turned back toward his drink, swirling the liquid inside, trying to settle whatever had just sparked in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

Not now.

Not after everything.

It had been months since his breakup with Olivia, but he still wasn’t used to this—this thing inside of him that craved something solid, something real, but had no idea where to find it. He’d tried to push it down, tried to ignore it, but it was still there. And now, looking across the room at a girl he didn’t even know, it was clawing its way back to the surface.

He stole another glance, catching the way she laughed at something Taylor said, head tilting back just slightly, eyes bright with amusement.

That feeling surged again.

Joe clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not to him. Not like this.

The house was quiet when Joe got home, the kind of quiet that made his own thoughts louder. He dropped his keys onto the counter, kicked off his shoes, and sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. His phone was already in his hand before he could think twice about it. Muscle memory had him opening Instagram, but this time, instead of mindlessly scrolling, he typed a name into the search bar.

Your name.

It popped up immediately. No effort. No guessing. Like even the damn algorithm knew he was curious.

He clicked on your profile, eyes scanning over it with something between hesitation and intrigue. Your profile picture wasn’t what he expected—no posed influencer shot, no carefully curated aesthetic. Just you, smiling at the camera on the beach. Simple.

And the posts? Barely 30 of them. Joe found that odd.

With a last name like Kelce, you could’ve been larger than life. He’d expected more—glamorous vacations, front-row seats, high-profile events. Instead, what he got was...

Normal.

A couple of pictures with your brothers—Travis grinning like an idiot with his arm slung around your shoulders, Jason hugging you tight and you with Kylie and the kids. A handful of game-day shots, mostly from years ago. One with Taylor, obviously.

And then—Joe scrolled lower.

Prom photos. His thumb hovered over the screen, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

It wasn’t the Kelce sister, the one with over 10 million followers, standing in an ordinary high school gym, wearing a dress that, while beautiful, wasn’t designer or extravagant. It wasn’t you, standing next to a guy in a rented tux, smiling like you had no idea how different your life was going to be in just a few years.

Joe felt something shift in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, not really. But this? This was unexpected.

Who were you?

Because from what he could see, you weren’t just the Kelce’s sister. You weren’t just some girl who happened to exist in the same space as NFL royalty.

You were something else entirely.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joe wanted to know more.

The house was lively, as it always was.

Jason and Kylie’s home never knew silence, not with three kids under five running around, demanding attention, food, and whatever toy the other had at any given moment. The TV was playing some random kid’s show in the background, the faint sound of little giggles filling the air as Benny toddled after Wyatt, both of them holding onto a stuffed football like it was the most prized possession in the world.

You sat at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of tea Kylie had made you. She insisted it would be good for your stress—not that you were stressed, of course, but apparently, she could just tell.

Across from you, Jason leaned back in his chair, watching you with a look that made you roll your eyes before he even opened his mouth.

“So, let me get this straight,” he started, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re seriously letting Kylie pick your next boyfriend?”

“She’s not picking him,” you corrected, tapping your nails against the side of your mug. “She’s just… giving me options.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Kylie, standing by the counter with her phone in hand, waved him off. “Oh, shut up. I’m doing what you should be doing instead of scaring off every guy who even thinks about talking to her.”

Jason pointed at her. “That’s my job.”

“No,” she countered, flipping through her phone. “Your job is to be a supportive big brother who wants his sister to be happy.”

“She is happy,” Jason insisted. Then, turning to you, he added, “You’re happy, right?”

You gave him a dry look. “So happy.”

Kylie huffed. “Okay, well, you’d be happier if you weren’t wasting away in self-pity over you-know-who.”

Jason tensed immediately, expression darkening at the mere mention of him.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “We’re not doing this.”

“We are doing this,” Kylie pushed. “Because I love you, and you deserve to move on.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath but said nothing more, probably because he knew Kylie wasn’t going to drop it.

“Anyway,” Kylie continued, ignoring her husband’s brooding, “I took the liberty of compiling a list of eligible bachelors who might be worthy of your attention.”

You lifted a brow. “A list?”

She held up her phone. “A roster, technically.”

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Jesus Christ.”

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but smirk. “A roster? You’re actually scouting for me?”

“Damn right, I am,” Kylie said proudly. “And I think I found a solid option.”

You leaned forward slightly, a little amused now. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

She turned her phone around, revealing a picture of Dalton Kincaid.

You blinked. “The Bills’ tight end?”

Kylie nodded. “He’s young, talented, good-looking—”

Jason made a sound of protest.

“—respectful,” Kylie continued, throwing her husband a look. “And I did my research. No crazy exes, no scandals, and he seems like an all-around nice guy.”

You tilted your head, staring at the picture. You had to admit… he was attractive.

Kylie caught your pause and gasped, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re considering it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you didn’t not say that.”

Jason groaned again, pushing back from the table. “I hate everything about this.”

Kylie swatted at him playfully before turning back to you, her excitement barely contained. “This is progress! We’re getting somewhere!”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “It’s not that serious.”

“But you think he’s cute.”

“…He’s not not cute.”

Kylie clapped her hands together. “I’ll take it.”

Jason just muttered something about needing a beer.

You laughed softly, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest didn’t feel so suffocating.

Jason, still grumbling about the whole thing, leaned forward and set his forearms on the table. “Alright, if we’re really doing this, I have a suggestion.”

Kylie rolled her eyes. “Oh, now you’re getting involved?”

“I’m just saying,” Jason shrugged. “I met this rookie at camp—JJ McCarthy. Nice kid, real polite. Reminds me of myself, honestly.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Jason.”

“What?”

“He’s a rookie.”

“So?”

“So, I’m not about to be a cougar just because you met some nice kid at camp.”

Jason smirked. “I mean, it’d make for some great headlines.”

You tossed a napkin at him. “Shut up.”

Kylie, snickering, scrolled through her phone again. “Alright, fine, JJ’s out. What about…” She hummed, scrolling. “Christian McCaffrey?”

Jason shook his head. “Engaged.”

“Damn,” Kylie muttered, moving on. “What about George Pickens?”

Jason scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Okay, okay,” Kylie continued, tapping her screen. “Ooh, what about Joe Burrow?”

Jason immediately burst into laughter. Like, full-bodied, shoulders-shaking laughter. You and Kylie both blinked at him.

Kylie frowned. “What the hell is so funny?”

Jason wiped a fake tear from his eye. “You think Joe Burrow is relationship material?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “That guy is the opposite of what she needs.”

You tilted your head, intrigued now. “Why do you say that?”

Jason snorted. “Because Burrow is married to the game. Dude’s got tunnel vision. He’s not the type to settle down, trust me.”

Kylie scoffed. “That’s not entirely true. He was in a long-term relationship before, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, and look how that ended,” Jason pointed out. “He’s not gonna be boyfriend of the year anytime soon.”

You, despite yourself, were mildly curious now. You hadn’t really thought about Joe Burrow in that way before, but Jason’s insistence that it would never happen somehow made it more interesting.

Not that you were interested. At all.

Obviously.

Kylie crossed her arms. “Well, I think you two would be cute together.”

Jason laughed again. “Not a chance.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Can we please move on? I am not about to start a fantasy draft of my love life.”

Kylie sighed dramatically. “Fine. But just so you know, I am rooting for Dalton Kincaid.”

Jason groaned. “I need another beer.”

You just shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as the conversation shifted to something else. But still, for some reason, the idea of Joe Burrow lingered in the back of your mind longer than it probably should have.

It started off simple.

Dalton had followed you on Instagram a few days after your conversation with Kylie and Jason, and Kylie had been the first to notice. “Look at that! Already manifesting. I’m a genius.” You had rolled your eyes at her dramatic proclamation, but you had to admit—it was a little funny.

Then he liked one of your photos.

You didn’t think much of it at first. He seemed like a nice guy from what you’d heard, and he had that clean-cut, all-American charm to him. No drama, no scandal, no exes lurking in the shadows. Just a solid, respectable guy.

You liked one of his photos back, just to see what would happen.

Then, one evening, a DM popped up.

Dalton Kincaid: Hey, didn’t know we had mutuals. Small world.

It was harmless, casual, and completely normal—so normal that it threw you off. After years of dealing with cryptic texts, games, and public blowouts, the idea of a guy just… being direct felt almost foreign.

You responded. He responded. And just like that, a conversation started.

A week later, he asked you to dinner.

You said yes.

And honestly? It was nice.

Dalton was polite, always held the door open for you, asked questions about your life, and actually listened. He didn’t pry too much about your family or your past, didn’t seem to care about the attention your last relationship had brought. He just seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you.

And after everything you’d been through, you figured that had to count for something.

So, when he asked you out again, you said yes.

And then again.

And then again.

It wasn’t some whirlwind romance, nothing dramatic or earth-shattering. It was steady, predictable. Safe.

That’s what you should want, right?

That’s what Kylie kept saying. “This is good for you,” she insisted one night after a double date. “This is what a normal relationship looks like.”

Jason, surprisingly, got along with him when they finally met. He gave Dalton a firm handshake, grilled him about football, and even managed to squeeze in an overly protective “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you” speech—which Dalton took in stride.

Everything was fine.

So why did you feel nothing?

You tried to ignore it. You really did.

But Kylie? Kylie could tell.

It was dinner at their house, just something casual. You’d brought Dalton along, and Jason was actually being nice for once, talking football and joking around with him.

But Kylie was watching you.

And when you reached for your wine glass for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, she leaned in close and murmured, “You’re bored.”

You blinked at her. “What?”

“You’re bored,” she repeated, matter-of-fact.

“I am not—”

She gave you a look.

You exhaled sharply, lowering your glass. “It’s just… different.”

Kylie arched an eyebrow. “Different how?”

You didn’t answer.

But she already knew.

Before dinner, you excused yourself to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and gripping the edge of the sink as you stared at your reflection.

What were you doing?

Dalton was perfect—on paper, at least.

But the truth was, you weren’t excited. Your heart didn’t race when he texted you. You didn’t find yourself thinking about him when he wasn’t around. You weren’t craving his presence.

You had been convincing yourself that this was what you needed—something stable, something good.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You had always been drawn to chaos.

Jayson had been chaos. That relationship had been unpredictable, passionate, messy. It had ruined you, and yet you had kept going back, over and over, because you didn’t know anything different.

Was that just who you were?

Were you always going to be the girl who ran toward the fire, no matter how many times she got burned?

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be healing.

So why did it feel like you were just losing yourself all over again?

The event was grand, extravagant in a way that felt both dazzling and completely exhausting. The kind of celebration where everything gleamed just a little too bright, the champagne flowed just a little too freely, and everyone pretended they weren’t sizing each other up with every passing glance.

You had tried—really tried—to get into it.

You were supposed to be playing two roles tonight: proud sister, devoted WAG. You had the dress, the practiced smile, the polite small talk. But twenty minutes in, you already felt yourself fading.

Dalton had been whisked away by Jason and Travis almost immediately, caught up in some animated discussion about the upcoming season. And you? You had done your best to engage, had listened to your brothers talk about strategies and offseason plans and blah blah blah—but after a while, you had quietly slipped away, finding solace in the one person who could make these things bearable.

Taylor.

“I think I’ve heard your last name about a hundred times already,” she mused, swirling her drink idly as you both leaned against the high-top table tucked into a quieter corner of the room. “Everywhere I turn, it’s ‘Kelce this, Kelce that.’ How do you deal with it?”

You let out a slow exhale, eyes scanning the glittering room. The sea of football players, coaches, media figures—it was endless.

"Practice."

Taylor laughed, tapping her manicured nails against the rim of her glass. “I don’t know how you do it. I get tired just watching you pretend to be interested.”

You smirked, raising your glass in a mock toast. “Years of experience.”

The truth was, you had been interested in the past. You had sat in the stands since you were a kid, had spent years watching your brothers play, following their careers, genuinely invested in it all.

But now?

Now, it felt like the same story on a different night. The same conversations, the same people, the same repetitive cycle.

Dalton was here, of course. Somewhere. You had watched him slip into the role of social butterfly with ease, chatting up Jason, shaking hands with some of the veterans, blending seamlessly into the scene.

You knew you should be at his side. That was what WAGs did, right? They stood next to their football player boyfriends, smiled for the cameras, cheered them on at events like this.

And yet…

You didn’t want to.

Not because you didn’t like Dalton. He was great. He was kind, easygoing, safe. But standing next to him didn’t ignite anything in you. There was no pull, no electricity.

And worst of all—you were bored out of your mind.

Your eyes flitted across the room absently, landing on familiar faces here and there. Jason was laughing, Travis was deep in conversation with some Hall of Famer, Dalton was… somewhere.

The thing about these events was that they all blurred together after a while. The same faces, the same conversations, the same predictable rhythm. You had been in rooms like this for as long as you could remember, had learned how to smile at the right moments, laugh at the right jokes, play the part.

But tonight, something felt different.

Or maybe you felt different.

Taylor had leaned in close, whispering something about how the only thing worse than being in a room full of football players was being in a room full of football players and their coaches. You had laughed, nodded, agreed wholeheartedly.

Dalton was still somewhere, lost in conversation with Jason and Travis, and for the hundredth time that night, you wondered why you were even here.

You weren’t unhappy. You weren’t miserable. But you weren’t exactly having fun either.

Your eyes wandered absently over the crowd, taking in the scene. And before you could think too much about it, you turned to Taylor. “Wanna sneak out?”

Her face lit up with delight. “God, I thought you’d never ask.”

And just like that, you slipped away, out onto the quiet balcony, letting the crisp night air wash over you.

Joe had been doing a pretty good job of convincing himself he wasn’t looking for her. For the last few weeks, her name had been sitting in the back of his mind like a song he couldn’t shake, playing on a loop, something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to forget.

He had spent too much time trying to figure out why.

Why her? Why now? But now that she was here, standing across the room, he realized it didn’t matter. Because the second he saw her, something in him shifted.

She was sitting with Taylor, her expression unreadable, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass in a way that made something tighten in his chest. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. Since something had pulled at him like this.

Maybe never.

And then, before he could process it, before he could even think about doing something about it—

She was gone.

He blinked, scanning the room, realizing she had slipped away with Taylor out onto the balcony. And just like that, the moment was gone, slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it.

"You gonna go talk to her, or you just gonna stand there like an idiot?"

Joe sighed, exhaling slowly as Ja’Marr clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Not really my thing."

Ja’Marr snorted. "What, talking to girls? Since when?"

"Since she’s not just some girl."

He regretted saying it the second it left his mouth, because now Ja’Marr was grinning at him like he had just admitted to something huge.

"Damn, Joe. That bad, huh?"

Joe rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "It’s not like that."

"Right. And you’re not staring at that balcony like you wanna be anywhere but here."

Joe clenched his jaw, eyes flickering toward the doors again. It was stupid. He knew that.

But something about her—the normalcy, the way she seemed so unaffected by all of this, the way she had managed to get under his skin without even trying—it was driving him insane.

And now she was right there.

Ja’Marr smirked. "You act like you’ve never had to talk to a girl before."

Joe huffed out a laugh. "This is different."

"Why? ‘Cause you actually give a shit?"

Joe didn't answer. Because yeah, that was exactly why. And the worst part?

He felt like he was back in high school, standing outside a classroom, working up the nerve to talk to the girl in his biology class. But this wasn't high school. And if he didn't go now, he probably never would.

Ja’Marr leaned in, lowering his voice. "Go."

Joe exhaled slowly.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it—

He did.

*****

Dinner with the Kelces is never a quiet affair, no matter how upscale the restaurant. Tonight is no exception.

You're sitting at a ridiculously high-end spot in New York, the kind where the waiters wear crisp white jackets, and the wine list is longer than the menu. The kind of place that expects hushed conversations and delicate bites—not a table full of Kelces, their significant others, and three children under the age of five making a scene in the middle of the dining room.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, hilarious, full-volume Kelce chaos.

And then there’s Dalton.

You glance across the table at him, watching as he patiently listens to Wyatt explain the entire plot of whatever Disney movie she’s obsessed with this week. He nods along, eyes soft, not the least bit bothered by the toddler-level monologue happening right in front of him.

He’s good. Good with the kids. Good with your family. Just… good.

And you hate yourself for not being into him the way you should be.

"Are you even listening to me?"

You blink, dragging your gaze back to Kylie, who’s watching you like she knows exactly where your head is at.

"What?" you say, shoving a piece of bread in your mouth to give yourself something to do.

Kylie gives you a look. "You’re thinking too much. Stop it."

"I’m literally just sitting here."

"You’re literally overanalyzing the nice, stable man sitting next to you and trying to talk yourself into liking him."

You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

"You should like him," Kylie continues, because of course she’s not going to let it go. "He’s great."

"I know he is," you mutter.

And you do.

Dalton is everything you’re supposed to want.

Which makes it worse that you don’t want him the way you want—

"Oh!" Taylor’s voice cuts through the conversation. "Speaking of football players, did I tell you guys about—"

You don’t even have time to react before Taylor clamps a hand over your mouth, eyes going wide like she just realized she stepped on a landmine.

Kylie immediately perks up. "About what?"

Taylor’s gaze darts to you, full of silent apology.

Shit.

You force a laugh, waving it off like it’s no big deal. "Oh, it’s nothing. She’s talking about that thing with Joe Burrow at the event."

Travis, who’s been in the middle of a conversation with Jason, turns his head at the sound of the name. "What thing with Burrow?"

You roll your eyes, putting way too much effort into sounding casual. "He just wanted a picture."

A beat of silence.

Jason blinks. "That’s it?"

"Yeah, of course."

No one believes you.

Dalton, who’s been relatively quiet during the exchange, just quirks a brow, looking between you all. He doesn’t press. But you see the slight shift in his expression, like he’s noting it. Filing it away for later.

Taylor, meanwhile, is drinking her wine way too fast, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

The conversation moves on, but the tension doesn’t fully disappear.

And you spend the rest of dinner trying very hard not to think about why you lied so quickly.

And Dalton drops you off at your hotel that night, always the gentleman. He walks you to the door, hands in his pockets, that easy, genuine smile still on his face.

"I had a really great time tonight," he says.

You nod, ignoring the way your stomach twists. "Me too."

And then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It’s soft. Polite. Exactly what a good guy would do. And all you can think about is how much you crave more.

Just… not from him.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and you let out a long, slow breath, forehead resting against the cool wood. The air in the hotel room was still, almost suffocatingly quiet, as if it was holding space for the thoughts you were trying so hard to ignore.

Dalton was perfect. He was stable, kind, predictable in the best way possible. He was the kind of guy you could trust, the kind who would never make you wonder where you stood. And yet—

Your fingers twitched at your sides as you let out a groan, dragging your hands down your face. God, what was wrong with you?

You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Not Dalton—the other one.

Joe Burrow.

The thought alone sent a frustrated shudder down your spine. You barely knew him, and yet, he’d wormed his way into your brain like he had every right to be there. You could still hear his voice, that easy, smooth way he spoke, the sharp intelligence laced behind his words. And worse—you could still feel the way his eyes had lingered, like he’d been just as caught in whatever this was as you had.

Your chest tightened, and you pushed off the door, pacing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. New York was alive outside, bright and fast-moving, everything in constant motion. It should’ve been a distraction. It should’ve been enough to drown out the storm in your head.

But instead, your mind pulled you back.

Back to Jayson.

Back to the last time you’d felt something like this.

You sucked in a breath through your nose, arms wrapping around yourself, like maybe if you held on tight enough, you could stop yourself from spiraling.

It had been years of push and pull with him.

You met him when you were nineteen—young, naive, willing to overlook the red flags for the sake of something that made your pulse race. And god, he had made you feel alive. He was charming, effortless in the way he made you want him, even when you knew he wasn’t good for you.

The highs had been so high. The stolen moments, the electricity, the kind of passion that made everything else fade into the background.

But the lows?

The lows had swallowed you whole.

The fights, the uncertainty, the way he could cut you down with a single look, a single word. The way you had needed his approval, his love, like it was the only thing keeping you standing.

You had been a wreck when it finally, finally ended.

And now, months later, standing in the middle of a quiet hotel room with the ghost of another man’s touch lingering on your lips, you hated that a small, twisted part of you missed it.

You hated that stability didn’t set your veins on fire the way recklessness did.

You hated that Joe Burrow had looked at you like you were interesting, like you were something worth figuring out—and it made you want.

You hated yourself for craving something that could ruin you all over again.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips as you sank down onto the edge of the bed, rubbing at your temples.

"You’re a fucking mess," you muttered to yourself.

And worse—you weren’t sure you even wanted to be fixed.

The bass of the club pulsed beneath Joe’s feet, vibrating through his chest like a second heartbeat. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the dim lighting caught the reflection before tipping it back and letting the warmth spread through his veins.

He wasn’t drunk—just loose enough to let his thoughts spill out.

“That was my shot,” he muttered, shaking his head as he leaned against the VIP booth, looking across at Sam Hubbard. “Tee straight up cockblocked me, man. Like, do you understand how rare that was? That was a moment.”

Sam chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink. “You’re really hung up on this, huh?”

Joe gave him a look. “Wouldn’t you be? I barely get like this over anyone—and the one time I do, I don’t even get to ask for her number?” He scoffed, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. “Unreal.”

Sam smirked, stretching an arm along the back of the booth. “You know about her and Jayson, right?”

Joe’s brows pulled together slightly. “Tatum?”

Sam nodded, tipping his drink toward him. “Yeah. They were together for years—on and off bullshit. Public, messy breakup. It was bad.”

That gave Joe pause.

He knew of Jayson Tatum, of course—anyone who paid even the smallest amount of attention to basketball did. He was a star, undeniably talented. But what Joe didn’t know was that he and the Kelce sister had history. A lot of history, apparently.

Joe frowned, shifting in his seat. Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

Maybe it was because he knew exactly what kind of guy Tatum was. Not a bad guy, necessarily, but the kind who could have any woman he wanted at the snap of a finger. The kind who probably expected her to come back every time he left.

And she had, until she didn’t.

Joe let out a breath, shaking his head as he stared at the ice in his glass. “Damn. He fumbled, bad.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s with Dalton now, so I doubt she’s thinking about it too much.”

Joe’s head snapped up at that, brows shooting toward his hairline. “Dalton?”

“Kincaid.”

Joe blinked, as if making sure he’d heard that right. “Dalton Kincaid? The Bills’ tight end?”

“The very one,” Sam confirmed, amusement playing at the edges of his lips.

Joe sat back, exhaling through his nose as he mulled that over. Dalton was a good guy. Solid. Reliable. Exactly the kind of guy you’d bring home to your family and not worry about them hating him.

But without meaning to, without even thinking, Joe muttered, “Don’t seem like her type.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And who does?”

Joe opened his mouth, then shut it. Because he knew exactly what he was about to say.

Me.

But he caught himself just before the words could slip, and instead, he dragged a hand down his face, muttering a quiet, “Fuck.”

Sam straight-up grinned. “Wow. Wow.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Joey B thinks he’s the Kelce sister’s type?”

Joe scowled at him. “Shut up.”

“Nah, nah, hold on,” Sam laughed, slapping a hand against his knee. “This is interesting.”

“It’s not interesting,” Joe bit back, shaking his head. “It’s just—Dalton’s a nice guy. A good guy. And she probably should be with someone like him.”

Sam’s grin widened. “But you don’t think she wants to be?”

Joe didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he thought about the way she’d carried herself at the event. How, even in a room full of the NFL’s biggest names, she hadn’t acted like a Kelce—at least, not in the way you’d expect. She hadn’t been loud or attention-seeking, hadn’t fed into the spectacle of it all. Instead, she had snuck away with Taylor, like she was bored of it. Like she was looking for something else.

And he didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but he knew what it felt like.

Familiar. Like he’d been there before.

Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. All I know is that Tee cockblocked the hell out of me, and I’m pissed about it.”

Sam laughed, raising his glass. “Then you better make sure next time, you don’t miss.”

Joe clinked his drink against Sam’s, but as he tipped it back, he couldn’t help but think—

Next time, huh?

[cameronsprincess]

Office Hours — R.C

request: Hi!! Can you write like a CEO rafe and his wife who comes to visit him at the office and he fucks her on his desk where everybody can hear her moaning his name and then he walks out all smug, leaving for the day to continue pleasing his wife at home (from anon)

CW: CEO!Rafe, wife!reader, semi public sex(?), unprotected sex, choking, slapping, degrading, breeding kink. and i think that’s it.

likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated<3

note: CEO Rafe is so sexy to me, and this is an NYC AU, not in the OBX💞

Rafe always loved when you came to visit him at work. Your husband had a very busy schedule, multiple meetings, business trips, and visiting location sites for new businesses he wanted to open up.

It was a rarity that you caught him in the office, alone and with some time to spare for you.

So when he called you today, asking you to come in to the office to see him, you jumped on the opportunity.

“Mrs. Cameron, he’s in his office waiting on you.”

You smile at Rafe’s assistant, nodding your head as you make your way down the long hallway of the building. Reaching the end of the hall, you stand in front of his office door, Rafe Cameron, CEO, is in big bold letters across the middle.

You push the door open, — not bothering to knock since he knows you’re coming — and find him sitting behind his desk, his office phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he spoke sternly to whoever was on the other end.

He looks up, bright blue eyes finding yours as he smiles softly, “I gotta call you back.” he says to whoever was on the other end of the line, hanging up before they can even respond.

“Hi beautiful.” he says, smiling and standing from behind his desk, making his way toward you.

You smile widely, shutting the door behind you and meeting his steps, wrapping your arms around his neck and lifting on your toes to kiss his lips. “Hi handsome, I’ve missed you.”

Rafe melts against your lips, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide down your body, wrapping around your waist, large hands gripping your ass firmly through your tight black leggings.

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours and smiling. “I’ve missed you baby, I promise, I’ll take some time off soon and we’ll go to the house in the Bahamas, spend some real time together, okay?”

You smile up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod your head in agreement. Rafe dips his head down, his lips finding yours again and slowly kissing you.

His tongue makes its way into your mouth again, brushing with yours as his hands begin roaming the expanse of your body. You moan softly into his mouth when his fingertips rub against your clothed thighs. It’d been a few days since you’d had your husband, and you were craving him, in more ways than one.

“Rafe, I need you.”

He smiles against your lips, backing the two of you up until your back hits a wall. He presses his hips into you, the feel of his already hard cock pressed against your clothed core making your breath catch in your throat.

“Yeah? My wife wanna be fucked in my office? Let everyone hear how good I make her feel?”

You suck in a sharp breath, mumbling a one word response, “Yes.”

His eyes darken and he places his hands on the underside of your ass, lifting you up and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to his desk, setting your ass down on the sleek wood surface. You watch him intently as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off and leaving his broad, tanned chest and abdomen on display.

You reach out to run your fingers down his abs, but he slaps your hands away. “Nuh uh, baby. No touching.”

You frown, letting out a frustrated sigh that makes Rafe smirk. “You gonna be a fuckin’ brat? Huh? Just let me know, I can make you wait if that’s what you want..”

Your eyes go wide, shaking your head fast as you say, “No no no, ‘m sorry baby, I just… I need to feel you.”

He smirks, popping the button on his black dress slacks before working the zipper and shoving them down his legs, letting the material pool at his feet. Your eyes trail from his face down to his tight black boxer briefs, the hard, thick outline of his cock pressed firmly against the thin material.

“See something you want baby?” he teases, placing his right hand over his hard-on, squeezing himself lightly, a low, raspy groan escaping him.

Your thighs squeeze together, your eyes glued on his hard dick. “Yes. Want your cock, need to feel you stretch me, please.”

Rafe growls, taking one long step toward you. His fingers dig into the waistband of your leggings, ripping them down your legs. He hisses in a breath when he sees you’d opted for no panties today.

“Fuck, you plan this? To come in here and seduce me during office hours?” 

You can’t contain the mischievous smirk that spreads across your lips. “Maybeeee.”

“Mhm, my wife is such a fucking slut. I love it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Rafe slapping your cheek has you gasping instead. The sting from his hand has more arousal pooling between your legs, and you whine, your clit throbbing with need.

“Rafe, please. Fuck me. I need to feel you inside me, it’s been four days, I-”

Rafe shuts you up, his lips aggressively finding yours. He wraps his fingers into the back of your hair, pulling your head back to allow him better access to your mouth. His tongue finds yours, fighting for dominance while his free hand slides its way under your ass, lifting you up just enough so your soaked cunt is level with his hard dick.

He tightens his grip in your hair, pulling your lips from his as his darkened over eyes find yours. “Ready for me baby?”

You whimper out a small “yes” and he removes his hand from your hair, using the now free hand to grip his cock in his hands. He strokes himself softly, spitting down onto the base and spreading it around his length with his hand.

He scoots your ass further down the desk, running his swollen head through your arousal slick entrance before he slowly pushes into you. You hiss in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut as he continues to push into you agonizingly slow.

“Fuck sweet girl, you’re so fucking tight and wet.”

A loud moan slips past your lips, the feel of his thick cock stretching you out making your brain short circuit.

“F-ffffuck, Rafe. Please move, need to- need to feel you move..”

A low growl rumbles in Rafe’s chest, and he slowly pulls out, slamming himself back inside of your warm, wet cunt. You gasp loudly, screaming his name as you wrap your arms around his neck, your nails digging into the soft skin of his back.

Rafe begins to roughly pound himself into you, his left hand under your ass and keeping you pressed into him while he right hands makes it’s way around your throat, squeezing hard and forcing your eyes on him.

“This what you wanted? Huh? Wanted me to fuck you like a slut in my office, let all my employees hear you fucking scream for me?” He pauses, removing his right hand from your throat and smacking at your face again, a deep, red handprint left burning on your cheek. “Go on, fucking scream baby, let everyone in this goddamn place know who the fuck owns this sweet pussy.”

You’re a whimpering, moaning mess. Your brain is so foggy from how good his cock feels buried deep inside you, how his filthy words and aggressive actions on your body turn you on even more. You can’t form a coherent response, and this only pushes Rafe to be meaner, and fuck you harder.

He slowly pulls himself from you, making you whine at how empty you feel without him filling you. His large hands grip at your hips, lifting your ass from the desk and flipping you so your stomach lay flat on the surface now. He slaps at your ass harshly, making you scream in pain and pleasure. “Answer me! Who the fuck is making you feel this good? Hmm? Who owns this fucking pussy, baby?”

He slams back into you, his hands firmly planted on your hips so he can pull you back to meet each of his thrusts.

Screaming his name, you answer his question. “You! You, Rafe. Feel so fucking good! You own my pussy, all for you!”

He slaps your ass again, a dark chuckle falling from him, “That’s right baby, I fucking own you and this sweet fucking pussy. Never forget that, aight?”

Tears fill your eyes, your pussy clenching tightly around your husband’s thick cock as he repeatedly pushes in and out of you at a fast and rough pace. “Y-yes sir. Never gonna forget it, fuck!”

The first few tears spill past your eyes as Rafe continues to brutally fuck himself into you from behind. Your walls clench around him tightly, strings of curses and moans slipping past your lips. “Fuck, Rafe. Ah ah, s’close baby, fuck!”

Rafe leans forward, the weight of his body on your back as his lips hungrily kiss at your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. “Go on baby, make a fucking mess on my cock and desk, let go f’me.”

That was all it took, Rafe kissing harshly at your neck and his permission to let go sent you tumbling over the edge, your pussy tightening once more as you came undone around him.

He fucks you through your high, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he curses under his breath. “Gonna cum baby, gonna fill this pretty little pussy up, make you a mama. You want that? Wanna have my babies?”

“Y-yes! P-please! Want your cum, Rafe! Wanna have all your babies, fuck, please please.”

Rafe’s thrusts grow sloppy, his hips stuttering as he pushes into you a few more times. You let out a loud moan when you feel his hot cum spill inside you, painting your inner walls white.

“Fuck!” Rafe shouts as his hips slow, burying himself to the hilt and stilling inside you.

Your body collapses onto the desk, the cool surface feeling good against your hot, sweat slick skin. You wince when Rafe pulls his softening cock from inside you, pulling up his boxers and slacks before grabbing his white button up off the floor.

You hear him disappear into his private bathroom that’s in his office, the sound of the sink turning on making you lift your head from the desk.

He walks behind you, gently laying your head back down as he brings the warm, wet hand towel between your legs and cleaning you up. Once finished, he tosses the damp towel to the side, pulling your leggings back up your legs and lifting you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your head resting against his firm chest. “I’ve missed you, thank you for that.” you say softly.

Rafe dips his head down, pressing a soft kiss to your tangled hair before whispering, “You’re welcome, baby. ‘M yours for the rest of the day.”

You lift your head, brows furrowed in confusion when you hear his office door open, multiple sets of eyes on the two of you before they all avert their eyes to the ground. You hide your flushed face in his neck, not wanting the attention on you when you know everyone knows what just took place in your husbands office.

You hear Rafe speak, “Angie, forward all my calls for the rest of the day. I’m going home for the day, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

His assistant clears her throat awkwardly, letting out a quiet “Yes, Mr. Cameron.” before Rafe begins walking the two of you out of his work building and to his car.

rafe taglist: @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @vhour @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust0 @sylverdragon @the-sylver-dragon @ditzyzombiesblog @romaescapes @urfavpersonality @stupidbxnny

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[lordprettyflackotara]

professional || ben drowned

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: cam girl!reader, squirting, ben's just a little possessive, mutual masturbation, fuck machine?

Ben threw himself into his gaming chair, grabbing his favorite bottle of lotion. After a long day of doing unethical favors for his fellow mansion residents, the blonde needed to blow some steam.

Being a digital ghost had many perks, along with being immortal. However this also meant having seen anything and everything. He had been on every porn site, every forum, every twitter thread. He'd hyperfixate on one fetish or pornstar at a time before eventually losing interest. He found himself growing more interested in the pornstars themselves, resulting in him investigating cam girls instead. Something about seeing the raw reactions and unfiltered live shows made Ben the horniest he had ever been. He scrolled through the site, looking for who was online. The blonde had a few favorites, but you were his ultra fantasy. His eyes lit up at the sight of your screen name being online, his heart pounding as he clicked on your live show. You had just started thankfully, your skimpy pajamas still covering your soft skin. Your perky nipples were poking through the thin material. Ben relished in the sight of you smiling at the recognition of his screen name.

"Hey there, drowning_in_bitches, nice to see you again."

Sometimes the way you talked to Ben made you feel like these shows were for him and him only. After all he was your top donator. Money was an endless resource for him, the blonde not afraid to shower you in cash to see you cum harder. You usually had your toys linked to the donations, the vibrations only starting and going faster when people donated. It was a satisfying sight to Ben, to see your face scrunching up in pleasure as the sound of coins dropping came out of the speakers. "I have something different for tonight boys," You say, your eyes bright and full of excitement. You leaned out of frame, fiddling with something. "Thanks to everyones over the top donations, I was finally able to invest in something I think we all will enjoy," You say. Ben raised an eyebrow in interest, before his mouth dropped in the shape of an O. You pulled into frame a sex machine, a large pink dildo strapped to the end of it. Your chat of admirers was going crazy, many already spamming with excitement. You giggled as you read the comments, Ben's mouth watering.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, his cock beginning to ache in his shorts.

You got that for me huh? He typed, before pressing enter. You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flickered to his comment. "Maybe I did maybe it's something special for my favorite admirer," You purred. You pulled your shirt over your head, your breast bouncing out freely. Ben began to fiddle with the strings of his shorts, watching you play with your mesmerizing breast. A few small donations were made, Ben purposefully waiting. You were quite the tease, loving to draw things out. Ben was not a patient man however, and refrained from donating until you were getting down to business. He loved to overstimulate you and you being foolish enough to get a fuck machine was perfect for him. You adjusted the fuck machine into position, before bending over in front of the camera. You played with the hems of your flimsy shorts, before pulling them down. Ben matched your motions, shoving his shorts down to his ankles. No panties huh? Dirty slut. He typed, tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. You glanced over your shoulder, reading his comment. Ben could see your face noticeably flush red after soaking in what he said.

it really felt like you were putting on a private show for him and him only. You were so flustered and interactive with him. He never saw you do anything like that for anyone else. In the back of his mind he knew logically it was most likely because of the money he showered you with. But the other half of him ignored that thought, obsessed with the idea of you wanting him as bad he wanted you. "Honestly quite nervous about this guys, I haven't been properly fucked in ages," You sheepishly admitted. Ben's breath hitched as he palmed at his cock. Were you being honest? Or were you saying that just for fun? I can change that. He typed. He watched you read the comment, before delivering the camera a sly wink. "Maybe you should Mr.Drowned," You purred. Mesmerized, he watched as you laid down on your set up. You spread your legs wide open, licking two of your fingers before drawing slow circles around your clit. Your chat was going crazy with excitement, the horny men thrilled to see you pleasure yourself. Ben began to stroke his cock, noticing no one was donating. You were going slow on purpose. Ben had spent countless hours watching you ruin yourself for his entertainment. He knew exactly what you could handle.

He hovered over the donation tab, donating an easy $500 to start with. It had a simple note: Let me fuck your face. The sound of coins made you sit up, reading the note. You giggled. "Yeah? Is that what we want chat?" You asked. Ben couldn't ignore his jealousy. Why were you attending to their desires? He was the one you belonged to. The chat was flooding with excitement, causing you to fully switch positions. You put the fuck machine in front of your face, kitten licking the dildo. You arched your back, giving the camera a divine view of the shape of your ass. "That's it," Ben grumbled to himself, beginning to stroke his cock. He made a donation directly to the machine this time, the speed beginning to pick up. You took it the dildo deeper into your mouth, maintaining a seemingly innocent gaze into the camera. Ben grabbed the lotion, now fully ready to stroke his cock. His fingers reacted faster than he could comprehend, dumping another large donation carelessly into your account. The sound of coins made you moan, the dildo now fucking your throat. Ben relished in the sound of you gagging, saliva messily dripping down the sides of your mouth.

Your eyes were beginning to flood with tears, your waterline so full the tears overflowed. You struggled to keep up with the face fucking as Ben continued to donate more and more. The dildo was abusing your throat mercilessly, your thighs squeezing together with arousal. Ben couldn't help but fantasize about seeing you cum for him, his fingers hovering over his keyboard once more. Now lay down slut and let me fuck you. Ben typed, pressing enter. You blinked away some tears, pulling yourself off of the dildo. You laughed as you wiped some of your smudged mascara. "Look at this guys, you're making me make a mess," You laughed, laying back down on your back. You brought the dildo to your entrance, the toy more than lubricated with your saliva. Your cunt was glistening with arousal as Ben stared at you wide eyed, his hand slowly edging his cock. He watched you slowly take the toy, your walls eagerly clinging onto it. Get ready, i'm gonna give you the best fuck of your life. Ben typed. Your chat was so full you missed his comment, your mouth in the shape of an O as the fuck machine began moving.

Ben frowned as he realized this, carelessly placing a donation of $1K. You gasped as the sound of coins came out of the speaker, the fuck machine beginning to fuck you faster. For a brief moment your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure. It was brushing against your g spot so deliciously, you couldn't help but moan. Your moans were sounds of encouragement for Ben, the blonde smirking as your doe eyes finally met the camera. He stroked his cock faster, dumping various large amounts of money into your inbox. You were gripping your pink comforter, your mouth running dry. Ben momentarily stopped, your other admirers simply watching instead of donating. You whined as the machine came to a stop, your eyes pleading as you looked into the camera. "Fuck please keep going, I wanna cum," You whimpered lowly. Ben bit his bottom lip, imagining hearing you beg for him directly. The other losers in your chat didn't have a shot in hell in making you cum as hard as he could. As he would.

The blonde continued donating, ultimately deciding on donating the maximum amount he could. He dropped his hand, watching the fuck machine whir at its highest speed. You were a moaning and whimpering mess, your knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets so hard. "Fucking hell, my fucking-, fuck!" You cried. Your cunt was abused by the toy Ben was controlling, a sick sadistic grin curling up his lips. Ben stroked his cock, rubbing his thumb over his slit as he watched you fall apart. Your legs were trembling, struggling to stay open as you took what Ben was giving you. Your head fell back as you squirted, your juices coating the sheets. You sheepishly closed your legs, your face red and cunt puffy. "Holy shit. I've never done that before," You panted. The fuck machine came to a brief halt, your lustful gaze meeting the camera. It was like you were looking directly into Ben's soul.

"Hey Mr.Drowned, wanna make me do that again?"

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙days like these | DR3˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: daniel ricciardo x y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: random fluffy shite

summary: in which you're so active on social media and your fans eat it up

a/n: kind of the daniel version of This Fic i made from a lando request !!!

fc: various brunette girls from pinterest

my masterlist

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1, and 332,782 others

yourusername your favs

tagged: danielricciardo

view all 3,193 comments

maxverstappen1 neither of you are my favourites

yourusername you stink + no one asked + ratio + my bf is hotter than urs

maxverstappen1 what are you saying to me right now

yourusername you heard me

danielricciardo hahahahah

maxverstappen1 daniel tell your girlfriend to leave me alone please

yourusername this is literally my post

user3 y/n is the funniest & best wag tbh she's literally right she is our fav

user4 im in love with u

danielricciardo wow you are gorgeous and amazing

yourusername i know right

user5 i love them so bad

twitter ->

instagram ->

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 881,034 others

danielricciardo girl is always eating

tagged: yourusername

view all 12,729 comments

yourusername what is wrong with you

danielricciardo huh??

yourusername WHY WOULD YOU POST THESE UGLY ASS PICS OF ME

danielricciardo wtf you literally look hot as hell

maxverstappen1 😂😂😂

yourusername i know you aint laughing at me sloth verstappen

maxverstappen1 🤐🤐🤐

user9 how can someone still look this hot whilst eating

user10 omg i love her

user11 now this is why she's everyone's fav wag

user12 reason 10292 more like

francisca.cgomes how did you bag such a hottie

danielricciardo ask myself this everyday

yourusername OMG KIKA im blushing

danielricciardo wow she doesnt care when i compliment her

francisca.cgomes what can i say 🤷‍♀️

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, danielricciardo, and 289,061 others

yourusername beach day with my gf

tagged: francisca.cgomes

view all 6,293 comments

pierregasly ???

yourusername and what do u want

pierregasly my girlfriend back?

yourusername not right now, sorry

francisca.cgomes the girls are fighting over mee

user16 I LOVE THEMMM OMG

user17 wag besties 🥹

francisca.cgomes i love u

yourusername i love you

danielricciardo so this is why u didnt text me back today

yourusername I DROPPED MY PHONE IN THE SEA OK

maxverstappen1 😂😂😂

yourusername next time i see u it's on site

maxverstappen1 😰

user18 hahaha max never says a word and still gets roasted

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, kellypiquet, and 917,892 others

maxverstappen1 Cool 😎

view all 11,013 comments

user19 IS THAT DANIEL & Y/N IN THE LAST SLIDE

user20 LOL more comments about y/n than max himself

kellypiquet ❤️❤️

liked by maxverstappen1

user29 Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N ‼️

yourusername obsessed with my man much

maxverstappen1 i'll block you

yourusername booooooo max verstappen booooooooo tomatoes tomatoes

danielricciardo be nice y/n

yourusername no

maxverstappen1 what is wrong with her

user30 i cant tell if y/n actually has real beef with max or not 😭😭

user31 surely not hahah she's literally in his photo dump

twitter ->

instagram ->

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, francisca.cgomes, and 771,829 others

danielricciardo my woman

tagged: yourusername

view all 8,183 comments

user35 bet he's sucking up to her

user36 awww the flower in the plastic cup

user37 the bows on the uggs she's just a girl fr

yourusername i havent forgotten what you said daniel

danielricciardo im sorry for calling you unemployed even though you are

yourusername right.

maxverstappen1 a taste of your own medicine for once

*comment deleted by maxverstappen1*

yourusername i saw that maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 saw what

user37 boooo we want y/n & daniel fluff

danielricciardo she wont love me anymore

user38 get her some flowers or something daniel

user39 yea man up

yourusername 🤔

danielricciardo give the people what they want

yourusername fine i forgive u. and i love u

danielricciardo ! i love you so much

user40 and the crowd goes wild!!!

THE END ❤️

[soup-mother]

not overly fond of the way transfems on this site talking about transmisogyny basically just exist for bigger tme blogs to occasionally reblog something that lines up with their worldview and have everyone pat them on the back for occasionally reblogging a post about transmisogyny. like hey why the actual fuck does everyone treat you like an expert on this because you reblog *my* posts? that's a bit fucked huh? like oh goodie i get to be the token tranny and get out of transmisogyny accusations free card

not a huge fan of that