#electric shades of grey

[sesiondemadrugada]

Electric Shades of Grey (William Grefé & Terry Merrill, 1971).

[mariocki]

Electric Shades of Grey (The Psychedelic Priest, 1971/2001)

"You know, all my life I've had people running my life for me, and I'm sick and tired of it. First it was my mother. Then I wasted eleven years of my life. Just who do you think you are anyway?"

[cozmikvi]

Definitely, However, much like everything on social media now, it's a rat race in the engagement economy. Its better for someone who wants outreach or, in most cases, flat out attention, to post their shittiest hot takes without context so the engagement increases from either in-fighting, or hate clicks. Nuanced oppinions are really only fleshed out by video essayists who make 2+ hour fuckin movies on the subject, or are hidden in reply chains over the period of a few days.

Anyone else getting really fucking sick of this support:condemn dichotomy where folks online act like the only two possible responses to anything ever are to wholeheartedly support it or wholeheartedly condemn it?

"Oh you said that you dont think that random stranger should be sent full on death threats and doxxed for their iffy artwork? Why do you support racism" how about we all go outside and interact with real people and see how they react when you say things like that!

[achronalart]

FWIW, "mauve" was one of the coal-tar dyes developed in the mid-19th century that made eye-wateringly bright clothing fashionable for a few decades.

It was an eye-popping magenta purple

HOWEVER, like most aniline dyes, it faded badly, to a washed-out blue-grey ...

...which was the color ignorant youngsters in the 1920s associated with “mauve”.

(This dress is labeled "mauve" as it is the color the above becomes after fading).

They colored their vision of the past with washed-out pastels that were NOTHING like the eye-popping electric shades the mid-Victorians loved. This 1926 fashion history book by Paul di Giafferi paints a hugely distorted, I would say dishonest picture of the past.

Ever since then this faded bluish lavender and not the original electric eye-watering hot pink-purple is the color associated with the word “mauve”.

[jourquet]

i miss writing my rare pair fanfic. but i still need to draft it into scrivener first. and no, don't worry, the duology will be wrapped this year. their relationship is so toxic its like straight out of a horror movie. its why they deserve each other. no redemption arc for either of them. they're happily burning in their self made hell.

[00valentina-writes00]

Sevika orders you to touch themself in front of them but sevika always stops you – with words or more forcefully with her hands – before you can orgasm which leaves them whiny and needy.

✞⛧ Owned ⛧✞

warnings: dom!Sevika, power dynamics, orgasm control, overstimulation, rough treatment, degradation, Sevika being a menace, reader’s desperation exploited, Reader touching themselves while Sevika watches

"Touch yourself."

Her voice was low, commanding, and it sent a shiver down your spine before it pooled between your thighs. Sevika’s grey eyes locked onto yours. Her lips, painted in that dark, brownish-black shade, curled into a smirk that was as cruel as it was intoxicating. She leaned back in her chair, her muscular frame relaxed but no less imposing, her prosthetic arm resting on the armrest, the copper glinting in the dim light of the room.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t the first time she’d ordered you to do this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But every time, it felt like the first—like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful. Still, you couldn’t resist. You never could. Not with her.

Your fingers trembled as you reached down, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of her—musky, metallic, and something uniquely her. You could feel her eyes on you, tracing every movement, every twitch of your fingers as you slowly began to touch yourself.

"Faster."

Her voice was a low growl, and it made your stomach tighten in anticipation. You obeyed without question, your fingers moving quicker now, sliding through the wetness that had already gathered between your legs. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning too loudly, but Sevika’s sharp gaze caught it all—the way your body reacted, the way your thighs tensed, the way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

"Look at me."

Your eyes snapped up to meet hers, and you felt a jolt of electricity run through you. Her gaze was intense, predatory, and it made you feel both exposed and exhilarated. You could see the faint scars on the left side of her face, the blue and purple veins that traced her skin, and the way her lips parted slightly as she watched you. She was enjoying this—every second of it.

Your fingers worked faster, the pressure building inside you as you moved closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and you could feel the heat spreading through your body, pooling in your core. You were so close, so close you could almost taste it.

"Stop."

The word was sharp, cutting through the haze of pleasure like a knife. You froze, your whole body tensing as you tried to pull your hand away, but Sevika was already moving. In an instant, she was out of her chair, her hand gripping your wrist, yanking it away from your pulsing cunt with a force that made you gasp.

"Did I say you could finish?" she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

You shook your head, your chest heaving as you stared up at her. The look in her eyes was enough to make you whimper, and you could feel the wetness between your thighs growing even more, your body aching for release.

"Good." She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke.

---

This had started hours ago, back when the sun was still high in the sky. You’d been sitting in the small, cluttered room that served as Sevika’s makeshift office, watching as she leaned over the table, her prosthetic arm gleaming as she examined a map of Zaun. She was dressed in her usual attire—sleeveless top, harness-like straps, and that red poncho that made her look even more imposing. You’d come to her with a report—something about shipments being delayed—but the moment you’d walked in, you could feel the tension in the air.

Sevika had been in one of her moods. You knew them well—those times when her sharp tongue turned even sharper, when her eyes glowed with that faint purple light, and when her movements were more deliberate, more calculated. She’d barely looked at you as you spoke, her focus entirely on the map in front of her, but you could feel her irritation like a physical presence in the room.

When you’d finished speaking, she’d straightened up, her piercing gaze finally landing on you. "Is that all?" she’d asked, her voice cold.

You’d nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. That’s when she’d smirked, that cruel, intoxicating smirk that always left you feeling both vulnerable and aroused.

"Good," she’d said, stepping around the table to stand in front of you. "Now strip."

---

Now, here you were, your body trembling with need as she held your wrist in an iron grip. Her lips were still hovering near your ear, her breath hot against your skin as she spoke.

"You’re mine," she whispered, her voice a low growl. "Every part of you—your body, your pleasure, your release—it’s all mine. And you don’t get anything unless I give it to you."

Her words sent a shiver through you, and you could feel the wetness between your thighs growing even more. You wanted to beg, to plead with her to let you finish, but you knew better. Sevika didn’t respond to begging. She responded to obedience.

She straightened up, her eyes locking onto yours as she released your wrist. "Again."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers moved back down, sliding through your wetness as you began to touch yourself again.

Your fingers working in desperate circles around your clit, The pressure was building again, and you could feel your body tightening, the pleasure coiling inside you like a spring.

"Stop."

In an instant, she was on you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was more desperate than dominant.

Her metallic arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you hard against her muscular body. Her free hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you steady as she deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. You could feel the wetness between your thighs growing even more, your body aching for release.

She pulled away, her breath hot against your lips as she spoke. "You don’t get to come until I say so."

You nodded, your chest heaving as you stared up at her. The look in her eyes was enough to make you whimper, and you could feel the wetness between your thighs growing even more, your body aching for release.

She let go of your wrist, stepping back to sit down again. "Again."

---

Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers moved back down, sliding through your wetness as you began to touch yourself again. This time, she didn’t need to tell you to look at her—your eyes were already locked onto hers, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and you could feel the heat spreading through your body, pooling in your core.

"Stop."

She got up from the chair and reached out with her metal arm, her fingers dug into your wrist, forcibly dragging your hand away from your throbbing clit. Her grip was unrelenting, and the sting of her fingertips sparked something primal inside you.

"Did I tell you to finish?" she growled, her voice low, almost a purr, yet so sharp it made your stomach sink.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, stifling the needy whine that threatened to escape. You shook your head, your chest heaving as you met her glittering, predatory gaze. The way she looked at you—like she owned you, like she could devour you whole—left you trembling.

Sevika leaned in, her breath hot against your ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent fresh shivers through your body. "You’ll keep going until I decide you’ve had enough."

The command made your core clench with need, and you swore you could feel the ache of it in every fiber of your being. Swallowing hard, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as you answered. "Yes, Sevika."

[toastydoll]

Reblogging again bc it’s still blowing my mind how whitewashed the final dolls were

we could've had it all

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Headcanon/Preference # 36

Gifs NOT mine.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW (some subtle NSFW)

Reading time (roughly) - 4 minutes

• Leon S. Kennedy •

• Leon loves it for so many reasons. Firstly it's because of just how pretty it makes your lips, so kissable and shiny. Secondly he loves it because you love it, plain and simple, he's an amazing boyfriend.

• Leon not only likes seeing what new lip gloss you buy, but he also honestly enjoys going with you to pick out new lip gloss. But he will point out when you've obtained a bit too much lip gloss, and very very subtlety try to coax you into not buying more for a bit, at least until your stockpile has dwindled a bit.

• Leon never knew about plumping lip gloss until after you'd applied it, and kissed him later on. He was so shocked by it, and so confused at first. He grew to love it, but if he's being honest, his favorites are the ones that give your lips a unique tone. Like greys, purples, blues, and oranges.

• Jack Krauser •

• Jack honestly loves it so much it feels very out of character for him. Like he's borderline obsessed with how it looks on you, and even with how it feels when you kiss. So he's always stealing kisses whenever you reapply it.

• He buys you new lip gloss all the damn time. You could have hundreds, and he'd be still buy atleast one more. He especially likes plumping lip gloss, and how it makes your kisses feel electric.

• Jack especially loves how it feels when you kiss his scars while wearing lip gloss. I mean he loves it even without the lip gloss, but with it it's just that much better. Plus it makes it feel like your kisses are lingering on his skin, and he lives for that.

• Albert Wesker •

• Wesker honestly kinda hated it in the beginning of your relationship. He likes how it looks, well he loves it actually. But didn't much care for the feeling of it when you'd kiss.

• Eventually however he grew to appreciate it in a way. It was just another part of you by this point, and if for whatever reason you aren't wearing it when he steals a kiss, he'll just immediately assume something is wrong.

• Sometimes Wesker will forget to wipe off the lip gloss you left behind after a kiss. And when someone makes a stupid comment about it, he might just remark about how he's also got your lip gloss smears on his dick, just to shut them up... Even if it's true.

• Chris Redfield •

• Chris won't lie, he hates it. He likes how it looks on you, and he likes that it makes you happy and all. But Chris simply can't stand the way it feels, to him it just feels oily and gross. You end up getting into the habit of wiping it off his lips for him after every kiss.

• He doesn't mind it in the end, and won't try to convince you to stop wearing it. It's something you like, so he'll tolerate it for you with little complaint. He'll also compliment you whenever he notices you're wearing a new shade.

• Sometimes Chris just likes to take his thumb and run it across your bottom lip. And just watching the lip gloss smear is almost sensual in a way, it definitely feels very intimate that's for sure, but sometimes it almost feels more than just intimate.

• Luis Sera •

• Luis adores it so so much. Your lips are so soft from all the lip gloss use, and now his lips are so much softer from kissing you all the time, and simply never wiping the lip gloss off of his lips. Plus your lip gloss makes your kisses even sweeter.

• Totally keeps an extra tube of lip gloss in his pocket on the off chance you forget yours, or if you happen to loose yours. And yes the one he carries is definitely one of your absolute favorites, and he most likely bought it for you in the first place.

• Luis really enjoys when you pepper his face and neck with kisses, smearing your lip gloss over his warm skin, it feels like a kiss that'll last forever. And he craves more every single time. He's also totally the type to try your lip gloss out for himself, probably with you present even.

• Lucas Baker •

• Similar to Wesker, Lucas hated it from the very beginning... He also likes the way it looks, how shiny and appealing it makes your lips. But he never could stand the feeling of it, even when you'd kiss his cheek.

• Unlike Wesker on the other hand, Lucas still fucking hates it, with a goddamn passion he hates it. And he will literally (and dramatically) wipe his mouth of it after every single kiss, even when he was the one to initiate the kiss in the first place.

• Lucas will 1,000% try to convince you to stop wearing lip gloss. If he can't convince you to stop wearing it all together, he'll at least try to convince you to stop wearing it so much. He will throw a bit of a fit if you won't give it up. He also groans and rolls his eyes whenever you buy new lip gloss of course.

• Billy Coen •

• Billy teases the hell out of you for wearing lip gloss all the time, but don't let him fool ya, he loves it. It makes you look extra cute, especially when you're reapplying it. Plus it feels nice and silky, so it's a win win in his book.

• Despite his teasing, Billy enjoys watching you apply your lip gloss. Sometimes he'll tease you about making a mess, and intentionally smear it real bad. Afterwards stealing a quick kiss of course. And sometimes he'll just randomly get you a new lip gloss and be like it made me think of you. He's so cute it's annoying sometimes.

• Will beg you to keep your lip gloss on when y'all get down an dirty, especially if you're going to give him head. Then he'll tease you for leaving lip gloss smears on him, and then get salty if you try wiping it away.

This ones been sitting in my drafts since last year! Totally forgot about it, and I hadn't finished it, until like 10 minutes ago. ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌ Anyways I hope you enjoyed. I originally wanted it to be longer, but I'm content with it the way it is.

[lalunanymph]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 — n. seishiro + i. rin

what’s better than one football prodigy in your bed? that’s right—two.

"move your lukewarm ass—"

"s'not my fault you couldn't get a bigger bed!"

"if i have to see your foot right in front of my face again, i'll—"

"rin," you pouted. "sei."

the unlikely pair turned to you, teal blue eyes and steel grey ones focused on your flushed face.

you were naked from the waist down, legs spread and ready for the both of them to take you... if only they would just stop bickering for a second.

the story of how you landed in between two of blue lock's most lethal players was a funny one, but you couldn't recount it right this second.

after all, history was the furthest thing from your mind when you were waiting for either of them to just fuck you.

rin, the hot-headed one between him and nagi, tossed a baleful glare at the white-haired man. "can't even finish what you started right—must i always teach you what to do?"

"careful, itoshi," nagi mumbled breezily, though the threat behind his casual tone was clear as day. "i could beat your ass anytime on the field."

"you barely have any talent, you lukewarm—"

your arms around his shoulders stopped rin from his tirade. the only thing in the world that could calm him down was you and your sweet smile which could rival the sun.

"be nice to each other, please," you whispered, and for good measure, placed a kiss on rin's warming cheek. "i really need you both. don't keep me waiting?"

you left an open-ended question for either man to follow through. nagi was the one who didn't hesitate to meet your needs in the middle.

curling his large palm around your ankle, you fought a shiver at how the veins on the back of his hand seemed more pronounced now that he was tensed. he yanked you from rin, and you tumbled back onto the bed, legs falling wide open for him to dive in between them.

his lips were swollen, shaded close to cherry wine when he latched onto your clit again, slowly sucking it and massaging it with his mouth. your head tossed back, and rin's presence was felt by his hand on your throat, turning your face towards him.

your mouth parted open in a silent scream, and rin took the chance to ease his cock down your throat.

the walls of this love hotel which had seen numerous affairs would implode if news of this tryst reached the wrong ears.

news would pour out, and disgust would be splashed across the pages of every tabloid.

it would ruin both your lovers' careers.

but, like an asteroid approaching the burning surface of the sun, a collision of epic proportions was inevitable.

you white-knuckled the sheets, hips writhing like a pit of snakes with nowhere to go. trapped in between two football prodigies, you could only take their merciless thrusting and licking, until the tight ball of heat in your lower belly was threatening to explode.

white light flooded through the cracks of your barely opened lids. rin was speeding up his thrusts, the sensual sounds of wetness and your throat taking him second to nagi's lewd moaning and lapping in between your legs.

you threaded shaky fingers through his frosty silver locks, trying to anchor yourself from flooding away in a sensation of pleasure.

"focus on us," rin's voice tainted by the searing pleasure roiling in those beautiful teal eyes reverberated through your ringing ears in a low growl. "don't tap out now, baby."

something physical and hot curled in your lower belly at rin's term of endearment. the famed stoic striker rarely ever doled out pet names, and something about being called rin's baby—the one to spark his natural instinct to protect—had your heart cartwheeling in your chest.

"mhm, tastes s'good," nagi's slurry groan added a layer of sensation you couldn't keep up with. he nuzzled your pubic bone, a momentary break, only to rub his slick lips over your clit in his rendition of a lazy, sensual kiss.

an electric feeling of darkness slithered down your spine, and you moaned around rin's length.

you were wet everywhere.

drool dripping down your chin. juices staining your thighs. sweat seeping into the sheets.

every second that passed in this blissful suspension of time and space was filled with unbearable pleasure. your hips twitched, stuffed moans trying to creep past the willing obstruction choking your airway.

you tasted rin's musk, the smell of him—soap and salt—springing tears to your eyes.

above you, his fall of dark green hair shaded his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. a snarl was etched across his mouth, the shine of his perfect white teeth flashing like a quick camera light in your hazy mind's eye.

flickering your gaze to the man between your thighs, your hips undulated when you noticed nagi removing his pants. the white-haired prodigy had zero patience when he slid his pretty, veiny cock against your folds, testing the waters and your eagerness.

your body responded instantly, lower half angling upwards, legs falling wider to accept his larger frame comfortably.

in between two men who were easily over six foot, it was hard not to be smothered by their bodies—but you adored the suffocation.

you loved the feeling of nagi's bigger body caging you on the bed, while his heavy hips collided with yours in a bruising pace that almost made you spit out rin's girthy length.

"fuck," rin huffed, craning his neck back to loll his head, eternal bliss written on his pretty features. "so good. f-fuck. best mouth..."

he trailed off in a whimper which would've been unnoticeable if seishiro had not stopped fucking into you.

"told ya," the white-haired striker mumbled triumphantly. "told ya to take a chance on us."

you could actually hear rin gritting his teeth.

"just focus on fucking her," he spat, murderous glare fracturing into heated pieces from his faltering expression. it was hard to hold onto anger when you were tonguing his balls.

he slid his gaze to your grinning mouth split open by his fleshy globes and felt a surge of love so strong that if he were standing, rin would've been knocked to his feet.

luckily, he was already on his knees for you.

the one woman who could put him there without a single complaint.

"i wuv you," your cute confession while your mouth was full of him made rin almost tear up. those lukewarm feelings would never see the light of the night—not when nagi was opposite of him, fucking into your pussy like he might never have it in his life again.

rin eyed the frothing, creaming mess in between your thighs born from the other striker's precise, clean strokes.

was there anything that this stupid white-haired bum couldn't do?

rin tamed down his jealous thoughts, reminding himself again that you three were a team. an unlikely one—but still a team nonetheless.

as for the other man, he was completely drunk on the sway of your hips and tits, eyeing the hypnotizing way your throat bulged when it was full of rin only to smooth out and repeat again. and again. and again.

he felt his own balls tighten when you pulled your face off rin's cock, running your hot pink tongue over his taint and balls.

it was like he could feel it gliding across his own skin—

"fuck!"

seishiro fell into a heap on top of you, completely spent. his heavy breaths fanned across your neck and chest, his cum spilling out in milky stains onto the sheets, cock pulsing pathetically in you, like his soft whines which begged for your attention.

luckily, your hands were offloaded from stroking rin's pretty and thick length when the other man's hips stuttered and he gripped the back of your head, holding you in place.

seishiro could tell when the younger itoshi had come—his face would crumple first, like a paper doily that was unable to fight off the force of his body's baser instinct. then, a pinch of pain in between his brows, a heavy sigh and half-lidded drunkenness.

when those teal eyes fluttered wide open again and he stumbled back onto his haunches, you were there to catch rin.

how the hell did you manage to cuddle in bed with two really tall, athletic men—you would never know.

but with nagi's head on your chest, and rin curled into your side, you were floating on a cocktail of hormones and pride at bringing two of blue lock's most talented men right into your bed.

a coasting sensation that was dragged down the corners into reality for a split second like a curtain pulling back when you heard rin mumble: "next time, i'm getting her pussy," loud enough for seishiro to hear.

nagi grunted, not giving the younger man the time of day or space to breathe when he uttered his next words.

"why don't you score a scorpion trap against me first and then we'll talk."

every reblog and (nice!) feedback given gets your delulus closer to trululus

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 6: Sidelines and distractions

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: being sidelined with Paige= fun...right?

Welcome to the chapter 6 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The crowd inside the XL Center was electric, the energy spilling from the stands as Pride Night banners waved in celebration. UConn's players were locked in their warm-up routines, dribbling and shooting on the court, but my attention was on the sideline. Specifically, on Paige Bueckers.

Her grey tech sweatpants and the  Pride Night shirt gave her an unusually relaxed look for someone used to dominating the court. But the thin knee brace imprint peeking out from under her sweats was a stark reminder of why she wasn’t warming up with the team.

“Superstar!” I called out, jogging over with my camera strapped to my shoulder. “How’s the most stubborn player in UConn history doing tonight?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “Photographer extraordinaire! Fine, but thanks for the  new title. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. M'not that stubborn.”

“You better be,” I replied, plopping into the seat next to her. “You’re insufferable when you’re sidelined.”

“Insufferable?” Paige put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

Out of nowhere Paige handed me a folded-up Pride Night shirt, the fabric soft and obviously well-worn. “Here. You need one of these if you’re sitting with us.”

I held it up, squinting. “Paige, this thing is huge. You think I’m trying to make a fashion statement or drown in it?”

She laughed, shrugging. “Oversized is in. You’ll look cute.”

“I’ll look like I’m swimming in fabric,” I deadpanned. “You’re tying it for me.”

Without missing a beat, Paige stood and motioned for me to turn around. She began knotting the back of the shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my back as she worked.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You’ve got me doing all the hard work.”

Before I could respond, KK sauntered over, grinning like she’d caught us in the act. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”

“Mind your business, KK,” Paige quipped, not even glancing up.

KK leaned against the scorer's table, shaking her head. “First tying knots, next it’s gonna be shoe laces. You’re domesticated now, Paige.”

“Jealous?” Paige shot back, tightening the knot for emphasis.

The game started, and I couldn’t help sneaking a few candid shots of Paige as the first quarter unfolded. She sat at the edge of her chair, clipboard in hand, her eyes darting between players and refs. Even off the court, she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t think I don’t see you,” she said, catching me mid-snap.

“Relax,” I teased, lowering my camera. “You look great in action, and sleeping after drinking a whole pitcher of Shirley Temple. Ya know before crashing on my couch”

“Yeah, well, not too much on me, but just get a good shot of Azzi instead,” Paige muttered, cheeks tinting soft shades of red, her focus shifting back to the court.

Azzi Fudd had just made a perfect three-pointer, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Paige clapped enthusiastically, yelling, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

But the tone shifted with 05.5 seconds left in the first quarter. Azzi went up for a block, her hand making clean contact with the ball—but the whistle blew anyway.

“That’s not a foul!” Paige was on her feet instantly, "her" clipboard hitting the floor as she pointed at the ref. “Are you blind? That was all ball!”

The ref quickly acknowledging Paige by telling her it was too a foul and she need to step off the court. Paige still on the court how with her hand in the air for "huh."

“Paige,” I hissed, grabbing her arm. “You’re not playing tonight, remember?”

“He’s out of his mind if he thinks that was a foul!” Paige shot back, her voice loud enough to earn a glance from the ref.

“You’re gonna get a tech from the bench,” I warned, pulling her back into her chair. “Sit down before they eject you.”

Paige reluctantly slumped back into her seat, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, leaning closer. “And kind of adorable when you’re mad.”

That earned a small smirk from her, though she tried to hide it. “Whatever.”

By halftime, Paige had calmed down enough to crack a few jokes.

“What do you call a referee who gets everything wrong?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

I played along, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“A consistent ref,” she deadpanned, earning laughs from both me and Sarah sitting nearby.

Azzi shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “You’re really embracing the whole sideline coach thing, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Paige replied. “These refs sure aren’t exactly playing nice. ”

As the third quarter began, I shifted focus back to my camera, capturing action shots of the players on the court. Paige leaned over occasionally, offering her unsolicited critique of my photos.

“Too blurry,” she said after one shot.

“It’s an action shot,” I argued. “It’s supposed to show motion, now go back to being bored and biting your nails you weirdo.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Motion doesn’t mean out of focus, and im not a weirdo, plus its dead skin thanks very much.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her as I snapped another photo. “Stick to basketball, Coach Bueckers.”

When the final buzzer sounded, UConn had secured another win, and the team gathered for photos on the court. I hung back, capturing the perfect shot of the players huddled together, pride shirts on full display.

Paige waved me over, patting the seat beside her. “Hey, let me see those.”

I handed her my camera, watching as she scrolled through the images. Her expression softened as she stopped on one of Azzi mid-shot.

“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming under her gaze.

She handed the camera back, leaning a little closer. “You make this whole ‘sidelined Paige’ thing bearable, you know that?”

I smiled, nudging her playfully. “And you make my job harder by almost getting into fights with refs.”

Paige laughed, her voice warm and genuine. “What can I say? I’m a multitasker.”

As the crowd began to disperse and the team filed into the locker room, Paige lingered by my side, her hand brushing against mine.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “I needed the distraction.”

“Anytime,” I replied, my voice just as quiet.

And in that moment, as the noise of the arena faded into the background, it was easy to forget that she wasn’t on the court—because to me, Paige Bueckers was always in the game.

As the night came to an end I got a dreaded phone call from back home. "Baby, you need to come home granny she's sick and she wants to see you." My mom said.

Without a second thought I got the first ticket back home, I sent my professors and coah geno an email stating everything in details of what was happening and why I won't be in class or with the team for a few days to a week.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 .... (more to be added)

[en-gelic]

— ANGEL'S KISSES !

an angel's kisses are a delicate feeling 1111 cw. skinship, injuries, smoking heeseung x (f) reader ʚɞ BOOKSHELF! ⋆ an. MEMORABILIA HAS ME ON MY KNEES

The hallways bustle with energy as you scurried across the school. Your chest heaved up and down as you panted out of breath, cursing your terrible stamina. Slowing down, you made it to the back of the school where you found Heeseung, grey smoke tumbling out of his mouth. He crushed it quickly at the sight of you and pretended to recite the homework you gave him the evening before.

“I saw you so don't even try." You warned, pulling a face at the smoky smell filling your lungs. He grinned his perfect smile at you as though to distract you from his lack of obedience. "Your rank is still the same after I spend four days of my week to tutor you-" You began.

"You're so pretty." He interrupted, leading his dreamy gaze to you. "Are you even listening?" You questioned, irritated with the boys' lack of cooperation.

"Not at all, pretty girl." His overused nickname still made your heart skip a beat as you scolded him to stop using the nickname on you.

"Then which one do you prefer?" Grinning, he leaned down, his breath blowing loose strands of your hair. "Princess? Baby? My love?" Fighting the urge to hold your breath, you stepped back. "Listening while I'm talking is a start."

Hearing footsteps, you silently demand his cigarette box. He handed it to you in confusion, your hand buzzing with the electricity that felt like it was running through his hand when you grazed it.

"What are you doing students?" The teacher asked, trying to peak at the cigarette box you were holding behind your skirt. Muttering a curse word under your breath, you smiled politely. "Nothing, just remembering formulas before math class." Nervously glancing at the teacher, you could see that he didn't look convinced whatsoever. "And what's behind your back?" He pressed on, sensing inaccuracy in your sentence. Being the worst liar, you pulled a face, ready to get caught by the teacher with cigarettes that weren't even yours.

"Condoms." Heeseung blurted as your eyes shot open in horror at his sentence. The teacher looked astounded as a blush tinted his cheeks. He droned on about having inappropriate material at school, but he let you keep the supposed "condoms" and granted a warning and detention for the end of the day. Not to mention, the only detention you were ever given.

When the teacher finally disappeared, you shot the boy a look and shoved the cigarettes back in his hand. "Does that mean there's no tutoring today?" He called, lighting another cigarette. "My house at seven after detention."

Dreading the evening ahead, you delegated duties to the class before heading to your worst nightmare. Surprisingly, you were first as you took your seat, the teachers' face staining pink after seeing you. Trying to hide the embarrassment exploding through you, you quickly finished your homework, turning your gaze to the window, losing yourself in the amber sunset peeking through the trees and turning the light in the room a deep shade of yellow. Movement rustled beside you as you returned from your daze to look at the boy who took his seat, fresh injuries marking his angelic features.

"What happened to you?" You question, analyzing his scars and concluding that he got into a fist fight. By his lack of reply, you stood up, viewing the quantity of the scars and opened your bag, retrieving the first aid kit. He groaned in retaliation as you held his face still while you treated the injuries on the side of his mouth.

"Who brings a first aid kit to school?" He started, wincing from the sting.

"Because I know an idiot who gets himself into fights and leaves his wounds open to infection and gets me into detention."

"Your idiot, princess." He corrected. "As if being an idiot is a good thing." Despite the red staining his features, he still looked attractive as he grinned his signature smile at you. "Being an idiot for you is." You sighed, ignoring his sentence and bringing your hand to the bruise on his cheekbone. "Care to explain who got you into this mess?"

"You." His hand caught your wrist as you hesitated to meet his eyes. Feeling the tension wafting in the room, the teacher silently exited, closing the door behind him. You continued wiping the blood away until he tugged you onto his lap, the cotton shooting out of your hands.

Desire spread through his features as you subconsciously inched closer to his lips, finally connecting them, brushing your nose against his cheek. It would be embarrassing to tell him that it was your first time, so your only result was imitating his actions, resulting in a breathtaking kiss.

A throat cleared behind you as the teacher appeared by the door, standing awkwardly. Flushed, you got up from his lap apologizing repeatedly to the teacher and moving back to your seat. Detention dismissed briskly as you hurried through the vacant halls, avoiding Heeseung as your embarrassment flared up at the thought of him. Finding a mirror, you noticed your swollen lips from his teeth nibbling your bottom one. You couldn't bring yourself to think about how awkward the rest of the evening would be and quickly freshened yourself in the bathroom before he came over.

He found you sitting by your desk, finalizing projects with your headphones on, unaware of your surroundings. He leaned down, the action going unnoticed by you who was still in your own bubble.

"What are you listening to?" He questioned, swiftly removing your headphones and resting them on your neck. Your stomach flipped at the feeling of his lip resting on your ear, feeling as it curved into a smile. Turning to face him, the weight of his stare made the words you practiced earlier disappear into thin air.

"What's with that look, doll?" He pressed, leaning his hands on the arms of your chair. His eyes moved to your lips, sliding a finger across your bottom lip which was still swollen. Leaning into you, your breaths mingled as your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for his lips to press on yours. He let out a brief chuckle before your lips connected, moving in sync as the air in your lungs languidly vanished.

"Does this mean no tutoring today?" He repeated the question he asked earlier, circling a part of your neck with his index finger. You answered by delicately kissing the area around where his bruises were, ending it off with a light kiss on his lips. Reconnecting his lips with yours, you made a mental note to give him extra homework for the damage he achieved today.

✸ perm taglist (open) : @cholexc @07sleepykatz @bunnbam (ask or comment to be added !)

✸ taglist (open) : @zhounauts @riksaes @dimplewonie @itjengirl © en-gelic 2024.

[diejager]

Is there a Milf reader who have to take care of task 141 when they ask for a night stay? >:)) imagine they are your husband friends. (Your husband couldn’t knock you out so they help)

Affair Cw: implied cheating, voice kink, polygamy, creampie, rough sex, soft sex, fluff, fivesome/gangbang, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.5k

Your husband, sweet Tom, had friends over, drinking and laughing echoing from the kitchen, loud and boisterous sounds filled with ease and pleasure. You’d never heard him so joyous with anyone else - apart from you, he was a loving man - joking and chuckling so openly, in comparison to his quiet and humble self outside of your home.

Donning a robe over your attire, you wrapped yourself warmly before walking down the stairs, padded feet muffling your steps down the smooth, wooden flooring. You gazed into the dining room, staring at Tom’s back at the end of the table, his leaner build in contrast to his friend’s broad shoulders, and the dichotomy of their various personality that shine through their eyes. Unlike your husband’s soft hazel, the four men had beautiful shades, two blues: a violent, stormy blue and a bright, electric sky, and two browns: a dark and thunderous brown, and a warm and gentle chocolate. It stirred something in your gut, a warmth that shouldn’t be there.

Your sudden appearance had surprised them, four pairs of eyes alerting Tom that you stumbled into their little chat. Tom peered over his shoulder, his pretty hazel meeting your eyes and smiled softly, coaxing you over his side with a hand. Pushed forward, you stepped out of the dark hallway and into the lighted room, hand sliding into Tom’s and seated in his lap, bringing your robe closer to your chest.

“My sweet wife,” his eyes gleamed proudly, lips dancing across yours in a delicious show of adoration, “These are my friends from the SAS, dear.”

You let your eyes rove over them, to Tom’s left was a rugged-looking man with a wild mohawk with the electric blues, a zealous smirk gracing his lips. Beside him was the man with dark eyes, a hood pulled over his head and a skull-painted mask over his face, leaving a dusty black painted around his eyes like a dark shroud over his black garments. At the head of the table was a bear-like man in a beanie that exhumed confidence and stoicism with his stormy blue-grey, a cigar hanging from the corner of his lips and arms folded against his chest. And the final man, leaner than the others, but as big as the rest with his warm skin and warmer, chocolate eyes, a well-trimmed moustache and stubble, and his cute, flag-printed cap, casting a shadow over his dazzling eyes.

They all looked at you softly, your name rolling off their tongues with a distinct accent that made your lashes flutter and throat clog, introducing themselves with a little quip of their lips, two smiles, one reckless grin and a gentle squint of his eyes. Kyle was the softest one, John the leading figure, Simon the man shrouded in mystery and Johnny the one with a Scottish drawl. You wouldn’t mind them coming by more often when the kids were asleep upstairs.

Johnny was a feral man, jumping you in bed and tearing your clothes away with two or three gestures, ripping your shirt from the seams and tearing the gusset of your panties into pieces. He left you naked and wanting, writhing under him and his teasing kisses, teeth bared and snarling. Johnny was an overzealous sort, recklessly dominant with his whole body, throwing himself at you without any baseline, going without a plan or second thought. He was a man that believed that acts dictated how he felt and that was how he could show it to you —with his body.

He kissed you roughly, all teeth and biting, nipping at your lip and jaw, sinking into the meat of your neck and shoulder as he split you open on his cock, his veined girth and wild pubes. He praised you with every breath, grasping your hips and waist with a soft grip, kneading your breasts and thigh, fat and skin squeezed between his fingers. He filled you with more than just his cock, he purged you of stress, blowing away any fear away with smothering kisses and the rough tap of his tip against your cervix.

He left you satiated, face buried in your covers and snoring away after he bathed and took care of you, feeding you snacks and water and tucking you to bed. Brushing your hair back and promising to stay until your husband came back, whispering promises to come see you again.

Kyle was an angel, setting the line between what he was willing and wasn’t to do to you, lifting you up slowly, building up a heat in your core and making you boil over the edge. He shrugged off your robes with soft, guiding hands, lowering you to your bed and going down on you as if you were the last thing he’d ever eat. He stretched you open with his tongue and fingers, pulling orgasm after orgasm until you were left a mess. His love language was praises and softness, a gentle dominance with a smile and loving caresses.

He embraced you slowly, pushing into you tender kisses, lips dancing across yours to paint a Renaissance artwork worth being hung in the Salon des Refusés. A painting of your body lost in the throes of pleasure, your face twisted and nipples perked up, toes curled and fingers gripping your bed sheets, and lips glossy as you moan out his name. Kyle put you on a pedestal, a painting rivalling the beauty of Monet’s Olympia, your skin the same softness of her image, your hair spiralled wildly and him waiting against you for your every beck and call. You were the Olympia of his world.

He filled what Johnny couldn’t, his cock leaner than the Scot’s, but he made up with his longer length, brushing against your g-spot before hitting the deepest part of your cunt, drilling a spot for himself with his rapidly growing pace and gentle hold, gripping your hair to have you arch against him, staring up at the ceiling with fluttering lashes.

Simon came third, a wall standing between you and your freedom, a force to submit to. He was a rough lover, hands calloused and gruff voice. He manhandled you into your mattress, pressing your face into your bed while he ploughed through you. He was brutal and silent, taking control of you without uttering a single word, legs open and slick rolling down your thighs. Simon had you call him Sir or Master in the bedroom, having you scream his title and voice your needs to him, cries muffled by your wet cushion.

You felt every graze of his girth, thicker than the two before him and long with heavy balls, his cock throbbing inside of you when you clenched down. He loomed over you, an inked arm forcing you to arch your back, ass raised high and face down by the harsh hold of his hand. He was a mass of fat and muscles, unmoving and rough, snapping his hips against yours while he murmured filthy things, dirty and degrading words before throwing praises, lacing them with demeaning remarks. He swore he’d prepare you for Price, that he was the last step before you’d be completely ruined for anyone else, still filling you up with his cum.

You were unconscious by the time he tucked you in bed, taking his time to clean you up while you dozed away, dreaming about the men who gave you something to dream of while they were gone. When you woke up, you realised he left you a message on your phone under an unknown number, and you added him without a second thought.

When John came over, he expected you to obey him, kneeling by his feet in nothing but your panties, gazing at him with wide and teary eyes, tensing your thighs to drive off the tingling heat between your legs. Your core burned with a wildfire that hungered for more, hole leaky and clenching around nothing while you served John, your lips wrapped around his girth, drooling down his balls. John was stern, demanding to let yourself go to him, but he was hard like Simon, gentle like Kyle and rough like Johnny.

But unlike them, he moved with precision, folding you in half as he pumped you full of himself, his cock abruptly sinking into you before he pulled out completely and snapped his hips, burying himself balls deep inside of you. With your legs hanging off his shoulders and his hand collaring your neck, you let out choked breaths, his thrusts punching the air out of your body with the pointed and precise drive of his hips. He made you come twice before he filled you up, gushing around him with a loud whine, being bred by Tom’s friend from the Air Force.

He left you debauched and ruined, his spend leaking from your cunt and swollen clit throbbing from being pinched and rolled throughout your session. He kissed you goodbye before he left your room, pulling the blanket over your dazed and naked figure.

You couldn’t look at them in the eye when they all gathered for another boy’s night at your house, seated on Tom’s lap, fiddling with your finger as his thumb drew circles on your thigh to soothe your apparently sudden nerves.

“Did you remember to thank them, dear?” He kissed the skin behind your ears, teasing you with his breathy voice.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy

[goblinontour]

Playground Love

principles and piercings

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, talking, that’s it, the kid is mentioned but not present

word count: 4.9k

The sound of the door seemed to echo through the empty house, punctuating your frustration. You slammed it behind you, exhaling a rough, irritated breath. “Fuck.” The word left your lips in a low groan, half-lost in the rumble of thunder that chased you inside. The rain hadn’t just soaked you – it had become a cold, unyielding second skin, seeping through your sweater, tracing icy rivulets down your neck and arms. Each drop felt like a reminder of his refusal to leave the house this morning, his insistence that you go instead. All because he insisted on playing his brooding poet routine. Stuck inside like a house cat that could no longer bear the sun, playing reclusive vampire. As if the world outside these walls had become foreign, too bright, too sharp for him to tread.

The sky was a dense shade of grey, heavy with clouds that looked like bruises on the horizon. The air had smelled thick and metallic, almost electric, as if the storm carried something more ominous in its folds. And yet, he’d chosen to stay here, curled up in his warm little corner, lost in whatever book had captured his interest this time, entirely detached from the reality you had to walk through alone.

As you shrugged off your drenched coat, it landed with a damp, resigned thud on the hallway bench. The boots took more effort, sticky from mud and pooling rainwater, but you tugged them off and let them drop, watching as small puddles began to spread across the floor. Normally, you’d tidy it up, make sure the mess didn’t creep into the house. Today, you let it lie there, like a silent reminder of what you’d endured.

You made your way through the silent house, feeling the warmth of it slowly seep into your bones. And that’s when you spotted him, his little mop of hair barely visible above the couch cushions, the tips messy and almost comically unkempt, contrasting with the stillness of the room. He sat in his typical lounging position, legs tucked under him, shoulders hunched slightly, a small crease on his forehead as he concentrated on the words in front of him. His headphones were big, cocooning him in sound, book in one hand, and a cup of tea cradled in the other, the soft tendrils of steam curling up like wisps of smoke.

You could tell from the slight furrow in his brow and the relaxed set of his jaw that he was somewhere else entirely, lost in a place he always retreated to. He hadn’t noticed you – he never did, not when he was like this. You watched as he flipped a page, moving as if in a trance, his thumb tracing the corner of the book’s edge in a habitual, absent-minded way, like the very act of reading was a ritual for him.

You stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, half-amused, half-annoyed. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, you thought, a mantra fighting against the urge that was rising within you. But his hair looked so irresistibly soft, so inviting, and that little voice inside you – the one that always wanted to shake him out of his dreamy, unreachable state – was louder today. He’d been distant for days now, and this simple, innocent moment of solitude felt almost selfish, given the morning you’d had.

He deserved a jolt back to reality, you reasoned. A reminder that you were still here, dripping wet from the storm he had refused to brave.

You let your hand hover just above his head, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, to see the finer details of the little dark waves framing his face. And then, with a quick, almost mischievous swipe, you tangled your fingers in his hair, giving it a deliberate tousle.

Perfect. Just enough to pull him out of his own head.

The reaction was immediate. He tensed, his whole body freezing for a split second before he jerked just enough to spill a splash of tea over his fingers. He whipped around, tugging off his headphones with a startled look, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of surprise and irritation that slowly shifted to something softer when he saw your dripping clothes, the slight smirk on your face.

“Really?” he murmured, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his lips.

“Really.” you replied, letting the word hang in the air, as if daring him to argue.

He looked down at his tea-stained hand, holding it up with an exaggerated sigh as if the sticky mess were some grand tragedy. His fingers curled, studying the small streaks that glistened against his skin, almost contemplative. He opened his mouth, maybe to complain, maybe to tease, but you cut him off.

“You could’ve done the school run.” you said, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable edge. “It’s just rain, not lava.”

He looked back at you, his eyes widening a fraction, a bemused expression flickering across his face as he processed your words. “I hate the rain.” he said, the statement soft, almost gentle, as if reminding you of something you’d forgotten about himself.

You shrugged, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the lingering dampness that still clung to your skin. “I hate a lot of things too.” you replied, though your voice softened as you watched him. “But I went anyway. Because she wanted someone to walk her in.”

He seemed to take that in, letting it settle in the silence between you, his gaze dropping to his tea-stained hand, then back to you, the smallest trace of guilt flashing across his face. You reached out, took his cup, and wrapped your chilled hands around its warmth. He watched as you took a long, slow sip, savouring the taste of the drink you hadn’t even made, letting the warmth seep into you while his eyes lingered on you with something like quiet regret.

The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling low, but in here, in this small, still room, everything seemed to slow down. The two of you sat there, tangled in a shared silence, an unspoken understanding hanging heavy between you both. The rain might still be falling, but here, wrapped in his gaze and the faint aroma of tea and damp wool, you almost felt warm again.

Without a second thought, you sank down onto the couch beside him, invading his space, still damp and dripping. He could feel the cold fabric of your clothes sticking to his leg, but he didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to settle deeper into the cushions, unfazed, watching you with that quiet, stubborn gaze of his. The book, the well-worn Nabokov novel he’d been pouring over for days, slipped from his hand and came to rest on the coffee table, forgotten in favour of this small exchange.

He didn’t say a word as he reached for you, his hands curling around your ankle. With a practised focus, he began pulling off your damp socks, his fingers deft but gentle, peeling the fabric away like it was some chore he’d taken upon himself long ago. His thumb brushed the arch of your foot, lingering just enough to send a warm spark up your leg. You knew what he was doing, you could feel the unspoken offer in his touch. You’d come back from the rain, chilled and annoyed, and he would be the antidote to all of it, the warmth to counter your cold.

“Despair?” you asked, nodding at the worn paperback now lying on the table.

“Yeah.” he replied without opening his eyes, pressing his thumb deeper into the soft skin of your foot, working out the tension that had gathered there from the cold walk.

“Again?” you asked, with a bemused little smile. You’d watched him read Despair more times than you could count, seen the way he lingered over certain passages as if trying to unlock some hidden truth buried in the sentences.

“Well, it seems so, doesn’t it?” He looked up, a sly glint in his eyes as he took in your expression, the corners of his mouth quirking into the barest hint of a smirk.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “You gonna go through with it this time?”

“What? My own murder?” His smirk widened.

“I could do it for you, you know.” you said, feigning an air of indifference. “You couldn’t even get your kid to kindergarten – I doubt you’re qualified for something as ambitious as self-sabotage.”

He scoffed, but you saw the amusement flicker across his face. “Probably not.” he muttered, his voice dropping to something softer, almost pensive. “I’d mess that one up too.”

His hand shifted, his fingers pressing insistently into the sole of your foot, kneading, coaxing the tension out of you with a subtle, possessive touch. He watched as you shifted under his hands, his gaze steady, challenging. And as his fingers pressed, you pushed back, just enough to test his patience, to feel the resistance in his grip. His eyes darkened, a silent warning in his gaze.

But why would you listen to him?

You pressed harder, a slow, playful pressure against his hand, and he raised an eyebrow. He tightened his grip, his thumb digging in with renewed insistence, letting you feel the full weight of his focus as he worked, as if he could undo more than just the aches in your body, as if he could unearth something deeper in you, something he knew you were holding back.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your cheek as he murmured, “You think you could manage it?”

“What, getting rid of you?” you asked, your tone light, though you could feel the intensity thickening the air between you, wrapping around you like the rain-soaked clothes clinging to your skin.

He tilted his head, his lips curving in that knowing way of his, a slow, calculating smile as his gaze travelled over your face, settling somewhere just beyond your eyes. “Well,” he said softly, “you seem pretty adept at destruction. Thought I’d be spared for a bit.”

His thumb pressed deeper into the arch, his eyes flicking up to watch your reaction, to see if you’d break first, if you’d turn away or push back again. But you held his gaze, the words catching somewhere in your throat, held there.

“That so?” you said, tilting your head as you watched him, your voice low, as if you were offering him something far more dangerous than he was ready for. 

In the dim light of the sitting room, shadows played across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the unruly hair that fell across his brow, the softness that lingered at the edges of his mouth even as his eyes held that impenetrable gaze. You could feel it gathering, the way the air seemed to hold its breath between you, as if it were waiting for one of you to give in.

But he held steady too, unwavering. He let his hand drift up, his fingers brushing your ankle with a gentle insistence that made you want to shiver. “You don’t want to be in charge of my destruction.” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You like having something to fight against.”

“Oh, do I?” you countered, feeling the pull, feeling the tension draw you closer to him, like a thread strung taut between you both, waiting to snap.

He leaned back, his gaze unreadable, but his hand remained on you, warm and grounding, as if he could keep you tethered to him. “Yeah.” he murmured, a smile just brushing his lips, like he was sharing a private joke with himself. “You love the fight.”

He closed his eyes again, pressing his thumb in one last time, a lingering pressure that seemed to say he knew you better than you’d ever admit, that he saw the dark, hidden corners you tried to keep from him. You felt it – the quiet ache that simmered between you both, like an unhealed bruise, tender and waiting for the next touch.

“So…Poppy-” you began, voice careful, trying to ease into what you wanted to say. The words were still a half-formed thought in your mind, and you were searching for a way to soften them, to bring them up without triggering one of his spiralling, introspective rants that would turn a simple conversation into a storm.

But he interrupted before you’d even figured out how to say it. “What? Did she want me to walk her?” He said it with that same, quiet self-reproach, already trying to shoulder a blame that hadn’t even been cast. That was the way he worked – always a little too ready to bear the weight, to assume that he’d fallen short.

You let out a sigh, more exasperated at the rain than at him. “No, you’re fine, Al.” Your hand slid over his, prying it gently from your foot, which he had clutched a little too tightly. His fingers held on tight before finally releasing, almost reluctant to let go. You pulled your leg back, shuffled into the corner of the couch, and leaned into it, letting your back slump down, finally allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of it. Your feet came up onto the coffee table, as if claiming that little space for yourself, unguarded and tired.

You patted the cushion beside you, a soft, wordless command. “Sit.”

And he did, moving closer, his gaze subdued, that obedient feline quality settling back over him, turning him soft and pliable as he folded himself to rest his head in your lap. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling rather than meeting your own, though you knew he could feel the quiet gravity in your touch, the way your fingers began moving through his hair, each pass aimed towards calming him. The warmth began to seep into your skin, radiating from him, taking the last chill of the rain from your bones.

He lay still, his face turned upward, shadows pooling beneath his eyes as he stared with an intensity that seemed directed at something only he could see. His voice, when it came, was soft, raw, like he was sharing something fragile, something he wasn’t sure you’d want to hear. “I got better, right?” His tone was almost tentative, like he needed the words to land softly, like he was testing their truth. “I know I was…pretty bad at this when she was littler. And I had that whole…thing.”

He trailed off, but you knew exactly what he meant. Those times he’d tried so hard to keep hidden, when the house had felt more like a place you both haunted than lived in. The times when his silences had grown so deep, you worried they might swallow him whole. But he’d pulled through – though not without scars, not without shadows that still lingered.

“And I think…I think I was depressed.” he continued, his voice almost a whisper, as if naming it gave it too much power, as if he could scare it off by speaking it quietly. “But I don’t think I am anymore. I’m better, aren’t I?”

You nodded, letting the gentle motion of your hand convey your answer. You could feel his breath shift, his body relax as he let himself trust in the rhythm of your touch, let himself believe in what he couldn’t see from his place in your lap. “But I just- sometimes I feel like I need a break, you know? Like I need to step back, just for a moment, so I can keep being…better.” He sighed, and it sounded almost like a confession. “I’m sorry you had to go through the rain and everything. I should’ve gone. I’ll take her tomorrow, I promise.”

He promised.

The words hung between you, solid and steady, a commitment you could feel resonating through his voice, through the weight of his head in your lap, through the way his hand drifted to rest on your knee as if he needed something to hold him there. And you knew he meant it, even if you could also feel the fragility in his words, that lingering hesitation, the quiet plea beneath the promise. He was asking you to trust him again, to…believe. In this version of himself, the one that was still trying to figure out how to hold the weight of all the things he’d once tried to escape from.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. Your fingers continued their slow rhythm, threading through his hair, smoothing it, grounding him, answering his unspoken question with each gentle stroke.

The storm outside had settled to a quiet murmur, the rain drumming softly against the window panes. He reached up, his hand curling around yours, guiding it down to his chest, holding it there like he needed you to feel his heartbeat, the steady proof of his presence, of the life he was still fighting for, day by day. The pulse thrummed beneath your fingers, warm and steady and real.

His eyes drifted closed under the weight of his quiet admission. You felt something ease inside you too, some small place that had held itself closed for too long. Maybe you didn’t need words all the time. 

“She wants to get her ears pierced.” you said, finally finishing the thought that had been lingering. You’d been wondering how to say it without sparking one of his reactions, but as soon as the words left your mouth, his head snapped toward you, his face already set with that familiar, stubborn frown.

“No.” he replied flatly, as if the answer were obvious and non-negotiable.

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or protest. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” you asked, voice edging with challenge, but you could tell by the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed that he was digging his heels in. 

“My say is no.” he repeated, his voice low and unyielding, like that was all there was to it. You could tell he was ready to defend his stance, even if he hadn’t thought it through entirely.

Your hand stilled in his hair, and you saw his mouth twitch in offence as he noticed the sudden absence of your touch. “Why’d you stop?” he muttered, almost wounded.

“Maybe my say is yes,” you shot back, leaning into him slightly, challenging him with a small smirk. 

“Well, I don’t want her to.” he answered, sitting up properly now, his full attention at play. His eyes were serious, like he’d decided to double down rather than let this slide.

“You sound like my father.” you retorted, the words slipping out before you’d fully realised what you were saying. The expression on his face faltered for a moment, and he looked almost chastened, but then his defences rose again.

“Oh, come on, don’t say that.” He rolled his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh, though you could tell he didn’t want to come across as unreasonable.

You relaxed back into the couch, giving him a softer look. “She saw mine this morning, you know? She was looking at my nose and asked what it was, and she said she wants pretty earrings in her ears, like some of the girls in her class.” You could still picture Poppy’s face as she’d gazed up at you with wide eyes, all that wonder and excitement. It had surprised you, the way she’d connected that small detail to something she wanted to experience herself.

“I thought you took that out?” he asked, his voice softening as he leaned closer to you, his hand finding its way back to your knee, thumb rubbing circles into the bone. “I always loved your septum ring.”

“I did take it out, but it didn’t close up. This morning, I just thought I’d try, and it went in easily. I’ve been wearing it up-”

“You should wear it again.” he interrupted, his tone softer, and you caught a hint of that wistfulness he never let show. “The silver ring. The thin one. That was my favourite.” 

You shook your head, trying to deflect his sentiment even as you felt yourself soften. “I don’t care what your favourite was.”

“Oh, really?” he said, smiling with that hint of mischief, the edge of his mouth quivering as he tilted his head to look at you, challenging you in his own quiet way. He shifted, closing the space between you, and his gaze held you, pulling you in like it always did, no matter how many times you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let him win. 

“Okay.” he murmured, as if conceding, but his smile stayed. And as you slid back into the couch, he moved easily, resting his head in your lap again, his body finding its way back to that comfortable position as if he’d never left. His hand came to rest over your knee, anchoring himself there, his eyes glinting with amusement as they drifted back to your nose. 

“I can see it now.” he teased, his voice low and playful as his hand drifted upward, his fingers reaching closer to your nose.

You leaned back, feigning exasperation, though you couldn’t quite hide your smile. “Don’t stick your fingers up my nose, Alex.” you warned, but the laughter was already threatening to break through.

He chuckled, eyes glimmering with that irrepressible mischief. “Oh, come on.” he said, brushing your hand away with a playful insistence. “I think I’ve stuck myself up enough places inside you for this to not be a problem, babe.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but he was faster, his fingers brushing against your nose, nudging the ring down so it was visible. The small, silver balls glinted beneath your nose, a sudden reminder of a version of you he hadn’t seen in a while.

“There it is.” he whispered, his eyes soft as he took you in, his thumb brushing lightly over the silver ring as if rediscovering something precious. Then a glint of mischief flashed across his face, and he grinned. “Hehe, two little balls hanging…looks familiar.”

You rolled your eyes, amused, exasperated. “Oh my god, Alex. You are so mature.” But you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, warmth spreading through you as you tried – and failed – to keep a straight face.

He reached up, brushing his thumb over the bridge of your nose. You felt yourself melt slightly as he tilted his head, studying you with those eyes that somehow managed to see past everything.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost shy in a way that felt rare, “you look more like you, with this. Like the you I fell in love with.” His eyes traced your face, lingering over every familiar line and curve. You could feel his hand warm on your leg. “I mean, not that you aren’t you now, but…I don’t know, you look like you’re a little more…alive.”

You felt a flush creeping into your cheeks, not entirely sure what to say. But the honesty in his face held you there, kept you from pulling away as his fingers brushed over the small silver ring again. You reached out, brushing your fingers along his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips. His eyes closed for a moment, savouring the simple contact, and when they opened again, there was a softness there, a vulnerability that he kept hidden from the world but shared with you in quiet moments like these.

“Maybe,” you said softly, fingers still resting against his cheek, “Poppy just wants to feel a little more like herself too. Maybe that’s what this is really about.” You watched him take in your words, saw the faint flicker of realisation cross his face as he thought it over.

He leaned his head back, his eyes gazing up at you with a quiet acceptance, like he was finally willing to meet you halfway. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, holding you there with him, not pushing or pulling, just resting.

“Maybe…” he murmured, unsteady, as if he was still letting it sink in. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. “I just don’t want her to be in pain.” he mumbled, his voice softer now, almost as if he were talking to himself rather than you. His eyes flicked to your nose, and then away again. There was something distant in him, reluctant and protective, like he was working through the idea in real-time.

He finally looked back up at you. “Does it hurt?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice, as if he were asking for the first time.

“A little.” you admitted, feeling the gentle throb where the ring rested, a reminder of the time it took to heal, of all the small aches that came with wanting something and sticking with it. “But I think she can take it. She’s a big girl now.”

He nodded slowly, but his lips pressed into a thin line, reluctant to fully agree. “Mhm…” he murmured.

You tilted your head, raising a brow. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.” He tried to brush it off, but you caught the way his gaze drifted, a small crease forming between his brows. He looked like he was holding back, wrestling with some unspoken worry.

You waited, giving him space, until he finally let out a soft sigh, his shoulders sinking as he leaned back against the couch. “I know she’s growing up. And I know you think I’m being...old-fashioned, or whatever.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I just– she’s so small. So…I don’t know…I don’t want her to be hurt. Or regret it later.”

A slight smile tugged at your lips, and you brushed a strand of hair out of his face. “You realise that’s why they make the small, safe starter studs, right? It’s not like she’s going to get a septum piercing or go full rock and roll in kindergarten. It’s just earrings, Alex.”

He gave you a sheepish, lopsided grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. It’s just…she saw your ring, and suddenly I could see her all grown up, making her own choices, and it just hit me. Feels like I just blinked, and now she’s already asking for things I don’t know how to give her.”

You took his hand, feeling his fingers relax under yours as you squeezed gently. “She’s going to be okay, you know. She’s smart. And stubborn – she’s got that from you." 

“Hey.” he scoffed, pretending to be offended, but his smirk betrayed him. “I’m not stubborn. I just have strong…principles.”

“Right. Principles.” you echoed with a grin, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I think maybe the real problem here is you’re just not ready for her to need things from someone else besides us. She’s growing up, Alex. And it’s going to hurt a little – for all of us. But she’s brave, and we’ve done a good job with her.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing his face. “I guess…I guess I don’t want to mess it up, you know? She’s…she’s so full of life, and I don’t want her to lose that because of something I say or do.” He looked at you, his eyes soft and uncertain. “I want her to feel like she can be herself. Even if I don't get it, or even if it's something I never would’ve done.”

You nodded, brushing his hair back, letting him feel that you were there. “Then let her be herself. Earrings or no earrings, she’ll still look at you like her hero. The way she always does.”

He smiled at that, a little shy, a little boyish. “You think so?”

“I know so.” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, watching his face soften as you did. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, you just sat there.

After a beat, he let out a chuckle, low and soft. “Fine. She can get the damn earrings.” he muttered, a reluctant smile creeping onto his face. “But I’m holding her hand the entire time. And I’m not leaving her side, even if it takes all day.”

“Deal.” you replied, your own smile mirroring his. “And afterward, we’ll let her pick out whatever sparkly, obnoxious earrings she wants. Even if they clash with her clothes for a month.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Perfect. And I’ll make sure to tell her how much of a trendsetter she is.” His tone softened, and he took your hand again, holding it tightly. “Thanks for…everything. And for reminding me. It’s easy to forget sometimes, but…I trust you, you know?"

You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because no matter how big she gets, we’re in this together. For every scraped knee and every new little piercing.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. And there, with his breath mingling with yours, he murmured, “Our little girl. She’s gonna be amazing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, certainty settling back over you both. “She already is.”

a/n: pretty boring I guess...but I like it! got the idea from these requests x & x. also I feel like I was channeling @futuristicanoe in this. idk. their fic has been on my mind a lot these days and it seeped into this.

[bywrios]

"they say there's nothing new under the sun, but somehow a picnic in the warm sunshine never gets old."

you chuckle softly at your lover's soft musings, watching as he leans his weight back on his palms and lets the sun's morning rays cast on his ruggedly handsome face. gentle, golden light illuminates the set of his brow and the line of his jaw, and he cuts a much warmer figure than he does beneath the electric lights of the fortress. you produce a few more food items from your basket, and lay them on the picnic blanket.

it had taken a lot of convincing to get wriothesley to take some time off. every last moment of this outing had been meticulously planned; you'd even conscripted the help of several of wriothesley's friends, namely clorinde and the iudex himself, to fully convince your dear husband to take a break. he'd only agreed to head to the surface with you after seeing your conviction, and also after neuvillette offered to oversee the fortress for the next few hours. it's honestly a miracle, and one you're intent on making the most out of.

"i packed some food," you hum, arranging the small plates you've produced on the blanket. there's sandwiches and other assorted savory foods, and also a rather broad selection of sweets and pastries, courtesy of the president of the spina di rosula. wriothesley's expression gains a boyish curiosity to it, as his gaze sweeps over the spread you've prepared.

"you outdid yourself," he says softly. "really, there was no need to do so much."

you huff adamantly and shake your head. "i wanted to. you deserve a break, wrio, and i want to take care of you."

he pauses at that. eyes the shade of an overcast sky regard you carefully. you don't take it personally; you know how he is. how the 'duke' came to be, from the little boy he once was. life has not been kind to him, and he wears the proof of it on his hands, his arms, and his neck. he has known violence longer than he has known peace, betrayal longer than trust, hatred longer than love. you almost think he's going to slip free from the moment with another easygoing comment, but instead his voice carries a quiet heaviness when he speaks.

"it's rotten work," he says, his fingers curling lightly into the checkered cloth beneath his hand. something in your chest aches little, but you reach across the blanket to gently intertwine your fingers with his.

"not to me. not if it's you."

he exhales at that. a rush of air, like it's involuntary. then, he laughs, the sound like a ray of sunlight breaking through grey clouds. he brings your hand up to his lips, and presses a featherlight kiss to your knuckles.

"you're too good to me, you know?"

you give him a soft, but affectionate huff in return, your cheeks warming at the action, a smile tugging at your own lips. "silly. there's no such thing."

[logansargeantsbabymom]

50 Shades of Norris…….. & Sainz?

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader x Carlos Sainz

Smut

A/N: Hey guys, I don’t know IF I will post this week because I took a (much needed) vacation and I won’t be back from vacation until next Thursday. I will try to post my drafts I have but there is NO guarantee that I will post after this post. I will definitely TRY. I love you guys, thank you for everything- logansargeantsbabymom

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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I've been dating Lando for two years now, and our relationship is no secret. We're both young, hot-blooded, and passionate, so when we're together, it's electric. We'd been hanging out at my place, talking about movies. I brought up the 50 Shades trilogy, confessing my love for those sexy, kinky movies. Lando, the cheeky brat, claimed he'd never seen them. I just had to fix that immediately.

"Really, babe? You don't know what you're missing. Here, watch with me." I pulled him close, and we settled on the couch, turning on the first movie. As the iconic music started, I snuggled into his side, feeling his strong arm around me.

It didn't take long for the steamy scenes to start, and I felt Lando's arm tighten around me. His hand started roaming, slipping under my shirt to caress my bare back. I sighed, already getting turned on by the movie and his touch. His hand moved lower, cupping my ass and giving it a squeeze. "Ooh, Lando," I moaned, leaning into him.

"This movie is hot, but you're even hotter," he whispered in my ear, nibbling on my lobe. I shivered as his hand slipped under my yoga pants, seeking out my pussy. His fingers found my clit, and he rubbed slow, firm circles, making me squirm and gasp. "Let's make our own movie, baby," he murmured, his breath hot on my neck.

I turned to face him, our lips crashing together in a hungry kiss. My hands moved to his curly hair, tugging gently as our tongues danced. His hand worked its magic on my pussy, and I could feel my juices starting to flow. "I want you now," I whispered against his lips. "Take me, right here on the couch."

Lando's eyes darkened with desire. "Anything for you, baby." He stood, pulling me up with him. Without breaking our kiss, he lifted me, sitting me on the arm of the couch. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. With one smooth motion, he slipped inside me, filling me completely.

We broke our kiss, both of us moaning at the feeling of being connected. I leaned back, supporting myself on the couch as Lando started to thrust. His dick felt amazing, stretching me open and rubbing all the right spots. I dug my heels into his ass, urging him on. "Fuck, yes, Lando," I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He picked up the pace, his hips snapping as he drove into me. The slap of flesh on flesh filled the room, along with our passionate moans. I could feel my orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tight within me. "Cum for me, baby," Lando growled, his eyes burning with desire. "Cum on my cock."

His words sent me over the edge. "Oh, Lando!" I cried out, my body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over me. I clenched around his dick, feeling him thrust a few more times before he stiffened, burying his face in my neck. "Fuck, I'm cumming too," he groaned, filling me with his hot seed.

We stayed like that for a moment, catching our breath. Then, with a soft kiss, Lando gently lifted me and set me back on the couch. I giggled, feeling a bit wobbly, but also satisfied. "That was amazing," I purred, snuggling into his side. "But the movie's not over yet."

Lando grinned, that mischievous look in his eyes. "How about we move to the kitchen? I've got a few ideas inspired by Mr. Grey." I felt a shiver of anticipation as we got up, my yoga pants still around my ankles. Lando spanked my ass playfully, making me giggle as we headed for the kitchen, ready for another round of passionate, kinky sex.

In the kitchen, Lando had me bend over the counter, my breasts squashed against the cold granite. He slipped a hand between my legs, his fingers finding my sensitive clit. "You like this position, baby?" he asked, his breath hot against my neck. "Knowing anyone could walk in and see us?"

"Mmm, yes," I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed as his fingers worked their magic. "It's so dirty and hot." I felt him nuzzle my neck, his teeth scraping gently over my skin. Then, he pulled my hair to the side, exposing my neck. His lips kissed and sucked on the sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine. "Lando, please," I begged, my hips bucking back against his hand.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault on my clit. "Cum for me. Let me hear how much you love this." His free hand slid up my body, pinching and playing with my nipples. I was so turned on, my body on fire with need. I felt his cock, hard and heavy against my thigh, and I wanted it inside me.

"Lando, please, fuck me," I pleaded, my voice hoarse with need. "I need you now." He didn't need to be told twice. He lined up his cock and thrust into me, filling me completely. I cried out, the sensation sending me over the edge. I came hard around his cock, my body shaking with pleasure. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good," Lando growled, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

He started to move, his hips snapping as he fucked me with deep, powerful strokes. The sound of our flesh slapping together filled the kitchen, along with my shameless moans. "Oh yes, Lando! Right there! Don't stop!" I cried out, my nails digging into the counter. I could feel my juices flowing, coating his cock as he thrust into me again and again.

Lando leaned over me, his chest crushing my back as he reached around to rub my clit. "You're so wet, baby," he growled in my ear. "So fucking tight and perfect." His words sent me spiraling toward another orgasm. "Cum with me, baby," he urged, his hips pounding into me. "Cum on my cock again."

His demand sent me spiraling into ecstasy. "Oh God, Lando, I'm cumming!" I screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. Lando let out a hoarse cry, his hips stuttering as he filled me with his release. We stayed connected, our breath ragged as we came down from our intense orgasms. "That was incredible," I whispered, turning my head to kiss him softly.

Lando chuckled, nipping at my lower lip. "We're not done yet, baby. I've got something special planned for the bedroom." My heart raced with anticipation as he gently pulled out of me, taking my hand to lead me to the bedroom for another round of mind-blowing sex.

After an intense session in the bedroom, we decided to take a shower together, washing away the sweat and cum. But even under the warm water, our passion didn't cool. The feel of the water on our skin, the steam clouding the glass, it all added to the erotic atmosphere. We soaped each other up, our hands roaming freely, exploring every inch of our slippery bodies.

Lando's cock slid between my ass cheeks, and I pushed back, wanting to feel him inside me again. "You're insatiable, baby," he growled, grabbing my hip to pull me closer. "But I'm not complaining." With a smooth thrust, he slid into my tight hole, making me gasp and grip the shower wall. He started to move, his hands gripping my hips as he slammed into me, the water cascading over us.

"Oh, fuck, Lando!" I cried out, the water pounding on my back as he took me from behind. "Your cock feels so good!" He picked up the pace, his hips a blur as he pounded into me. The shower wall provided little nubs that felt amazing against my sensitive nipples, adding to the pleasure. "Cum for me, baby," Lando grunted, his hands sliding up to grip my shoulders.

I didn't need to be told twice. The combination of the hot water, his thick cock, and his skilled hands sent me spiraling into bliss. "Lando! I'm cumming!" I screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. Lando joined me, his cock pulsing as he filled my ass with his release. We slumped against each other, the warm water soothing our spent bodies.

As we turned off the shower and stepped out, toweling off, I had a sudden thought. "Lando, did you invite Carlos over today?" I asked, remembering his best friend and fellow Formula 1 driver was supposed to drop by. Lando's eyes went wide. "Shit, I completely forgot! He should be here any minute!"

Sure enough, just as we finished getting dressed, we heard the front door open and close. "Lando, you home, bro?" Carlos called out. Lando and I shared a nervous look, realizing our secret was about to be discovered. We hurried downstairs, only to find Carlos lounging on the couch, his hard cock in his hand!

"Oh, sorry, bro," Lando sputtered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "We got, um, carried away." Carlos just grinned, his thick Spanish accent making his voice deep and sexy. "It's okay, my friends. I no mind. In fact, Y/N, maybe you help me with this?" he suggested, stroking his thick cock.

I felt a thrill of desire course through me. Lando and I shared a heated look, and without a word, we moved towards Carlos, ready to indulge in a sexy threesome. "I thought you'd never ask," I purred, dropping to my knees in front of Carlos.

His eyes darkened with desire as I took his cock in my hand, stroking the length slowly. "You like this, Carlos?" I asked, looking up at him through my lashes as I licked the tip of his cock. "Mmm, I've been wanting to taste you." With that, I took him into my mouth, sucking and swirling my tongue.

Carlos groaned, his head falling back as I deep-throated him. "Fuck, Y/N, that's amazing," he breathed, his hands tangling in my hair. I looked up at him, my eyes smoldering as I sucked him off, taking him as deep as I could. Lando moved behind me, lifting my hair away from my neck and kissing the sensitive skin. "You look so hot like this, baby," he murmured, his hands roaming over my body.

"She does, doesn't she?" Carlos agreed, his eyes closing in pleasure. "Such a dirty mouth, taking me in so deep." I moaned, the vibration making Carlos hiss and tug gently on my hair. Lando slipped a hand between my legs, his fingers finding my wet core. "Let's take this to the bedroom," he suggested, his breath hot on my neck.

We stood, moving to the bedroom, never breaking contact. Lando kissed me passionately, his tongue dueling with mine as his fingers worked my clit. Carlos moved behind him, his hands on Lando's hips as he guided his friend's cock to my entrance. With a smooth thrust, Lando slid into me, groaning at the feeling. "Your pussy is so tight, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down my neck.

"Mmm, and your mouth is so talented, Carlos," I moaned as Carlos replaced Lando's fingers with his mouth, licking and sucking my clit. "Oh, fuck, yes!" I cried out, my body rocking back against Lando, my hands gripping Carlos's hair. They worked together, their cocks sliding in and out of me in a perfect rhythm. I could feel my orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

"That's it, baby, cum for us," Lando urged, his hands gripping my hips as he pounded into me. "Cum all over Carlos's mouth." His words sent me spiraling into bliss, and I screamed, my body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Fuck, yes!" Carlos groaned, his mouth never leaving my pussy as he feasted on my juices.

Lando thrust a few more times, then stilled, cumming deep inside me. Carlos moved up, kissing me deeply as he lined up his cock with my pussy. He thrust into me, claiming my well-fucked hole as his own. "Your turn, Lando," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Taste her sweetness."

Lando didn't need to be told twice. He dropped to his knees, his lips and tongue working my clit as Carlos fucked me from behind. "Oh, God, yes!" I cried out, my body bombarded with sensations. Lando's skilled tongue sent me spiraling into another orgasm, my body shaking with pleasure. "That's it, baby, cum again," Carlos urged, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he drove into me.

As I cried out, Lando moved up my body, claiming my mouth in a passionate kiss. I could taste myself on his lips, and it only added to my arousal. Carlos pounded into me, his cock slick with my juices. "Cum with me, Carlos," I whispered, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Let's cum together."

He growled his agreement, his hips snapping as he drove into me. "Fuck, Y/N, you're incredible

—————————

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[zorosdimples]

ITADORI YUUJI X READER ⟢ mdni. vaginal fingering + feelings.

The sky weeps plentifully, washing the horizon silver. Tears pelt the towering magnolia outside your window, pooling in pointed petals and veined leaves before overflowing, coursing downward to plink onto the sodden earth.

Your bedroom is the same shade of grey. But it’s warmer in here, shared breath and body heat keeping the room alive. The steady rainfall is drowned out by pleased sounds: fluttery whimpers to rival the whipping wind, heady moans more electric than lightning, groans that rumble deeper than thunder.

“One more—hm? Please?” Yuuji mumbles into your jaw, nipping at the flesh with his canines.

Two of his fingers caress you deeply, exploring your innermost heat with tender precision. It’s a day of rest, of respite, of falling apart beneath him over and over and over. His thumb teases your aching clit, coaxing you further toward the precipice, the rough pad of his digit an insistent pull that promises ecstasy.

The whole time (for hours, it feels) his eyes never leave your face, not even for a split second. Wells of sticky honey soak in every crinkle of your eyelid and twitch of your lip. The tiniest pockmark on your forehead and hair on your cheek is dear to him—a vital brushstroke in the art of your being.

There’s something that yawns within Yuuji, cracks his rib cage open and yearns—no, insists—on memorizing every aspect of you. He has always hungered, ever since he was a young boy. He hungered for love and connection and meaning and a full belly. But you stir something vital within him.

He wants to consume you; he wants to devour everything you do. The quirk of your brow and the tinkle of your laugh and the curve of you nail—they all pluck a chord within him that he didn’t know he had. It’s so innate, so in balance with his soul that he no longer knows what he would do without you. A part of you will forever live with him.

Nothing about you is unfamiliar to the sorcerer; perhaps he knows you better than you know yourself. It’s why he insists that you continue, why he has a knowing smile tucked into his lips when you cry out his name and dribble around his fingers. It’s why he allows you to greedily lick yourself up from his skin and settle into his lap, asking for more with a rock of your hips, asking for him.