#don't ask me how i got here it was Circuitous

[gentianghost]

Hello I have carving questions 👀 Do you, like, just eat a peach and then carve the pitt or are there preparatory steps in between? Are you carving the super wrinkly knobbly pitt that I think of as a peach pitt or is there like a smoother pitt inside of it somehow? What kind of knife/ tools do you use?

I love carving questions I am sorry for taking so long to answer this (it has been a week in which several important things broke, including but not limited to my schedule, my tools, and my AC)

Anyway! Carving!! Peach pits!!! Let's go!!!!! This is going to be a long post, you have been warned 😈

I do in fact carve the same peach pits you are thinking of! There is a seed/kernel inside of the pit, which is plantable and also somewhat poisonous. That part is not particularly carveable.

Here's a very rough diagram from one of the very very few Western resources I've found on peach pit carving, contrasted with a picture of an actual carving- you can see the hollow where the kernel goes.

Generally one breaks the kernel up with a knife tip, long pin, sewing needle, awl, whatever works, and very carefully scrapes it out.

I am sadly not lucky enough to be eating the local peaches whenever I want, because they are a bit spensy, but I do hoard the pits from those when I get the chance! They're a little bigger and with different internal proportions than the ones carved in my posts so far. These wrinkly little friends are Nermaguard peach pits, which you can buy as plantable seeds, which is in fact how I got them. I would love to waylay a peach canning plant and make off with a truckload of pits from there, but until then this is the cheapest way I know of to get materials.

The Nermaguard pits are very good for carving as far as pits and seeds go imho, with thick walls and a generally predictable placement of the kernel inside.

(I believe there's other pit carvers who specialize in other pits, and also at least one (1) whole entire Eastern tradition, but I have very little information on that other than the occasional Pinterest picture or news article. Foreign language translations do also make it a bit difficult to tell exactly what type of pit is being carved! I will absolutely make a post gushing about the very small amount I know if someone wants me to. Just know that I am not by any means an expert.)

As for tools, I admit to using power tools, because I am disabled and do not have the stamina or hand strength to do much carving by hand. Before this week I would have told you my main tool was an old Dremel model 770, but that has since given up the ghost and needs refurbishing, so I have a new tool now: a very sexy DEPSTECH Model DC08.

I have to hold it one-handed (which is very much not recommended for many very valid safety reasons! but needs must when the devil drives) so: I have my peach pit in one hand, tool in the other. It's a bit big, so I generally brace the end on my shoulder and then brace my hand on my work table (actually my dining room table). This works very well for me because I have experience managing tiny carving objects and power tools, mostly, but there are definitely times when things I am carving yeet themselves into the void and I have to go hunt them down!

For rotary tool bits I actually use a variety, depending on the scale of the details and the smoothness of the finish I'm aiming for. Roughing out takes a carbide bit, which is often all I need if I'm doing something simple like a basket. Going down the scale in detail I have diamond bits (which come in a better variety of shapes), which I can use for very rough detail on an animal figure or for smoothing out. And for most of the detail for animal figures, I have drill bits!

"Why on earth would you use tiny drill bits," you might ask? They break if you breathe on them too hard, and they're definitely not MEANT for this sort of thing; they're meant for drilling <1mm holes in miniature figures and/or circuit boards.

The answer is mostly that I don't want to use dental tools, and this was the alternative. Also, they come in bulk packs: 10 to a case, and multiple cases at once. Very handy when one of them breaks again halfway through carving a set of details! One case goes from 1 or 1.1mm down to… eh, i think .2mm? I eyeball these things, and they are not well labeled.

After the details are carved comes polishing. I will tell you for free that many very smart people use polishing attachments for their rotary tools.

I am not one of them.

I have a big ziploc bag of little sanding discs that go up to maybe 3000 grit, and also some much bigger sanding discs of 10,000 grit sandpaper. See that gray background in the earlier images? That's them. It makes things very shiny. I love my 10,000 grit sandpaper :)

Thank you for activating my trap card of Peach Pit Infodumping, I hope your upcoming week is fantastic and full of tiny delights 🫡

[hanniebaeee]

Hubby Dearest

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, suggestive, very naked jinnie MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin calls out for a towel from the shower. You're annoyed with him, so you don't help. So yeah.

Hosting a New Year’s party sounded fun in theory, but the reality? It was such a pain. Between cleaning, decorating, and prepping food, your sanity was running wild, and your husband was doing absolutely nothing helpful.

“Hyunjin, I swear, if you don’t get up right now -” You glared at him as he lay sprawled on the couch, giving you a grin.

“Relax, babe,” he said, flashing a smile. “I’m your moral support.”

Moral support? You picked a cushion and threw it at him.

“The boys will be here in an hour!” you snapped, shoving a tray of glasses onto the dining table.

“And?” He raised a brow, gave you a flirty look. “They’re family. They won’t care if there’s a speck of dust somewhere.”

“That’s not the point,” you began. “You're not even ready yet and -”

But whatever else you had to say got stuck in your throat as Hyunjin stood, stretching lazily like a cat. Then with a devilish grin, he stepped close. So close, his chest touched yours.

Damn him.

“You’re ogling again,” he teased.

“Am not!” you snapped, cheeks burning. 

“Babe, you’ve been mad at me all day! You know that I love it when you're snappy,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, if you want some attention, all you have to do is ask.”

“Oh please,” you groaned, crossing your arms and pretending you weren’t distracted by how good he smelled.

“Come here,” his voice dropped an octave as he leaned down, lips brushing yours.

“Hyunjin!” you shove him lightly, but your heart raced wildly.

He laughed, taking a step back.

“Relax. I’ll go take a cold shower, ‘cos just look at what you did to me,” He said, looking down.

So did you. If your cheeks weren't red enough, they were now, because there was a very noticeable bulge in his pants now.

And you did absolutely nothing for this to have happened. Your eyes met his as he winked and walked towards the bathroom, leaving you feeling completely numb. 

About fifteen minutes later, you were putting down the last of the dishes on the dining table when Hyunjin’s voice echoed from the bathroom.

"Baby?!"

You sighed.

"BAAAABE!"

"What, Hyunjin?" you called back, huffing in annoyance.

"There are no towels in here!"

Ah, yes. He was supposed to put the towels in the bathroom earlier. But of course, he was too busy being a princess to do that.

"That sounds like a you problem!" you yelled, grinning with pure satisfaction.

"Y/N! Don’t do this to me!"

You ignored him entirely, going back to clicking pictures of everything you've set up. He could learn a lesson about responsibility for once. You hear him calling out to you again, this time, his voice whiny.

Not today, Satan.

You thought you'd won. For a moment, there was silence, and you actually thought you'd won. 

Then you heard the bathroom door open.

“Y/N,” came his low, warning voice.

You turned your head, and your brain short circuited.

Because there stood Hyunjin, stark naked, water running down every inch of his perfect, glistening body, his hair wet and messy. His hands rested on his hips, and he looked so damn smug, as if he didn't just kill you.

"I figured if you weren’t bringing me a towel, I’d bring myself to you," he drawled, sauntering toward you, his wet footprints trailing behind him.

Your jaw dropped as you squealed, "HYUNJIN!"

"What?" He smirked, leaning forward, his face right in front of yours. "You’re the one who left me hanging. Fair’s fair, babe."

"You’re… dripping on the rug!" you sputtered, slapping your forehead.

"Am I? Guess we better clean it up," he said with a wink, leaning closer. His was so completely intoxicating, the scent of his body wash mingling with the heat radiating off his skin.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, trying to maintain your composure, even though your brain was urging you to put your hands on him. 

"And you’re ridiculous for thinking you could win this game," he shot back, brushing his lips to yours in a teasing kiss.

“They’re going to be here soon,” you tried again, though your resolve was quickly crumbling under his touch.

"Then, be a good girl and get me a towel." He whispered. 

Well, you had to laugh. 

"Fine," you giggled, but as you made your escape toward your bedroom, he called to you again. 

"Babe? You might wanna hurry. I’m cold."

You should've known better. Should’ve known that a towel wouldn’t end this. Not with Hyunjin.

He had followed you into the bedroom like a puppy and as you handed him the towel, you caught his smirk - one that screamed, I’m not done with you yet.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, casually slinging the towel over his shoulder instead of wrapping it around his waist.

“Jinnie, dry off and get ready!” you said, glancing at the clock. The boys were going to arrive soon, and here he was, dripping wet and still very naked. 

“Yeah yeah, what's the rush?” He cocked his head, feigning innocence.

“Oh my God” you sighed, eyeing the puddles of water he'd left everywhere. 

“I just wanna spend some time with my beautiful wife before everyone gets here,” he said with a shrug.

“Baby,” you said. “Please wear some clothes…please?”

“Hmm?  But why?” he hummed, stepping closer.

And then just like that his lips were on yours, hungry and demanding. The towel fell off his shoulder to the floor as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his wet body.

You stumbled back from the force with which he was on you, and put your hand on his shoulders for support.

You gasped as his hands slipped down, resting on your ass as he gave you a cheeky grin.

“They’ll be here any minute!” you whispered.

“Then we’ll make it quick,” he murmured, lifting you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed.

“Hyunjin, no -”

“Y/N, yes,” he shot back, grinning like the menace he was as he laid you down, his weight settling over you.

His lips were so warm as they traced a path from your jaw to your collarbone.

“Jinnie I swear you're crazy,” you whispered, though your body betrayed you, arching into his touch.

“Oh please, you love it,” he countered, his voice thick with desire.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you with another kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and caressing yours softly.

“Jinnie,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Yes, my love?”

Before you could say anything, you head the sound of a car door closing, and Chan's loud laugh. 

Your eyes widened and you said, “Oh my God, they’re here!”

Hyunjin grinned, completely unbothered. You shoved him off you and scrambled to fix your dress (which was crumbled now).

He laughed, grabbing the towel from the floor and finally wrapping it around his waist. He sat on the bed, watching you fix your make up and when you turned to face him, your heart skipped a beat at how adorable he actually looked. 

You stepped closer, wiping your lipstick smeared on his lips and chin with your hand. 

“Can you please put on some clothes now? Please baby?” You asked.

“I'll think about it,”

“Please do,” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead, leaving a perfectly red imprint of your lips on his skin.

“Thanks for that, wifey,” he cooed.

“Oh you're welcome hubby dearest,” you said, your eyes trailing down his body with a grin, lingering on a particular problem. "And... fix that."

Tags:

@moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun

[enidette]

THE PERFECT DRUG

warnings :: both are 18+, this doesn’t follow canon timeline but who cares, riding, unprotected sex (they’re so dumb don’t do that)

carl met you when you were brought back to alexandria, battered and bruised and shaking like a leaf from presumably trauma. his father, daryl, and rosita had gone scavenging and found you, and after some questions and your worrying state they brought you back.

he was drawn to you immediately. he was intrigued by how you held yourself. your normal behavior a great contrast to how shaken up you were when he first saw you.

he liked how similar you held yourself compared to him, independent, confident even if it was a facade. he liked how when you met him you just shook his hand and looked into his eye with kindness in yours. one of the first people to not look too long or overreact and interrogate him about the bandage.

but it was the little things that made carl's brain short circuit. tying your shirt up when it got too hot, exposing the skin of your belly. offering to care for judith, unknowing to how carl's mind ran wild about how you would do as a mother. maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but this crush he’s developed has become deeply rooted in the two years you've been here. despite never acting on it.

but you act so nonchalant around him. he's starting to understand how glenn and maggie fell together like puzzle pieces so quickly, but you don't seem to spare him a glance anymore. it drives him insane.

as of now the group is huddled together, brainstorming their next scavenging trip to satisfy negan. you're standing right in front of him, clad in cargo shorts and a white top tied in the front. you stood with your hand over your eyes, blocking yourself from the blazing sun as much as you could.

it's the little things.

you feel eyes on you and turn around, laughing shortly with no surprise that carl was behind you. "hey carl," you walk up to him, flicking his hat with a smile.

he hums in response, squinting his eye to see you clearer. "hi."

you shift your weight on your hip, "it's a little hot out to be wearing a flannel and jeans, huh?"

carl shrugs, "not much choice." him and those short answers, making it hard for you when all you want to do is listen to his pretty, raspy voice. it’s too bad he just doesn’t trust himself to speak around you.

you huff and start walking towards his house, a slight smirk setting on your lips when you hear him shuffling behind you "you're not going to help?"

"they're sending daryl and a couple of others, not me." you wait for him to speak again, ask you something else maybe. "they want me to watch after judith though."

"i got it." you say and open the front door of his house. you take judy away from olivia with a smile and a thank you. you bounce judith on your hip, carl standing behind you after he closes the door. you heard olivia say something about judith's nap time so you head up to her room to put her down.

no surprise carl followed you. you put judith down for bed, smiling at her sweetly.

“you’re good with her,” he observes allowed, following you as you walk out. you mumble a ‘thank you’ and turn to face him, leaning against the door of his bedroom. silence falls between you, the awkwardness growing when carl tries to get into his room.

you giggle nervously when you realize you’re in his way, moving to the side a bit before looking up at him. his eye flicks from your eyes to your lips. you don't miss it, silently gasping and put your hands on his chest to prevent him from coming closer.

his hand comes up to one of yours, guiding it up to his hair. you blink your eyes away from him. his head dips down to look into your eyes that are hellbent on avoiding him. you look up at him now, breathing out heavily. "i want you." it's a mumble under your breath, barely audible.

he laughs breathlessly, inching his face closer to yours. "i want you too." he mumbles before pressing his lips against yours. and his imagination is vivid, no doubt. but all of the noises he had you make for him in his head didn't come close to the pretty, honey-like sound of the ones escaping you now.

it didn't compare to how soft your lips felt against his, how perfect your skin felt on his fingertips. he pushes himself against you, chest to chest and deepens the kiss. you let out a small whine, using your free hand to grip his shirt.

his lips go to your jawline, sucking and biting and kissing at the skin. he's careful to not leave marks, saving those for the places only he could see. his hand goes behind you to open the door, pushing you inside clumsily before laying you down on his bed and hovering over you.

he bites his lips while he takes you in. you're breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. he sees the sheer shine of sweat on your skin, how plump your lips are from your kiss, how pretty your skin looks with the little light seeping from the window.

he pushes your shirt up and kisses along your abdomen, leading up to your chest and taking it off completely. his hand goes to your back, lifting you off the mattress slightly to rid you of your bra. he sighs with satisfaction when he finally sees your tits for himself.

his fingers lazily roll your nipples, the small action causing you to whimper and buck your hips. he looks up at you curiously, taking in everything that caused a reaction. he was going to prove to you that he could make you feel good.

he motions for you to take your clothes off and groans at the wet patch on your panties. he grinds against your clit and you gasp, his jeans causing friction that feels so good. the embarrassment of you being nearly fully naked while he's still dressed adding onto the fire in your belly. he whimpers in your ear every time he moves his hips, his hands holding yours in place against the mattress.

“wait,” you breathe out, hands coming up to his chest to stop him. you gesture for him to lay down before straddling him. you unzip his jeans, tugging them down his legs. your impatience gets the best of you leaving you to abandon them at his mid-thighs. he laughs at your desperation, helping you pull your panties to the side and guide yourself onto his cock.

you whine at the intrusion, going down slowly. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, throwing his head back. his hat falls off as a result and with a smirk you pick it up and set it on your head.

"you look perfect." you look down shyly, trailing your hand up his shirt to reveal his slim figure. you breathe out shakily as you force the rest of him inside of you, sitting still for a bit to adjust and get used to feeling him inside of you.

all the while carl is looking at you like you’re a goddess, half lidded eyes raking along your body. your hands are unsteady on his chest, trying your best to steady yourself and bounce on him properly.

you find a rhythm and your head falls to his neck. but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you, finally getting you to himself the way he wanted. not to mention how crazy you drove him wearing his hat.

your arms wrap around his neck and you move your head to kiss him. it's soft, carl wants to savor this as long as he can. his arms go around your waist, leaving you to grind on him instead. the kiss is messy, mostly heavily breathing into each others mouths trying to stay as close as possible.

his hips attempt to buck into yours, thrusting into you fast and messily. his lips lock with yours and his right hand cups your chest. he pulls out with a groan and your hand comes up to wrap around his cock. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast causing whimpers to fall from your lips. his brows furrow and his mouth falls agape while he watches your pretty hand finish him off.

taglist :: @carlslvr @hiro--aoki @carlsangel @mozzeralla-stix @carlmipololo

[robert-smirke-official]

MAG Avatar Fuckability Tier List

It’s here. You’re welcome. Avatars are ranked most fuckable (S Tier) to least fuckable (F Tier). They are also ranked within their respective tiers. In true Robert Smirke style, I will not be accepting criticism. Fight me.

S Tier

Have special traits that actively contribute to the sexual experience.

Daisy Tonner (Hunt) - excellent strength and stamina. Essentially has a werewolf form, and we all know how hot Tumblr gets for werewolves. Deserves the #1 spot.

Jared Hopworth (Flesh) - will mold his body into whatever shape you want. May also mold your body into whatever shape you want. Can help with your dysphoria, might steal your bones.

Annabelle Cane (Web) - if you’re into bondage. Webs that are never too tight or too loose, and that can move on their own.

Tom Han (Flesh) - an avatar of the Flesh absolutely knows his way around a body. Also an incredible cook. He will make you dinner first, just don’t ask what’s in it.

Jude Perry (Desolation) - perfect temperature control, and hard into sadism. She will ruin your life, but the sex will be fantastic.

Breekon & Hope (Stranger) - two for the price of one, but they are so in sync that you’ll never feel the awkwardness of a threesome. Also, they’re blue collar workers. Very hot.

Michael Crewe (Vast) - imagine sex in freefall, like an eagle. I’ve never tried it but it sounds thrilling. Nobody but the two of you in a vast, empty sky.

A Tier

S Tier with drawbacks, or excellent options without being exceptional.

The Distortion (Spiral) - everyone wants to talk about "mind-breaking sex" but nobody wants to deal with the consequences. You’re gonna have a hell of a migraine.

The Coffin (Buried) - some people like to be crushed under the weight of their partner. Very clingy.

Emma Harvey (Web) - excited to experiment in the bedroom. May bring other Avatars over. Does not understand the concept of safe words.

Simon Fairchild (Vast) - old but still spry and flexible. No drawbacks, but doesn’t make S Tier because the Magnusverse has more to offer.

Martin Blackwood (Lonely) - a good listener. Will take your needs to heart. The human version of a cheetah’s emotional support golden retriever. Not exceptional, but dependable.

Manuela Dominguez (Dark) - sex with the lights off. Intelligent and bold, likes to take charge. Not extremely distinguishing.

B Tier

Mostly good options with some less-than-ideal traits.

Alfred Grifter (Slaughter) - an old man who's still got it, and a musician to boot. Don't let him choose a playlist to "set the mood." The mood is murder.

Elias Bouchard (Eye) - besides being subjectively hot he really doesn’t have anything going for him. Short temper. You do not want this man's pipe.

Julia Montauk (Hunt) - intense, but maybe you’re into that sort of thing. Will break up with you just to get you back. Daddy issues.

Jonathan Sims (Eye) - knows what you want in bed, and is good at getting you to open up. A little too anxious to be a really good lover.

Oliver Banks (End) - attractive, sure, but distant, like trying to fuck a statue. Doesn’t help that he can see when you are going to die.

Hezekiah Wakely (Buried) - expert at putting you to bed afterwards, but the sex itself? There are better options.

C Tier

Mostly bad options with redeeming qualities.

Gertrude Robinson (Eye) - constantly checking you out for weaknesses. Will not make eye contact.

Trevor Herbert (Hunt) - canonically grimy, though some people are into that. Body of a 70 year old marathon runner.

Dexter Banks (Web) - your classic film boyfriend who'd rather watch Das Boot than actually get busy. At least he's not transphobic.

Benoit Macon (Corruption) - are you open to threesomes with his beetle wife? How do you feel about becoming a rotten log full of termites?

Samson Stiller (Eye) - plenty of circuits for you to short out. Refuses to log out of Omegle.

Nathaniel Thorp (End) - likes games, but won't let you win. Too bony for good cuddling.

Gabriel (Spiral) - you’ll feel like putty in his hands. You’ll also develop a phobia of doors and fingerprints.

D Tier

Will give you a bad experience, or just boring.

Jonah Magnus (Eye) - prefers to watch. Dusty.

Agnes Montague (Desolation) - doesn’t want to hurt you, but literally cannot touch you without giving you third-degree burns.

Angela (Flesh) - very possible you would wake up the next morning without genitals.

The Piper (Slaughter) - hard to find a private spot in the middle of a war zone. Unfuckable due to bagpipes.

Not!Them (Stranger) - disconcerting, especially since the person you think you’re having sex with is actually dead. Emotionally distant.

Maxwell Rayner (Dark) - feels like he is going to crumble to dust. Insists on doing it with the lights off. Doesn’t know any interesting positions (he is from the 1700s).

F+ Tier

Just for Jane Prentiss (Corruption) because some of you are into that shit.

F Tier

Active health risks.

Nikola Orsinov (Stranger) - maybe some of you want to fuck a mannequin, but this one is actively homicidal. May also steal your skin.

Mary Keay (End) - gross as fuck, will kill you horribly, and the sex isn’t even very good.

Sarah Baldwin (Stranger) - by all accounts, taxidermied animals are nasty to cuddle with.

Monster Pig (Flesh) - no! What? No!

Raymond Fielding (Web) - has no friends. Will fill you with spiders. Also a devout Catholic. One of those has to be a deal-breaker.

Peter Lukas (Lonely) - does not want to be there. Likely has never been more intimate than being on first-name basis in the workplace.

John Amherst (Corruption) - girl the rot

[yokohamapound]

Ooh, a new BSD blog! :D How about the reactions of Dazai, Ranpo, Chuuya, Akutagawa and Fyodor when they see their female S/O in fancy attire for the first time? Like if they're going to some formal events together as a couple.

Hmm, it's almost like you knew I am addicted to fancy clothes...this sent me on a deep dive through my extensive Pinterest board.

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Edogawa Ranpo, Nakahara Chuuya, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: fem!reader, possessive, controlling Fyodor

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of man to enjoy seeing you in everything you wear, especially when you're puttering around the apartment in just one of his his shirts, but seeing you in formalwear is something special.

Maybe it's another award ceremony for the Armed Detective Agency, a fancy gala that requires you to wear something more upscale than business casual. Dazai has a suit he can fall back on—probably something in a dark blue or a shade of camel, because black reminds him too much of his time in the Port Mafia.

He's waiting in the living room for you to come out of the bedroom, periodically whining for you to come out of the bedroom and pay attention to him.

"I'm going to die of neglect out here," he calls forlornly. "And I always wanted us to die togeth—"

The door slides open, and Dazai cuts off his wailing, looking over his shoulder. There's a moment of silence—yes, actual silence from Dazai—as his gaze moves slowly up your legs, his eyes getting progressively wider as he takes in the slinky little number clinging to your curves, how the neckline reveals the arch of your throat. Your make-up, those smoky eyes and glossy lips...

"I don't want to go," he blurts, shuffling over on his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Let's stay home. I'll pour you sake and feed you grapes."

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo doesn't tend to make a big deal about what you wear. He notices of course, because he notices everything, but he'll only comment if you're wearing something particularly cute or if he's deduced something interesting from your choice of attire, which usually goes like:

"Are you wearing that skirt 'cause you wanted me to notice you waxed your legs?"

"Ranpo, even if you know something, it doesn't mean you have to say it."

"What? You wanted me to notice and I'm noticing. It's not my fault you're not subtle," he says, grinning around his lollipop.

"Right, because I'm the one that's not subtle."

He's fiddling with his tie as the pair of you get ready for a formal event thrown in the ADA's honour (normally he'd complain about going to something so boring, but Fukuzawa promised him there'd be a buffet and lots of people wanting to praise him) and complaining that he can't tie it and he doesn't want to wear it.

"Oh, you big baby," you chide playfully, sauntering out of the bedroom, heels clicking as you fix one of your earrings in place "You wear a tie every day."

Taking the ends of the tie, you start to weave it into a simple Windsor knot, glancing up to see Ranpo gawking at you, his pretty green eyes wide open. For once, his brain isn't processing information at warp speed. It's crickets in there, like he's short-circuited.

"That good, huh?" you ask, tightening his tie. "No deductions, smart boy?"

"Uh..." Ranpo falters a bit as you draw him closer by his carefully knotted tie. "Nope."

You give him a kiss and release him. He's grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he follows you to the door.

"Hey, is there room for snacks in your clutch?"

Nakahara Chuuya

If you're Chuuya's girl, you'll never want for the finer things in life, but that first, first time he sees you all dolled up is very memorable. Even if you have cash of your own, he would have handed you his shiny black card, pressing it into your hand with a kiss and a grin.

"Let me treat ya. Don't even look at the prices."

After some credit card BDSM—that plastic rectangle got used and abused and it liked it—you came back to the penthouse laden with shopping bags, your hair freshly styled, a mani pedi, and a facial. By the time Chuuya comes to pick you up, you're dolled up to the nines.

Chuuya walks in, calling out for you, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees you. You've got your back to him, carefully fixing the edge of your lipstick in the vanity mirror, when you spot his reflection.

"Hey, babe, almost ready," you say, turning to face him.

A slow grin breaks out across Chuuya's face. He reaches up and pushes his hat back, as if to see you better, his blue eyes wide.

"Fuck me, doll," he says, his voice coming out rough. "You look incredible..."

You make a show of checking your beautiful antique watch. "I don't think we have time for that right now, but when we get home..."

Chuuya lets out a groan, pulling you toward him by the hips. You won't let him smudge your fresh lipstick, so he leaves a love bite on your throat instead, like a promise for later.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa swears by formalwear (even if his taste in formalwear is over a century out of date), so he's no stranger to being suited and booted. Perhaps the two of you have been tasked to infiltrate a high society soiree as part of Mori's plans, or perhaps you are his undercover bodyguards while he attends one himself.

Akutagawa dislikes clothes shopping, so he flatly refused to accompany you to buy a dress for the occasion. This is probably for the best. It's a lot less stressful to shop with Gin and Higuchi than it is with an irritable, murderous Ryuunosuke dogging your heels and glaring daggers at the sales assistant.

Which is to say, he has no idea what you are wearing until you show up to the gala. He's watching Mori from near the wall, his hands thrust into the pockets of his long black coat. Disinterested.

His pale grey eyes sweep over you at first, mistaking you for another of the wealthy partygoers.

Then they snap back, going wide. Akutagawa stands there as if he's been locked into place as you saunter over to join him, a flute of champagne in each hand.

The way the dress moves, how it flows or clings to the various planes and curves of your body, how you move while you wear it, as if you've become a new, elevated version of yourself.

"Sorry I'm late," you say, handing him a champagne flute. He's surprised enough to take it without muttering that he doesn't like champagne. "The boss did say to arrive separately."

"...what are you wearing?" he finally manages to say. "You look—"

"Ridiculous? Yeah, I know, but this is what we have to wear to these stupid things. I can't even get away with hiding a gun under this thing."

"No—"

Too late, you've already moved away toward the buffet to grab a couple of hors d'oeuvres for you and him. Akutagawa finds his voice a little too late.

"You don't look ridiculous."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I can guarantee with 100% certainty that Fyodor knows exactly what you're wearing, because he took you to the exclusive boutique in order to purchase it—after he had you model several dozen gowns for his appreciation and approval. He had to spend all that money he stole from the Guild on something, after all, so there were shoes and jewellery into the bargain.

There are staff to pamper you: a hairstylist, a nail tech, and a make-up artist, all under strict orders not to speak to you or dare look you in the eye as they primp and doll you up.

"Doll" being the operative word, because you look like a porcelain doll by the time they're done with you.

Airy layers float around you as you carefully pick your way down the sweeping staircase, ankles wobbling in your slightly-too-high heels, giving you that vulnerable, fawnish air that Fyodor likes so much.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, cool violet eyes watching every tentative step. His masterpiece is complete.

"Myshka," he purrs at the sight of you. "You look perfect."

He offers you his hand, cold fingers closing around yours as you stumble off the very last step and into his arms. He makes a soft, slightly mocking sound of amusement in the back of his throat.

"Careful, darling," he chides, his hand settling firmly, possessively in the small of your back. "I can't have you falling for anyone but me."

The humour carries a note of truth. Fyodor's finger traces along the line of your jaw, curling beneath your chin and tipping your face up toward his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

"I will have to dress you this way more often."

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bleach | BNHA | Naruto | JJK

[kxsagi]

okay HEAR ME OUT. rin, with small reader like she's just too small compared to rin. and like rin invited reader to sit on his lap and had a short conversation. and then rin gets a cuteness aggression. like he can't resist her anymore! then they do a make-up session. pls i love how u write bllk characters. I LOVE YOUR WRITING

“𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥”

a/n: THANK YOU!!! as a super small girlie that's barely making it past 5 feet, this is super cute

(don't know art credits but he is just so... majestic)

you’re just… small. 

that’s the only word rin can really focus on when you step into his room wearing his hoodie, the sleeves drooping over your hands, the hem brushing past your thighs like a dress. you look up at him from the doorway with those wide eyes and a shy “hi,” and it just snaps something inside of him. 

he pats his lap. “come here.” 

you blink. “huh?” 

he doesn't repeat it, just gives you that look. the one that always means i’m not asking again. and well… you’ve never exactly said no to rin itoshi. 

you tiptoe over, climbing onto his lap like you’ve done it a thousand times before. even with your legs curled up, you barely take up any space. he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and lets out a sigh like he’s been holding his breath all day. 

“you’re seriously so small,” he mutters against your neck. 

you huff, leaning back into him. “you say that like i’m a hamster.” 

“hamsters don’t make my heart hurt like this,” he says flatly. 

you twist around in his lap to give him a look. “what kind of line is that?” 

but rin’s not joking. his hands tighten on your hips, and his brows knit together like he’s genuinely pained. “you don’t get it,” he grumbles. “you’re sitting on me like this. wearing my hoodie. all soft and warm and tiny. how the hell am i supposed to function.” 

you bite back a smile, cheeks heating up. “you’re so dramatic.” 

“i’m serious,” he growls, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s one second away from short-circuiting. “you’re like a pocket-sized girlfriend. i could fit you in my duffel bag.” 

“rin –” 

“no. i’m going insane. i want to bite you.” 

you burst out laughing, but he’s not laughing. he’s got that hungry look in his eyes now, like he’s ready to commit unspeakable crimes of affection. 

“don’t move,” he warns, already shifting his hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face up toward his. “if you move, i’m kissing you until you pass out.” 

“i literally just –” 

he kisses you. 

hard. 

one hand at your waist, the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right as he leans in and devours you. your fingers clutch his hoodie, lips moving with his as he deepens the kiss like he’s trying to prove a point. like you being this adorable is a personal attack on his sanity. 

you manage to gasp against his mouth, “we’re supposed to be studying –” 

“not anymore,” he mumbles between kisses. “new plan. i kiss you until i feel normal again.” 

“and when will that be?” 

he pulls back just enough to look at you, flushed and breathless in his lap. and then, completely deadpan, says: 

“never.” 

and then he’s kissing you again, with a plan of never stopping. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[harrysfolklore]

the bestest - lh44

summary: lewis hamilton wins the silverstone grand prix, and his daughter thinks he's the bestest. wc: 1.7k. based on this request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The British Grand Prix always carried a unique significance, but this year felt particularly momentous. Fans filled the stands, waving flags and banners, their cheers echoing through the circuit.

For Lewis, this year felt extra special because his wife and little girl were joining him, and that was enough to give him an extra boost of motivation for the upcoming race.

Alana Hamilton is just four years old, and she's the light of your lives. She's a curious child who always has a smile for everyone, her bright eyes constantly scanning her surroundings for new wonders to discover.

And she has her father completely wrapped around her tiny finger, everybody knew it.

Alana clung to your hand as you made your way to the paddock, her eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle around her. She had been to races before, but this time she was more aware of her surroundings and everything happening.

“Mommy, look at all the people!” Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she held your hand. “They’re all here for Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, a lot of them are here to see Daddy race," you smiled at her, "He has a lot of fans who love to cheer him on."

“I’m going to cheer the loudest!”

Alana’s gaze followed every movement, her curiosity sparking with each new discovery. She was soaking it all in—the hustle of the team members, the hum of the engines, the vibrant colors of the team uniforms.

When you and Alana arrived at the team garage, Lewis was there, busy with pre-race preparations. He looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of his family.

“There’s my little girl,” he said, bending down to scoop Alana into his arms.

Alana giggled, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “Daddy, are you going to win today?” she asked, her voice full of hopeful excitement.

Lewis brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to give it my all, princess. With you cheering me on, I have a really good feeling about today.”

As Lewis held Alana, George Russell, his teammate, walked by and smiled warmly at the scene.

"Well, if it isn't the Hamiltons, my favorite family," he said, his tone friendly and genuine.

Alana's face lit up with recognition. She remembered George from previous encounters and team events. "George!" she exclaimed, waving enthusiastically from her perch in Lewis's arms.

"Hello there, little champion," George chuckled, giving Alana a gentle high-five. "Are you excited for the race today?"

"Yes! Daddy's going to win because he's the bestest driver in the whole wide world!" she declared with innocent confidence, looking at Lewis with adoring eyes.

Lewis couldn't help but beam with pride, though he tried to maintain a humble demeanor. "Well, I don't know about that, sweetheart. There are a lot of great drivers out here today."

"But you're the bestest, Daddy," Alana insisted, her conviction unshakeable.

George laughed good-naturedly. "Well, Lewis, looks like you've got your biggest fan right here. No pressure or anything," he teased.

You smiled, watching the interaction. It was heartwarming to see how the team had become like an extended family, especially for Alana.

"Alright, princess," Lewis said, giving Alana one more squeeze, "Daddy needs to finish getting ready for the race. You be good for Mommy, okay?"

Alana's grip tightened around Lewis's neck, her little face scrunching up in defiance. "No, Daddy, don’t go!"

“Sweetie, Daddy has to race now," you gently stroked her back, "We’ll be right here watching him the whole time.”

As Alana clung tighter to Lewis, her eyes welling up with tears, you could see the conflict on your husband's face. He hated leaving her upset, but the race was about to start.

"Hey, princess," Lewis said softly, gently prying her arms from around his neck. "Remember what we talked about? Daddy has to go fast in the car so he can come back to you even quicker."

Alana's lower lip trembled, but she nodded, reluctantly loosening her grip. "Okay, Daddy. Be fast and be safe."

"I will, princess. I promise," Lewis kissed her forehead tenderly.

He handed her to you, and Alana nestled into your arms, still watching Lewis with wide, admiring eyes. He turned to you next, his expression softening.

"I'll see you both soon. I love you."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "Be safe out there."

With one last glance at his family, Lewis turned and headed towards his car, his determination renewed by the love and support he carried with him.

As you made your way to the VIP viewing area, Alana's eyes darted everywhere, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling circuit. The roar of engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid.

"Look, baby," you pointed, "There's Daddy's car. Number 44, remember?"

Alana nodded eagerly, her eyes fixed on the sleek silver Mercedes. "Go, Daddy, go!" she shouted, even though the race hadn't started yet.

Throughout the race, you explained what was happening in simple terms Alana could understand. She cheered every time Lewis's car came into view, her enthusiasm making everyone around melt.

"Daddy's car is going so fast! He's the bestest!" Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder.

When the final lap came, the tension was palpable. You held Alana close, her little hands clutching your shirt as she watched Lewis take the lead. As he crossed the finish line first, the grandstands erupted in roars.

Alana’s eyes widened in amazement. “Mommy, did Daddy win?”

“He did, sweetheart!” you exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “Daddy won!”

"Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, her voice filled with pure joy.

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, your own heart swelling with pride. "Let's go see Daddy, shall we?" you suggested, taking her hand.

You hurried to the pit lane, eager to congratulate Lewis. As he climbed out of the car, the sight of you and Alana brought a huge smile to his face. He reached out, and Alana practically leapt into his arms.

“Daddy!” she shouted, hugging him tightly. “You did it!”

Lewis laughed, his eyes shining with happiness. “We did it, baby girl.”

Lewis held Alana with one arm and reached out to pull you into the embrace with the other. The three of you stood there, a little island of family amidst the chaos of the celebration.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered to Lewis, giving him a quick kiss.

Alana, not wanting to be left out, planted a big kiss on Lewis's cheek. "Me too, Daddy! You're the bestest ever!"

As the celebrations continued around you, Lewis kept Alana in his arms, not wanting to let her go. She had always been clingy with him, especially since he was away a lot of weekends for races. She missed him a lot, and every moment they spent together was precious to her.

When it was time for the post-race interview, Lewis tried to set Alana down, but she clung to him, her small hands gripping his suit. “No, Daddy, hold me.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let Daddy do his interview,” you coaxed.

Lewis looked at you with a soft smile. "It's okay, I'll take her with me. I'll pay whatever fine the FIA gives me," he said, adjusting Alana in his arms. You couldn't help but chuckle, knowing how much this moment meant to both of them.

As Lewis approached the interview area, he saw a familiar face waiting for him - Nico Rosberg, his former teammate and rival. Nico's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Lewis carrying Alana, a small smile making its way to his face.

"Lewis, congratulations on your win today," Nico began, microphone in hand. "And I see you've brought a special guest with you."

Lewis grinned, bouncing Alana slightly in his arms. "Yeah, this is my daughter Alana. She's my good luck charm today."

"Hello there, Alana," Nico smiled warmly at her, "Did you enjoy watching your dad race today?"

Alana, suddenly shy in front of the camera, buried her face in Lewis' neck but peeked out with one eye. "Daddy is the bestest," she mumbled.

The crowd around them collectively "aww'ed" at her adorable response. Lewis chuckled, patting her back gently.

"Well, Lewis," Nico continued, "that was an incredible drive today. Can you talk us through that final lap?"

As Lewis answered, discussing the intricacies of the race, Alana stayed nestled in his arms, occasionally lifting her head to look around curiously and playing with the zipper of her father's suit.

When the interview concluded, it was time for the podium ceremony. Lewis knew he couldn't take Alana up there with him, no matter how much he wished he could.

"Alright, princess," he said softly, "Daddy has to go up on the big stage now. Can you stay with Mommy and watch?"

Alana's grip tightened, her lower lip trembling. "No, Daddy, I want to stay with you!"

You stepped forward, gently prying Alana from Lewis's arms. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's watch Daddy get his big trophy. We can wave to him from here."

Reluctantly, Alana allowed herself to be transferred to your arms, her eyes never leaving Lewis. As he walked towards the podium, he turned back to blow a kiss to both of you.

You found a good spot near the podium, holding Alana up so she could see clearly. Her eyes widened as she watched Lewis climb the steps to the top of the podium.

"Look, baby," you said, pointing. "There's Daddy on the top step. That means he won!"

Alana's face lit up with pride and excitement. "Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, clapping her hands.

As the British national anthem played and Lewis stood tall on the podium, trophy in hand, Alana watched in awe. When Lewis spotted you two in the crowd, he gave a special wave and blew a kiss your way, making Alana squeal with delight.

"He sees us, Mommy!" she exclaimed, waving back furiously.

You hugged her close, your heart full of love for your little family. "Yes, he does, sweetheart. He's waving just for you."

As the champagne spray began, Alana giggled at the sight of her daddy getting all wet. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, one that you knew would be etched in your family's memories forever.

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG

NSFW, for adults ONLY, MDNI or I'll block you. No idea how many parts this will be. Let me know which BSD men you want to see ;)

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3 Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Fyodor

Walking in on him touching himself is REALLY surprising because he doesn't seem the type to masturbate, in your mind. You straight up couldn't imagine him touching himself until the very second you walked into his office and saw his bottoms around his ankles, his top hiked up around his chest, and his hand furiously pumping over his pale dick.

His head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth lazily hanging open. You've never seen so much skin on him before. He's PALE pale which makes the brightness of his mouth and tongue and the tip of his cock seem so much brighter.

"oh love, yes, yesss" he moans, and your whole body flushes red with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. You shouldn't be seeing this but you're having a hell of a time turning away from him. You need to leave the room. You need to go. You need to turn around.

"y/n," he purrs, tilting his head and opening his eyes half-way, looking so fucked out and erotic. "do you like what you see?"

You can't formulate an answer, you're standing in the doorway short circuiting, trying to make words but only noises come out

"since you're standing there I thought you might be interested," he says as slow and calm as ever. Even jerking himself off his voice doesn't hitch or raise or speed up and it's honestly really hot right now. "Care to join me?"

"i-i, um... I'm really s-sorry, f...fyodor."

He moans softly biting his lip while still staring straight at you.

"say it again," he purrs. "say my name."

"fyodor..."

"again," he moans, hand working faster.

"Fyodor."

you walk in and close the door behind you.

Poe

You two scheduled a hang-out at his place but despite how many times you knocked on the door, he wouldn't answer...so you try the doorknob, and hey, it's unlocked! You've been to his place many times, you don't mind letting yourself in and don't suspect he'll mind either.

After you put your stuff down and take off your shoes, you register a quiet noise coming from a different room. you sneak closer and realize two things: it's crying, and it's coming from poe's bedroom

you open the door and rush in without thinking. "poe! what's wrong, why are you-- OH FUCK"

you rushed right into him kneeling at the edge of his bed, bouncing on a dildo and not crying, whimpering, moaning.

he calls your name and you can't tell if he meant to moan it but he absolutely moans it and he sounds like a wreck and he looks pathetic and fucked out, and you feel it when he says your name.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been this, I'm gonna go home--" you say, turning and rushing out of his room. he calls your name after you, multiple times, moaning and moaning and moaning--

you sink down against his front door, still slightly able to hear the sounds of him moaning and whining from his room. you're so horny now, absolutely drenched through your panties/rock hard in your pants. You know you should leave, you know you shouldn't still be here, but he never told you to go, he just kept saying your name...

a few minutes later, after the noises have subsided and the apartment has gotten deadly quiet, his bedroom door creaks open and he slowly peeks his head out. he must be crawling still because he's near the floor.

"[y/n]," he sighs, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

it takes you a second to collect yourself, but you manage to ask "find what out?"

"that i... i think about you... a lot..."

Chuuya

you're on a PM mission with chuuya and several other PM members. you've got to share a room with chuuya, but at least you have separate beds. it's fine. it's whatever. until.

until you wake up one morning--the clock on the bedside table saying it's only 6:23 a.m.--to the sound of a rhythmic slapping, some occasional huffs, a-- a moan?

you sit upright in bed quickly, your head turning toward chuuya's bed.

"are you fucking serious?"

"what" he huffs, and through the tiny bit of daylight creeping through the curtains you can see movement beneath his sheets.

"are you jerking off right now? dude we're sharing a fucking room."

"you were asleep," he says defensively. "not like you noticed yesterday."

"dude!!!"

"get over it, it's fuckin' natural," he says and his voice is getting tight and higher almost like he's biting back a moan or getting close to cumming.

"it's disrespectful when you have someone in the same room, chuuya," you say softer, subconsciously still trying to hear the sounds he's making. you're embarrassed at how intrigued you are

"i'm not stopping you," he says. "you can jerk it too for all i care."

"to what... to you jerking it?"

you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he says "I never said anything about that, so you thought that up all on your own. is that what you're into, pet?"

[nerdygirlramblings]

There's always the filthiest, unholiest, shit-wreakiest smut about Simon, John, Kyle and/or Jonny. Especially with poly!141

So what if they have the filthiest, unholiest, shity- wreakìest sex, maybe even a punishment, but reader is overwhelmed and uses the safe word or move.

Are the boys immediately stoppung or are they so cock and pussy drunk that reader needs to say it twice?

How are they treating reader? After care?

I just need a little comfort because the last few days were shitty as fuck 💗

Hi nony! So in my head, despite how pussy-drunk the guys (👀ghoap👀) are, they will listen to their partner. They may be big tough war machines, but they are still marshmallows for their beloved. Hope this makes the shitty days a little better.

cw: oral (m! and f! receiving), mutual masturbation, light bondage, mild dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, poorly executed accents an: active consent is sexy, define your limits before engaging in sexual activity

You have no idea what the current count is. Somewhere after four mind-blowing orgasms, one from each of your lovers in quick succession, your brain short-circuited. You didn't black out, but the moments, the minutes that tick by as you float, are fuzzy. Clothes are shucked off, limbs manipulated into position, supplies gathered.

You're aware of the rough scrape of beard between your thighs, John feasting on you like a buffet to a starving man. The smooth chest propping you up is Kyle's, as are the hands keeping your knees open for his Captain's pleasure. There are wet smacking sounds behind you, and from the rumble rippling through him, Kyle's receiving a different kind of mouth-to-mouth. That's three of your four lovers accounted for, but what happens next depends on missing member of your polycule.

If it's Johnny unaccounted for, he's probably going for more toys, for John to use on you or for him to use on one of the others. If it's Simon not in the room - Simon whose sole focus is always on how much pleasure he can push on his partners before they break - if Simon's the one not here, then you may very well be in the best kind of danger.

As if summoned, Simon is in the doorway with a plain brown bag in hand. "Found us somethin' new," he says quietly, "if yer up fer it." The kissing behind you stops, and John pulls back from your pussy, slick coating the coarse hair of his beard.

"Wha' da' ye got, lt?" Johnny asks breathlessly.

Simon pulls out several pair of fuzzy handcuffs: black, pink, leopard print. His gaze darts between you and the bed's headboard and footboard. You all immediately know what he's suggesting. You've played with bondage before. For his last birthday, all John wanted was to wrap you in ribbon, shibari style, for them all to unwrap and enjoy later. The memory of it, being on display and played with, unable to respond with anything more than your voice, makes you wet. The handcuffs in Simon's hand promise just as much pleasure.

Simon and John look at you, and behind you, Kyle whispers, "Color, love?"

You glance over your shoulder to his dark eyes, Johnny just behind him practically salivating. You meet Simon's eyes and whisper, huskily, "Green."

"Good girl," Simon purrs. He cocks his head and the bed shifts behind you. You're lowered onto your back, and John helps push you up the bed. You can't watch them all, so you settle for watching John and Kyle each gently grab an ankle and click a set of handcuff on. Simon passes each man a tea towel, "Fer around the post so's we don't nick the wood." A pair of rough hands carefully takes yours and slides the fuzzy material around them.

When you're all trussed up between the bedposts, your lovers loom over you. John looks ready to worship at the altar of your body. Johnny grips his cock, red tip peeking over the top of his fist. Kyle has hearts in his eyes. And Simon. Simon's gaze is dark and dangerous. It sends heat racing through you. He smirks at you. "Simon says look at me, love," and you comply without question. "Yer gonna lie back and let us take our pleasure, yeah?"

You nod quickly, mind already in the hazy space where you know they'll take care of you.

"Ya know we need words, sweet girl," John reminds you.

"Yes!" you practically shout, the word erupting from you. Kyle's smile grows wider, predatory, and Johnny lets out a bark of laughter. "Yes, please, take your pleasure," you continue.

"Good fuckin' girl," Simon says. And like a switch is flipped, all four descend on you. John is right back between your thighs, mouthing your clit. Kyle's down there with him, both men's broad shoulders fitting easily between where you're splayed against the bed. You feel a probing finger at your ass; Kyle's long digit lubed up and working its way in as you fall apart on John's tongue. You can't twist away thanks to the handcuffs.

Meanwhile Johnny has propped a pillow under your head as he brackets your head with his knees, leaning over to feed his dick into your mouth. The angle allows you to take him deep, and you suck with the same speed and desperation John's using on you. With your field of view blocked by Johnny's balls, you can't see Simon until you feel teeth graze your side, right where you're ticklish.

"Och! Watch it, lt! Dinnae want 'er to take a bite 'a mah cock jus' cuz ye teased 'er," Johnny scolds, panting. You tell yourself you wouldn't, but when Simon's teeth graze the same spot, you see stars and aren't sure Johnny's wrong.

Simon chuckles darkly, telling them, "Fine. 'll find somethin' else ta do wit' my mouth." Lips skim over your side and upper belly before kissing their way up between the valley of your breasts. A hand lands heavily on your right breast, tugging on the nipple, as the left is enveloped in wet heat.

Suddenly you're coming again. You shout, and the sound is lost around Johnny's cock. "Beautiful," Kyle whispers, two fingers deep in your ass as John's mouth keeps working. Your spasms bow your back and take Johnny deeper, burying your nose in the curls at Johnny's base. You watch as his balls pull up before he's coming too, cum hot, salty, and thick on your tongue. Through it all, Simon keeps sucking on your nipples.

The handcuffs don't give you any room to move away, to stop the unceasing stimulation. You can't move your hand to tap Johnny and can't say anything with his dick still down your throat.

John's moved his face away, and you think for a moment the stimulation that now borders on painful will stop. Until you feel several fingers swipe through your folds before they bury themselves in your cunt. Kyle still has his fingers in your ass, and fingers are in your pussy, and Simon's mouth is still on you, and some of Johnny's cum leaks out the side of your mouth around his dick.

Tears start to gather at the corner of your eyes. It's all too much.

Johnny finally pulls back, and as his softening cock slips past your lips, you shout "Red light!", so overwhelmed you do it three more times despite once being more than enough for them to all stop their movements and pull back to check on you. You feel bereft without their hands on you, but this is what you asked for.

Simon's the first to break the silence, calling your name. "What do you need?"

You can't stop the tears as they slip down the side of your face. Kyle moves before checking himself. You know he wants to wipe the tears away, but he won't put his hands on you - none of them will - until you say it's okay for them do to so.

"I- It's...too much," you stutter. "It was all too much." Your breath hitches, but you don't start crying. Your body doesn't know which signals to listen to, but you're holding off the tears for now. Though you know it isn't necessary, and in fact will be ignored, you apologize.

"Dinnae be sorry, lass," Johnny says. "We didnae, Aye didnae, give ye the chance to stop before it got to be too much." As he talks, the others undo the cuffs from around the bed, leaving them attached to you until you give them permission to touch you again.

"It's okay, Johnny," you say, voice wobbling. "It was perfect until it wasn't, and you stopped the moment I asked." You give them all a watery smile. "Can you please take the cuffs off?" and four pairs of hands divest you of the restraints in record time.

You pull your limbs back to you, curling in on yourself a little. "I'm okay now," you reassure them, but no one makes a move towards you. "Really," you insist, "I'm okay." To prove it, you reach out and put a hand on Simon's wrist. "Really," you say as you tug gently on him. "I don't want to be here alone." Your smile is their absolution, and soon all four are back in bed with you, running their hands over your hair and down your arms, soothing you with their touch.

You murmur words of love and receive them in return as you slowly drift to sleep.

main masterlist

[michuga]

see both sides like chanel

summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).

pairing: jeongguk x fem reader

content: best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease

warnings: cursing, (it gets steamy)

wc: 2k

you and jeongguk have been friends for the past seven years.

jeongguk has only ever dated boys.

does that a gay man make? no! of course not, you knew this. it is the big year of 2025 after all. sexuality is a spectrum; and you were never one to judge.

leaning in, jeongguk brushes his lips against yours.

and that's how you ended up kissing your very gay best friend.

or, not? i guess?

you don't know if it was because he was your best friend; instantly crossed off as a potential lover in your mind anyway, or because he was always sporting a new shiny boy toy every couple of weeks. or the crop tops he wore all throughout high school. or the sexy fireman posters plastered all over his dorm room walls in college! either way; you never would have expected to end up bent over on his couch on a random tuesday afternoon.

but one thing is for sure.

you were stupid.

oh so very stupid.

you're probably wondering how you got here.

well, let me walk you through it.

it all started with an incident that happened a few months ago.

your best friend, jeongguk, was on your bed, ranting to you about his new fling.

"i can't believe i ever thought jimin and i could work," he complains.

grabbing the hem of your blouse, you lift it up and off your body, tossing it across your room.

left in your black lacy bra, you scour your closet for something to wear.

a minute or so passes, and you finally notice the silence that falls upon the room. you turn around to find him visibly preoccupied, going through his phone.

"you were saying..?" you tap his shoulder.

clearing his throat he continues, maintaining eye contact with his phone, "i just don't think he's the one for me. he's too.. flaky?"

you've always found it adorable how jeongguk got shy at times like these. it's been seven years and he has remained ever the gentleman, never taking advantage of your friendship or abusing the amount of trust you put in him. you never had reason to doubt him anyway, it's not like you were exactly his... type, per se.

"i agree, babe. you deserve way better than that," you say, returning to the agonizing task at hand; finding an outfit amidst the chaos that is your closet.

finally picking one out, you hold up the hangers against your body, standing in front of your full length mirror to see how it would look on you.

"what do you think of this?" you ask, lost in thought.

"your black skirt would go along better," jeongguk mumbles from your bed.

"right? i thought so too." putting the hangers down, you bend over to grab said skirt from your bottom drawer.

from an outside perspective, one could consider you shameless.

from jeongguk's perspective, he found you amusing.

and from your perspective.. well, the most complicated thought in your mind right now was putting together a damn outfit.

an hour later, you and jeongguk sit at your table eating the brunch he cooked you, catching up on your busy lives; as was your routine together.

"and this girl i was fooling around with at the time-"

your brain short circuits.

"come again?"

"what?"

"sorry, i thought you said girl." you say with a dismissive laugh, "imagine that."

"i did." he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and an amused smile.

the entirety of your coffee is wasted in your spit take.

you wish you were exaggerating.

cleaning up the mess you made on the table, you backtrack.

"you like girls???"

"..yes?"

looking at him suspiciously, you scramble to find your words. you didn't want to offend him, but he had caught you very off guard.

"did you think i was gay?" he asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, fully dumbfounded this time.

"i've just.. you've always.. i've only ever seen you with guys?"

"well yeah, those are just the ones i've encountered, i guess."

"you're telling me we've been friends for the past seven years, and i'm just finding this out now?"

"damn. when you put it that way, you sound like a real bad friend, you know," he says with a chuckle, casually gulping down the rest of his coffee.

oh. oh.

helikesgirls

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounaked

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounakedonmultipleoccasions

with a small smirk and a tilt of his head, he gets up and walks up to you. "don't worry, you're still not my type." he whispers in your ear.

"if you need me, i'll be with the community dick!" he yells out as he walks away, taking your dignity and your pride with him; the last of it escaping with the final click of your apartment door.

"god how stupid am i?" you complain, rather dramatically, to your other best friend, hoseok. "i mean, how could i just blatantly assume he was gay? what if i made him uncomfortable before and he never told me? i'm a terrible friend!" flailing your arms, you ignore the dirty looks from onlookers passing by.

"i'm sure if you had made him uncomfortable, he would have told you. this is jeongguk we're talking about? are you trying to tell me he has any sort of filter?" he jokes, trying to cheer you up.

repeatedly bumping your head into the wall in front you, you surrender to the sea of embarrassment you found yourself drowning in.

"you should have seen my face. as if i wasn't stupid enough already, i made things awkward and rethought every interaction we've ever had, like, right in front of him. you could literally see the gears turning in my brain. i probably looked like a bloated pufferfish blowing bubbles. stupid, stupid, stupid," you repeatedly smack yourself in the face.

"wait. you're gay though, right??" you ask, suddenly feeling as insecure as ever.

"yes babe, i came out to you in the 12th grade. still as straight as rupaul." he says with a chuckle, finding your meltdown completely adorable.

reaching behind you, he takes hold of your seatbelt and fastens it.

you can't help but burn bright red. what the fuck is wrong with you? what ever changed? he's still jeongguk. your jeongguk. the same jeongguk whose clothes you helped clean from vomit, after he got drunk one too many times back in college?

you feel like ripping all your hair out.

maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

jeongguk had picked you up from work, and you were on your way to his place to hang out, as usual.

"so it's either that or fried chicken.. what do you think?"

"huh?"

"i said what do you want to order??"

"oh.. anything is fine, thanks," you say awkwardly, clearing your throat.

"okay then?" he says as he starts the car.

a few hours later and the evening was going smoothly. perhaps too smoothly.

mishaps forgotten, you and your best friend sit in his living room, eating, laughing, and watching desperate housewives. just as you always have been for years.

"i'm gonna go get us some more drinks," you say as you get up, making your way over to his kitchen.

"he's such an idiot," you mumble to yourself as you chuckle, remembering the joke jeongguk had cracked a minute prior.

initially you open the fridge to check for beer, but there wasn't any; so you resort to plan B: the fancy wine he stores in his top cupboard.

you stand on your tiptoes and extend your arm up, trying to reach the wine bottle.

suddenly you feel a prescence behind you. last time you checked, brick walls can't move. so if 1+1 equals 2; then warmth, musky vanilla and hard equals jeongguk.

you see a bigger arm reach up and get the job done. "here, let me."

"thanks.." and just like that, the strange feeling is back.

you knew there was no way the evening could go smoothly. no, you're never that lucky.

pulling away, jeongguk pops open the wine bottle, pouring crimson liquid in two glasses.

you jump up to sit on the kitchen counter.

"have you picked out an outfit for the gathering yet?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine.

"nope," you say with a sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. "it seems like everything i try doesn't look as good on me as i imagine in my head."

"but everything looks good on you, doll."

"are you putting the moves on me, jeon?" you say, jokingly; waiting for him to laugh along.

inching closer, closer, closer.. he stops and situates himself between your legs.

"and what if i am?" he mutters with a deep hushed voice. "am i making you nervous?" mere inches between your faces laced with thick, undeniable tension. he dare not raise his voice a single octave; for that could ruin the intimacy of it all.

whether it was something in the air or the liquor in both your systems, something between you had shifted.

this was not your gay best friend.

this was someone much more dangerous.

"we really.. really shouldn't.." voice barely above a whisper, you manage to let out with every remaining ounce of self-control you have. a feather light hand on his chest, you fruitlessly attempt to push him away; physically melting into his touch instead.

grabbing your hand, he holds it in his.

"do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drove me all those times, stripping half naked right in front of me?" he starts, voice raspy and full of need, slowly tracing his finger along your thigh, going up, up.. "mindlessly running your mouth, bending over in your tiny panties.. when all i wanted to do was bend you over myself, and put you in your place? my best friend of seven years, assuming my sexuality.. tsk tsk.."

ghosting a hand over your throat, he firmly grips your chin, lifting your head up to meet his gaze.

"do you want me to show you.." with a sinister smirk he breathes into your ear, "just how much i love women?"

your breath catches in your throat.

it was at that moment he leaned forward and crashed his lips against yours, closing the gap between you.

78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen in the atmosphere, but right in this very room and in this very moment; it's 100% you, jeongguk, and your breathless pants. a different third gas; the kind that smells like blurring the lines between you and your best friend. potentially damning a solid friendship, and throwing years down the drain. not 1% was spared for rationale.

both of you are forced separate, bound by your human bodies, in need of air.

ravenous, you grab his shirt collar and shoved him right against your face, devouring his lips once more.

with a groan, his free hand grabs your calf, hitching your leg against his hip. you wrap it around his waist, while the other hangs low; your heels hanging poorly on your foot and finally dropping to the floor with a clank.

both of you move rhythmically at first, then it gets sloppy; a sense of urgency overwhelming you. your lips move together with hurry, adrenaline coursing through your body; as if replacing the very blood that flows through your veins. chasing his lips, you just about swallow him whole.

not that he minds, he seems adamant on doing the exact same.

tangling your fingers in his hair, you angle your head better to ensure your prey is perfectly trapped. an act of cannibalism.

it was primal in the most natural way, finally letting go after an entire night of need and clouded lust.

"mm'not.. here," you mumble in between kisses.

finally picking you up and wrapping both your legs around his waist, he wastes no time leading you to the nearest surface he could find. well, as good as he can see, anyway.

and that's the story of how you hooked up with your bisexual best friend.

you learned the hard way.

[writing-nothing-but-spilled-ink]

Okay but like imagine Jason Todd living in Crime Alley and he has numerous safe houses in gotham some of witch just aren't for him and in fact are apartment complexes that he bought out for cheap possibly due to a little life-threatening scare by Red Hood and any time he's in crime alley and he notices that especially in the winter months that the kids are sick or don't have a dry place to live he just starts setting them up in the apartment complex, and none of the kids ever talk about where exactly that complex is because they love redhood... Also, I imagine that once a week Jason makes like a really big dinner and he just goes outside and serves it to the kids around crime alley, the kids all love him and feel safe with him. I imagine it gets to a point where if the kids are in danger or are worried or scared they just go running over to Red Hood some of the kids have taken to calling him dad, uncle, and other various family references.. And one day on the way back to one of his safe houses he just hears one of the younger street kids yelling dad and he turns to where its coming from and theres just this small kid holding another small kid in his arms and red's just like what happened and the kid just goes shes sick and idk what to do and red just kinda sighs and goes yeah alright follow me kid and he walks over to one of his main safe houses puts his bike away and gets the kids into the car but before continuing to the doc office he calls out through crime alley of if anyone's sick yall better come here i don't wanna do numerous trips and suddenly theres a small group of kids coming out of the shadows and he ushers them all into the car drives them all to gotham general and the receptionist doesn't bat an eye at the gaggle of sick kids or the fact redhood is checking them all in because he and the hospital have an understanding so he gets them all treated and seen and has to sit in with every nurse and doctor, at one point he gets a call from bruce asking why he's not on protrol and jason thinking nothing of it just goes i'm busy im at the hospital have dickface cover my patrol and then he hangs up to speak to the doctors and check on his kids..

bruce shows up at Gotham general just to find red surrounded by numerous children with various flu's colds coughs one of them has pneumonia and was just diagnosed with asthma and he's just taking notes while there's one child in his lap crying cause she's scared and he's just rocking her gently while writing down various treatment plans for each kid and what safe house he's putting them in because he'll be personally taking care of them... and one of the docs spot Bruce and is like excuse me mr. wayne you can't be back here patients only and redhood can be here because he's there acting guardian which makes Bruce's brain short-circuit entirely

Also alfred 100 percent knows about this and has helped red set up the rooms for the kids and everything and some of those big family dinners Jason has for the kids yeah he's using Alfred's recipes

How Jason got guardianship of these kids is because of Harvey dent he got the proper legal advice from Harvey

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- To the Beach!; GOM x fem!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: May 10th, 2024

Description: hiii!! hope your having a good day, I was wondering if I could request GoM x reader (separately) with a maybe more quiet and shy reader when they go to the beach and see her in a bikini (maybe a bit suggestiveee but it’s up to you!) they can get a bit flustered and protective 😭 thank you so much and dw if you don’t/can’t complete it <3,

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with @smtere we thank them for their contributions. Hope you don't mind the headcanons, it was the easiest for so many people. This is meant to be post last game, probably summer of their 3rd year.

Back to directory

Akashi

Is the most outwardly chill about it

Though he does find his gaze drifting and lingering (Aomine got halfway through calling him out once before eating sand)

The first time he justifies it as admiring your swimsuit, every other time is just a whoopsie

He’s not weird about it though, and he tries his best not to stare

Makes sure you put on sunscreen/ cover up if he thinks you need it

Will complement how it looks on you

I did say “most outwardly chill” and I meant it

He may seem cool as a cucumber but if you hug him he will short circuit

He doesn’t get much affection on a normal day and while he is much more mature than his friends, I refuse to believe this boy is not fighting off indecent thoughts every so often

Build a sand castle with him please

Midorima

Flustered and can’t hide it

Dude is pink, and not from the sun

His gaze also drifts and lingers but he won’t even give himself a chance to admire you

You cannot convince me Takao has not corrupted him, at least a bit, he can’t look at you without hear Takao teasing him

Like Akashi he looks out for you if you’re prone to sunburn

Midorima isn’t weird about you wearing a bikini, he just makes it weird by actively avoiding looking anywhere but your face

He definitely relaxes throughout the day though

By the time you’re leaving he compliments you, having finally looked somewhere other than your face

He’s fine with whatever you want to do, might even begrudgingly let you bury him

Kise

The most chill, he has sisters so bikinis aren’t something overly suggestive to him

That said it’s you so it does make him a bit flustered

He is also the most obviously protective because as a model he’s very familiar with… lingering gazes, there will always be weirdos

Keeps a shirt on while on the beach, claiming he can’t afford to burn, but it's actually incase you want it for whatever reason

He definitely enjoys the extra contact though, whether that be an arm around your waist or offering to carry you on his back, Kise strikes me as a touchy person

If your swimsuit starts to come loose he’ll offer to fix it for you

Showers you in complements

Wants to collect shells and swim

Murasakibara

Could not give two shits

Kise was chill, Murisakibara just doesn’t care

He compliments the swim suit, and he definitely stares a bit but when he gets caught he apologizes and looks away

Won’t initiate physical contact but doesn’t mind it, feeling your skin brush against his when you hugged him did make him jump a bit though

I don’t really have much to say here because I really don’t think he’d care

Although he will confront anyone making you uncomfortable, his stature is more than enough to make most people back down

Wants to spend the day lounging on the beach, you might be able to convince him to come float with you

Aomine

If it was anyone but Aomine it would be weird

Shamelessly stares

You can call him out on it but he’ll just make a sound of acknowledgement and keep staring, unless you tell him he’s making you uncomfortable

He may be forward and unashamed but he’s not a complete ass

If someone else is making you uncomfortable or just keeps staring he will fight them, though he tries to avoid that

Asked Momoi for one of her towel jackets for you incase you wanted it, he almost regretted it when she started teasing him for being a softy

He compliments you, but it’s stuff like “your boobs look nice”

Will imply he’d like to see you “show off” more often

Also fairly touchy, like Kise, and will offer to help fix your swimsuit if needed

He will also throw you into the water, there is no escaping

Kuroko

Like Akashi he’s outwardly cool and inwardly panicking just a bit

He will try and fight anyone making you uncomfortable but Aomine and the others have to save him

Like Akashi and Midorima will keep an eye out if you’re prone to sunburn

Any physical contact you make with him will spook him just a bit

He’s close with Momoi, and we know she wears bikinis so I think like with Kise they aren’t anything suggestive to him

I don’t have much to say here either because Kuroko doesn’t really wear his heart on his sleeve, though he will linger a bit closer to you throughout the day

Complements your swimsuit

Prefers to spend the day reading on the beach

[pagesfromthevoid]

Tagging in here for the Bob discussion. But imagine after a few times together he gets the confidence to be on top but he is a complete service top (still whiny though)

You’re so right, anon. So very right (this got. Very away from me).

The first few times, he’s so awkward. He’s worried he’s not doing it right, or he’s bad at it. He’s so timid and awkward, and he waits for you to make the first move because he knows what he wants but he doesn’t know what you want. What if you don’t want him touching you there? Or what if he does something you don’t like but won’t say anything so you don’t upset him? So he lets you make the choices.

But after —let’s say, the fourth, fifth time (and a few shattered windows because, well, turns out he doesn't know how to control his powers just yet when he's worked up) —he realizes that…you want him just badly as he wants you. Actually, you might be even more desperate than he is, honestly. Because you’re the one being patient with him. You’re taking everything by his pace; stopping when he needs to stop. Only touching him when he’s made it clear he’s okay with it. While he’s the one “in control,” it’s not really control —you’re just you, and you’re willing to take it slow and take care of him over yourself instead.

And now all he wants is to give you everything.

You’re lounging in his bed one night, reading one of the books from the stack he got from the library. Bob isn’t in the room; he’s been with Bucky and Walker most of the evening, doing god knows what (jokes on you, he was getting a terrible pep talk from both of them on how to do this). Bucky was helpful; gave some relatively functional advice. However, Walker kept repeating to use the alphabet, which was…not great and even Bob knows that. They did make him put on a less baggy tee shirt; something about having confidence in his own appearance would translate into the room.

He missed his sweater.

You only look up when the door opens because there’s a shift in the air; not a bad shift. Just...different suddenly. You put the book aside as he walks in, hands behind his back. He looks a bit rigid; stiff, uncomfortable.

“Where’s your sweater?” You ask, though it’s hard to complain when you can see the veins in his arms properly.

You don’t mind the baggy clothes; he’s comfortable and you find that’s what is most attractive. But it would be a lie to say you’re not pleased to see the lean muscle that he has under this shirt. Outside of being intimate, it wasn't often that you got to see him exposed in any way —even if it was just a t-shirt instead of a sweater.

“Uh, Bucky and Walker took it,” he explains but that sounds bad so he explains further. “Training. We were training and they didn’t want me to train in it. It’s…weird, right? The shirt? I’m not used to wearing things that are so…I don’t know, tight?”

You just hum, tilting your head to the side as you look him over. He looks down some, feeling like he’s being ogled (well, he is. But he's still not used to you staring at him like this).

“I think you look good,” you offer, sitting up properly now. “Not that I don’t like what you usually wear —I like whatever makes you feel good. But I'm not going to pretend that I don't like being able to see more of you whenever I get the chance."

"You do?" He asks, and you can't help but laugh a little. "I'm not much to look at —,"

"Wrong," you quickly interrupt, slowly standing up. "There's a reason why I like to take off your clothes —I like taking my time because I don't get to see all of you often." You pause for a second, taking a moment to consider how much more you could tell him without making him uncomfortable. "It's something that only I get to see. I like to enjoy that."

Bob is staring you down, definitely short-circuiting because neither Bucky nor Walker advised him on how to handle anything you just said. How is it fair that you’re just so…good to him?

But then...he takes a step forward. You don't move; that shift in the air suddenly makes sense and you let Bob decide what he's going to do now. His hands clench into fists a few times, trying to coax himself forward.

You take just barely a step towards him —not even an inch. Something instinctual; something gravitational. Then his hands are on your hips, and his lips are on yours, and he’s pushing you towards the bed. It’s the first time he’s initiated a kiss without outright asking. You melt into the touch, sighing into his mouth as the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

Sometimes you forget that Bob is incredibly powerful. He was, after all, created to be stronger than all of the Avengers combined. He doesn't particularly like using his abilities, but when his hands grip your thighs and lift you up, you gasp in surprise.

"I want to make you feel good," he practically breathes into your mouth, and even though he's the one leading, his voice comes out begging. "You always take care of me —let me do that for you."

You nod frantically, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into another kiss, but he only let's you get a quick peck in before he's pulling away. You whine a bit, sitting up on your elbows to complain —but you can't find anything to complain about as Bob is slipping his shirt over his head.

It's not the first time you've seen him shirtless. But it's the first time he's taken his shirt off himself, without prompting. Usually he wants to wait until you ask, or you're the one playing with the hem of the shirt and trying to get it off. But the confidence in his movements is both amazing and distractingly attractive, and you're staring unabashedly with lust blown pupils and kiss swollen lips.

Your eyes trail over his skin —the freckles and scars that letter his collarbones, the flush that's spread from his throat down over his chest. Down to his abs and following the V that leads below the waist of his sweats —which are straining from the hard on that's hidden beneath.

"You're staring," he teases, and it's a shaking sort of tease —like he's unsure of if he should be speaking.

"You're hot," you confess, but it's not really a confession at this point.

You've told him he's hot before —he doesn't believe you usually. But the little grin on his face suggests that maybe today, he does.

"You're too good for me," he counters as his hands slide up your thighs and over your hips. Then he's leaning in closer, pressing his lips to your jaw and peppering kisses over your skin.

You buck slightly at the touch, chasing it, and he immediately gives in and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings. You suck in a breath, and he pauses, but you lift your hips in response, a silent plea to continue. He doesn't hesitate and pries your clothes off of you, tossing them to the floor, before settling between your legs on his knees. You move to take off your shirt but he stops you, one hand holding you down.

"Don't," he warns, puling away to look down at you. "Let me do this for you."

You watch him for a moment but nod, pulling your hands away from your shirt. Bob's hands are slow —not teasing, not purposely at least —dragging up your hips to your waist, pushing your shirt up as he goes. His fingers trail along your ribs, just grazing the edge of your bra. You briefly wonder if he'll try to take it off or if you'll need to do that yourself —but he settles on pulling your shirt over your head first.

Your skin is warm and soft against his fingers, and he's watching as your chest rises with each breath you take in anticipation. You're still sitting up on your elbows, waiting, watching, when he leans down and pulls you up against his chest. One hand is bracing your lower back as the other fumbles with the clasp of your bra.

Confidence doesn't matter when it comes to bras, because they're evil, he decides as he sighs in frustration. He almost caves into the embarrassment, worried he's ruined the moment. But you reach behind your back with ease and unclip it, and toss it away. He wants to complain, and you can see he does, but you wrap your arms around his neck again and pull him into a messy kiss.

It's all teeth and tongues, deepening each second his hands grip you tighter. Then he's laying you back down, dragging his lips from yours to your jaw. Then down your throat. One of his hands holds your hip, but the other is trembling as it approaches your breast and tentatively squeezes it. You hum in response, and his mouth is on your nipple now, grazing it with his teeth.

Between the biting, the sucking and the pinching, you're aching for more. But the sounds he's making —the moans when you sigh his name or tug at his hair —are almost as satisfying as an orgasm itself.

Though you certainly wouldn't refuse one or two of those.

Perhaps he can read your mind, or maybe he just knows what he wants —it doesn't really matter —because he gives your breasts one final squeeze and nip then trails his mouth down your stomach. The closer he gets to you, the more fidgety you become. You can feel his lips smile against your skin.

"It's okay," he promises, breath fanning over your thighs as he parts them slowly.

His fingers are trembling slightly, pressed into your thighs just enough to leave marks. Like he's scared that if he lets go, you're going to pull away from him. But he shakes those thoughts from his head, shifting down the bed until he's sitting on his knees on the floor. You're about to argue, to ask him what he's doing, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and yanks you down the bed until your legs are over his shoulders. You gasp, and his nose just barely presses above your wet core.

He groans, pressing his forehead into your thigh, fingers tightening around you. "God, you are...you're so wet."

"I told you," you sigh, running a hand through his hair, guiding him to look up at you through his lashes. "You're hot. This is hot. Everything you're doing is just...hot."

He melts into you, taking a moment to ground himself in your touch. "You have no idea how much you do for me," he admits, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh softly. "But I'm...I'm going to try to show you."

"Oh, Bob, you don't —,"

But you cut yourself off with a gasp, fingers tightening in his hair as he buries his face in between your legs. Your hips move involuntarily, chasing his tongue as it swipes through your folds. He doesn't stop you, only presses his tongue flat against you before he sucks on your clit.

You suck in a breath, begging him to keep going. He nods as if he trying to respond, but he's groaning instead as he slips his tongue into you. Your thighs tighten around his head, hand guiding his head and mouth exactly where you need him to be. The hands holding your hips drift away, one disappearing entirely while the other glides just between your folds, one finger pressing into you slowly.

"Oh-oh," you sigh, involuntarily clenching around his one finger. "Oh, god, more —please —you're doing so good.."

He pulls his mouth away, just slightly, so he can see how you react as he slips a second finger inside you —curling up slightly. His eyes are glossy, face smeared in your juices, and you think this is the hottest thing you've seen in your entire life.

You cry out his name, back arching off the bed as you beg for him to go faster. He pulls out, just briefly, and you swear you hear him groan again. But you're too distracted by his fingers pressing up into you once again to notice any sounds that aren't the sounds of him finger-fucking you and him whining as he sucks on your clit.

You're so close —can feel it teetering on the edge when you manage to open your eyes just enough to watch him suck at your clit as he continues his rhythm. His other hand —the one that had disappeared —is in his lap and you understand his own whimpering now. While he's ruining you —burying his fingers so deep inside you, curling up and into that spongey spot that causes you to cry —he's jerking off at the whole experience.

And that tips you over the edge, pressing your heels into his shoulders as he furiously pumps his fingers in and out as you ride out your orgasm. You're crying out his name, begging him to stop because it's sensitive —fuck, your nerves are on fire —but he knows you don't actually want him to stop. It feels so good —the wave after wave of your orgasm washing over you before you hear him cry out himself, his body jerking against yours as he cums all over his hand.

You've collapsed on the bed, breathing heavy, and he's laying his forehead against your thigh. Both coming down from this, trying to catch your breaths.

When you've finally come to your senses —a solid five minutes later —you pull him up to lay beside you, pushing his hair out of his face. He's smiling at you lazily, hand laying against the base of your throat to feel your heartbeat.

"Have I told you recently how hot you are?" You ask, brushing your nose against his. You can smell yourself on his breath, and you're about to kiss him again when he says,

"I think I might start believing it soon."

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @myrrh-dock

[priisprii]

hi! just read your mingyu smut and it got me thinking about mingyu & fisting ?!!??!?? IT’S SO FILTHY, IT’S HOT AND OHMYGODDDDDDD IMAGINING HIS BIG HANDS ON ME AND IN ME…………………….. dang

Oh anon you're so real for that I know fisting isn't everyone's cup of tea but I am fucking crazy about prospect of getting fisted.

Warnings: fisting, squirting, Mingyu having huge size kink and breeding kink.

Word count: 543

For those who are curious about the fic read here

Minors don't interact, if the warnings make you uncomfortable don't interact.

I think mingyu would have a huge size kink, something about your body working overtime to accomodate his size makes him soo feral. You're always soo sensitive, even to the lightest touch, squirming around the bed as he ate your pussy or toyed with your clit. You would just not stop moving and it leaves Mingyu with no other options but to wrap on of his huge hand around your thigh and land a sharp slap on your pussy .

as he toys with your clit he gets the carnal urge to see how many fingers you could accommodate in your tiny lil cunt. He starts with his index finger, rubbing it over your outer lips before plunging it deep inside you, applying pressure against your sensitive spot as your face scrunch up with pleasure.

Then very slickly, he adds two more digits. your wetness making his job way easier. he maintains a harsh pace, scissoring them inside you to make more room for his fist, you don't know what's going inside his head, your only focus being on the delicious stretch and the filthy cries of your pussy.

"are you my good girl,darling?" mingyu asked lazily, pinching your clit while his fingers relentlessly tormented your insides.

"yes —I am" you slurred out. mingyu smirked as his vacant hand pushed hard on your stomach, intensifying your pleasure. "So you will take my whole hand in this tight cunt, right? "

Something short circuited in your hazy head as you registered his words, taking his whole hand, it's soo big no you can't even if you were dying to have it. You started panicking but mingyu shushed you, rubbing circles on your stomach.

"baby, don't be scared I know you can, just relax you take my cock like a champ right?"

"just let me stretch you out well and good"

You clinged to Mingyu's praises as he continued his work, you were so wet, so so wet, bedsheets being completely ruined with your essence. Mingyu occasionally spit on your cunt, providing more lube as your pussy got all sloppy and messy. Ready for his fist.

"Daddy soo—full" you cried out,as he fist fucked you, such a big hand disappearing inside you with minimal efforts. "See baby how your tiny pussy is sucking me in, so greedy isn't she?"

You tried getting up slightly to look up at the lewd act and to say it turned you on would be understatement, your body was on fire, having your pussy never this full and stretched out.

"daddy cumming" you moaned, as your orgasm clashed over you like a bucket of ice. You squirted, splashing everywhere, on mingyu's forearm, his abs. Mingyu rushed out for his phone which was lying beside him, he hit the record button, your squirt flying to his lense , so lewd so messy. he made you squirt and stretched you so beautifully. his chest filled with pride.

"keep squirting for daddy" mingyu kept moving his fist inside you in slow motions as you kept cumming uncontrollably, pussy all loosened up and shining with cum. God he needs to put baby inside you.

Mingyu removed his hand slowly from your cunt, inch by inch , finger by finger. You kept moaning and hissing, incoherent words flying out of your mouth feeling so sensitive and empty as his hand disappeared from your pussy, leaving a sad void behind.

"daddy, so empty" you whined, pointing at his crotch giving him sign you want it inside you immediately. You hate how your gaping pussy was clenching around nothing. mingyu truly feels he bagged a real cock hungry whore because how can you beg for his cock just few seconds after cumming.

"don't worry baby, gonna fuck this sloppy little cunt and will keep my cum plugged up, you would like that, won't you?"

Oh you would love that.

[dear-ao3]

the 2024 formula 1 silly season and drama master post, part 2 (part 1 here)

Hello and welcome to ah fucking fuck auto caps fuck fuck fuck how do i turn off auto caps AHA there we go okay. take 2

hello and welcome to the great and very insane formula 1 2024 season drama post, part 2. if you are new here or are just looking for part one (which contains the previous 16 (?) races, the off season, pre season testing and everything else, that can be found HERE. (a word to the wise: open it in a browser, not the app, and preferably on a computer to avoid crashing. its fucking long). 

what the hell is formula 1? car go fast. fastest cars in the world zoom around tracks at top speeds of over 300kph, piloted by the top 20 drivers in the world. it might not sound dramatic, but oh man. you will Not be disappointed. this post focuses on the drama, the insanity, the sheer what the hell how is this a serious sport. no legitimately. we've just about seen it all this year. grindr, dogs, watersports, ice cream brands, its all here.

the point of this post? to educate, to catalog the insane drama, and to just have a good time. people like to gatekeep this sport, there is also a lot happening. i try to make it easy to understand. again, probably best to start at the beginning of the post because it does a pretty good job of explaining things, which i began way back in january, and can be found HERE (again, shes long, be careful)

and, as usual, if you do not want to see this post EVER AGAIN, block the tag #saph explains silly season 2024

and a second caution, i assume this post will be getting long as well. including this one we have minimum 9 updates left!

anyway, those of you who have been following along the whole time, welcome back! i know we got a little delayed. and i know we’re on a new post, so lets just briefly take a second for me to explain what the fuck happened. first i had an anatomy test, second i work 2 jobs with fuck ass hours, third tumblr decided to stop letting me look at any of my drafts, fourth tumblr support ghosted me about the drafts issue and the post was half saving half not so i just decided fuck it, were going with post 2, electric boogaloo, and fifth, i decided to start typing this instead in a google docs so. many changes. if you're new here i am usually more on top of this.

but here we are. were back on street circuits. we’re in baku, azerbaijan, for the start of the last third of the season. 8 races remain, world championship titles are still within grasp of multiple people. the drama is dramaing. and today is september 22, 2024 and lets fucking go. 

first and foremost, on account of the fact that this post is late (again, see above), were going to have to do a bit of a speed run. if you're new here, i promise that this is not representative of my normal dedication to the update post. and for those asking, yeah, ill probably compile it somewhere better than a tumblr post after its all said and done, but we don't have time for that now. 

what we do have time for is the Off Week (and like some of the media stuff). and it was filled with silliness: 

george russell decided to wear what can only be described as slightly ugly yellow short shorts with his taylor swift shirt that he got at the eras tour. this was baffling for several reasons, the main reason being that i don't think the internet knew that he was capable of wearing a graphic t shirt

fernando alonso got his aston martin valkyrie finally. in case you are unfamiliar, a valkyrie i think is the worlds fastest street legal car. he posted tweets about this that made it seem like he wanted to fuck the car. hilariously, the car broke down an hour later.

we also had the very thrilling conclusion to grill the grid. oscar won and he somehow managed to look more pleased about his grill the grid win than his first race victory. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

nico rosberg went to the green awards and he wore a fantastically insane teal blue suit. yes i know hes not a current driver. but you all like hearing about him so ask and you shall receive. unfornunately i cant find a picture of it though

and also not a current driver is mick schumacher, but my roommate asked me to include that he was seen on his girlfriends instagram being bad at golf. like. exceptionally bad at golf. like he hit a tree 20 feet in front of him.

also playing golf was lando norris. except he managed to look like try bolton from high school musical 2.

he also talked about the world driver championship with his friend max fewtrell while they were playing golf. unfortunately i lost this link in the sea of technical difficulties, but the gist of it was that he was saying that there is still hope for him to beat max in the championship (hes about 60 points behind right now). lando doesnt usually talk about the championship because he doesnt want news outlets to paint him as “desperate” so this was interesting

charles leclerc had an insane off week. first he rear ended someone in monaco. then he spoke at a yacht conference. he was not scheduled to speak at said yacht conference, he was there doing something else and they were like hey you're cool people know you, heres a microphone. he alsp ended up on a weather channel while promoting a karting event he was doing for the jules bianchi foundation (his god father, the one who died during the f1 race in japan 2014). he also changed his instagram pop and re centered it because some random tiktoker told him it matched his aesthetic better.

oscar piastri posted a photo of himself sitting in the cockpit of a plane and then promptly deleted it. because he posted it on 9/11. for anyone who doesnt know what that is, that was when some terrorists hijacked commercial planes and few them into the world trade centers in nyc and the pentagon in washington dc

max verstappen also posted a plane pic with himself and lando norris, but he did not delete it.

we also had the return of daniel ricciardo’s jpg instagram account, which is kinda like a finsta for photos that hes taken. i think lando started this a few years ago. 

heading into the race week we certainly got a weird ass batch of pr. including but not limited to:

lewis hamilton was back on top and slaying in the fit game. as was yuki. 

lewis hamilton also exposed george russell as listening to katy perry pre race. katy perry and taylor swift (this was after he claimed that he liked listening to old school rap music.) though, lewis then started singing wrecking ball???? confusing vibes all around

george was not off the hook yet tho because some intern definitely make him say skidibidi toilet or whatever the thing is idk, i might be gen z but im not insufferable, okay? actually george in baku was just all kinds of unhinged

george and alex also got up to something, what it is no one knows but it is clearly something

max pulled up to the paddock de aged about 10 years. picture one is of him in baku in 2015 (i believe he was 17) and picture 2 is this year. no i am not kidding. 

and franco walked into the paddock telling everyone about argentinian mate (which is a drink, not a friend)

and max shoved a microphone out of the way so everyone could gossip

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Scuderia Ferrari HP (@scuderiaferrari)

then of course, we had some slightly more relevant drama

haas announced that ollie would be replacing kevin at baku. in case you forgot, kevin magnussen received a total of 12 penalty points over the season so far, which means he gets one race ban. how did he get the points? well he was mostly wreaking havoc on everyone else so that his teammate, nico hulkenberg, could drag his car into the points. lets all remember the time in saudi arabia where he managed to get 20 seconds of penalties by basically driving like a mad man just to make sure that nico could keep his position after he pit stopped. anyway, nico was kind of pissed about the race ban situation and said “maybe the guidelines for F1 penalties need to be reviewed as the stewards ‘want to get involved’ no matter the contact.”

in any case though, k mags was out. and ollie was in. we’ve seen ollie before. notably he subbed in for carlos sainz at the saudi arabia gp when carlos had appendicitis. he managed to get points as well. since then, he has been announced as a haas driver for 2025 and is now subbing in for k mags (haas, later in the week called him a super sub. clearly no gen z person read that over.) he can do this because ferrari has a haas engine so they share reserve drivers.

adrian newey finally got employed. i know! i can hardly believe it either! but he did! and youll never guess where! 

ferrari? no that would be too obvious. 

mercedes? nah

williams? no too much of a shit show

aston martin? ding ding ding! just the right amount of shit show! 

that is right. newey is going to aston for 2025. 

apparently he was offered a “good package” according to himself, which i assume means pay and also the fact that lawrence stroll made him a shareholder? stakeholder? whatever its called. in the team itself. basically he has a lot of power. 

he said that he always wanted to work with fernando and lewis. and he couldn't do both. and aston had a better package than ferrari. 

fernando looked positively evil during all the announcement pictures. and called the team "definitely the team of the future" and for those of you who don't know, fernando is positively evil. hes just been stuck in a shit box and we havent seen very much of him, but man does he know how to evilly slut it up. so that will be fun to see.

by contrast, people said that lance was not excited enough. and well. lance 1. has resting bitch face and 2. never really looks excited about anything. also he lives in a world where take your child to work day somehow became his job. (his dad owns the team).

lewis hamilton was asked what he thought about adrian not going to ferrari, and here's what he had to say:

"i feel like, while I have mentioned before that it would be an honor to work with adrian, i have been privileged to work with two championship winning teams that didnt have adrian."

mclaren announced pato o ward would do FP1 in mexico. who is pato o ward? hes one of mclaren’s indycar drivers and one of the f1 reserve drivers. he is incredibly charming and definitely runs his own social media as seen here:

mclaren Also claim they figured out who their number 2 driver is and they claim its oscar. i say they claim because the statements were a lot more complex than that. essentially, according to andrea stella, the priority is to the team first, then lando and then oscar. so they didn't outright say that oscar is the number 2 driver and i am willing to bet real money that this is because mr mark webber, oscars manager, has something in oscars contract that prevents him from being a number 2 driver. this is of course because mark webber was one of the most infamous number 2 drivers in f1 history to none other than menace war criminal sebastian vettel, who in their time as teammates, managed to win 4 back to back world champions. or, top to bottom if you're mrs darbus from high school musical. 

lando was asked about this and he said that yes, the team does support him. though he would not expect oscar to give up a win for him and that it is more complex behind the scenes. i suppose we will see if there are any papaya rules coming out this weekend….

and oscar said "i think the main point is its not purely just going to be me pulling over for lando every single race, because thats how none of us, including lando, wont want to go racing, if we feel that someone has done a much better job on a weekend, whichever way it is, we want that person to be rewarded."

max verstappen commented on the mclaren situation as well. which was funny mostly because red bull has one of the most defined number 1 and number 2 drivers of any team. he said "you look at it form oscar's perspective, he is closer to lando than lando to me. they have to deal with that."

and allow me to put on a tin foil hat as we are about to talk about the future of the red bull seat. because all i have to offer here is a baseball hat and a red bull can. 

a long time ago we talked about the red bull cans. the ones that red bull makes to promote f1. at the end of last season red bull put max and checo on the red bull can. this season at the start it was just max on the red bull can. well. now checo has reappeared on the cans too. and i will tell you what i think this means. it means that checo is not getting swapped this season, which was a possibility for awhile. 

but! there is more! 

daniel ricciardo made an instagram post this week. and it was very interesting. but most interestingly he was wearing a red bull hat.

which he does occasionally, no big deal really. he did race for the for several years, he technically does currently. BUT then he showed up TO THE PADDOCK wearing the red bull hat.

which is Big Interesting. usually you show up in a statement outfit or wearing the team kit. and daniel is not a red bull racing driver. he is a visa cashapp racing bulls driver. they might be owned by red bull but they are Not the same team. so why the red bull hat. in the paddock. well, the rumor is that hes taking checos seat for 2025. and the rumor is that this will be announced before mexico. so checo can have a proper send off. 

and with that. the baku lore. 

theres a lot that has happened at baku. as i said its a street circuit. and i think its the fastest street circuit. but over the years theres been some notable events. 

such as the great kimi raikkonen radio for gloves and steering wheel:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

they gave mini kimi this week gloves and steering wheel in honor of that

the max and daniel crash in 2018 when they were running p1 and p2 respectfully

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

and of course. how could we forget. charles’s infamous “i am stupid” radio.

speaking of charles, he crashed again in fp1. not quite in the same spot, but nearly. he took a picture with the marshalls. 

then in fp2 he rage quit, basically saying that the car sucks. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

but he was back and better than ever in practice three because he managed to top the time charts. welcome back fuck ass ferrari.

some other teams definitely experienced the lows but not really the highs of baku during practice. like lance stroll who came on the radio to say “this is not a car” (good thing they have adrian newey now, right? 

franco colapinto also cut his ear before practice on the neck strengthener stretcher thing that they all use and the team wanted to give him stitches but he was like no no no i need to be in the car in about 5 minutes im not doing that. so he jammed on his helmet and jumped in the car. he also crashed and when he went to the medical center he took off his helmet and there was blood everywhere and they were like no no no you cannot race! and he was like no! this is not from the crash! and then explained it and they let him do qualifying. 

also im pretty sure? ollie bearman crashed? in practice? but frankly i don't have time to google it so whos to say. 

but alas. qualifying. 

i know i know this is kind of a shitty update. i promise ill go all out in singapore. i PROMISE. 

so as i said. its a street circuit. high speed. 90 degree corners. and also windy as hell. we also had the dynamic duo of karun and harry in the commentary box. 

max led the first practice, george led the second and i think charles led the third. or some order like that. 

slipstream here is almost essential (slipstream: going behind another car to reduce the wind drag so you can go faster) 

charles has the last three pole positions (first in qualifying) here in baku, but he has never won. by comparison, red bull have never had pole here but they have won. 

and franco has never been to baku before. 

i think that's all the exposition that we need here. 

q1 started with max complaining about his car. “the car is jumping around like crazy on the rear axle” he said. despite this he was sitting in p3. 

the mid field battle though….the mid field battle was heating the hell up. mostly because none other than franco colapinto, who if you will remember, has never been to baku before, had split the two ferraris. he was in third for the moment, .109 seconds behind carlos sainz and .159 seconds ahead of charles leclerc. we still had a lot of qualifying left to go, so this was probably not going to stay, but it was still insane. he was pushing insanely hard, nearly kissing the walls. clearly he had learned from his crash in practice. 

the two mclarens waited until the very end of q1 to do their final flying push lap, and oscar made it through, but tragedy struck for lando. 

lando was in the middle of his last flying lap, time was ticking down, and there was a Very Brief yellow flag on the track. now, according to rules, you cannot complete your flying lap if there is a yellow flag. so lando pitted and was stuck down in 17th and out of qualifying. this would be the first time that he was out in q1 since vegas last year (which if i remember correctly was also not his fault) 

now though, of course nothing is ever that cut and dry. people thought that there had been a mis showing of a flag. yellow flag means that a car is stopped on track, white flag means that a car is going slowly on the track. and people thought that there had been a yellow flag shown when it was actually supposed to be a white flag (if there had been a white flag then lando would have been able to keep doing his flying lap) lando himself said that he had no idea what people were talking about because there is a light on the steering wheel that lights up when flags are called and he had a big yellow light. so it was clearly a yellow flag. 

if you're concerned about lando being able to pull it out of the bag, id like to point you in the direction of the mexican gp last year where lando qualified 17th and finished 5th. on a track that was hard to overtake on. he can be absolutely insane when he wants to be. worry not gentle reader. 

in any case. also out in q1 was daniel ricciardo, valtteri bottas, zhou guanyu and esteban ocon.

and notably, williams, who was on fucking fire this weekend as we already saw, finished q1 with alex albon in second (ahead of oscar) and franco colapinto in 8th. pierre gasly had somehow managed to also get into 4th. and nico hulkenberg was in 7th with ollie bearman in 13th. i told you the mid field battle was heating the hell up. 

q2. everyone zoomed straight out of the gate. they didn't want to get lando norris’d. but, speaking of that, if lando managed to get no points in the race and charles managed to win, charles would overtake lando in the drivers championship. mark webber himself told this to charles, who was absolutely baffled. 

in any case, charles was kinda suffering right now and that was because he was not getting slipstream from carlos to make his lap faster. meanwhile, carlos seemed to be actively trying to give charles the slipstream because he came on radio to say “he keeps missing the tow” 

and amazingly, franco colapinto was 4 tenths AHEAD of alex albon. alex albon who had not been unqualified by his teammate once since the start of 2023. ex red bull driver alex albon. that alex albon. 

max topped the times in q2, followed immediately by charles. insanely, fernando alonso managed to drag the aston martin to fifth. and franco was right behind him in 6th. by comparison alex albon was in 10th. 

and from q2 we lost ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda (who has never qualified lower than 8th in baku), pierre gasly, nico hulkenberg and lance stroll. so yes, ollie bearman managed to outqualify nico hulkenberg. this is ollies second ever f1 race. 

steaming on forward to q3. 

we had, for review, in q3 the following: 

both ferraris, both red bulls, both mercedes, both WILLIAMS (has not happened since vegas 2023), plus fernando alonso and oscar piastri. 

right out the gate it was wild. 

“red bull! theyve re found their mojo! or have they!” karun said. red bull were in 5th and 6th and not entirely sucking for the moment. 

everyone did one flyer and then came out at the end for a second flyer. 

here were the standings: 

charles, carlos, oscar, george, checo, max, lewis, alex, franco, fernando

and everyone was making it to the line and all was going smooth until-

wait a second what is that

could it be! alex albon! with the air box fan still on his car! surely not!!!

oh but it was! and harry and karun were like oh wow so unfortunate for williams tisk tisk

meanwhile ted jumped on the radio to Loudly announce to everyone that this was insane and if i have time here i will put the rant he ranted cause it was Fantastic.

and what do you know i have time

so we had 3 minutes left qualifying and everyone was pulling out of the pits for their last flyer when oscar hopped on the radio to say

"the williams still has the air box fan in"

"oh what an error! disaster for williams!" karun and harry said. they speculated if the marshalls could get it or if the session needed to be red flagged. but alex threw the fan off the car.

and then they asked "ted have you ever seen that before?" and ted did not hold back:

"ITS A MASSIVE YELLOW FAN HOW COULD YOU MISS IT???!!! HOW COULD THE MECHANICS MISS IT???? I CANT BELIVE THEY WOULD MAKE SUCH A MISTAKE DOWN AT WILLIAMS! SUCH AN EXPERIENCED BUNCH OF GUYS AND GIRLS! WHAT IS GOING ON AT WILLIAMS OPERATIONALLY? HOW COULD YOU SEND A CAR OUT LIKE THAT?"

alex, obviously, got fined for an unsafe release 5k euros. he also had to throw the fan off to the side and got slightly covered in dry ice. he did not get to the a second flying lap. 

franco did tho!

and here were out qualifying results: 

p1: charles p2: oscar p3: carlos p4: checo p5: george p6: max p7: lewis p8: fernando p9: franco p10: alex  p11: ollie p12: yuki p13: pierre p14: nico p15: lance p16: daniel  p17: lando p18: valtteri p19: zhou p20: esteban 

oh ho ho but we werent done yet. because pierre gasly got disqualified from qualifying. for failing fuel flow regulations. and lewis was going to have to start from the pit lane for changing his power unit. 

everyone, and by everyone i mean oscar max and checo, pretty much said that charles was going to get pole no matter what, they knew this coming in and the best they were trying for was second

onto the race. 

notably, this is considered a checo track. this was one of the three races that max did not win last year. because checo won it. its a track that he does well on, evidenced by the fact that he qualified above max in qualifying. so people were expecting big things from him.

and so, we head into lap 1.

charles managed to hang onto the lead. checo passed carlos straight out of the gate for third and max managed to pass george to take fifth. lando had managed to get ahead of nico and up into 13th. notably, franco held onto 8th and ollie was able to hold onto tenth. 

someone who was not doing well was lance stroll, who came on the radio saying that he had a puncture. this was from contact with yuki. lance had to pit for fresh tires and was pretty immediately thrown to the back of the grid. 

by lap 2 lando had managed to get past daniel and was in 12th, he was trying to get past yuki next, which he managed by lap 3. yuki also lost a  spot to nico. 

also slaying in the mclaren was oscar, who took fastest lap. then charles took fastest lap.

and lewis hamilton, who had started from the pit lane, was up to 16th. already. somehow. though he was displeased with the tires, sayig that “this tire is pretty bad” over the radio. 

yuki meanwhile was clearly having a problem because he had started going very very slowly. thought the pit wall said that he had no problems. this would later turn out to be false but we will indulge them for the time being. 

franco was STILL ahead of alex albon on lap 6. STILL. 

lando on lap 8 managed to push his way into points positions, overtaking ollie bearman for 10th. though this was where things were about to slow down for him because in front of him were alex, franco and fernando, who were all very close together and would be hard to get past. 

george was back in bad luck hell as a plastic bag entered his airbox. will he ever catch a break. 

on lap 11 nico hulkenberg finally caught up with ollie bearman and passed him for 11th. 

and max’s car was not working. to potentially no one’s surprise. “i have zero bite in the car” he said. and this was probably true because checo was a whole 6.5 seconds ahead of him. insane gap. 

several pit stops later that i will not detail out because we simply do not have the time, alex albon ended up in 4th and lando ended up in fifth. and oscar was about to get undercut by checo. 

“mojo seems to be back for checo perez” harry said, correctly. 

mojo was back for him indeed. and now he was right behind lando. 

and if you will recall, according to mclaren themselves, priority at mclaren is the team first, then oscar, then lando. but oscar was ahead of lando. so what did mclaren do? 

they asked lando do hold up perez, but not compromise his own race. 

remever a long time ago when i said mclaren wouldn't have any internal drama this season? man how i was wrong.

lando managed to hold up perez for around a lap or two before he got past. this was crucial because this was during when oscar was in the pits. 

thanks to lando and the power of the papaya rules teamwork, oscar ended up coming out in 4th, only .706s ahead of checo. 

mclaren are working together everyone! mclaren are working together!

meanwhile, turns out that yuki did indeed have problems because he retired on lap 17 with a hole in his sidepod from the contact with lance on lap 1. this was now two races in a row where he had had to retire for reasons out of his control. 

several more people pitted. and eventually charles was back out in front, oscar was in p2. until he wasn't. no, he didn't dnf. he overtook charles! he was in p1! he popped out of nowhere! nowhere being 2 car lengths back and just flooring it to spring around charles like a little silly slinky! karun called it a “good, fair and robust defense,” which sounds like its descibing notes in wine. but this was not wine. this was the baku gp. and we were only half done. 

ollie bearman was defending against lewis hamilton, holding on tightly to 14th place. 

charles was still behind oscar and he could not get past, despite the fact that he was still very much in spitting distance. “they are pushing like crazy or they have more grip than us” he said. 

carlos got past both lando and alex albon and was up into 4th

this brought max up behind lando. max was on 11 lap old tires and lando was on 24 lap old tires. but lando still defended like hell and managed to hold onto sixth. max was 0.632 seconds behind lando on lap 25 when he said that “my brakes are not working.” this was hardly a surprise. max has hated the car since china.

also experiencing technical difficulties was sir lewis hamilton. he was stuck down in 14th and was first told to do “everything you can do to get the surface temp down” of the tires. he said “im trying” then several laps later on lap 29 he came on the radio to say “are you seeing how i have to drive this thing?” “yes,” bono, his engineer said. “quite effective though.” 

max was still half a second behind lando. mclaren faked a pit stop call over the radio to get max to pit. he did not. 

but, george russell did manage to pass him. which was “not good for max’s world champion aspirations.”

this was also when ted very bafflingly said that “if i had a sofa in the pit lane i would be jumping up and down on it” im not sure what that was in response to. 

meanwhile, ollie was still holding off sir lewis hamilton. and charles was trying to get oscar to pit again by lying over the radio. it was not working. 

lando did a pit stop finally and came out a whole 15 second behind max. he was hoping to catch max by the end of the race. but it might be tight. lets go last lap lando. 

“lando, imagine andrea on your shoulder saying ‘zero wheel spin’ in every exit,” lando’s race engineer said. if you're confused, everyone else was too. 

10 laps to go and here were the order of affairs:

oscar

+.449s charles +1.865s checo +2.989s carlos +16.530s george  +1.909s max +11.535s lando +9.715s fernando +2.589s alex +2.451s nico +4.667s franco +1.590s lewis +1.261s ollie +1.791s pierre +9.205s daniel +23.919s esteban  +.789s lance +3.862s valtteri +3.631s guanyu 

lando was determined. he took fastest lap on lap 43 and was 8.8s behind max

at this point, the leaders were starting to lap the cars in the back. “the back markers are starting to come up,” checo’s engineer said to him. “its going to get messy.”

“hold onto your hats and if you don't have one go get one and hold onto it” harry said. harry would turn out to be correct. 

we had the top 3 all running very close to eachother, that was oscar, charles and checo and “welcome to the party carlos sainz!” who was now 1.2 seconds behind checo in the four way battle for the lead.

definitely not leading was lance stroll, who retired on lap 47 with a brake problem. 

oscar managed to pull ahead of charles by 1.5 seconds, finally knocking him out of DRS range. so now it was a three way battle for second. and charles had “no rear tires. no rear tires at all.” 

and, just like i said he would, lando managed to pass max on lap 49. he was closing the gap slowly in the championship. 

“verstappen’s day goes from bad to worse,” harry said. because lando still had fastest lap, so he would score 3 more points than max. which is important if lando wants to beat max in the championship (though i think hes still like 60 points behind)

meanwhile! franco managed to pass nico hulkenberg for 10th! he was in the points!!!! at his second race!!! 

but this was short lived because there was a crash! a big smackeroo! between carlos and checo!! checo was mad, carlos didn't know what happened. 

what happened was that carlos was trying to pass checo but checo did not move over. it was deemed an equal fault accident. both of them were utterly confused at what happened and apparently spent 20 minutes in the medical center being utterly lost and aparently saying that sometimes this sport sucks. and! contrary to what several people said! checo did not bang on carlos’s helmet after the crash. 

the crash actually caused chef's dad to have a heart attack. he is stable now.

and well. this clip of george from the post qualifying interviews definitely didnt age well:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mahir (@f1trollguy)

but! since we were a matter of a few laps from the end, this meant that the rest of the race was finished under a virtual safety car. 

which meant 

OSCAR PIASTRI WINS THE AZERBAIJAN GP

and george inherited p3! 

and on his own merit too! no safety cars, no team orders, no weird shit! 

“yes!” he whispered over the radio. 

he almost fell getting out of the car, then gave us all the “one moment” hand gesture before properly celebrating. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

he also got driver of the day! 

(this was marginally better than george russell, who said over the radio “i cant get any rubber (to pick up on his tires) all im getting is leaves”)

gunther steiner also hosted the post race interviews. which was interesting. 

george said that the most difficult part of the race was “driving full gas into a wall of carbon fiber on the penultimate lap…the vsc should have come out sooner” 

charles bashed ferrari because they didn't do any high fuel runs in practice. 

oscar was entirely pleased. “i managed to overtake and hold onto it for the next 35 laps..one of the better races of my career.” and honestly, oscar winning a race straight after mclaren basically announcing that he was their number 2 driver is nothing short of hilarious.

and! mclaren was now leading the constructors championship by 20 points! for the first time in ten years!!!!

the top three had a moment outside of the car that was filled with baffled: 

and oscar's engineer tom got to stand on the podium with him. he usually takes a selfie with oscar after each race he podiums at, but he was too excited to so george took this picture for them

(george also aparently demomished oscar in a game of uno on the plane, immediately humbling him)

george also shielded himself from the champagne on the podium

the cooldown room reacted to the crash in a very straight forward manner:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by FORMULA 1® (@f1)

and very quickly cause its midnight and the singapore gp starts in 8 hours, the post race, speed ran: 

-mark webber told off laura winter for thinking that oscar didn't have good tire management

-alex albon was “super happy, that's a lot of points for us” (williams finished in 7th and 8th). he cut his own interview short when ollie bearman arrived, saying “I can go, im happy to go” and then waving comically. 

-williams was so pleased with this result they blasted everyone with champagne. and they overtook alpine in the constructors championship! this was also their best race finish all season

-(and a quick note, if youre going to really blame logan for being that shit of a driver here, please remember that the car he was driving was several rounds of upgrades behind alex's pretty much the entire time he was driving it)

-ollie became the first driver to ever score points in his first two races for two different constructors because the double dnf pushed him up to 10th place. he said that there was not much difference between the haas and the ferrari, the ferrari was just red

-franco continued to charm everyone and flirt with the reporters. 

-they interviewed george and lewis and the camera had to be adjusted for george's height. it was comical and resulted in my favorite edit so far of the season (sound on)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝖶𝖺𝗒𝗌. (@f1foryou1)

-lando looked pleased and happy for once. he said about holding off checo that “i didn't hold him up i just had to cool my tires a little.” he was delighted to be leading the constructors for the first time in ten years and he defended alex albon saying “i struggled to get past alex for a while, which is common, alex doesnt make mistakes.” he also ratted on max for going to fast during the VSC and said “i didn't complain, facts were stated.” and to sum it all up he said that “im executing things well, i’m very quick…i’m not going to be the happiest guy, but i am never the happiest guy….car is performing well everywhere…some red cars behind us seem to be our biggest competitors right now” 

-by comparison george insulted all of pirelli. the tire people. “pretty infuriating that it (the pace) changes this so much….its black magic, people who make the tires don't understand the tires…..for 20 laps we had a car not worthy of points and for 20 laps we had a car fighting for victory and the only difference is the tires.” 

-lewis was notably upset after the race and walked through the paddock with his helmet on, not wanting to talk to anyone. but he did talk to franco and ollie and congratulate them on a job well done defending against him and racing against him. franco even fangirled over this on his instagram. 

-charles was clearly upset with ferrari. he was so upset he posted a thirst trap.

-and oscar. oscar was very happy this afternoon. and his mom was there! she doesnt usually come cause it scares her, but nicole was there today! 

-mclaren celebrated with a hell of a lot of champagne. both oscar’s wina and lando’s insane recovery, and the fact that they were leading the championship. red bull have been dethroned, at least for now. 

-there was so much champagne that lando took off his socks to spray it. all seems well at mclaren. 

-at least one thing is for sure, oscar had a better time here this weekend than last year when he got food poisoning and only ate four pieces of toast

and with that. we head into singapore. quite literally as it is starting in a few hours. again, i apologixe about this post. its a little sad, but the next one will be better. pinkly promise. 

see you all soon!!!

[killerplink]

HOMECOMING

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: Roy's finally home after three long weeks, and you're not wasting a second apart. You missed his touch, his voice, the way he f*cks you like he means it, and tonight, you're making up for every minute.

Words: 9,3k

A/N: so uhm... 🥹 at some point some of you asked if I'd ever write for anyone other than Jason and Dick and I was like "nah I'm too obsessed" and then *cough cough* and THEN, Pinterest decided to show me some Roy Harper panels and my brain short circuited and went "this redheaded menace is so fucking hot and you WILL write for him" and uhm... I did. I spiraled. I wrote. I have zero regrets. hope y'all enjoy this horny little detour, besties 🏃🏻‍♀️

You're pacing around the apartment, practically vibrating with need.

It's been three weeks—twenty one fucking days too long without Roy. No lazy mornings tangled in the sheets, no filthy little whispers in your ear before bed, no warm weight of him sprawled half on top of you like you're his favorite pillow. Just the cold, empty space in your bed and the stupid ache between your legs that not even your own fingers can chase away right. Not the way he does.

Sure, he made sure to talk every night. Sweet little check ins, low raspy voice through the phone saying, "Miss you, baby. You doin' okay?"

There were even some breathless video calls, camera tilted just right while you touched yourselves together, whispering each other's names and pretending it was enough. But it's not.

You're so fucking pent up you can barely think straight, and it's all hitting you at once now that you know he's almost home. Your phone buzzed earlier, just a casual, "On my way, sweet girl", like he didn't just break you with five fucking words.

And now you're here, fresh from an everything shower and after digging through your whole lingerie drawer only to end up in one of his old t-shirts—because let's be real, he'd just rip anything else off anyway—pacing the living room, heart racing, thighs pressed tight every time you think about how desperate you are to feel his mouth, his hands, his dick.

You pause by the couch, biting your lip. You hadn't realized how much not sleeping next to him had fucked with you. You couldn't even rest properly these past few weeks, just rolled around at night in a nest of pillows, trying to trick your body into thinking it was him, but it didn't really work. Nothing works except Roy.

He's gonna be just as bad, you know that. That man clings like a damn koala when he's home, always got some part of him wrapped around you. Arm over your waist, leg slung over yours, face nuzzled into your neck while he murmurs half asleep all kinds of sweet nothings.

God, it's already been an hour since he texted, and you've been watching the clock like your life depends on it. Every little sound outside has your heart leaping into your throat, and you're this close to calling him, not even for an update, just to hear his voice, to make sure he's real and on his way and not just something you've been imagining for the last three weeks with your fingers stuffed between your thighs and your heart cracked wide open.

You're heading toward your phone when you hear the jingle of keys at the door.

Then comes a soft curse from the other side, metal fumbling against metal like he's trying to get the damn thing in the lock and not having the best luck. He's always been a little shit with keys when he's tired, and that sound—that exact sound—sends something wild rushing through your chest.

You don't even think, you fucking bolt. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood as you rush to the door, yanking it open just as Roy finally manages to get the key turned, and then he's there. In the flesh. Broad shoulders, wind tousled red hair, bag slung over his shoulder, that worn leather jacket, and a tired, hungry look in his eyes that softens the second he sees you.

You don't give him time to speak, instantly launching yourself at him, and he drops his bag, catching you effortlessly, arms locking around you as your legs wrap tight around his waist, hands tangling into his hair like you need to touch him just to believe it.

"Fuck, baby," he huffs out with a low chuckle, stumbling inside as the door swings shut behind you both. "Knew you were gonna hit me like a damn freight train."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as you breathe him in—leather, smoke, that stupid cologne he knows you like. Your heart is going a mile a minute and your grip on him is borderline bruising, but Roy doesn't even dare to complain.

One arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you flush against his body, while the other snakes up your back to cradle your head, his palm splayed wide as if he's trying to cover every inch of you.

"I missed you, Roy," you whisper, breath hitching against his skin. "Missed you so fucking much."

He exhales hard through his nose, lips brushing your hair. "Yeah? Missed you too, sweet girl. So much it fuckin' hurt."

And God, he sounds wrecked. Not just tired, but starved. For you. For your skin, your scent, your warmth. His arms tighten around you again—gentle, like he doesn't quite trust himself not to crush you—and he just stands there, right in the doorway, breathing you in like he's been drowning for weeks and finally got to come up for air.

You don't even realize how long you've been clinging to him until your heart starts to calm just enough to breathe again. Your hands slide through his hair, fingers tugging gently, and you finally lean back, just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes heavy lidded and fixed on you like you're the only thing on the damn planet.

And then you kiss him, crashing your lips into his with all the weight of the last three weeks behind it. It's messy and eager and needy, and he doesn't even hesitate—his lips part instantly, like he was just waiting for you to give him the green light to fall apart. His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, swallowing the sound of his own as you suck on it just to make him feel how badly you missed the taste of him.

You can feel the shiver that runs through him, feel the way his hands shift under your thighs and then move up, gripping your ass in both hands like he's been fantasizing about it every goddamn night. Which, he has.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters against your lips, voice low and frayed at the edges. His fingers dig in harder, palms rough and warm on your bare skin. "You tryin' to kill me, baby?"

You just hum against his mouth, hips giving a little roll against him, just enough to feel it. That perfect dick, already straining against his jeans, rubbing against your bare, needy pussy like it belongs there. And it does.

The heat of his cock makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering as you tighten your hold around his shoulders. You weren't ready for how fucking good it would feel, even through his clothes. You weren't ready for how your body would light up the second he touched you like this.

And Roy? He's just trying to breathe. He's been going crazy these past few weeks. He missed you so fucking much. He missed your lips, missed the way you kiss him like you're starving, like you're trying to swallow him whole. Missed your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands when he kisses you. Missed the weight of you in his arms.

And now you're here. Warm and slick and so fucking wet for him already, the heat of your pussy grinding down on his cock like you're trying to mark him through the fabric. Like you're gonna burst if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Fuck, trouble," he pants, forehead pressed to yours, hips bucking up into you once, rough and needy. "Gonna fuckin' cum in my pants at this rate."

"Roy..."

His name leaves your lips in a moan that's all breath and heat and broken need, and fuck if that doesn't go straight to his dick. He's got both hands on your ass, kneading it, gripping it like he's not sure whether to hold you tighter or just tear the damn shirt off you already. You can feel every slow drag of his cock beneath you as he grinds up into you—hard and hot and perfect, even through the denim.

He groans again, jaw tight as he kicks off his boots, barely managing to toe them off without stumbling. But he doesn't stop moving. Doesn't stop kissing you, doesn't stop rutting up against you.

His brain is absolute fucking mush, straight up short circuiting. Bedroom? Bed? Couch? Fuck that. He can't think that far right now. The only thing in his line of sight that can support your weight is the living room table, and that's exactly where he goes.

He steps in, crowding you up against it, and your ass meets the cold surface with a little gasp that makes his cock twitch hard in his jeans.

"Oh shit, sorry, baby," he breathes, but you're already tugging him in, not caring in the slightest.

One of his hands flies to the back of your neck, guiding you into another kiss—hot, open mouthed, messy. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's dying and you're the only thing that'll keep him alive. Lips plush, tongue greedy, teeth catching your bottom lip before he sucks on it. Your fingers tangle in the collar of his jacket, dragging it off his shoulders as you writhe beneath him, the kiss all tongue and spit and helpless little whines.

The second his arms slip out of the sleeves, the jacket hits the floor with a heavy thud, but his hands are back on you in an instant. Gripping your thighs, your waist, anything he can get his hands on, really.

Your legs lock around his hips again as he pushes in close, grinding against you harder, faster. The thick ridge of his cock drags right through your soaked folds and your slick is everywhere, soaking through the front of his jeans with every filthy, desperate little rut.

"Fuck," he mutters, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "Y'gonna ruin my fuckin' jeans, baby. Feel that? You're so wet, Jesus Christ."

But even as he teases you, he loves it. Loves how wet you get for him, loves how needy your little pussy is when he's been gone too long. His cock is so hard it hurts, boxers clinging to him from how much precum he's leaked already, but he doesn't give a shit. Nah, he can't even think about getting his dick out yet.

Because all he can fucking think about is how long it's been since he had his tongue buried in your pussy.

Three goddamn weeks. That's twenty one nights of jerking off in some shitty safehouse, fingers wrapped around his dick while he groaned into his pillow, thinking about the way you sound when you cum on his face.

Twenty one fucking nights without feeling your thighs trembling around his head, without tasting how sweet you get for him, without you grinding on his mouth, whimpering like you're losing your mind. He needs it. Desperately.

"Lay back for me, baby," he murmurs against your lips, all needy and hungry. "Let me taste you. Shit—I need it. Missed this sweet little pussy so bad..."

And God, you're already melting for him. You whimper the second he pulls back, even though it's only a little, even though you know what's coming because the absence of his body feels unbearable after feeling him again. But he's not gone for long. Just enough to grab the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing and drag it up and over your head in one smooth pull.

Your nipples are already hard, your chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate little pants, and Roy's brain just... shorts out. His hands come up like he's on autopilot, big palms cupping your tits with reverence, with possession, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, teasing circles that make your thighs twitch.

"Fuckin' hell, baby..." he mutters as he leans in, eyes locked on your tits like he's about to devour them. "You're so goddamn pretty. Missed these tits so much."

And then his mouth is on you. He licks one of your nipples first, slow and deliberate, flat of his tongue swiping over the sensitive bud before his lips close around it with a wet pop. The heat of his mouth makes you moan, your back arching, pressing more of your tits into his face like you need him to bury himself there—and he fucking does.

He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his thumb keeps teasing the other, tongue swirling, flicking, mouthing every inch of your breast.

"Fuck, baby, you're so sweet," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. "Love these tits. My perfect girl."

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair again as you shiver under the attention, head tipped back, thighs trembling around his waist. But he doesn't stop. His mouth moves to your other nipple, giving it the same greedy treatment—licking, sucking, moaning into your skin like he's getting drunk off it before he starts kissing his way down.

Down your sternum, over your stomach, his lips soft and hot and slow. He licks along the curve of your waist, his hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs like he can't wait to spread them open. He sinks to his knees in front of you like it's instinct, like it's the only thing his body knows to do.

And the moment he gets a look at your pussy—already glistening, so fucking wet you're dripping onto the table beneath you—he groans.

"Jesus, baby," he breathes, voice full of reverence and pure lust, his thumbs spreading your lips open so he can get a full view. "You're fuckin' soaked. Look at that pussy. Missed me that bad, huh?"

You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice, already trembling with need, and he sees it. Watches your pussy flutter like it's begging for his mouth, and that's it. That's all it takes. He's fucking gone.

Roy dives in without a second of hesitation, tongue darting out to give you one long, slow lick from your slick little hole all the way up to your clit, the flat of it dragging through your folds, and he moans right against your pussy.

"Fuckin' knew you'd still taste this sweet," he pants, mouth already back on you, licking and lapping and sucking like he's been in the desert for three weeks and your pussy is the only goddamn water source. "Missed this. Missed you."

And you're already shaking because Roy eats pussy like he's on a fucking mission.

His mouth is everywhere—lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, wet and messy, tongue flicking over the swollen bud in fast little strokes that make your back arch and your fingers yank hard on his hair.

And fuck, when you do that? He moans—a deep, desperate sound that vibrates through your whole body—and it makes your pussy throb, makes your hips jerk up into his face.

"Ohh fuck, Roy—" your voice is ragged, gasping, wrecked already. You're panting, writhing, barely able to hold yourself up on your elbows while his mouth works you over. "Right there, baby, holy shit—"

You're so fucking close you can feel it. Your clit is swollen, pulsing with every flick of his tongue, and it's almost too much, too sharp, too intense, too fucking good. You're leaking all over his mouth, slick dripping down to his chin, your slit wet and aching, and he's making such a mess of you.

Then his tongue slides lower. You let out a shaky little moan when he licks down through your folds and fucks his tongue into your pussy—deep and slow at first, and then harder, faster, like he's trying to tongue fuck the orgasm out of you.

And it's so wet. His spit and your slick mixing, drool running down his chin as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your hole, groaning every time your walls clench around it.

Every moan you let out, every whimper and curse and breathless gasp, he feels it in his dick. Feels it pulse through his jeans, soaked with precum, the ache unbearable, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't even think about stopping.

Because Roy Harper's got a problem, aaand it's between your thighs. He's obsessed. Fully, helplessly addicted to making you cum on his tongue. Doesn't care how hard he is, doesn't care if he's leaking through his fucking jeans, his only priority is you falling apart under his tongue.

He lives for it. For the taste of you, the feel of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sounds you make when he does it just right. And the way you look at him—eyes half lidded, mouth parted, sweat on your brow—it drives him fucking wild.

He keeps flicking his eyes up, checking your face like he always does. Making sure you're still coming undone for him, that your thighs are shaking, that you're using his mouth just how he loves.

"That's it, baby," he pants, pulling back just enough to breathe before he dives in again, sloppier this time. "Tastes so fuckin' good… c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fuckin' tongue—lemme have it."

His tongue slips out of your pussy with one last languid lick, your walls clenching around the empty space he leaves behind, and then he's back on your clit.

Sucking hard, lips sealing around it, the tip of his tongue flicking fast, hot little taps that make your thighs twitch. And then you feel his fingers. Two of them, thick and calloused, slick with your arousal as he sinks them inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And he does.

"Roy," your voice breaks into a moan as your head drops back onto the table with a dull thud, legs falling open wider to take him deeper.

He's curling his fingers with each pump, stroking that spongy spot inside you like he's trying to milk your orgasm out of you, all while his mouth stays locked to your clit—licking, sucking, moaning.

And oh God, the sounds. The wet, filthy squelch of his fingers fucking into your soaked pussy, the slurp of his mouth on your clit. Your moans, high and gasping, getting louder with every second. You can barely breathe, barely think.

Your hips start moving without you even realizing it, grinding against his face, desperate for more, for everything. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, slick gushing around them, and he groans into you like it's his favorite fucking song.

"Fuck—Roy, fuck, I'm gonna—" you sob, eyes fluttering shut, nails clawing at the table as your whole body coils tight.

And then it hits. Your orgasm crashes through you, sharp and overwhelming and so fucking deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. You cry out—loud and shameless—as you grind your clit against his mouth and your pussy clenches wildly around his fingers.

You're shaking. Full body trembles, thighs twitching around his head, hands flying to his hair like you don't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

But Roy doesn't stop. No, he's obsessed, completely fucking gone. He keeps sucking on your clit, keeps fucking his fingers into your spasming cunt like he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure out of you. Moaning into your pussy, licking you through it, soaking his face, smaller aftershocks tearing through your nerves, your slick dripping down his wrist, making a mess on the table under your ass.

"Roy—baby—I can't—"

You're gasping, voice wrecked, chest heaving as overstimulation starts to hit.

Your clit throbs under his mouth, every flick of his tongue sending sharp little shocks through your spine. And usually? You love it. Usually you'd let him keep going, let him tease another orgasm out of you while you cry through it. But right now? You need his dick.

You squirm, moaning again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. "Roy—baby, I need you—fuck—I can't—I need it, please—"

He groans against your pussy, nose pressed to your mound, but you're twitching, panting, too sensitive to take any more, and finally you yank him away from your clit with shaking hands.

He pulls back, lips wet, chin slick, his pupils blown wide as he pants against your thigh, fingers still slowly fucking into you.

He presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your skin, your inner thighs damp with arousal, your body limp and needy on the table.

"Please, baby," you whimper, voice all soft and wrecked, thighs trembling as your hands cling to his hair, "fuck me... please..."

Roy lets out a low, broken groan like he's trying to stay calm, but then he dips his head and sinks his teeth into your thigh, sucking a bruise right into the soft skin just inches from your swollen, wet pussy. You twitch and gasp, hips rolling up toward him, and he groans again, his mouth still hot against your skin.

He pulls back, breath ragged, and his fingers slide out of your still clenching cunt with a wet, obscene schlick. He doesn't even think, just lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean, tongue dragging over each finger.

And then his mouth is on yours. You moan into it immediately, hands threading into his hair, dragging him down as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, messy, tongue and teeth and desperation, and you whimper when you taste yourself on him—salty and sweet and so fucking much. His tongue licks into your mouth like he owns it, groaning when you suck on it, both of you grinding against each other.

His hands are already on his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper, like he can't get them down fast enough. You hear the rough clink of metal, the drag of denim, and then he shoves them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

And God, you feel it. The heat of his dick, heavy and hard, dragging across your soaked folds, and you moan into his mouth, your whole body arching off the table as the head of his dick catches on your clit.

"Oh my God—" you gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide.

Roy groans like he's in pain, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling slow and filthy between your thighs. His cock drags through your slick, the head sliding back and forth, smearing precum over your already soaked pussy.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, voice dark and fucked out, one hand gripping your thigh as he rolls his hips again, "how wet you are? That's all for me, huh?"

You nod frantically, gasping, "Y-yeah, all for you—fuck, Roy, you're so hard—please, just—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, all tongue and groans, grinding his cock harder between your folds, the head nudging your clit again and again, until your whole body is shaking from the pressure.

"God, I missed this pussy," he growls against your mouth, "missed how she fuckin' melts for me..."

You pant into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back at this point, lips trembling against his as you whisper, "Please, Roy... I need you inside me—please, baby, I need it."

He lets out a breathless, choked off curse, his hips jerking forward instinctively like your words pulled the movement out of him. "Fuckin'shit..."

He reaches down, his cock thick and throbbing as he fists it, lining up with your soaked, fluttering entrance. You can feel the heat of his dick, that heavy weight just resting against you, and your hips roll up in pure desperation as he groans like he's about to lose it already.

"God damn, look at you, pretty thing," he breathes, one hand sliding into your hair, cupping the top of your head, holding you close, "you're fuckin' perfect, baby—so soft, so ready for me... always are."

The thick head of his cock stretches you open slow, dragging against your slick walls, and both of you shudder—your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your moans spilling into each other's mouths.

"F-fuck, Roy—" your voice breaks into a gasp, and he swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut as he sinks deeper.

"Jesus—tight," he pants, voice all fucked out and shaking, "this pussy's still so fuckin' tight, even after all that—shit, I missed this, baby."

You whimper, arms tightening around his neck as his hips roll forward again, slow and deep until he bottoms out—all the way, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

The stretch is unreal, perfect and overwhelming, and your pussy clings to him like it's been starved for this. You're both trembling, breath mingling in hot little gasps, your walls fluttering around him as he stills for a second, groaning low against your neck when he feels you squeeze around him, tight and pulsing like you're trying to milk him already.

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice thick with need, "You feel—shit—baby, you feel so fuckin' good. This pussy's got a fuckin' chokehold on me."

You moan at that, hips twitching against his as you grip him tighter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him there, keeping him deep. Every inch of him buried inside, stretching you open so perfectly you could cry.

He doesn't move yet—he can't—just grinds in tiny, slow circles that make your head spin, the base of his cock nudging all the right places while your pussy clenches down around him.

He kisses you again, slow and lazy, tongue sweeping into your mouth, groaning into every little gasp you give him as he finally starts to move.

Long, deep thrusts, like he's trying to feel every inch of your tight little cunt, his cock dragging against your slick walls, making you cry out every time he pulls back just to slide in deeper.

His hand stays in your hair, keeping your forehead against his as he fucks you, the other sliding down to grip your thigh, holding you wide open for him.

"Taking me so good, baby," he rasps, eyes locked on yours, "fuck, this sweet pussy's made for me, huh?"

You pant against his mouth, noses brushing, lips barely parted between gasps as you breathe out, "Yes—"

He groans, low and shaky, like your voice pours straight into his cock. His lips brush yours, tender and breathless. "God, I've missed you so much," he says, barely more than a whisper, hips pressing forward in another slow, deep thrust.

You cry out, head tipping back just a little as your back arches off the table, and he chases your lips, his hand tightening in your hair to keep you close.

"I missed you too, baby," you moan, breath hitching with each grind of his hips, "so fucking much."

You feel everything—his lips brushing yours, his hands gripping you like you're the only thing keeping him upright, the hot weight of his cock grinding into your soaked, fluttering pussy. He bottoms out again, slow and deep, and your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut.

"God, you feel so good—"

That earns you a sharp inhale through his nose, his mouth ghosting over yours as he rocks into you again, slow but deep, each thrust forcing needy little sounds out of your throat.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs, voice wrecked. "You missed this dick, huh?"

"Y-yeah, fuck—"

"My sweet, good, hot fucking girl," he groans, hips slamming forward just a little harder, like he can't help himself anymore. "You got no clue what you do to me."

You swear your pussy clenches around him even tighter just from the way he says that.

His dick is drenched—slick, obscene, wet sounds filling the room every time his hips slap into yours. You can feel how soaked he is, how your pussy just keeps milking him, precum spilling and mixing with everything dripping down your ass. Every slow drag of his cock makes you twitch, and he's so thick, so hot, pulsing with every stroke like he's losing it inch by inch.

Your thoughts are a messy tangle because yeah, you missed his dick. The stretch of it, the way it fills every part of you, hits every sweet spot like it knows your body better than you do.

But it's him—his lips on yours, the way he holds you like you're something precious, the soft, desperate moans he makes into your mouth. His eyes locked on yours like he needs to watch your face. The way he fucks you slow like he's trying to memorize you from the inside out.

Every single part of him. His weight pressing into you, the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the feel of his calloused fingers brushing your skin as he whispers praise into your mouth.

You swear you could cry from how good it feels, how badly you needed this. Roy's hips rock into you again, slow and deep, dragging a broken moan out of your throat as he grinds against your clit. You're so wet, the slick squelch of your pussy echoing every time he sinks into you—it's filthy, raw, like the sounds alone could make him lose it.

He watches your face like he's starved for it, like the sight of you all flushed and desperate beneath him is the only thing that's kept him breathing the past three weeks. Your lips are parted, glossy from kissing him, moaning so pretty for him, all soft and whiny. You're fucking glowing, flushed and damp and trembling and perfect.

God, he missed this. Missed you.

He never stops thinking about it—about you. Not when he's out there, not when he's trying to sleep in some shitty cot somewhere, not even when he's jerking off to your voice in his ear while you moan his name through the phone.

Yeah, he's gotten himself off—fuck, he had to—but it's not the same. It never fucking is. His hand doesn't feel like you. Doesn't squeeze and flutter and pull him back in like your pussy does. Doesn't make him feel like he's home.

You moan again, soft and needy, and his whole body jerks, a growl rising from his chest as he grinds deep into you, just a little firmer, like he can't help it. Your pussy is so wet, soaking his cock, slick gushing out of you with every slow thrust.

He can feel the way your walls clench every time he drags over that spot inside you, the way your breath hitches when he grinds down right against your swollen clit.

His balls are tight, his dick twitching inside you, but he bites back the groan because he's not fucking stopping. Not until he makes you cum again. He needs it. Needs to watch you fall apart on his cock. Again. Slowly. Properly.

His voice is low, rough, nearly trembling when he murmurs, "That's it, baby... taking me so good..."

Your thighs twitch around his hips, and he moans as your pussy flutters around him, that delicious squeeze making his hips stutter.

“Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good, baby. So warm, so wet," he pants, his forehead pressed against yours. "Could stay buried in this pussy all night."

And he means it. God, he means every word. He's obsessed—utterly, shamelessly obsessed—with every part of you. How you sound, how you smell, how you feel wrapped him, around his dick. He'll give you whatever you want, over and over again, but right now?

Right now, he just wants to keep fucking you like this.

"Look at you," he whispers, hips rocking into you again, dragging out another desperate moan. "My pretty fuckin' girl. So needy for me, huh?"

You brush your lips over his, a breathless little whimper caught between your panting as you gasp out, "Roy, baby... I need your cum... please—"

And that's it. That's all it takes. He fucking snaps.

His cock twitches deep inside you, and suddenly he's fucking you a little harder, a little faster, just like your needy little voice told him to. Every wet slap of skin against skin is filthy, your slick leaking down to the table with each stroke of his thick cock.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, you want it that bad?" he moans, voice cracking as he buries himself deep again, your pussy sucking him right back in like it owns him.

And it does. It fucking does. His thrusts grow desperate, hips jerking as his dick throbs deep inside you, the head swelling just before he spills, moaning into your open mouth like he's losing his mind.

"Take it, baby," he pants, eyes squeezed shut, forehead against yours, "fuckin' take all my cum—"

His cock pulses, and you feel every hot, thick spurt of cum filling your clenching pussy, each throb making you cry out as it hits deep inside you. You're already so close, your clit aching, your walls fluttering, and the second you feel him fill you, feel that warm gush deep inside? You snap too.

Your orgasm crashes into you all at once, a full body tremble that has your back arching, your pussy squeezing down on him, milking every last drop. Your thighs shake around his hips, breath catching as you gasp his name again and again, almost sobbing as the pleasure takes over.

He feels the way your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, still trying to suck him in, and it drives him insane. He moans into your mouth again, hips jerking once, twice, before he stills, buried to the base, your soaked pussy choking his dick with how fucking tight you are.

His lips brush yours, hot and wet and messy before he leans in and licks into your mouth, hungry and desperate. You whimper into it, clinging to him, your tongues slick against each other as he keeps kissing you like he's trying to breathe you in, like he can't get enough even as he throbs inside you, his cum leaking around his cock.

You're both panting into each other's mouths, bodies still shaking, the table creaking beneath you as you cling together—his hand in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt, both of you completely fucking lost in it.

You break the kiss, panting, lips slick and swollen as you lick them slowly, eyes half lidded, fucked out and begging. "Roy?"

His forehead stays against yours, hand still in your hair, the tip of his nose brushing yours. "Yeah, baby?"

You gasp softly, hips shifting under his, your voice a breathless little whimper, sweet and so, so dangerous. "Fuck me."

And he knows exactly what you mean. Knows this slow, sweet, deep thrust shit you've been doing? That's not how you two usually fuck unless one of you is half asleep or coming off a long night. This? This was the appetizer. You want the real thing. You want him rough, messy, fast, you want your brains fucked out and your body wrecked.

He doesn't even blink. He pulls back and slides out just far enough for the head of his cock to catch at your dripping entrance, the tip slick and soaked in your juices and his cum. And then he slams back in.

The wet, obscene slap of it punches a gasp out of your throat, and his cum spills out around his cock, leaking down your ass and pooling beneath you on the table. He swears under his breath when he sees it—feels it—and God, it just makes him go harder.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he starts pounding into your pussy, dick drenched, driving in and out of your soaked hole like he's got a fucking death grip on your orgasm.

"Fuck—that's it, baby, that's what you wanted, huh?" he groans, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward so fast the table under you starts to creak dangerously. "Wanted me to fuck this needy little pussy just like this, yeah? Jesus Christ—"

And you're babbling, moaning so loud you're not even sure what you're saying, head thrown back, hair a mess, eyes rolling as he wrecks you. Every thrust hits deep, hard enough to jolt you against the table, the angle perfect every time he slams back in. You can feel him everywhere—his hips slapping yours, his nails biting into your skin, the wet drag of his cock, stretching you out, making your cunt flutter all over again.

You swear you're gonna cum again already just from how filthy it is. Just from the sound of him, the feel of his body driving into yours like he owns you. And he does.

"Look at you," Roy groans, breath coming out rough as he fucks into you, watching the way you whimper every time he slams his hips into yours. "So fuckin' perfect—"

Your tits bounce every time he drives in, fat and soft and flushed, and his gaze keeps dragging up to your face—that face, all scrunched up in pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes glassy and wild. You're a mess. His favorite kind. His perfect fucking mess.

"Fuck, you're tight—shit, baby, you missed this dick that bad?" he pants, eyes locked on your face, the way your lips fall open, the way your lashes flutter every time he bottoms out.

You whimper so sweet and broken he almost folds. Every word, every praise from him sends another pulse of heat through you, your pussy fluttering around his cock like it's starving. You're so wet you can hear it—slick squelches and obscene little pops every time he thrusts in and out, your walls clenching down like your body is trying to milk him dry. And Roy's losing it.

His jaw is tight, brow furrowed, face flushed and chest heaving as he looks at you—really looks at you. Fucked stupid on his dick, hair messy, tits bouncing, lips swollen from his kisses. You're beautiful like this. You're his like this.

"God, baby, you've got no fuckin' clue how much I missed you," he grits, voice ragged, hips stuttering for just a second before he slams back in. "Three weeks without this pussy? Without you? Nearly lost my goddamn mind."

You cry out when he grinds into you just right, clit catching the base of his cock, your pussy clenching around him like you're gonna cum again, wrecked and desperate and so fucking needy.

"Roy, fuck—" you choke on it, back arching off the table when his thumb finds your clit mid thrust, rubbing quick little circles over the swollen nub, and it's over.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a fucking wave—hot, overwhelming, dizzying. Your clit throbs under his touch, cunt spasming around his cock like it's trying to milk him, to keep him right there. You're moaning, twitching, shaking, your whole body slick with sweat, and all you can do is cling to him as he fucks you through it.

"That's it, baby," he pants, voice dripping with praise as he watches you come undone for him. "God, you cum so pretty for me. Look at you, fuckin' perfect."

Your thoughts spiral, scrambled and filthy and sweet all at once. You love the way he fucks you, love it. But every time he's been away for a while, every time he's had to go without, he always fucks you like he's starving, like he's never gonna get another taste of you again. And it drives you insane in the best, nastiest way. Like he's trying to crawl inside you, like he needs you.

And God, you love being needed like this.

He leans over you again, growling low in his throat as he grabs your thighs, lifting them higher, folding you nearly in half so he can stuff his cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy. He's buried to the hilt when he crashes his mouth against yours, desperate and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He licks into you like he's still tasting your cunt on your tongue, like he wants to drown in everything you are.

Your lips are slick, swollen, parted just enough to let him fuck his tongue into your mouth, and you're both groaning, panting, needy—his hips still grinding down, cock thick and heavy and pulsing inside you as your walls flutter around him from the aftershocks.

And when he pulls back just a little, he doesn't go far, just enough to mutter, "Fuck, baby, you're squeezin' me so tight," before he slams his cock in again, hips snapping forward, filthy, deep, obsessed.

Your arms wrap around his neck like instinct, your body already knowing what's coming, your thighs twitching from the last orgasm, your pussy still clenching around his cock when he groans, low and hungry, and slips his hands under your ass.

"Hold on, baby," he grits out, voice wrecked, sweat glistening on his forehead before he fucking lifts you.

Your pussy slides up on his cock and your head falls back with a gasped, "Roy—fuck—"

He doesn't even hesitate. He plants his feet, tightens his grip on your ass, and slams you down on his dick like a man possessed.

"Oh my God," you sob, clinging to him like your life depends on it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body bouncing as he starts fucking you, panting, sweat slicked skin smacking loud against yours with each brutal drop. "Baby—f-fuck—it's so—so fucking good—"

Your words break, stutter, melt against the heat of your own tongue because you're already gone. Dick drunk, legs trembling, head spinning from how deep he hits like this. Every thrust is dizzying. Every time he drops you onto his cock, it feels like he's rearranging something inside you—stretching you wide, fucking you open from the inside out.

And Roy? He's grunting with every bounce, eyes dark and locked on your face.

"You feel that, baby? Fuck, this pussy—"

He can't even finish that. He's too obsessed, too overwhelmed, every muscle in his arms flexing as he fucks you through midair like you're weightless, like you're his favorite addiction. Because you are.

"Tight little pussy takin' me so good," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice so rough it scrapes through your chest. "Mine. Fuckin' mine."

"Yours," you gasp into his neck, all breath and heat and raw need.

And it does something to him, snaps something in that already obsessed brain of his. Roy moans low in his throat, slamming you down harder, his cock plunging deep into your pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes you wail.

"Fuck, baby—" he huffs, voice punched right out of him, your cunt so wet and tight and slippery that he has to fight not to slip out with every brutal thrust. "You're gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You're both soaked, your thighs sticky where they wrap around his waist, his cock absolutely slicked up with your cum, his own mess still dripping out of you, making every thrust louder, wetter, nastier.

You can barely breathe, let alone think. Your moans stutter out in broken, breathy sobs, your head thrown back one second, then lolling forward against his shoulder the next, your body clinging to him like your bones have melted.

His cock hits so deep, nudging that perfect spot again and again, dragging against your walls on every thrust. You can feel every vein, every twitch, every desperate pulse of him inside you. And your pussy? She's greedy. Clenching around him like she knows he's close, like she wants to milk every drop he has to give.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, dragging his mouth back to yours, and you don't kiss. Not really. You moan into each other's mouths, open mouthed and messy, tongues licking, teeth grazing, panting and gasping as you chase that high together.

"So good," he moans into your mouth, hips slamming up into you. "So fuckin' good, baby—shit—"

There's no rhythm anymore, no pattern. Just desperate, sweaty fucking, bodies pressed together like magnets, like you'll fall apart if you let go. No thoughts. Just you, him, and the filthy sounds of skin slapping and soaked cunt getting split open by the man who loves you more than anything.

"I'm so close, I—" Roy chokes out, voice rough and wrecked, every thrust getting sloppier, harder, needier.

And you cut him off, moaning right in his ear, "Yes, yes, fuck me full, baby, please, please—"

That's all it takes. Roy growls, a raw sound tearing from his throat as his hips jerk, once, twice, then he freezes, cock buried deep, his whole body shuddering against yours as he cums.

Hot, heavy spurts of cum flood your cunt, thick and deep and so fucking much of it you feel it bloom inside you. You sob out a moan, body arching, pussy clenching down hard as your own orgasm hits again, just from the sheer pressure of him filling you.

"Fuck," he pants, arms shaking as he holds you up, your body jerking with every throb of his cock, every pulse of cum painting your insides. "Fuck, baby, your pussy—"

You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, gasping, your thighs twitching as your cunt clenches greedily around him, sucking up every drop he gives you. The pressure of his release, the way it spills so deep it pushes against your cervix—it's overwhelming, hot, perfect—and your walls just keep gripping him, milking him for more.

Roy groans again, low and deep, hips twitching as he spills one last spurt of cum into your pulsing pussy. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling you like you're the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

You're both trembling, breathless and sweaty, still fused together, stuffed full and soaked and so fucking in love it aches.

Roy finally kicks off his jeans and boxers—those poor things had been bunched around his ankles this whole time—and carefully shifts onto the couch, bringing you with him, still snug on his cock.

You let out a soft, breathy whimper as he settles down, and he rubs his big hand up your spine immediately, murmuring, "Shhh, I know, pretty thing... I know."

You stay curled into him, face pressed into the crook of his neck, still panting, still sniffling a little as the intensity of everything starts to settle. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, and he just holds you tighter, rubbing slow, calming circles into your back.

"You did so good, baby," he whispers against your hair. "So good for me." Another soft kiss, this time on your temple. "My perfect girl."

It takes a few minutes before you can even move again, before your heartbeat starts slowing down, your breath stops hitching, your body remembers it's not made of jelly. Eventually, you pull back just a little, blinking at him, eyes glossy and dazed but so, so full of love.

Your shaky hands rise to cup his face, thumbs brushing tenderly over his flushed skin. He melts into it, gaze soft as you lean in and kiss him.

It's not hungry like before. It's slow, gentle, deep. Tongues gliding together lazily, little moans slipping from both your lips as you kiss through slow breaths, like you're tasting every second of it. His dick twitches inside your cum filled cunt with each little shift, but neither of you move. You love it like this—full, warm, wrapped up in each other.

When you finally pull back for air, you don't go far. You keep pressing soft little kisses to his mouth—one, two, three, like you can't help it. He chuckles, low and warm, and you giggle, brushing your nose against his like you've got nowhere else to be but here.

"God, trouble," he murmurs as he cups your cheek, "I love you so much."

You grin, cheeks aching from how hard you're smiling, and you kiss him again, light and sweet. "I love you too, baby."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and lingering. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and soft against your skin.

You don't even have to think. You just sigh, heart full, and whisper, "I am now."

Roy chuckles quietly, one arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you hum, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck like it's the only place you wanna be. And it is.

You're both still wrapped up in each other, still full of warmth and cum and that slow, aching kind of love that settles deep in your bones when someone comes home to you. When he comes home to you.

Eventually, though, he mutters, "C'mon, let's clean up, yeah?" already bracing, because he knows exactly what you're about to say.

And of course, you start to whine immediately. "I don't wanna move," you mumble against his neck, brushing your nose there just like he knew you would.

He laughs, full and fond, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Trouble," he grins, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours, baby. But we're sticky, and messy, and sweaty. And I'm starving."

You pout, just a little, lips brushing his throat as you sigh dramatically before pulling away. "Okay," you huff, and he chuckles again before kissing your forehead.

"Good girl," he teases as he cups your ass, and before you can even protest, he's lifting you up with ease.

You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, laughing softly as he starts walking toward the bathroom.

The second he steps inside, he pauses to set you down gently on the edge of the counter. You're still clinging to him when he finally eases his cock out of your pussy, and the sound you make is somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. His cum trickles out in thick, warm drops, sliding down your thighs, dripping onto the floor, and you both kind of pause to look at the mess before exchanging amused glances.

"Fuck," he mutters as he watches, "that's a mess."

You blink down, dazed, cheeks flushing a little. "That's your fault."

"Proud of it," he grins.

He finally pulls off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket, and you can't help but admire him—tattoos, muscles, that smug little grin that never goes away when he catches you staring.

You cling to him even as he leans forward to turn the shower on, arms wrapped around his waist, face smushed against his bare chest. He doesn't complain—he never does. If anything, he presses a kiss to your temple and runs his hand over your lower back like it soothes him as much as it does you.

He turns on the water, testing the temperature before guiding you under the spray, arms still around you. And the shower? It's not even about getting clean, it's about being close. You wash his hair slowly, fingers gentle as he leans into every touch, and then you press soft kisses to each of his tattoos as you rinse him off.

He does the same to you, taking his time, rubbing your back, cupping your ass, smiling when you squeak or shiver under his hands. You giggle into his chest as he kisses your wet hair and groans like a man tortured.

You're both clingy and silly and tender, laughing when the soap gets in your eyes, moaning dramatically when he kneads your sore ass in apology. You help rinse the sweat and sex off him, and he makes sure to wash you thoroughly, though his hands do linger in a few places, not that you're complaining.

Eventually, you towel off, still dripping a little as he grabs one of his shirts—soft and worn and way too big—and slips it over your head. You giggle again when he helps you into a pair of panties, tugging them gently over your hips with a kiss to your tummy.

"You're so cute like this," he mumbles, sliding his arms around your waist. "Drives me fuckin' nuts."

You help him pull on his boxers and shorts—because if left to his own devices, this man would just walk around naked—and the two of you head back into the living room to deal with the... aftermath.

He grabs some wipes and a cloth, scrubbing the table down with a shake of his head and a smile tugging at his lips. "Jesus, baby. We really did a number on this thing."

You snort as you gather your scattered clothes—his too—and toss them all into the laundry basket. "You mean you did."

He just smirks, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, you weren't complaining."

You pass by him with a little smirk, and he swats at your ass playfully, catching the soft giggle you try to hide behind your hand.

You wander over to him, quiet footsteps across the floor, and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. His skin is still warm from the shower, bare under your cheek as you nuzzle into his back.

"Pizza?" you murmur softly.

Roy lets out a little laugh, all fond and low. "You read my mind, pretty thing."

You smile against his back and press a kiss between his shoulder blades before he turns around in your arms, hands sliding to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. He leans down, those warm green eyes locked on yours like you're the only thing he ever wants to see again, and then he kisses you.

It's soft—so, so soft. The kind of kiss that tastes like home, like love, like everything being exactly where it's supposed to be. His lips linger against yours, slow and gentle, his nose brushing yours before he finally pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of it.

"On it," he whispers.

Neither of you moves at first. You just stand there, clinging to each other in the soft quiet of your shared space. But then he grins, and with no warning at all, he scoops you up into his arms, making you yelp as you grab onto him with a laugh.

"Roy!" you squeal through a giggle, and he laughs, walking you to the couch like it's nothing.

He plops you down gently and kisses your forehead. "Stay here. I'll order it."

You hum, pleased, and smack his ass as he turns to walk away. He throws a look over his shoulder, biting back a grin, and grabs his phone from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hook.

You watch him as he orders, his voice calm and casual as he rattles off your go to order, the one you've both settled on after many lazy nights and far too many toppings.

Then he heads to the fridge and calls over, "Want some Coke, baby?"

"Yes pleaaase," you say, already curling up on the couch, voice all sweet and eager.

He chuckles under his breath. "Comin' right up."

As he pops the caps off two bottles, he catches himself smiling again. God, he missed this. Missed you. Missed being home, being around the little things that make it all feel worth it—your voice echoing down the hall, the smell of your shampoo in the bathroom, the way your laughter feels like sunlight.

He turns around, and his heart just fucking squeezes. You're already tucked into the couch, buried in that absolutely ridiculous fluffy blanket with his face printed all over it, the one he gave you as a joke a year ago, thinking you'd laugh and never use it. But you have, every damn time. It's far too big on you, swallowing you up completely, but it just makes you look that much smaller and softer as you flick through the TV with the remote, lips pursed in concentration.

His pretty little trouble, cozy and warm and waiting for him, and fuck if this isn't the best thing in the whole world.