#i need to sit down for an hour. AT LEAST.

[nanamisdollie]

seishiro nagi wasn’t the most…hands on boyfriend all the time.

his days consisted of soccer, gaming, and sleeping over ten hours a night, but he made time to slip you into all of that. he loved you despite the hassle of maintaining a relationship.

so whenever he would shoot you a 'horny :x' text or come over after a game and beg you to ride him, you always did. despite him being the virgin when you began dating, he had picked up on what to do during sex and what little things turned you on, what made your moans turn into begs and whines of pure need.

tonight was different though off the bat.

nagi brings over dinner, he didn't even ask you to pay half for once, and he rents a movie just for you guys to enjoy while eating. he asks how you day was, compliments you despite the lack of brushed out hair and bare face, and he tells you he loves you while slurping noodles.

that was an hour ago. now you were a goddamn mess.

“sei- shit- already came-“ a cracked sigh takes your breath away as you try to get a proper look at your boyfriend who was in between you legs, his long body hanging half off the couch. he doesnt let up despite you plee, only giving you a slight glance.

you had to have cum at least three times now, maybe four, and your legs were shaking, you couldnt even hold them up anymore so nagi had taken it upon himself to hold them in over his shoulders while his tongue fucked your weeping cunt.

the amount of times he had given you head or fingered you could likely be counted on both hands, maybe, so this was a lot all at once. you weren’t complaining though, not when his fingers could brush your cervix with ease and his tongue seemed to know just how your clit needed to be touched.

when he finally pulls back he moves up to kiss you properly. getting a good look at him is like a dream; messy hair from where your fingers had been in it, pupils blown wide, and from his lips to his chin theres a mess of your cum and his spit.

the kiss is messy, needy. his hips are rolling into yours and it makes you whine from the overstimulation. when nagi pulls back from the kiss he lets out a whine, a sound you had only heard from him a few times.

“love you-“ he pressed a kiss to your jaw, one hand sliding up to cup your breast “wanted to make sure you don’t leave me.”

the statement makes you push him back just slightly with weak arms, a slight frown forming on your lips “leave you?” his expression is unreadable like most times, but theres a softness in his eyes only you see “m’ not gonna leave you sei…why would you think that? is that why you did all this?”

you bring a hand up to his hair and play with it. he relaxes a little, chest pressing to yours.

“just- i don’t know…reo said i should spoil you. that i’m lucky or whatever”

it makes you soften slightly to hear that. thank god it wasn’t barou shitting on him or something else just as bad. reo meant well, and you weren’t gonna be upset considering the mind blowing head you got. you pull him down to press another kiss to his still glossy lips, tasting yourself on them.

“i’m not gonna leave you. ever.”

you cup his face when you pull back and his cheeks squish just slightly, your eyes locking with his. a slight smile twitches on his lips before he sits up and begins pushing his sweats down. you whine and cover you face.

“I’ve cum enough!” its a playful whine even if its a half truth “give me a break!”

“m’ not trying to make you cum…that was a damn hassle. my fingers are sore.” he pouts just slightly as he pushes his boxers down, his cock smacking against his abdomen.

“wanna get off now, pretty please?”

how could you ever say no to him…

written for this request here!! i know its a lil different and short but i hope everyone likes it ^.^

[whisperedmeg]

AFTERSHOCK ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x liaison!reader

summary: you were held at knifepoint. spencer wasn’t there, but now he is — sitting outside the shower, whispering sea otter facts, and touching you like he’s still afraid you’ll disappear.

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

w/c: 3.9k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader works for the BAU, friends/coworkers to lovers, story starts after a hostage situation/being held at knifepoint, mentions of bruises and cuts and blood and a gunshot but no major injury (to reader), fingering, p in v, spencer asks for consent like a million times #king, kind of open ending

a/n: omg my first request 🥲 i made reader an assistant media liaison bc i liked the idea of her having minimal field experience + working closely with JJ. i was envisioning like young, s2 spencer here (specifically glasses reid when he goes to check on Elle in her hotel room hence the header but hey, imagine what you wish). hope you enjoy, kind anon! 🦦

The lights were too bright.

Not in a metaphorical way, but literally. Overhead fluorescents buzzed in the corner of your vision as a paramedic waved a penlight in your eyes, asking questions you could barely process.

“You know your name?” he asked. You nodded. Or at least you thought you did. Maybe you answered him verbally — you couldn’t say for sure. “Good. You’re gonna be okay. Just some bruising and minor cuts. We’ll get your neck bandaged up then you’ll be good to go.”

This time, you heard yourself thank him, but your voice didn’t sound like your own.

In the moments after the standoff ended, everything had blurred. You remembered the moment you realized he was about to slit your throat — and how you kept your voice level anyway, how you kept talking to distract him until the team broke through the front. You remembered Hotch yelling your name, and Derek rushing forward as the unsub yanked you tighter against him — right before the single shot that brought him down rang through the air. You remembered insisting you were fine. “It’s just a few scratches.” But your hands had trembled when you signed the incident report, and your voice had cracked as you hugged JJ and tried to tell her you were okay. You remembered blood on your blouse, though it hadn’t been yours. And then you thought of Spencer.

Spencer.

You hadn’t seen him since before you’d gone into that warehouse backroom, when he was told to stay at the precinct while you were sent in to try to talk the unsub down. You were the suspect’s type — it seemed like it made sense, at the time.

Now, hours later, your ears still rang faintly with the sound of a gunshot and sirens. The scent of sweat and antiseptic clung to your hair. You were stiff from tension, from crouching for too long, from being held with a blade tight against your throat. And though the medics cleared you, your body didn’t quite feel like it was yours.

So when you got back to the hotel and opened the door to your room, you weren’t surprised to find Spencer already sitting there.

His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, white-knuckled. His legs bounced slightly, shoulders curled inward. As soon as he saw you, he stood so quickly it looked like it surprised even him.

You stared at him for a moment. He somehow managed to look even worse than you felt.

“Hi,” you said softly.

His throat bobbed. “Hi.”

You closed the door behind you. Leaned against it, unsure what you needed, only that it might be him.

“JJ told me you weren’t seriously hurt.”

“I’m not. Just… tired. Shaky. A little out of it.” You tried to smile, but it faltered. Your knees felt too weak to hold the weight of your composure.

“Could you—” You paused. Swallowed. “Will you stay? Just for a little while?”

He didn’t answer. He just nodded and stepped forward, his arms coming around you so gently it nearly broke you.

—

You had worked with Spencer Reid for nearly two years. As assistant press liaison, your job at the BAU was mostly behind the scenes — handling media inquiries, prepping briefings, coordinating with JJ. Occasionally you went into the field, like you had today. And over time, you’d gotten closer to the team. Closer to Spencer.

He was your best friend. The kind who noticed when you were quiet for too long. The kind who annotated articles he thought you’d like. Who remembered your coffee order down to the exact milk-to-cold brew ratio. Who once lent you his beloved purple scarf because you were shivering, and never once asked for it back.

You’d always told yourself that’s what it was — just friendship, albeit the rarest and gentlest kind. You two had never crossed the line. Never even came close.

But still, there were moments.

The brush of hands when passing files. Gazes that lingered a little too long when you laughed. The quiet way he always listened intently as you spoke, even in a room full of louder voices.

It was nothing. It was everything.

And you didn’t let yourself dwell on it.

Not until today — when you saw him across the hotel room, eyes wide and wounded, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours. That look wasn’t friendly. That look was something else entirely.

—

You sat together on the edge of the bed for a while — not really speaking, just breathing the same air. You noticed the redness in his eyes, the way he rubbed his palms together like he needed to feel something real.

“I should probably shower,” you said eventually, your voice small. You were still in the same clothes from the scene, crusted with dirt and dried blood. “But I don’t… I don’t really want to be alone.”

His eyes softened instantly. “I could sit in the bathroom with you, if you want. I won’t, uh, look or anything. I’ll just— I’ll be there.”

You nodded, your chest aching.

The hotel bathroom was a little dated, the kind with a plastic curtain and a light that hummed faintly when switched on. You undressed slowly, hands trembling, and stepped into the spray. Warm water hit your skin, but the shivering didn’t stop. You called out for Spencer to let him know he could come in.

“I’m here,” Spencer said gently from the other side of the curtain. You heard the soft thud of him sitting down, back against the tub.

“Thanks,” you said. Your voice sounded a little steadier than you felt.

“Did you know that the human body has over two million sweat glands? They’re actually most concentrated on the soles of your feet.”

You laughed — a surprised, soft sound. “That’s… weirdly interesting.”

He chuckled too. “I read once that just hearing someone else talk about non-threatening subjects can help slow down your heart rate. It activates the parasympathetic nervous system.”

You swallowed as you massaged shampoo into your scalp. “Keep talking, then.”

So he did. He told you about an article he read on sea otters. About how they sometimes hold hands and cuddle while they sleep so they don’t drift apart. About how Saturn’s rings are made mostly of ice and dust, and how they’re slowly disappearing. About a study on how people who read a lot of fiction are generally more empathetic, and how he thinks that’s probably true, especially when applied to you and your collection of romantasy novels.

When you turned off the water, you stood there for a moment, breathing in the steam.

You reached outside the curtain for the towel you’d hung on the hook earlier, wrapping it around yourself before you stepped out carefully onto the mat. Spencer stayed seated, gaze averted, but lifted his arm to offer you the white fluffy hotel robe.

“Here,” he said, voice soft, still not looking.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him with fingers that brushed his. You slipped it on over the towel, grateful for the extra warmth, and tied the sash tightly around your waist.

He finally glanced up then, eyes scanning your face for any sign of how you were holding together.

“Can we go sit down?”

He stood immediately. “Of course.”

Together, you stepped out of the bathroom, his presence quiet beside you. You sat on the edge of the bed and he joined you, leaving space but not distance.

It was then you finally noticed it: he looked so tired. His shoulders sagged like he’d been carrying something too heavy, and you wondered how long he’d been holding it all in. There were shadows beneath his eyes and something raw in the way he held his hands — like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Spencer blinked a few times and stared down at his knees. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“I… I didn’t realize how scared I was. Not really. Not until I saw you standing here again. When I was back at the precinct and heard what was going on, what he was doing to you, I—” He stopped himself, swallowed. “I couldn’t breathe.”

Your chest ached again. You reached for him instinctively — not with any plan, just the need to touch something steady. Your hand found his face, palm against his cheek, and you felt the tremble in his jaw.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

He turned into your touch slightly, eyes fluttering closed. A breath escaped him — a shaky, wordless thing.

“I keep thinking about what could’ve happened,” he murmured. “About how close it was. And I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

“You don’t have to finish that sentence,” you interrupted gently. “I’m here, Spencer. It’s over.”

The silence stretched.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked at you like he was finally seeing something he’d never dared to let himself look at too closely — not until now.

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then back to your eyes. Then away entirely, as if embarrassed.

You smiled, small and a little awkward. “Spencer…”

He didn’t move. Just stayed there with your hand pressed to his cheek and his gaze trained on the sheets, as if he was terrified the moment might dissolve if he shifted even an inch.

“I know it’s not helpful to spiral into hypotheticals, but… I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about how close it was. How close I came to never seeing you again. And it made me realize…”

He trailed off, brow furrowing like he was debating whether to keep going. His fingers fidgeted in his lap. You waited.

“I realized that if I lost you,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t just miss working with you, or… talking to you, or being your friend. I’d miss you. Everything I never said. Everything I always pretended I didn’t feel because it wasn’t—because it wasn’t appropriate, or logical, or fair.”

Your breath caught. He still wouldn’t look at you.

“I just don’t know if… if you’ve ever thought about it. About me. About… us. About, um, being more than just friends.”

The room spun gently. Not in a bad way — more like the moment had tipped sideways and you were falling into it, a new gravity you hadn’t dared even imagine until now.

You stared at him.

For a second, your brain scrambled to fill the silence with something. A joke. A change of subject. A safer version of the truth.

But the look on his face — the quiet devastation of it, like he was already preparing to apologize for crossing a line — cut straight through every instinct to deflect.

Because of course you’d thought about it.

Every late night on the phone. Every smirk across the briefing room. Every friendly touch on your shoulder that lingered half a second too long. You’d buried it all under layers of friendship and professional distance.

But it was there. It had always been there.

And after everything you’d been through today, you were tired of pretending it wasn’t.

“Spencer,” you said softly. “Look at me.”

His breath hitched, and he finally lifted his eyes enough to meet yours.

“I’ve thought about it, too,” you admitted.

His eyes widened slightly. You could feel the warmth radiating off him. The tension. The fragile possibility hanging in the space between your bodies.

“Really?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Course I have.”

“Then can I—” He stopped and laughed a little, awkward and embarrassed. “God, I don’t even know how to ask.”

You smiled. “Try anyway.”

“Can I kiss you?”

You took a long, deep breath, then whispered, “Please.”

He leaned in slowly, hesitantly — and when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t confident or practiced. It was cautious. Careful. A little awkward and clumsy. But it was him, and it was you, and it was real.

His mouth moved against yours like he wasn’t sure it would last. You kissed him deeper, steadier, until you felt him melt a little — into the moment, into you.

He held your face like you were something sacred. You tugged him closer like you’d die without the contact. He whispered your name against your mouth, like he was still trying to make himself believe you were there.

The kiss stayed soft for a long time — tentative, exploratory. Like neither of you wanted to break the spell. Like you were both waiting for the moment one of you might pull away and realize this was a mistake.

But you didn’t, and when his hands drifted down to your waist, he paused.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. His fingers trailed across the terrycloth material of the hotel robe. “You’re… you’re not wearing any real clothes right now. Maybe we should stop.”

You laughed softly. “Don’t you dare stop. It’s definitely okay.”

Still, he hesitated, eyes searching yours like he needed to hear it in more than words.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting anything. We don’t have to—”

You shook your head before he could finish, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I know. You’re not messing anything up.”

His eyes searched yours, still uncertain.

“I want to. I want you,” you whispered.

You reached for him, guiding his hand to your chest like you needed him to feel how steady your heartbeat had become — proof that this wasn’t panic. This was choosing. Choosing him.

He took a long breath, then slowly, he eased you down onto the pillows.

When his fingers brushed the tie of your robe, he paused again. “Okay?” he asked, eyes flicking to yours.

You answered not just with a nod, but by threading your fingers through his hair. “Spencer. Please, I need this.”

He let out a soft, quivering breath, like he’d been waiting for this moment all along without even knowing it.

And still, he didn’t rush.

He loosened the tie and slipped the robe from your shoulders like it was something precious. Beneath it, the towel clung to your damp skin, and when you let it fall open, he didn’t look away — but he didn’t devour, either. He just gazed at you like you were something precious and rare, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to see you this way.

He undressed, too — slowly, thoughtfully — until there was nothing between you but skin and breath and unspoken things neither of you had ever dared say before.

Between each move he made, he kissed you again — your temple, your shoulder, the soft curve of your wrist, your neck just above the bandage covering your cut. And every time he asked if it was okay, you gave him a variation of the same answer:

“Still okay.”

“Still yes.”

“Still want you.”

His hands moved with aching care — not wandering, but learning. He touched you like he was trying to memorize every inch of skin, every breath you took beneath him. His mouth found the bruise along your ribs and lingered there, brushing a kiss so gentle it nearly undid you.

When he rose up on his elbows, his hair fell softly around his face. You reached up and tucked it behind his ear, and the way he smiled — shy, grateful, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real — made your heart twist.

Then he kissed you again, slower this time, more sure. It was gentle, then a little deeper. Then everything, all at once. His mouth opened against yours and you welcomed him in, arms winding around his back to pull him closer. You felt his weight shift, the warmth of his thigh sliding between yours, the subtle grind of his hips.

His hand found your cheek again before sliding down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your breasts — then lower. When his fingers finally brushed between your legs, you gasped.

He pulled back instantly, worried. “Too much?”

You shook your head, breathless. “Not at all. Just… it’s you. My brain’s still processing.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

“Keep going,” you whispered.

His fingers moved with cautious intent, like he was still learning you, like he was determined to get it right. He traced slow, deliberate circles, his touch light enough to tease but steady enough to draw a soft moan from your throat.

“That good?” he whispered.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere behind your breath. “Better than good.”

He kissed your shoulder, your jaw, your lips again — never straying too far from your mouth, as if needing that closeness to anchor him. One finger slipped inside you slowly, then another, stretching you with exquisite care. His other hand cradled the side of your face, grounding you in the moment, in him. Every stroke of his fingers sent heat curling through your belly, your hips tilting toward him without conscious thought. He was watching you now, eyes dark and tender, his breath uneven with each sound you made.

“God,” he murmured, brushing the pad of his thumb softly across your clit. “You’re so responsive.”

You managed a breathless laugh, clinging to him. “Guess we’re finding out a lot tonight.”

He swallowed hard, like he didn’t know what to do with that — like it meant more than either of you were ready to say aloud. But his pace never faltered. He curled his fingers experimentally, eyes never leaving yours, and smiled when you moaned softly.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

You could feel it building, not fast but steady — pressure, heat, ache. But before it crested, before it could consume you entirely, you reached for him.

“Spencer,” you breathed.

And he knew what you meant.

He withdrew his fingers, kissed you like it was the only language he knew — and as your body trembled beneath him, aching for more, he paused.

One hand stayed at your cheek, the other braced beside your shoulder as he shifted his weight between your thighs, lining himself up with deliberate care. He looked down at you then — really looked — as if the entire world had narrowed to the space between your bodies.

“Still okay?” he asked in a soft, comforting whisper. “We don’t have to, you know. We can still stop.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs. You reached up, brushing hair back from his forehead again, and held his gaze.

“I know,” you murmured, “but I want this. I want you.”

His breath hitched — and only then did he move.

Slowly, carefully, he eased into you with a soft, broken sound, his breath catching in his throat as your body welcomed him in.

You gasped again, overwhelmed — not just by the sensation, but by the way he fit against you like he was always meant to be there. Like this was what you’d always been waiting for.

You held his gaze like it tethered you to something solid — like it kept you both from slipping back into fear or doubt or the thousand what-ifs still echoing from the day.

He moved cautiously — each roll of his hips asking if you still wanted this, and each time, your body answered by drawing him closer, moaning his name like a promise.

A soft sound escaped your lips as he pressed deeper. You tightened around him, and his breath hitched.

“God,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “you feel… incredible.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, your chest rising to meet his. “You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, exhaling shakily as his hips stilled. “I can’t stop.” His voice dropped, cracked and honest. “This is surreal. And I keep thinking about what could’ve happened if the team didn’t find you in time.”

“Spence,” you said gently, cupping his cheek, “I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

He rocked into you again, the motion tender and deliberate. “I’m not,” he whispered, “not when I’m with you.”

You gasped softly, clutching at his shoulder blades as he began to find a rhythm, unhurried but overwhelming.

“Talk to me,” you breathed. “You always talk when I need it. Can you still do that?”

His forehead rested against yours as he nodded, his voice warm and broken between thrusts. “You’re so beautiful like this. I mean, you’re always beautiful. I’ve always thought that. But this is… something else entirely. And you’re so soft, so open.” He kissed you, slow and searching. “I can feel every part of you. It’s—God, it’s even more than I thought it would be.”

You arched into him, breath catching in your throat. “More?”

He groaned softly, moving deeper, a flicker of something reverent in his eyes. “More real. More… you. You’re letting me see all of you, and I—” His breath faltered. “I don’t want to miss any of it.”

You smiled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer weight of it all. “You’re not. I’m right here.”

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize your breath, your softness, your heartbeat against his. And then his hand slid between you, fingers circling where you needed him most — slow at first, then firmer, perfectly in rhythm with the gentle thrust of his hips.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice shaking with restraint. “Please. I want to feel you fall apart.”

You clung to him, gasping his name, overwhelmed by the way every nerve in your body seemed to fire at once — not just pleasure, but everything: safety, want, the ache of almost losing this before you ever got to have it. Your body arched into him, chasing the edge he offered so tenderly, so completely.

When you finally broke, it was all-consuming — a tremble that started deep inside and rippled outward, your nails digging into his back, your eyes wet, your breath catching on a cry. And as you came apart in his arms, you felt him follow, felt the shudder in his body as he moaned your name against your neck and held you like you were the only real thing in the world.

Afterward, he didn’t move far. Just wrapped his arms around you and held you like a lifeline — like he couldn’t bear to let go even for a second.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. Not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence said it all.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

You brushed your thumb along his cheekbone, your fingers still trembling slightly. “You were exactly where you needed to be,” you murmured. “Somewhere safe. And you’re here now. We both are.”

He kissed you again — softer this time, slower. Like something steady. Like a promise.

—

Later, beneath the hum of the hotel air conditioner and the softened static of silence, you let your body sink into his. The worst had passed, but the aftershocks of what happened earlier in that warehouse still lived in your body — in the ache behind your eyes, in the way you reached for Spencer without thinking, in the unspoken things now pulsing between you like fresh bruises.

Spencer stayed awake beside you, his fingers tracing quiet, grounding patterns along your spine as his other hand held yours tightly. He looked down at your intertwined fingers and thought about the sea otters again, a small, barely-there smile curling at his lips.

You didn’t know what this would become — only that something had shifted. But as you felt the hush of his breath against your neck, you drifted off. And for first time all day, you didn’t feel like you were bracing for the next wave of tremors.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

[voitier]

HANS - In your Hands

하나 : Gran Premio de España

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 3K

CONTAINS: 18+! sex, hooking up (occasionally and not), mentions of blood and paramedics (brief, not too much descriptive), car crashing description (again, not too much detailed)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so... here's chapter one. okay. WOW. literally shaking rn I'm so scared it's gonna flop LMAOOOO. anyway, literally one of the longest pieces I've ever written, lowkey surprised myself. oh, and that thing I said that I wanted to wait until I was working at least on the second half of the story to post chapter 1? yeah, call me a liar cause that's what I am, I literally couldn't resist anymore, especially not when I saw how much "popularity" it was gaining. SO HERE IT ISSSS. I don't wanna spoiler anything so I'll shut up right here. hope you enjoy it and are ready to run a Grand Prix. love you all <3

Jungkook knew that he had the whole world at his feet. And he didn't think it because of a weird god complex whatsoever, but it was kinda hard to not do so when he stood high and tall on the podium, the whole crowd tinted of a bright orange, screaming his name and whipping around McLaren flags. 

For an hour, Jungkook was the owner of the world. 

And it felt so fucking nice.

That was almost three years ago though, and for the next three years, he always ended up on the podium – just as second or third place each time. It didn't matter, as much as he was craving that first place rush, he was happy he could stand on the podium itself.

This time, though? He had to win first place. No ifs, no buts.

He was doing so good already, he could almost feel the weight of the cup in his arms and his skin wet and sticky with champagne as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just two more races and he would be reborn as F1 World Champion – twice. He could do it: he and Namjoon, his strategist, had studied the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya of the Spanish Grand Prix over and over again, meticulously measuring every variation of speed, every rough corner, obsessing over the track until they became disgusted of the mere thought of sitting down with the map in front of their eyes.

Jungkook trusted Namjoon. He was the mastermind behind all his wins, after all. And he saw it in his eyes, too – that endless thirst of win, the need to see his racer becoming World Champion again. Something was in the air for sure.

Anyway, Jungkook was a... man of needs. He needed his morning coffee to function properly. He needed to jog at least 30 minutes by himself before a race as a way to slip into a focused zone. But, most importantly, he needed to release all of his pent-up stress before sitting down in his race car. 

Which was exactly the reason why he was locked in a stall of the McLaren garage's bathroom, the zip of his suit pulled all the way down to his crotch as he pounded into one of the models' pussy. What was her name again?

"Jungkook, they’re looking for you–"

"They can wait," he snapped back, covering the pretty girl's mouth with his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm. From the outside, someone – probably his other teammate and racer, Jimin – kept yelling his name, followed by "5 minutes left, hurry up!"

A string of profanities left his lips as he felt his body tense up, every fibre getting ready to welcome the long awaited release. The girl in his arms whimpered softly, clearly overstimulated. Eh, he had told her prior that he could last longer than most, and she was the one who said it was no big deal, so it wasn't really his fault if she was trembling now. 

"Fuck!" a groan left his lips as his body finally gave in, filling the condom spurt after spurt. He breathed heavily, chest heaving as he slowly recovered from the post orgasmic bliss. 

"Two minutes! Jungkook, fuck!"

A prayer of "shit shit shit" was whispered in the air, the racer rushing to throw the condom away, zip his suit back up, and go out there like nothing had happened.

As he exited the bathroom, everything blended in a blur of hands grabbing him wherever they could, pushing him against his car– and what a car. Orange, shiny, looking better than ever, ready as much as him to win another Grand Prix. Someone handed him his helmet, urging him to put it on before sitting down in the vehicle. 

As soon as the cold leather touched his suit, it was showtime.

You hated Jungkook.

No, scratch that, you didn't hate the guy per se.

You hated the cocky attitude he carried around everywhere. And you hated the fact that he didn't facilitate your job, at all. Being a PR member is already hard as it is, but being a PR manager? Jungkook's PR manager? Oh baby, hiking on Mount Everest would be easier. 

The kid could not care less about his reputation. It was admirable, really, being unapologetically yourself in a world full of judgement, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a public figure. A well-known one, too. And whose job was it to not let him taint it? Yours, of course.

Teaching foxes how to talk would be less stressful.

"Where the fuck is he?" a sharp voice interrupted your endless thinking, grounding you right in the moment. You whipped your head to the right, watching as a frantic Hoseok walked around the garage to look for their number one driver. 

The McLaren team had three drivers: Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok. Usually, it was Jungkook and Jimin who would race, Hoseok was put aside mainly because he was new. Whole team decision, of course.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing heavily, already feeling a growing headache nagging at the back of your head. 

What you didn't know, was that it was bound to get way worse than that. With the corner of your eye you had caught a weird movement, followed by a big commotion. 

Ah, that's where he was. Checks out, actually. Last minute nerves, right?

Yet– something was off. Something was... unusual. Something...

A man tripped not too far from you. Another one screamed at him, threatening to fire him. "Pull yourself together, we're Netflix, for god's sake!

Your heart dropped.

Netflix.

And coming right from the bathroom, you saw a hand. Delicate, long, well groomed. A woman. 

Shit.

You sprinted for the bathroom, running for your life like you've never done before, dodging engineers, mechanics, PR members, anyone who dared to stay in your way. 

You pushed the girl back inside before anyone could see her, slamming the door closed behind you. 

"What–"

"Shh. I'm sorry. I'm Jungkook's PR manager, Y/N. Nice to meet you" you whispered through the whole presentation, your eyes darting from the girl to the door, back to the girl again. You swallowed hard, breathing in and out slowly as the drumming in your ears settled for something less dramatic.

The girl in front of you was... beautiful, to say the least. Tall, clear skin, flawless makeup on. Shoulders and back straight and stretched nicely, her collarbones peeking over her shoulder-less dress. Dark hair framed her slim face, a nice contrast to her blue eyes. Yeah, definitely a model. 

You could almost see it – Jungkook's and this model's faces plastered all over the media, them holding hands and acting like the paparazzi had caught them in a private moment while walking in the streets of some élite class city, probably Monaco. Everything would be piloted by you, of course. There were no caught red-handed moments with you, everything was planned, studied, thought out. 

Oh, if only Jungkook made things this easy for you.

“Oh, uhm…” the girl eyed the spot where your hand touched her arm a couple times, definitely trying to find a polite way to get your hands off her skin. Understandable, anyone with that type of perfectly clear skin would grimace at the view of a woman who has no time for a full eight hours sleep, yet alone pay attention to skincare and stuff, touching what you probably had to work your ass for. Not that Jungkook was any better, by the way, but at least he was rich and handsome, and known enough to be on the same social step as the model in front of you. Hell, he was probably even higher up than her. You pulled your hand back, whispering a rather embarrassed apology.

From the garage, you heard one of the engineers yell, followed by a general roar as Jungkook overtook one of the Ferrari’s drivers. The girl gasped, her body jumping startled. “It’s fine, I– let me see if it’s safe to go out.”

The cold metal of the doorknob kissed the scorching hot skin of your hand as you gently twisted it, opening it just the right amount to peek outside. Your eyes scanned the place, looking out for anyone not dressed in orange and a couple men carrying a camera and a boom microphone.

Her fingers gently tapped your shoulder, peeking over it before softly asking “Is it safe?” in an accent that sounded anything but native. 

You gave one last look around before nodding, opening the door to let the woman through. 

“Wait!” your exclamation stopped her in her tracks. She turned towards you, confusion written all over her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Isadora. Isadora Ioannou.” 

The rest of the Grand Prix was spent glued to the screen in the garage, occasionally scribbling down notes in your agenda as ideas for new content popped up in your mind, and downing at least two more shots of espresso. 

However, no matter how hard you tried to engage in other activities, the name of the model kept haunting you. Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou. You were sure you had heard that name before, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. The clock in the garage ticked slowly, its sound buried by the absurdly loud people inside and the echo of the cars’ tires screeching on the hot concrete, reminding you that in a few hours you could retrieve to your room and finally look up her name, maybe while soaking in the bathtub of the fancy hotel the McLaren team had reserved for those flying to Spain with their racers. 

A heavy arm slumped around your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts and back in the garage, where a rather enthusiastic Namjoon kept yelling to Jungkook over the intercom about the last overtake he just did. You didn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it was, recognising Taehyung’s cologne immediately. You had met him back in college, then life made you part ways before it brought him back in your track. He was one of Jimin’s best friends then, got a place as a member of your PR team almost by luck. Witty, clever with words, sly in a way that made people think twice before opening their mouth in his presence, you just couldn’t let him run away. And so, here he was. “How did the… date go?”

You groaned, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Awful, truly awful. I’ve been with first timer men who knew way more than this dude. Seriously, if I had known about it I wouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready.”

He chuckled, a low sound coming deep from within him. 

Oh, god. You knew that sound far too well for your liking. 

He leaned down, tip of his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Wouldn’t have had this problem if you had accepted my suggestion, and you know it.” He pulled back as soon as he came in, raising his other hand to wave at a coworker a couple feet away from you, completely unfazed by the suggestion. 

You sighed, shaking your head softly before slipping your orange headphones on, effectively drowning out any noise other than Jungkook’s heavy breath echoing in his helmet mic and the vroom of sports cars running at 300 km/h.

Back in college, you and Taehyung used to be… friends. Who occasionally fucked. And by occasionally you mean even two times a day hidden in the very back of the library, if you wanted. But still, no more than friends, you didn’t really do “date”. Anyway, the sex was great, the guy used to be fine as hell already back then, and he knew how to make you finish like no other did. Then he moved back to South Korea for his Master’s degree, and when he came back he became your coworker and part of your own team. You couldn’t really sleep with a man who was now “dependent on you”, work wise. It just didn’t feel ethically ok to do so, even though he had made clear more than once that he truly couldn’t care less about it.

“You really think I’d give a fuck about our job positions when I’m buried balls deep inside you? C’mon, Y/N, you know me better than this,” he had begun once, and since then you decided to not bring it up anymore. At least, not until the very end of the season. 

But geez, how you missed having a man who knew what he was doing, especially when work pulled at your every possible string, waiting for you to finally snap.

Of course, no one in the team knew about you two and your past. You weren’t even sure if Jimin knew, and the two boys shared everything with each other. Gossip is quick to spread in the workplace, and you didn’t want anyone to think that Taehyung had access to his position because he had bought it. The guy was genuinely what the team needed. Plus, he had to work even harder than all the others since he was part of both Jungkook’s PR team and Jimin’s one. Thank god Jimin’s PR manager, Jin, grew a great liking of Taehyung soon, and in tandem you both decided to split his workload so that he wouldn’t go into burnout too quickly, too soon. 

Gotta protect the good ones, no?

Anyway, that's how Taehyung ended up being a constant in your day to day life again. Were you complaining? No, but did you wish that the circumstances were different? Absolutely. 

Fuck you, Taehyung, you could have turned down the job offer at least.

Inside the vehicle, Jungkook was breaking out in cold sweat. Just another car before he could proclaim victory. Behind him, Jimin was stuck at a tie point with one of Mercedes racers, the two continuously trying to overtake the other, yet without succeeding. 

If they wanted to win, he was the one who would have to do so. 

Right in front of him, a Red Bull Racing car was just a couple meters away from crossing the finish line.

Not again, not again, he thought, adrenaline kicking high in his body as everything in him screamed for him to just do something. 

“Jungkook!” Namjoon's panicked voice echoed in his helmet, the urgency crystal clear in his voice. “Swerve to the right! Now!” 

Jungkook had no time to think, his hands immediately bending the steering wheel to the right, his car abruptly swerving right as the left tire of the Red Bull car detached itself from the vehicle, rolling on the concrete until it hit the perimeter of the track and then rolled back.

The racer inside the car had no time to react as he was pushed to the side, smashing the pedal to the floor to try and stop his car from killing them both. Loud screeching noises were heard all around, but no matter how hard he tried to brake, his car wouldn’t stop until he finally hit the fences at the side.

Inside Jungkook’s helmet, Yoongi’s voice, one of his engineers, called him back to attention. “He’s fine, just keep going. You’ve got Jimin right behind you, the victory is ours.”

Being part of the McLaren team had its perks, like the continuous paid trips and luxury hotels, but its downs too, like having to watch another human being probably in his early 20s being brutally pushed to the side in a scorching hot car with no power to control its direction, while simultaneously having to celebrate your two drivers making it to the finish line first.

It’s in those bittersweet moments, when everyone else seems to be completely unaffected by the repercussions that other people had to live, that you find yourself asking: are we really doing this? Are we really working for a sport that could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds? Is our team’s victory really that important that we hold no shame in celebration when there’s paramedics all around taking care of another man right in front of everyone’s eyes? 

The garage was full of people screaming, hugging, celebrating Jungkook and Jimin’s victory, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to truly participate in the chaotic celebrations, your eyes fixated on the screen monitor filming the rescue mission of the boy inside the car. You knew him, a barely 20 years old boy with too much determination for his own good. You were sure you would see him again on the track soon, even with a concussion, if needed. You understood him, you knew what it meant to have a passion that kept you going even when the only outcome is heading head-first against a wall at full speed. 

“Here are the champions!” Hobi’s voice resonated inside the garage, and more cheers and whistles and clapping rose in a matter of seconds. Jimin and Jungkook came inside, tired, almost limping, slipping their helmets off with a relieved groan, shaking their heads side to side. Towels were handed to them, and you observed silently as they ran them over their sweaty hair. 

Jimin was almost immediately pulled back by Jin, ready to have him talk to the cameras of god knows what channel. But you stayed back, watching as Jungkook soaked in all the congratulations, the compliments, observed as his ego visibly inflated as honey coated words were fed to him, and he swallowed them whole, one by one.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as you diverted your eyes to the screen again. The car was ruined, its rear part wrecked by the impact, but the boy was taken away, at least. The camera slowly panned to the spot where paramedics had him laying on a hospital stretcher, his team surrounding him to ensure privacy while he had a big cut over his temple cleaned and disinfected, probably getting ready to stitch it back together.

“So? No congratulations for me?”

You didn’t register Jungkook’s teasing voice at first, way too immersed into the scene displayed in front of you. “Hey,” he tried again, morphing his voice into something softer, almost careful. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently squeezing you to his body. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse.”

A little hum escaped your lips, not too convinced by his words yet. It was true, you had seen worse before, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking, from worrying. Isn’t that what makes a human being different from an animal? The capacity to doubt, to worry, to be stuck in a moment even when the world keeps spinning and life keeps going on. 

“Okay,” you sighed at the end, shrugging your shoulders like you were trying to shake off the icky feeling off your body. You turned around, smiling softly at Jungkook before wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations, bun”

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, clearly trying to look annoyed, yet failing when he met your smile again. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate,” he announced, grabbing you by your elbow, pulling you in the middle of the chaos, “we’re going to Monaco!”

© voitier 2025

find the introduction post here

[miajooz]

imagining riding vi’s bicep after she comes home from the gym!

warnings ˙⋆✮ honestly you’re both kind of submissive and pathetic, AFAB, masturbation, praise, swearing, reader has a huge fixation on these muscles, and well..riding vi’s bicep messily!

wc ˙⋆✮ 2.8k

vi was a women who enjoyed going to the gym, purely for her own benefits. she wasn’t some sort of gym rat asshole most people assumed she was—just a woman there to have a good time and feel good about herself. and maybe slightly to impress you, she could be quite a show-off.

you were very fond of your girlfriend’s biceps, when you clung onto them or touched them it felt and looked right. like a puzzle in your life you didn’t know you needed the piece to. you liked to squeeze the muscle softly, give her gentle massages, really any excuse you could come up with just to touch them. asking would probably be simpler—but where’s the fun in that!

besides her unfairly sexy face and personality—they were a huge reason why you were attracted to her. they felt right when you’d muffled your moans into them during sex, when you’d kiss them or just hold them while cuddling—they were perfect.

one time in particular, you asked vi if you could ride her bicep. you were both drunk out of your minds, curled up on the couch with the smell of alcohol and something sweet wafting throughout the room. perhaps that was convincing, because you followed through. it was a heated moment. messy, hot, frantic, wet—all of it. but it was so perfect, and vi seemed to get off on it a lot.

after that first time, it became routine. you were both obsessed with it.

usually you’d do it after she got home from the gym, that way her muscles were more prominent—you needed something perfect to grind and get off on! there was also a pain aspect she liked. she’d work out until her biceps felt tender, your added weight was painful but so pleasurable.

this day was no different, vi raced home. the traffic laws were just suggestions!

you were sitting in your shared bedroom on the plush mattress, watching some romance movie you probably had memorized. you were wearing that sweet perfume she liked, the one that practically magnified her to her body. it was a lure you knew always work, and it got you wanted.

that’s because you know what you wanted—you knew she wanted the same thing too. more so when she walked into the house, tossed her gym bag on the ground, and made a b-line straight to you.

you barely had time to look up because she was already on you. she laid you back, burying her face in your neck and panting. you could hear the sheer neediness in her voice, the way her lips trembled against your pulse and soaked up your heart beat in a way that made hers double in speed.

“god, vi. you could at least get yourself a glass of water or something.” you suggested, knowing you’d be ignored the moment you felt her lips on your neck. you could feel her smile against it, nose piercing cold but lovely feeling against your flesh.

vi pulled away for a brief moment, looking at you with those eyes that you always found yourself lost in. so full of meaning and so soulful. “oh, are you worried about me, baby? you should worry about getting that cute ass up and onto my arm.”

you laughed again, “don’t i deserve some love first? you abandoned me for hours.” you complained, legs wrapping around her waist.

vi had a grin on her face, the scar on her lip making it even more special. with gentle care, she placed one hand on your cheek, rubbing it affectionately. she leaned down, peppering small, loving kisses onto your neck. she worked her way up to your ear, breathing heavy in it in a way that made you shiver. “abandoned? oh please, i was gone for a few hours.” she teased, huffing out a laugh into your ear. a small kiss was planted on your cheek softly, her lips staying there for a moment. “but i do love you, dollface.”

there wasn’t much time to respond, not when vi captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. you sighed into the gesture, something between relief and an expression of the arousal sparking south. you wrapped your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss as if you could get any closer. it was a messy kiss, teeth clicking, tongues flicking and swirling around each other—everything you liked and everything she usually delivered.

vi bit your bottom lip, using the fact you gasped to her advantage. she slipped her tongue into your mouth, massaging her tongue against yours. you moaned softly, letting her tongue roll over yours. you felt dizzy, all of your emotions were pouncing on you at once and yet you were stuck in a messy, tongue tying kiss that you didn’t want out of. it didn’t get any neater, you two were practically devouring each other’s lips in a way that just screamed desperate. you wished her tongue was in outer places too.

you felt as she turned her head a bit, her body shuffling above you. she pressed her knee against your clothed cunt firmly, loving the way you moaned into her mouth and tried to grind against it.

eventually, vi pulled away, her lips barely hovering over yours. you could feel her breath on it, the two of you panting after sharing such an intense kiss. she lifted her head up a bit to look you in the eyes, her thumb coming down to wipe a small dribble of saliva off your face. she admired you. god, you were so perfect.

vi pulled away, crawling off you slightly so she was lower down your body. “god, you’re so pretty. my pretty girl.” she said breathlessly, it was clear she was desperate for this. she slid her hands down your body, one finger finding its way towards the waistband of your pajama shorts. she quickly slid them down, eyes immediately locked on your panties. a moan escaped her lips upon seeing how soaked you were, the patch on the cotton made your panties slightly translucent. “so wet. someone’s excited.”

“don’t worry, baby. its all yours, i’m all yours”

she then kissed the patch. kissed it—then just took it off as if it was nothing. you were panting now, face flushed and eyes blown wide.

“i know you look forward to this, i do too.” she murmured, two fingers coming down to trace lazy circles on your clit to stimulate you. but it ended quick, her eyes were just darting between yours and your sopping, wet cunt. she leaned back, scooting you to the side to lay beside you. “come on, baby. put it on me. i know you want it.”

you moaned and nodded in response, looking at her with sultry eyes. you waited hours for this, all day you had been thinking about finally getting to ride her bicep. you sat up, crawling a bit to hover over her arm. you scooted up, one knee pressing against her side and the other near her face. she often liked to kiss the knee that was by her head. you slid the sleeve of her t-shirt up a bit. after all, you wanted to ride her bare skin, nothing could get in the way of something so intimate.

vi couldn’t wait anymore, her eyes were trained on you and slightly widened, pupils dilated in a way that made you feel flattered. she was panting, almost moaning even though nothing was happening yet. the sheer thought and anticipation was what got her going. as well as the sight of your needy face. “i know you need it, baby, you’re a needy girl. you’re gonna start dripping on me so just sit.” she said, her free hand holding your hip and shoving you down onto her waiting muscle.

you immediately pulsed against her bicep, a weak moan leaving your lips from the sudden friction. you both panted there for a minute, vi watching you intently with an enamored expression. a breathy groan left her, her hand rubbing your hip softly. “that’s it, that’s a good girl. god..you look so pretty like that.” vi patted your hip softly “move for me, sweetheart.”

you mindlessly complied, dragging your wet cunt over her toned bicep. you immediately sighed, starting to soak her skin with a humiliating amount of arousal. it was soaking her, a wet clicking and squelching sound resulting from every move of your hips. the layer of slick helped you move your hips faster. “vi..god i love these fucking muscles. a-all for me..” you moaned, adjusting a bit so you could plant your hands down. “did you work hard for me? i-i can tell..”

vi was moaning too, as if she could feel it. your weight on her sore muscles brought her so much pleasure—she didn’t know why. it was the kind of dull, stiff ache that she just wanted to feel loosen. “i know you do, baby. i know. i worked so hard just for you. feel it, just feel it.” she responded huskily, pulling her hand away from your hip and shoving them down her gym shorts instead. her fingers started circling her clit, using the same pace you were using on her arm to get yourself off —as if you were rubbing that wet, pretty pussy on her own. “god, i can’t control myself when you’re looking at me like that. keep those eyes on me, sweetheart—please.”

your hips sped up, mouth falling open to let out pathetic, pornographic whimpers. it wasn’t just the friction, it was the sheer idea of this act. it was so absurd that it made it sexy, but so genius in your eyes. “look at you fuckin’ soaking me. you’re being such a good girl. use my arm, baby. use it.” she groaned, her fingers speeding up with your hips. she looked at the expression on your face and moaned again, softer sounds leaving her at the sheer sight of you.

her fingers slid down her wet cunt, maybe she was almost as wet as you were. two of her digits found themselves prodding at her neglected, waiting hole, barely pushing in. slowly, she thrusted her fingers inside herself and curled them. she moaned out and twitched, the arm you were riding was lifted up a bit and pressed against you further.

that elicited a louder whimper from you, “vi..fuck!” you whined, your hips bucking desperately against the plump muscle like a fucking dog. you watched with weak, mesmerized eyes as she touched herself. all because you were riding her bicep like that, coating it in slick and sliding your aching pussy up and down. you were panting and moaning uncontrollably, both from exhaustion and pleasure. “it feels so good, baby..s-so good..” you said between pants.

vi looked at you, making eye contact as her fingers pumped in and out of her cunt quickly. the combined sound of her squelching pussy and yours was downright sinful. she bit her lip softly, trying to control herself from just worshipping you. “yeah? can you tell me more, please?” she asked, knowing she’d get off on your pathetic, strained voice. not only because it sounded like that, but because you were getting off on her. you were riding her arm and blessing her with your sweet moans and wet slick. “tell me how good it is, tell me your mine—wanna hear it from that sweet voice of yours.”

you moaned in response, nodding mindlessly and trying to hold eye contact. “i love doin’ this..s’just so good.” you gasped, nails digging into the sheets below you. “i don’t ever wanna stop..don’t ever make me stop. please.” you pleaded, knowing you couldn’t hold off an orgasm forever. but you wished it was that way, and you knew she’d stay in that moment forever if she could. “i’m yours, i’m yours! f-fuck..me!”

vi drank up your words like wine, the affect on her was unfair. she pumped her fingers more aggressively, her own moans hard to control and manage. “holy shit..fuck. keep talking baby, come on. keep riding it just like that.” she husked, shivering at the wet slick that kept sloshing between her bicep and your pretty pussy. “god, i love this pussy. i fucking love it. i wish my tongue was inside you—fuck..w-wasting so much on my arm instead of my tongue.”

you whimpered from her words, the sounds a never ending stream of pleasure and messiness. though, you kept talking. “you can clean me up after, baby..i-i can’t stop, s’too good..” you were running out of stamina, but your sheer need to continue kept you going. “never leave me when i’m that needy again..i just wanted to cum on your bicep all day.”

the feeling of her toned muscle against your cunt was absolutely heavenly. the way it seemed to naturally mold for your pussy perfectly needed to be studied. your clit rubbed against her bicep deliciously, every rut of your hips having you weak. your slick was starting to drip down the sides a bit, the reeking made her shiver and groan. “i know, baby. you’re doing so good, promise i’ll take care if you before i go next time. my needy girl.”

unfortunately, vi’s brutal pace on herself was difficult to withstand, she couldn’t push down her orgasm building up and she sure as hell couldn’t slow down. you were in a similar state, the tightening in your abdomen almost made your hips stutter. you were both moaning and panting filthy words to each other, most of which weren’t coherent enough to understand.

“vi, vi..i’m gonna cum!” you cried out, eyes bobbling in place as an attempt to stay locked on hers. your hips were moving frantically against her bicep, desperately needing to feel that release you had been waiting all day for. sure, you took care of yourself through the day—but it just wasn’t the same as this. it wasn’t the same as your pussy on her skin, the closeness you felt was what made it so special. you needed that—you both did.

vi absolutely loved the way you looked, so soft and so desperate. she husked out a deep breath, an embarrassing whimper leaving her at the repeated curl of her fingers. “me too—fuck!” she gasped, the feeling building up to something almost unbearable. “cum on my arm, baby. do it, please just give it to me. i need it, i need it please..”

she was hardly done with her sentence before you finished. “vi, vi, vi!” you chanted as you threw your head back, back arching almost impossibly as you came undone on her bicep. your pussy pulsed against the muscle, clamping around nothing but not needing to. a weak string of whines and whimpers fell from your lips, most in which you’d definitely be embarrassed about later.

vi wasn’t far behind, halfway between one of your whines she came. she pushed her head back against the plush of the mattress, eyes rolling back almost painfully. her whole body reacted, the arm you were riding lifted up again. you were overstimulated, whining and squirming at the feeling.

“t-too much, vi! please i can’t!” you whimpered, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. “i can’t take it, i-i can’t take it!” she didn’t notice at first, only stopping as she felt that relaxed feeling wash over her while you squealed and panted.

vi let her arm rest firmly on the bed, no longer pressing into you. she looked over at you with half lidded eyes, lips parted in a pant that you both seemed to participate in. “sorry, sweetheart. i didn’t mean it.” she husked out between gasps and pants. she broke eye contact with you to look at the aftermath. her bicep was absolutely soaked, juices dripping down the sides and the layer of slick bubbling and webbing against your tired, overwhelmed pussy.

you weakly lifted yourself off her bicep, the sticky webbing never more obvious. it was embarrassing to you, but vi loved it. you laid back, legs slightly spread to avoid absolutely everything getting sticky.

vi looked at her slick bicep against, leaning to the side and licking a long strip up it—cleaning all the slick and wetness you left there for her. her tongue lapped at it desperately, groaning at the feeling of your arousal on her tongue.

you watched in awe—she hadn’t done that before. but..you loved it. “fuck, baby..” you watched with slight embarrassment and astonishment, eyes trained on the way she lapped at her bicep to drink up anything she could get.

after a bit, she stopped. she panted, licking her lips and wiping her mouth. vi looked over at you and smiled tenderly, the eye contact could only be described as thoughtful.

“spread your legs a little bit, i’ll actually clean you up.”

credits to my wife for the bicep photo

tags!! <333 @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @usuck @haithone @yunaversalluv @smaugayra @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @sewithinsouls @pariiissssssss @aliselune @myla-wyla @nattakasuperlesbian @xiletay @sawaagyapong @ellies-real-wife @lostdecisions @liddyflyer @talyaisvalslutsoldier @dustandpearls @vicluvsu @urmomssideh0e

[jaesblogstuff]

The Lines I Crossed For You

Happy (early) father’s day i guess LOL. I might write something a little better, best fit for the occasion.

Simon’s been divorced six years.

She left without a fight — just said she was tired of a man who worked too much and smiled too little.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t chase. Just stood in the kitchen while the door shut behind her. Since then he’s been steady. Alone.

Liam —his only continuation of Riley blood, his son — moved in after burning through money and excuses. Said he was trying. Said he’d “try and get back on his feet” Simon didn’t ask. Just gave him a room. A second chance.

But he knew the truth. Liam wasn’t trying. He was coasting. Still a boy in a man’s world.

And then you came along.

At first, just weekends. Then overnights, shifts too long, Liam too distracted to show up. You were always moving. Always tired. Always giving.

Simon saw it all. Quietly. Every forgotten pickup. Every brushed-off look. And the way you stayed anyway. He knew that lingering in the doorway, cooking for you, waiting up even when you didn’t ask. It was too much. But there was a point where watching became unbearable.

He told himself to stay out of it.

But tonight? He can’t, He wouldn’t.

⸻

It’s almost 11 p.m. when you show up. No text. No call.

You hadn’t planned to really. You’d finished a 14-hour shift, head splitting, feet throbbing, too exhausted to go home. You’d asked Liam to pick you up — just this once — and when he didn’t answer, you sat in your car with your keys in your hand and your chest tight with something between shame and fury. Simon’s house was closer than your apartment. That’s the only reason you came. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

He opens the door in sweatpants, barefoot, hair a mess, face unreadable — and the moment his eyes land on yours, something in you buckles. You’re not okay. And he sees it. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmur. “Just… need a quick crash.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just steps aside. “You’re here,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

You walk in. He doesn’t ask questions. Just takes the bags and load from your hands, sets them gently on the counter, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. You swallow and glance toward the hallway. “Is Liam here?”

Simon’s jaw shifts, barely, but you catch it. “He left a few hours ago,” he says. “Went out with friends, I think. Didn’t say much.” A pause. Then quieter, “Haven’t seen him since before dinner.”

You nod once, like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting.

“I called him… three times,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Guess he forgot.” You rub your hands over your face, the fatigue crashing down all at once. “I can go… if this is weird. I don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Simon’s voice is low, firm. “You’re staying. Sit down.”

You do. Not because you’re told, but because for once, it feels like someone means it.

He places a warm mug in front of you — tea from the pot he made not long ago. You wrap your hands around it like it’s the only heat you have left. He sits across from you, watching you sip. “Rough day?”

You nod. “I don’t even know what happened. Just… non-stop. Four admits. One code. Everyone short-staffed again.”

You shrug lightly, stare into your cup. “It’s whatever.”

Simon watches you a long moment, his eyes careful, searching. “And Liam?”

You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh — hollow. “Didn’t show. Again. I waited outside the hospital like a fucking idiot for fifteen minutes before I gave up.”

The silence that follows is thick — not awkward, just loaded. Something in Simon snaps. Not loudly. Not violently. Just… breaks.

“I’ve watched you give him everything,” Simon murmurs, voice low and sharp. “And I’ve watched him give you nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not love.”

You blink hard. Swallow. “I don’t want pity.”

“You think this is pity?” he says, eyes locked to yours.

Then, softer, steadier. “I don’t look at you and see someone weak. I see someone who’s been strong for too long.”

His hand finds your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles.

“I’d give you everything if you let me. Every minute. Every drop. Just to watch you breathe easier.”

Your throat tightens. Something inside you splinters. You’re tired. Spent. But right now — right here — you’re also seen. Not just as someone who’s holding it together. But someone worth being held.

And Simon? He’s still waiting. Still giving you room.

“I don’t want to think,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I will.”

Then you nod, barely a movement, and say, “Yes.”

⸻

He fucks you like someone who’s had years to imagine it.

Because he has.

Celibacy might as well have been stitched into the collar of his shirts — not by choice, but by the kind of quiet, aching resignation that comes from too many years of going untouched. No one since his wife.

And not once does he rush.

He undresses you slowly, reverently. Like your body is something to earn. His hands are warm and a little rough from yardwork and tools, but his touch is gentle. Intentional. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. Your collarbone. The skin just beneath your navel.

He doesn’t move to tease. He worships. When his mouth finds your thighs, you’re already trembling.

His tongue circles your clit. Soft, controlled, devastating, and the moan that leaves your throat is so quiet it startles you. It’s the kind of sound you don’t mean to make. The kind that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone really knows what they’re doing.

“Please,” you whisper, hips twitching, too gone to be embarrassed.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you first.”

Two fingers slide into you — slow, deep — and the groan he lets out is nearly broken. Like he’s mourning all the days he didn’t get to touch you like this.

His mouth doesn’t stop. And neither does your unraveling. You writhe under him, hand fisting the sheets, tears pricking at your lashes from how tender it all is. He doesn’t stop until you break — gasping, breathless, your back arching and legs shaking as you come hard against his mouth.

Only then does he rise, chest heaving, and kiss you like he’s starved. And then, just before he sinks inside you, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice rough and trembling

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Simon says, his voice low and raw against your shoulder. “To have someone like you. Someone so strong, so fucking hardworking, and beautiful, and kind — and just… look away. To not show up for you.”

“If you were mine—”

He stops himself. Shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear it. Like the thought hurts too much to say out loud.

But you feel it. You need it.

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Say it.”

His throat works around the words. And when they come, they’re not smooth — they’re wrecked.

“I’d never stop touching you,” he says, voice cracking. “I’d never stop showing you. Every day. That you’re wanted. That you’re seen. That you’re safe. That you deserve it. All of it.”

You let out a broken sound, a breath that turns into a moan because the way he says it is what finishes you.

Not the touch. Not the friction. Him.

When he finally pushes in — slow, thick, achingly deep — the sound that leaves your mouth is a strangled cry.

“Oh my god—Simon—”

He groans, low and guttural. His hands grip your hips, firm but careful. “That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me give it to you. Let me fucking have you.”

You nod wildly, mouth open, no words left. Your moans are quiet, breathy, raw. Real. They spill out of you like confessions. Like relief.

Simon moves slow — deliberate — each stroke heavy and deep, angled just right to drag a new gasp from your throat. His eyes never leave your face. His hands never stop touching.

It’s not just sex. It’s reverence. It’s grief. It’s a man making up for all the years he didn’t believe he’d ever get to feel this again.

It’s a man giving you everything his son never even thought to.

“You’re so full,” you whimper.

“You deserve it,” he breathes against your mouth. “Deserve to be filled until you can’t think.”

And when you come again, harder this time, your whole body clenched and trembling, he fucks you through it with nothing but praise:

“Good girl.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there — still buried inside — holding you like he’s terrified the moment might vanish if he lets go.

Later, when your breathing slows and the room fades to a quiet hum, Simon wraps his arms around you from behind. Anchors you to him. Then softer, at your temple: “Sleep.”

And for the first time in a long, long time — you do.

(i don’t know what i was thinking oh my goodness i’m sorry)

[jjscrybaby]

omg i’m obsessed with bsf!jj 😭🩷 i actually need more of this: “Your classmates didn’t understand what you were to each other, you’d say you were best friends but then you’d be sat in his lap with him kissing your neck for the majority of a kegger.” like maybe these type of moments between them before they got together? you write them so well!!

just friends

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirting, mention of JJ’s childhood, perv!jj, jealous!jj, maybe a little sexual.

a/n: this was soooo fun to write! if anyone would like a part 2 and/or has any ideas to add to it lmk, i luv bsf!jj <333

bsf!jj masterlist

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

keggers.

The world around you was starting to spin, that lost vodka shot had done it’s job and you knew that you were in need of a break. Everyone that was further than three feet away from you were blurry little dots, your eyes narrowed as you tried to find your friends in the swarm of people. You spotted John B first, letting out a sigh of relief as you stumbled over to the log he was sat on. You now could see Sarah, sat beside him with her head on his shoulders and her eyes closed; she’d always been the biggest lightweight. You didn’t want to interrupt, but God was on your side when a familiar blonde plopped down onto the other log.

“Jayj,” you beamed. It had been awhile since you’d last seen him, an hour or two at least, that just always seemed to happen at these things.

“Hey, babydoll,” he greeted, looking up at you as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “You havin’ a good time?”

“The best.” There was plenty of space beside him, or even on the log that John B and Sarah were sat on, but you decided that the most appealing seat was his lap.

He chuckled as you sat down, hand wrapping around your waist to steady you as the other moved to rub your lower-thigh. “Had a few shots, huh?”

“Just a few,” you murmured, smiling at him. You watched as he lit his cigarette, stealing it from his hold after he’d taken two pulls.

“A please would be nice,” he smirked, hand continuing to rub circles into your skin. You just shrugged, handing it back after you’d had enough.

“Missed you,” you murmured, shifting to get comfier; he let out a slight groan.

“Mhm, missed you too, baby,” he replied, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck. Goosebumps ran over your arms; it was the coldness, it had nothing to do with the way he started to pepper kisses down your neck and to your collarbone.

“A live sex show? Lovely,” Pope deadpanned, appearing from thin air and sitting down beside John B.

Your cheeks flushed red, but all JJ did was smirk as he carried on with what he was doing. “Can’t a man love on his best friend?” He asked, lifting his head slightly; you had the urge to whine at him to keep going.

John B snorted, looking down into his cup. Ever since you guys were kids he’d known there was something different about the two of yours relationship. You didn’t look at him the same way you looked at JJ, and JJ definitely didn’t spend Keggers kissing all over his neck.

“Wanna head home soon?” JJ murmured, words meant just for you. It was never clear how these things would end — whether it would be him leaving with you or another girl for the night.

Home didn’t mean separately, he meant to your home. Usually your parents just assumed that JJ would be in your bed the morning after you’d gone out.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you whispered back.

You ignored your friends knowing looks as the pair of you took off up the beach, his arm still wrapped around your waist and your heart still fluttering pathetically in your chest.

christmas

Every year you woke your parents up at the crack of dawn, it didn’t matter that you were definitely too old to be doing such a thing; you loved Christmas. Your alarm went off at 7am, just like usual, and you excitedly sat up. You tried to get up, but an arm wrapped around you and tugged you back down.

“What’re you doing?” You whined, looking down at the smirking blonde. His eyes were still closed, face smushed into the cushion.

“Gettin’ my beauty sleep, just like you should be,” he murmured back.

“It’s Christmas, JJ,” you argued, trying to escape from his firm grip — the more you fought the tighter it got. “Okay, I can’t breathe.”

He chuckled, blinking sleepily as he opened his eyes. “It’s early, baby. Just a bit longer, yeah? Didn’t get to sleep until three.”

“Because we were watching Christmas movies,” you reminded with a pout.

It was no surprise that JJ didn’t care for Christmas, or any holidays really. The only presents he ever got were from your family and John B’s, he never decorated the tree or watched Elf with a cup of hot chocolate. His Christmas days were like any other day; babysitting his hungover dad and watching cartoons. Now though, he wasn’t in his house. He was in yours, and you did things differently.

“Don’t you want to open your presents?” You tried to persuade, leaning down so your face was only a few inches from his. Even though your parents also didn’t have a ton of money, they’d made sure to get JJ gifts every year; even more this year now that he was celebrating with you.

He smirked, making you blush slightly. “Does my present involve you bein’ this close to me all damn day? ‘Cause if so, yes.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, although a small smile made its way through.

“You ain’t good at bargaining,” he teased. “Just another hour, yeah? The presents will still be there when we get up. I’m sure your parents will throw a damn party if you don’t wake them up so early.”

“But—” his hand covered your mouth, making you pout.

“No buts. Lie down, close your eyes, I’m tired,” he argued, manhandling you until you were laid on your side. He threw his arm around your waist and tugged you backwards so your back was flush against his chest. “Sleep.”

Maybe an extra hour wouldn’t be so bad.

dates

“C’mon, you’re not serious.” He was whining, a line between his eyebrows from how hard he was frowning. You’d already told everyone else that you wouldn’t be able to make movie night, but you knew that telling JJ would be difficult.

“Jayj, it’s one night. It’s not the end of the world, you’ll still have everyone else,” you huffed, sitting next to him on the couch.

“It’s just— it’s shitty! You shouldn’t cancel on us just to go have sex.” The most hypocritical thing he’d ever said. JJ had cancelled on your guys hundreds of times to go hang out with a girl.

“First of all, don’t even go there because you know I’ll win. Secondly, I’m not going to have sex! I got asked on a date,” you argued, gently kicking his thigh.

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. “Fine, go on the stupid date.”

You weren’t asking for his permission, and you would have said as much if you wanted to start an argument. But, you didn’t. This was the best you were going to get. “Thankyou.” You leant over and kissed his cheek.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Thursday night rolled around and you went on your date, within ten minutes you were regretting your decision. Kooks weren’t your type, but when Kyle had walked into the restaurant you worked at and asked for your number he’d seemed charming. You figured you’d give him a shot. Turns out, he was only charming before he got the girl — afterwards, he was downright disgusting.

He spent the night talking about himself; his wealth, his friends, his gym routine. He didn’t ask much about you, and when he did the questions didn’t sit right with you. What’s it like living on the Cut? How many guys come into your work and ask you out? Hey, isn’t that JJ Maybank guy your friend? The list went on, and by the time he’d paid the bill you were falling asleep.

“You want to come back to my place?” You didn’t even say goodbye, just turned around and walked away.

He’d picked you up after work — you’d had to change in the tiny cubicles of the bathroom — so you didn’t have a ride home. You could either walk forty minutes in the dark, or you could swallow your pride and call the one person you knew would come and pick you up.

JJ pulled up next to you fifteen minutes later, he leant across the console and pushed open the door for you. You sighed, climbed in and glared at him. “Don’t say a word.”

He held his hands up in surrender, turning the van around to head back home. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Don’t lie,” you grumbled under your breath.

“That bad, huh?” He sounded genuinely sympathetic, but you could also hear the smugness; you couldn’t really blame him, you felt the same every time he cut off a girl once he got bored.

“Yeah, that bad,” you admitted with a sigh, running a hand over your face.

He just nodded, reaching over to squeeze your thigh comfortingly; his hand rested there. “You look pretty.” You’d tried to dress up, borrowing one of Kiara’s dresses that her mom kept buying her.

“Thank you,” you said softly, giving him a shy smile.

“No worries,” he winked. “So, no second date?”

“As if,” you muttered.

“Naw, who cares? You got me, you don’t need a boyfriend.”

hauls

JJ was bored out of his mind. He’d been sat on your bed for the last half an hour whilst you showed him new outfits from the clothes that Sarah had gifted you. He thought he was going to at least get to watch you undress, but you kept making him close his eyes.

“Okay, open!” You ordered. He opened his mouth to complain, ready to tell you he was bored and he wanted to go out, the words died on the tip of his tongue as he looked at you.

You were wearing a white bikini, thong bottoms and a triangle top; leaving hardly anything to the imagination. “Holy shit,” he blurted out.

“Like it?” You giggled, turning around to look at yourself in the mirror; giving him the perfect view of your ass.

“Jesus Christ, you’re trying to kill me,” he muttered, hands growing sweaty.

“Is that a yes?” You teased.

“Is that a yes? You look sexy as fuck, baby. I legit want to take a picture,” he responded, no shame whatsoever.

Your cheeks heated up, stomach fluttering at the thought of you giving him his own private photo shoot. “Perv.”

“Just for you,” he winked. “That’s, by far, my favourite outfit of the day.”

“I think there’s one that’s the same but in red,” you murmured, reaching for the bag to try and find it.

He grabbed a pillow, placing it over his lap as he nodded his head; trying to act nonchalant. “Let’s have a look at that one.”

[bluehourbucky]

Impulsive

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: youre known for doing something impulsive from time to time but this might be your best decision yet

a/n: had a neurodivergent reader in mind I know my adhd had me make some impulsive decisions haha

I wish I knew how to write smut🥲 tho this is might just be the filthiest dirtiest thing I've ever written

warnings: kitty eating, hard sex, lots of come, possessive bucky, squirting

bucky masterlist

~~~~~

Bucky gets worried when he's on a mission for a long time, he knows you're going to be okay but he also knows your adhd is unpredictable. He just hopes you don't run out of your meds or forget to take them.

"I'll be fine Buck, besides it's only 3 weeks you'll be back in no time!"

His hands are around your waist holding you close as you play with his hair looking at him like he hung the sun moon and the stars.

"I know, doll. Just I'll miss you and please take your meds. Last time I was gone for over a week you adopted a cat."

You laugh fondly

"You love that cat with your whole being, I see nothing wrong with that."

However true that is it was still crazy since neither of you had any idea how to care for a cat.

"Mhmm, and that time I was gone for two weeks you repainted our kitchen, actually half of it because you didn't like the color and just left it that way."

Bucky smiles softly at your eye roll.

"Well in my defense, at least I didn't paint all of it!" you say and smile

He can't help the pure joy that overwhelms him, he is so in love with you that he might actually explode.

"Fine, but if anything happens please call you have the emergency phone number."

"Relax nothing will happen! You dont need to worry!" you kiss him good bye and send him on his way.

And Bucky believes you, again.

~

"Okay maybe he was right to be worried."

"Huh?"

your tattoo artist looks up from her spot and lifts the tattoo gun.

"Ah nothing just talking to myself."

The tattoo is over in less than 20 minutes and this one might be the one with least amount of thinking through. You have a few tattoos and not all of them were thought through or meaningful.

But this one takes the cake.

Your tattoo artist put on her story how a client cancelled and she had a free spot and if the tattoo is small it would be cheap. So in your mind it was only logical to leave work and go straight to the studio.

there on your pelvis, on the left side near the hip lays in cursive three letters.

jbb.

You look at it in the mirror and you honestly love it. It's beautiful, it looks like it was always meant to be there.

Your artist gives you instructions how to care for it and you pay and leave.

Bucky left two days ago and in that short time you had gotten a tattoo, his initials.

Days pass and each day you look at the tattoo and admire it. Its cute and it makes you feel hot, and like Bucky owns you now. And the horniness is getting out of hand. All you can think about is Bucky and how when he enters you he'll have perfect view that you're marked.

It's torture waiting for Bucky to come home, it usually is but this time you can't stop hyperfixating on what his reaction will be.

The day before he's supposed to come home, you are filled with anxiety and the excitement had died down. Because what if he hates it, what if he thinks it's weird or what if hes superstitious and thinks you'll break up because couples break up very soon after getting their partners name tattooed.

And its finally midnight and Bucky is going to be home soon and you don't know what to do with yourself. You can't sleep, you look at the clock and its almost 2am, you've been turning for hours.

2:15am

you hear doorhandle shake, and doors opening and closing, not Buckys steps though he's too quiet. You do however hear meowing.

"shh alpine, mommy is sleeping"

"Or not.." Bucky says as he opens the door to your shared bedroom, he sees you sitting up in bed, looking at your phone and when you see him you stand up and almost knock him over with the force you jumped in his arms.

"I missed you so much. And I love you!"

He smiles into your neck hugging you tighter.

"Love you more."

When you let go Buckys instantly worried because you have that look in your eyes when you do something impulsive, and try to tell him not to freak out.

"Don't look at me like that! It's not bad! At least I don't think it is?"

God Bucky never knew he would love someone as much as he loves you.

"Alright, hit me." he's not mad, he couldn't be, you do however keep him on his toes.

"Okay close your eyes." and he does.

"Oh this definitely isn't bad." Bucky says when he hears the rustling of clothes, your shorts falling on the floor.

"Okay now." you peck his lips and step away.

Buckys a little confused, since you stand there in just his shirt and he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He sees you playing with the hem of the shirt lifting it just enough so it's over your tummy.

"Take them off. Slowly."

Buckys confused but he doesn't need to be told twice, he takes a step closer and takes the band of your panties, and slowly starts pulling them down.

Bucky freezes as soon as he sees the tattoo, he just looks at it in shock.

"I can always cover it up of you hate it."

Bucky looks up and his eyes are two shades darker, he looks like hes about to devour you.

"Youre not covering anything up." he almost growls.

In seconds you're thrown on the bed, the shirt gets ripped and discarded somewhere on the floor as do your panties.

Bucky is breathing hard, he's overcome with some primal desire, and possessiveness that he never experienced before.

He doesn't give you a moment before his tongue gets buried deep in your pussy, his hands holding your thighs apart. You're holding for dear life onto the bedsheets with one hand and the other in Buckys hair.

The way he's eating you is sinful, the wet sounds from your pussy are pornographic.

"Oh god buckyyyy!" You moan as you cum but that doesn't make him stop, he eats you like a man starved.

Only when you come a third time does he detach himself. And its the hottest thing youve ever seen.

His eyes are clouded with lust, his beard and lips coated in your release. He takes off everything off of him in seconds.

"Fuck baby. Gonna fuck you so hard."

Bucky doesn't give you a chance to reply as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Shit so fucking thight. Fuck look at my pretty pussy taking me so well, fucking own this pussy its all mine."

"All your Bucky, baby please fuck me please, so good, so big. Mhrittheee." you babble your words slurred incoherent.

Its rare for Bucky not to keep eye contact, but right now all he can focus on is the three letters, he genuinely can't have any coherent thoughts except.

Mine. Mine. All mine.

"Fuck baby girl m' close."

He thrusts into you with all he has, bed started creaking, and thudding against the wall (mind you you have a huge king size bed that's heavy af). Buckys fucking you into tomorrow and you come two more times before he does.

"Yes baby just another one give me another one please."

and as you come the final time so does he you can feel all of him everywhere, he continues fucking into you chasing his orgasm.

"Fuck baby, can't stop coming."

you feel your tummy bloat from his release.

It takes him a few moments to stop.

"Shit, I've never come so hard." Bucky says as he looks at the fluids coming out of you when he exits you. He crashes next to you and pulls you to his chest.

"Hey baby you there?"

you turn eyes unfocused your hair sticking to your neck tears and sweat on your cheeks.

You open your lipts to reply but words just won't come, so you just give him a thumbs up.

Bucky stands up and you lift your arms to call him back but he just laughs and kisses your head. He's back a few moments later with a bottle of water and a wet towel. You can see he cleaned himself a bit first.

"Oh baby you're a mess." he gently cleans you up and helps you drink some water through a straw.

He settles next to you , with your head on his chest, as he stroaks your hair.

"You did so well baby, such a good girl for me"

"So you like it?"

Bucky looks at you with a face that says "are you serious right now?"

"Might have fucked you senseless, but apparently I haven't fucked the brat out of you."

"Nope! You could never!"

"You're cocky for someone who can't even stand up right now." Bucky smirks and his hands wonder down to your folds but you're quick to grab them.

"NO BUCKY IM SORRY." your voice laced with panic.

"Ah not so fearless now."

a few moments pass.

"Perks of having a girlfriend with adhd is you get surprised in the best ways!"

"You're gonna be the death of me."

"You love me."

"Yeah I do now go to-

***snore***

sleep."

Bucky sighs with content, and falls asleep not long after you.

~~~

and i oop take me to horny jail ty very much.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sam monroe x f!reader

FLUFF .°˖`

"Okay. Stand still man.”

SAM MONROE had been crouched down on the living room rug for over ten minutes. His legs started to feel the effect of it after first seconds; sn uncomfortable, shooting pain going right to his knees. Yet, he kept himself be still like some stupid statue. He bit down at the corner of his mouth in concentration,.adjusting the little clip that secured the micro cam beneath Vinnie’s sunhat. It was a cheap lil spy cam from eBay that barely worked, but Sam had rigged it with duct tape, wire and a hot glue gun he borrowed from his mom's drawer. Anything for this moment. Sam watched too many short videos of little shits running around with the lil camera filming their faces from this weird yet funny angle.

“Alright,” Sam mumbled, giving the cap a tug to center the lens. “It’s all set up. You ready to film the most amazing documentary of the decade?”

“Yeth.” he mumbled between the bite from his rice puff

Vincent had no idea what he agreed to.

“Perfect,” Sam muttered and gently twisted him around by his shoulders. “Go! Go live your little life!” Vincent didn’t need more than that. He took off wobbling towards the backyard, an absolute cutesy expression of his little face appearing on the screen of the camera.

“HIII!!” Vincent screamed into the wind at absolutely nothing. Then camera tilted. There was a quick shot of his own nostrils. He stumbled. Regained balance. Spun in a circle and clapped. It looked like found footage from Baby Cloverfield.

All day long, that camera captured every stupidly adorable thing he did. A 2-minute stretch of him chasing a butterfly with all the gasping of a little kid. There was also a 45 seconds of him staring deeply at a patch of moss. A sudden intermission where he peed his pants, screaming «da pickle» with «thammy» going in between. Sam kind of destroyed the next five minutes. And the last solid 10 minutes were of vinnie talking to a rock..

Hours later, when Vinnie was already sleeping deep in his bed, when Sam's family household was all quiet and dark, he took you to watch the at least eight hour video of your son just..living. You were snuggly sitting next to him in your shared bed, all curled up in his hoodie, under the thin material of the summer's blanket.

Sam was extremely invested in watching. There was nothing that could tear him away from the bright blue screen. Time to time your eyes moved to his side profile, and each time, you'd see his lips twitch upwards in what you swore was the softest smile of Sam Monroe.

But god forbid you unlock your phone when it buzzed. He immediately shot you a disapproved expression.

“...Are you serious right now?”

“Babe I’m listening I just—”

“Wow. No, that’s crazy. That’s actually insane.” he paused the video like you just insulted his firstborn child to his face. Which. Technically. You kinda did. In his mind.

“I understand its a baby POV video but he was looking at ants for six minutes straight!”

“Yeah. That’s the point. It’s called observation, babe. Look it up. Maybe then you'd understand the beauty of what's before your eyes”

You tried to hold back a laugh, but as soon as Sam saw how your lips twitched, he already turned the laptop slightly away from you in the most passive-aggressive dramatic move ever “Fine. You don’t deserve to see what he does next. You don’t get to witness the strawberry part. The ant carries it away and it’s symbolic. But go ahead. Check TikTok or whatever.”

“Samuel.”

“No. Go ahead, go look at your little phone. While your son gets to be an actor."

"C'mon, please..I was just joking" you put your phone away "look, I no longer have it. All my attention is on the amazing video that was made thanks to you"

"Save it."

Although it took only five seconds for him to cave in because he simply couldn't help himself to lean in and whisper-

“...Okay but look how he claps. Like actually watch this part. Look.”

BUNNY'S TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyles @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl @fredswrite @mvst4far @alealuvshayden @kandralice @prettiestmini @loliskywalker @amiratheangel

[bigbigpushes]

Baby Moon Surprise

Booking their baby moon for two weeks before Sophie was due, was a risk, both she and her wife, Mia had known that. but Sophie had been convinced that everything would be fine, first babies often came late after all, there would be no need to worry. So they had set off for a cabin by the beach in a small seaside village, the nearest hospital over an hour away.

The first few days and gone exactly to plan, they had spent their time strolling along the sand, enjoying the ocean waves and making love beneath the stars on the balcony each night. The balcony was where Sophie found herself now, hips swaying back and forth as she tried to convince herself that the very regular contractions she had been feeling since lunch were simply more braxton hicks. “Just wait until we get home kiddo.” She whispered to her belly, hands cradling the swell that had been sitting low in her pelvis for longer than she would like to admit. Her plea was answered by the cramping of her muscles squeezing her uterus, her head tipping back as she groaned in frustration.

“We could leave now, make it to the hospital.” Mia said softly as she joined her wife, wishing she could be surprised when Sophie shook her head. “No. This could still be a false alarm. And the owner did say this would be a great place to give birth.” Their sweet little seaside cabin seemed to be a hot spot for baby moons, the listing even mentioning that quite a few had been delivered there, something Sophie was realising she wouldn’t mind. “We could stay. Have the baby here.” Sophie said, a little more confident now. “Think about it, Mia. This place is peaceful, all our checks have been good and you’re a midwife, we can do this.” She looked to her wife, almost pleading to stay, she knew the cabin had supplies for this very event, she wanted to stay.

Mia was apprehensive to say the least, but knowing her wife was stubborn, and that they had already been planning a home birth in their townhouse in the city, she could only agree. “Okay. Okay. But if anything feels off, we’re going.” She insisted, laughing as Sophie squealed happily, pulling her in for a quick kiss.

For the next few hours Sophie rested as the contractions grew closer and stronger. They were strolling across the stand just outside their place, hand in hand when she suddenly stopped, a frown on her face as she felt a trickle begin from between her legs. “I think my waters is leaking.” She told Mia, shifting on her feet uncomfortably. “We should get back upstairs so I can check you.” Mia squeezed Sophie’s hand before leading her back inside the cabin.

Once inside, Sophie rid herself of her bathing suit and cover up, lying naked on the bed and breathing through a contraction as she waited for her wife. I’ll be quick. This may be a little uncomfortable.” Mia said softly once the pain passed, gently inserting her fingers. “You’re at a seven.” There was a smile on her face as Sophie looked at her, excited to meet their baby.

She didn’t bother to get redressed, pacing around the cabin as her labour progressed. “Ohhh, oh ohhh.” She groaned through the pain, more of her waters leaking out. She was down to four minutes between contractions and she was anxious to finally hold their baby. The pain passed and Sophie found herself slipping her hand between her legs, pressing gently against her vulva, feeling the way she was opening, a jolt running through her as she brushed against her clit.

Another hour passed and Sophie welcomed each pain, each squeeze as they got closer to the end. “Can we go outside?” She asked Mia softly, the sun was setting and she was desperate to be beneath the stars. “And…” she bit her lip, a little nervous about her request, “will you touch me?” She had enjoyed that jolt earlier, and desperately wanted more, her face flushing at the thought. “Of course, my love.” Mia took her hand and brought her out onto the balcony. Sophie braced her hands against the railing, leaning back against her wife as Mia’s hands gently explored her body. They had discussed this before, ways to distract her through labour and Mia was more than happy to help.

With her eyes closed, Sophie focused on her wife’s hands, now caressing her belly as it tightened through another contraction, she groaned through it, the pain building each time, as did the pressure with in her. It passed and she gasped as Mia’s hand slipped between her legs, gently rubbing her clit, she found herself rocking against her fingers.

It snuck up on her, the next contraction, coming hard and fast. “Shit, shit! Ahh, hhhhnnnnngh!” She gasped at the shock of the intensity of the pain, her knees bending, her body desperately wanting to squat as the pain turned into undeniable pressure. “Check me!” Sophie insisted as the pain passed, the pressure remaining in her hips. Mia didn’t waste any time, eyes widening in surprise. “Baby is just about to enter the birth canal, you’re fully dilated. Push when you’re ready.”

Sophie could only nod, barely hearing the words whispered in her ear as her wife ran inside to get everything they needed. As the tell tale signs of another contraction began to build, she squatted down, grasping the railing for support, looking out at the oceans waves as she gave into the need to push. With a loud groan, she pushed, feeling the head move further down, “one, two, three, four…” she counted in her mind until the contraction let up.

Mia soon return, sliding behind her and settling a mirror where Sophie could see. She spent the next few contractions working to bring the baby further down, watching in the mirror as she began to open. “There’s hair!” She exclaimed excitedly when after many attempts, the head didn’t recede when she stopped pushing. There was barely thirty seconds between contractions, Sophie pushing again quickly as she delivered the head.

Her hands reach down to support it, as Mia checked to make sure all was clear. Sophie had barely got the go ahead before she needed to push again, their daughter born into her mother’s hands. Tears were falling down both of their cheeks, the two of the, both laughing as Sophie almost fell onto her bottom, baby clutched to her chest. “Welcome to the world, kiddo! We’re so happy you’re here!”

[dontmakemebabyblue]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟏

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Tw: mild age gap (reader is 20ish Ghost is 37ish) kidnapping/abduction, psychological trauma? (if i miss anything let me know! I'm still new to this🥲 lol)

The van slows, and the shift in momentum drags you out of a thin, dreamless sleep. Your neck aches from the angle you’ve been slumped in. For a moment, you forget where you are—until you see him.

He sits behind the wheel. His posture looks a little more relaxed than before. Well, as much as a man like him can look relaxed. He hasn’t taken off the skull mask, not even to drive. It glows faintly in the gray light bleeding through the windshield.

“Where are we?” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.

He glances back, eyes unreadable. “Temporary stop. Southside Apartments. One of ours.”

You rub your face and look out the window as the SUV creeps into a back lot: grimy brick buildings, sagging balconies, satellite dishes hanging at odd angles. A rusted-out swing set in a patch of yellowed grass. The kind of place no one chooses to be but just ends up in.

“Cozy,” you mutter.

Ghost parks the van. “Nobody will look for a princess in places like this.”

You try not to let your irritation at his little jab show on your face. You want to bite back, but you're just too damn exhausted.

Why does it matter what he thinks, anyway?

He steps out, circles around, and opens your door with a soft click. Night air rushes in—cool and damp.

You go to climb out of your seat, and you must be in worse shape than you initially thought, because your knees give out as soon as you try to stand. You would’ve fallen on your face if a large arm hadn’t shot out and caught you around the middle. Ghost holds you until you find your footing again.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice low, almost gentle. “Let’s go.”

You follow him across the cracked pavement, hoodie pulled low over your face. Your legs are shaky, the ground uneven, and every sound—a barking dog, a slammed door—sends your nerves twitching. But Ghost moves ahead like it’s just another Tuesday. One step in front, always scanning.

Apartment 2C sits at the end of a narrow hallway on the second floor. He unlocks the door with a key from his vest, pushes it open, and nods for you to go in.

You hesitate.

It smells like old cigarettes and Pine-Sol. The walls are bare. A mattress lies on the floor in one room, a wobbly table with two chairs in the kitchen. It isn’t anything special, but it’s empty.

Safe.

For now, at least.

“You’ve got two hours,” Ghost says, pulling a duffel bag from under the sink. “Shower, change, eat. Then we move.”

Too tired to argue, you just nod. “Hot water, or is that asking too much?”

His eyes twitch just a little—irritation or amusement, you can't tell. “You’ll live.”

The bathroom is small, a little depressing, but it does have hot water. And that’s enough.

You stand under the stream longer than you need to, letting it rinse away the dirt, the fear, the stink of the motel. A few tears slip down before you can stop them. Your knees wobble.

You haven’t let yourself fall apart. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

When you step out, clean clothes wait on the sink. Simple: jeans, dark tee, hoodie, clean socks. You hadn’t heard him come in.

That should bother you more than it does.

You chalk it up to shock.

Dressed and towel-drying your hair with a threadbare cloth, you walk into the kitchen. On the table sits a protein bar, a water bottle, and a burner phone still in its plastic wrap.

“For you,” Ghost says, still by the window, peering through the cracked blinds. Arms crossed. Mask still on.

“You stand like a statue,” you say, voice hoarse. “Creepy, by the way.”

“Habit,” he replies.

You lean against the doorframe, folding your arms. “Do you ever take that thing off?”

“Not around people I don’t trust.”

Fair enough.

There’s a silence—awkward, hovering. You break it.

“Thanks. For getting me out.”

He turns, finally. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not out of the woods.”

You gesture toward the window. “Anyone out there?”

“No. But that can change.”

You must flinch, because his tone shifts.

“That’s yours now.” He taps the burner phone. “Use it only in an emergency. Do not contact anyone you know.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you slide it into your pocket. You’ve done this once before—starting over. But doing it again? Your bones ache just thinking about it.

“Get some rest if you can,” he says. “We’ve got a long drive ahead. Next stop’s two states out.”

You linger in the doorway. “How long until we stop running?”

He hesitates. “You’re not going back to your old life. Might as well get used to that.”

You study him. “How long until we get somewhere… permanent?”

He doesn't answer right away.

“You’re not going back to your old life. Might as well get used to that now,” he says quietly.

You stare at him. “And what about you? You’re just going to keep running?”

He meets your eyes. Something flickers—sharp, intense. Like he sees more than you’re ready to show.

“I stop when the job’s done.”

“And when’s that, exactly?”

“When every threat is… neutralized,” he says finally.

“This isn’t just a rescue mission,” he adds. “This is a message.”

“Message?” you ask.

“They don’t get to touch what’s ours.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you turn and lie down on the mattress. The springs creak. The hoodie smells like clean laundry and gunpowder.

Fitting.

Through the cracked door, you hear him pacing. Slow. Deliberate. Always watching.

The world outside still wants you dead—or worse. But for now, for just one night, you let yourself believe you might make it out.

Tomorrow: the road. Tonight: you breathe.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You wake to a hand on your shoulder. Gentle, but firm.

“Time to go,” Ghost says, voice low, just above a whisper.

Your eyes blink open slowly. The room is dim, early morning light filtering through cheap blinds. You’d forgotten where you were for a moment, how you’d gotten here. But then you see his steady dark eyes on you. What you find there eases the panic a little as the last couple of days come rushing back.

Then you do a double take.

You sit up slowly, heart already racing again. He steps back, giving you space. A quiet courtesy you didn’t expect.

He’s not wearing a mask.

Well—not that mask. The skull, as well as the tactical vest, are gone, replaced by a plain black medical one and plain dark, normal clothing. His eyes are still deep, sharp, and unreadable—but the rest of him… is different.

Softer.

More real.

“Got coffee,” he adds, nodding at the chipped mug on the counter.

You look away fast. Like you got caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

You take a sip—bitter and black. Of course. Somehow, it fits.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re stepping outside. The sky is a forlorn shade of violet. The early morning air has a chill to it, and where the SUV stood last night, a 2001 stern sedan is in its place. You shoot a questioning look at your silent companion, but he’s already holding your door for you, so you just climb in.

God, why is it so easy for him to get you to trust him, especially after everything you’ve been through? Haven’t you learned anything?

The engine hums low beneath you. The city is still sleeping, streets slick with early fog and last night’s rain. Ghost doesn’t speak, and you don’t either.

There’s comfort in the silence. Or maybe just a fragile truce.

You watch buildings blur past, wondering how far away “safe” really is. The burner phone in your pocket feels like both a lifeline and a leash.

At some point, you doze again, lulled by the soft rhythm of tires on wet asphalt. When you wake, the sun is higher, the road wider—nothing around you but endless stretches of empty highway.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks without looking over.

You check the clock. 10:03 a.m.

“Starving,” you say.

He takes the next exit without a word.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The diner is one of those old roadside relics, all chrome and peeling vinyl, big red letters half-burned out that read: CINDY’S. The kind of place that smells like stale coffee and old fryer grease.

Ghost parks in the far corner of the lot, always thinking angles, sightlines, escape routes.

“Stay put,” he says, before climbing out of the car to grab something from the trunk. He comes back around to your door. You step out and follow him to the entrance of the diner. He reaches around you to open the door and steps in a second after you do, his hand pressing into your lower back, urging you toward the booth in the back

“Stay put,” he says before climbing out of the car to grab something from the trunk. He comes back around to your door. You step out and follow him to the entrance of the diner. He reaches around you to open the door and steps in a second after you do, his hand pressing into your lower back, urging you toward the booth in the back. You follow him there. He sits after you, his back to the wall.

Of course.

His eyes scan the room, always lingering on the exit.

The waitress doesn’t look twice at either of you. She drops off menus and black coffee, then wanders off again. You order waffles, and he gets eggs and bacon.

“Nice to be treated like a person again,” you say, fiddling with the napkin.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes linger a second too long.

You lean back. “So what’s the next fake name I memorize?”

“Isabel Russo,” he says.

You wrinkle your nose. “Sounds like someone who writes poetry.”

“It’s not meant to suit you. It’s meant to keep you alive.”

Your fingers tighten on your glass.

There’s a tension sitting between you—not dangerous, but something almost… awkward.

You glance out the window. A family piles out of a minivan. Kids laughing. The mom in oversized sunglasses. Ordinary. Untouchable.

“What about you?” you ask quietly. “Your real name?”

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even blink. Just watches you across the table, eyes unreadable behind the mask. And just when you think he isn’t going to answer, he does.

“You wouldn’t sleep better knowing it.”

“I’m not looking for comfort. Just trying to figure out the man I’m trusting with my life.”

Something flickers in his eyes. He leans forward slightly.

“You don’t need to know me. You just need to do what you're told.”

The words hang between you.

For a second, you feel tears burn behind your eyes. He’s right—you know that—but it does little to stop the burn of embarrassment in your chest.

Your life left little room for genuine human connection, so you were used to functioning without it. It’s just… right now, you find yourself craving the comfort of it more than usual.

He sits back in the booth, arms crossing over his chest.

The food comes. You eat in silence, and it feels more hollow now.

When the check comes, Ghost throws down a crumpled twenty and a few bills more. You stand, slipping your hands into your hoodie pockets, and follow him out into the daylight.

You’re halfway to the car when he speaks again.

“Sorry.”

You blink. “About what?”

He opens the passenger door for you. “About being... severe. And about what's happening to you.”

You’re shocked into silence for a few moments before you manage a response.

“I forgive you.” Then, a little quieter, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he says as he looks down at you. The weight of his full attention is too much, so you look away quickly.

“For your apology.”

“Oh... well... you’re welcome, then.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just climb in.

As the sedan rolls back onto the highway, you glance over at him. But he’s focused on the road.

You want so badly to know what he thinks of you. Does he see you as cargo—something to be transported from one point to another? Or worse, a burden—just a rich girl caught up in a man’s game?

But for the first time since the motel, since the panic and fear...

You start to feel like maybe you’re not alone in this.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

ahhh so this is part2! hope you guy like where this is going!🫶🩷

tag list: @floweronacloud @full-cover32bitch let me know if you want to be added!

[kilojulietsierra]

“Sam, and a few others, knew that secretly he calls in a favor every year to fix the schedule because he knows Parker lives for Halloween.”

1) Jack would totally dress up as the Terminator with prosthetic and all and pass out candy in Pediatrics. Shen suggest they can be Robin Hood and Little John but that’s shot down quickly.

2)Jack and Sam may not have children, but they would do anything,with arms wide open, for their ducklings (Shen, Ellis, Mel) and the kids would do the same for them.

When they all become attendings , birthdays when they’re away from family, when Mel is feeling overwhelmed from being a caretaker for her sister and guilty for having a life outside her.

Shen is surprisingly great with Becca and Ellis’ parents send stuff for Mel and Becca in care packages.

They all really come together on the anniversary of Mel’s mom passing and Mel is so grateful to have found this second family.

I say this all the time and I will continue to say it, theses make my day! As always if you find any of this entertaining check out the master list for Save Me From Myself for more headcannons and full fics!

~~~~~~

- “no” “c’mon” “absolutely not” “the girls are doing it” “if you want to dress up in platforms and a tube top go right ahead” Shen followed Jack back towards the nurses station “we could be Starsky and Hutch” “no” “the blues brothers” “no” “Robin Hood and little John” “please stop” “c’mon Doc, it”d be fun!”

- Parker, she on the other hand, asks him exactly one time. “Hey Doc, I’m helping with the trick or treat parade for peds again this year. Want to do it with me?” Shen is watching from the next computer over when Jack shrugs, “yeah, sure” Shen scoffs loudly. Parker on the otherhand beams, “so, I was thinking,” she leaned over the counter, “Sarah Conner and the terminator”

2)Jack and Sam may not have children, but they would do anything,with arms wide open, for their ducklings (Shen, Ellis, Mel) and the kids would do the same for them.

When they all become attendings , birthdays when they’re away from family, when Mel is feeling overwhelmed from being a caretaker for her sister and guilty for having a life outside her.

- A perfect example of “the kids” stepping up I think would be when Sam is in the hospital post op from her appendix.

- She has a whole team of minions sneaking her real food, Shen comes through with the Dunkin, she has to remind all three of them that they work there.

- Either get back to work or go home!

- Parker kidnaps her and brings her down to the ED on her third night.

- Jack turns a corner and catches them right out of the elevator. “Absolutely not.” Sam whines, “I’m dying up there! Just let me hang out please. Give me your badge, I’ll chart for you.”

- The fact that a patient in a wheelchair sat at the ED hub and charted for two hours with no one questioning it is a great insight into what it’s like on nights

- HIPAA? Never heard of her?

- Gloria would never even know

- Mel showed up early to her shift just to make sure she had time to swing in and visit. She even brought a goodie basket she and Becca had put together

- it was on one of those visits that Mel confides in Sam that she loves night shift and the team and working under Jack, but the schedule was hard for her and Becca.

- Sam felt for her, she understood a little about taking care of someone that needed you nearly 24/7. At least for a time. It was exhausting, in more ways than one.

- “Have you thought about hiring someone? Even just part time? You need to take care of yourself too.”

- They weigh out the pros and cons before her shift. Then continue the conversation through text over the next few days.

- “If it’s money, you know we would help”

- Mel has a rough night and Jack sits with her on the stairs. Silent, while she soothed herself. Once she had calmed down enough Jack leaned a little closer. “Let us help. It’s not just the two of you anymore. You know that right?”

- The answer, it actually ends up being Shen. Becca friggin loves him.

- He is quite possibly the only other person on the planet that can watch elf as many times in a row as Becca.

- They quote it line for line over dinner.

- When they depart: “bye buddy, hope you find your dad!”

- Becca is now a Dunkin girl. Easy on the espresso shots.

- Sam throws a pretty good birthday party. Jack just throws money at the credit card bill the next month and stays out of her way

- The first time Ellis had a birthday with no family around Sam found her mom on Facebook and they planned a party for her together. So even though she couldn’t be there it felt a little like home. They still text back and forth a lot.

- Becca requested a pool party for her birthday and after that Mel brings her over every weekend in the summer to swim. Becca plays volleyball in the pool with Sam while Mel sits with Jack and just relaxes. More than once she falls asleep and has a nice nap in a deck chair.

- When Shen applied for the attending position, he was so uncharacteristically nervous and driving Jack fucking crazy that Jack caved and told him ahead of time he was getting the offer, so calm the fuck down about it.

- After it was official Jack asked if he wanted to go celebrate. Shen just shrugged, “nah, it’s no big deal”.

- He did a few weeks later come up to Jack out of the blue “we should go golfing. I haven’t played in forever”. So that’s exactly what they do. Shen is good, and stay actually have a good time, but Shen is not allowed to drive the cart ever again.

- Jack wouldn’t admit it but he knows exactly how they’re going to celebrate when Ellis finishes her residency. He hasn’t figured out what to do for Mel yet, but he’s working on it.

- Shen picks the girls up for coffee on the anniversary of their mom’s passing.

- Parker takes them out for lunch.

- Jack and Sam have them all over for dinner and Sam makes all their favorites. No matter the request.

- After dinner “the kids” are all camped out on the couch watching a movie and eating ice cream

- Sam is standing in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee with a look in her eye. Jack comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her, kisses the back of her head. She’s quiet when she says “if we still can’t…. This is good right? This is enough?” He squeezes her and whispers “more than enough”

- Becca yells at them from the couch. “Hurry up! You’re going to miss the best part!”

[study-diaries]

Best Time Management Techniques I've Used. (Academics + Extracurriculars)

Managing your time for energy and extracurricular activities can be challenging, especially when everything you do is overwhelming, requires your attention, and has deadlines that are too close to each other.

These are some of my best time management techniques that I have personally used, the ones that have changed my life and can possibly change yours too.

There's a free template at the end of the post too! Be sure to check it out :)

________________________

Question Your Time

If you take a look at your day, you might think that you're doing too much (or nothing at all). That is because you have no idea what you're actually doing and how you're spending your free time, which leads to precious time being wasted.

How It Works:

Take a look at your normal day. Ask the following questions and more. Ask as many questions as possible on your time spent:

What am I actually doing every day?

What is an activity that I do almost every day for more than an hour that is actually unnecessary? [Likely social media]

Do I study for at least 2 hours?

Am I finishing up on my projects and deadlines?

Does my calendar really reflect my current goals?

Time Grouping & Blocking

Time grouping is basically when you group similar tasks together. If you have Maths and Science homework, each around 40-45 mins, you don't do them together in different sessions.

Many make the mistake of spacing out their study and homework sessions. It takes more time in the long run, and sometimes you can't actually get anything done. So, group your time!

How It Works:

You must assign a time slot for the task, and you don't do anything else during that time. You block everything else and focus on one thing.

Golden Hour = Morning

This is an advice that I ignored for most of my high school life. Why? Because I believed that mornings were meant for sleeping in and that I'd be too tired. That was a negative belief.

How It Works:

You get up in the morning and your brain is active and flowing with creative energy. This only occurs when actually have a full 8 hours of sleep, by the way. If you sleep at 1 am and try to get up at 6? That is not going to be possible. Literally.

No Routine = Just Work

Most people hate mornings because they have this perception that mornings must have a load of steps and routines. Throughout senior year, I had only three tasks in the morning,

Get Up

Drink coffee

Read The Quran

Hit The Books

If you compare my routine with some of my friends? Unnecessary steps that bog you down. I know some people who do a full 10-step skin care in the morning, dress up, eat, and by the time they get to work or sit down to study? They're drained.

It's not exactly wrong to dress up and eat, etc. But my point is, you can at least get 1 hour of work done before doing anything else. Your focus is laser sharp when you get up. So, use it.

Take your four main tasks and don't add anything else. And follow them.

Eat The Frog

“If it’s your job to eat a frog, it’s best to do it first thing in the morning. And if it’s your job to eat two frogs, eat the biggest one first.”

In simple words? Face your hardest, most important task first, before you get distracted with any other thing.

Honestly, I've heard many say that sometimes it gets overwhelming to do a huge task first thing in the morning and complete it. You feel drained the entire day, and I actually agree, it does. So, here's a simpler way.

Divide Your Work Into 4 Stages:

Outline : Draw a basic overview. What should be done? How will I get it done? Basic steps I need to follow? When is the deadline?

Research : Collect basic information to do the task. That includes articles, journals or just notes.

Draft : This is your prototype. You draft your work into the refining stage.

Final : You keep refining it until you are at the final project. This is the stage where you add the small details.

This flow makes you feel less overwhelmed and gives you more clarity to actually sit down and work.

One In Advance Rule

Look, it's really easy. Your assignment is due in two weeks? Complete it by next week. Project due in one month. Complete it a week in advance.

This is necessary because, when you start early, you finish it earlier than others so you can actually focus on some studying rather than wasting your time managing assignments and tests.

You'll actually notice the difference in your stress levels when everything doesn't pile up.

The trick is to complete everything before one week of the deadline.

Hour Sprints: 1-4 Hours Break Sprints = Work Hours ÷ 2

Hour sprints basically refer to doing your day's work in around 1-3 hours. And honestly, I didn't think this would work but it does. You might have to be patient and slowly increase your time to avoid burnout.

There were times when I worked straight for around 5-6 hours after I had increased my work time, pushing little by little every day. The burnout doesn't last long but the fruits of this method are really worth it.

Breaks are really necessary. I advise you to not allot a certain time limit for the break. Rather take a break when you actually feel tired. If you've worked for 2 hours straight, then you deserve an hour of rest. If you worked for just 30 mins and you feel tired, take 15 mins as your break.

Divide your work time by half and that is your break time.

Energy Mapping

Observe your past three days and find out when your energy is high, medium and low. Based on this, align your tasks according to your energy flows.

High Energy = Deep Work Like Intensive Studying And Creative Projects

Medium Energy = Outlining Your Projects, Skimming Notes, Active Recall

Low Energy = Passive Study & Chores

This is based on my own energy mapping.

How It Works:

Track Yourself for 3 Days

Every 2–3 hours, jot down:

What you were doing

Your energy level ( 1–5)

Your mood (😊😐😣)

Now, figure out yours.

Rule Of Three = Daily, Weekly, Monthly

See, the thing about extra curriculars is that you have to handle academics and family commitments at the side too. So, here's the rule of three:

You choose three tasks/goals for the day, week and month. And you focus on that alone. Only that. Nothing else.

How To Figure Out Those Goals?

Monthly:

What is the top three priority goals/tasks this month?

Pick Three And Break It Down Into Weekly Goals.

Weekly:

What is the top three priorities this week to achieve my monthly goals/tasks ?

Pick Three And Break It Down Into Daily Goals.

Daily:

What are the three actionable steps that I must do everyday to achieve my weekly & monthly goals/tasks?

Pick Three And Follow.

Non-Negotiable Rules For Managing Calendar:

Here are some rules that you can not break when you're planning your calendar:

If it's not on your calendar. It does not exist.

Add your class timings first

Study time should be scheduled daily

Enter extracurricular activities/deadlines as soon as you know

At least a 20 min gap between two things is non-negotiable

Every day must have at least 1 hour of "Me Time"

No more than 3 extra curriculars

Plan every Sunday. Tweak it every day

Get Your Free Template

____________________

Additional Posts That Might Help:

How To Self Study

How To Study Concept-Oriented Subjects

How To Study For Longer Hours

An Absolute Guide To Manage Your Time And Energy For School

How To Better Your Overall High School Experience From A Recently Passed Out Student

How To Study Multiple Subjects

_____________________

Ebook:

How To Self Study [Ultimate Productivity Guide] + Exercises. => Get It On -- Ko-fi

__________________

I hope this helps!

[madameisaacpereire]

this senseless devotion

❝His eyes devour you bones and all while he speaks.

  The concept of this moment alone is indecent; a man in a suit staring you down as you sit naked before him, form obscured just barely by crystal clear water. The experience of it is nothing short of licentious. You feel primitive and simple.❞

The morning that follows 'if you want to touch something.'

sorry this took eons, hope some smut makes up for it!!!! lo said you'll like & she's the expert so

the sparrow collection

   Your mouth is filled with nutty acidity when you wake to Camilla snoring beside you; red wine and ash. You push up to sitting and the world tips and rolls before you. Your throat is raw and dry, chest filled with cough— that’s what you get for smoking, you suppose— and your head throbs far worse than it did in those hours spent with Henry last night, now feeling as though your skull is crushing inward with blinding force; you need an ice-cream float, a toothbrush, and a hot bath. You need to change out of last night’s dress, most importantly. 

   Macaulays don’t throw up. A family mantra that you and Charles mentally recite like a prayer each time you become too drunk. It isn’t the least bit true, of course— you do throw up from drink, fairly easily at that. But it helps. It takes some time to gently coax the nausea back down your neck and throat, of course, but it does roll away just enough for you to slip out of bed.

   You fumble around for something to wear that doesn’t reek like liquor. All you manage to find is Camilla’s— Charles’s, really— cream pants and a soft blue button up that’s slightly too large for the both of you. Packing light has its downsides, so she’ll just have to forgive you. Searching for anything else in a state such as this would lead only to what little fresh clothes remain being soiled with vomit, a transgression far worse than borrowing clothes. You hug them to your chest and lumber toward the nearest bathroom.

  Most everyone is up already. You can hear Bunny’s voice booming from downstairs, saying something you can only decode as vaguely degrading toward homosexuals and women alike, and it’s met with a multitude of murmurs. Camilla and yourself appear to be the latest sleepers of the group. Hardly surprising. A typical morning at the country house, from what you’ve experienced thus far. You twist the bathroom door lock behind you and run a bath. Ice cream can wait, you’ve decided, but the silky smooth comfort of hot water cannot. 

   You peel yourself from your dress with little difficulty, despite the fact that the memory of Henry’s fingers zipping and unzipping this same zipper roughly seven hours ago plays on loop in your mind. Many parts do: your lips pressed sweet against his cheek, the feeling of his hands pressed against your pelvis, each and every time you heard his breath waver. You feel hot all over, even before you’ve stepped into the bath.

    The water soothes your hangover as you sink in, up to your shoulders. It wraps around you like a heated blanket or a hug, and is so warm that it sticks your hair to your cheeks and forehead with sweat almost instantly. It’s heavenly. You rest until it’s too uncomfortable to do so any longer, and then you begin to wash up.

   A knock on the bathroom door interrupts you when you’ve almost finished.

   “I’ll be out in a second!” You call out, reaching for the rubber bath-stopper. 

   “It’s me.” 

   Henry. You freeze.  

   “Did you need something?” Your voice bounces off the bathroom walls, a light echo.

   It’s his turn to pause. 

“Do you mind if I come in?”

   Water laps at your skin as you climb out and unlock the door with a click. You slip back into the bath then, half wishing you’d thought to add bubbles. A facade of modesty. You pull your knees up to your chest, concealing what you're sure he’d most like to see from view.

   “You can come in.” 

  Nothing. And then, the doorknob turns, and there he is. He looks far better than you suspect that you do, as fine pressed and expertly curated as usual. Not a hair out of place. You envy his ability to look so perfect, so put together, at all times. His gaze falls to you without effort, pinning you in place as he steps in and locks the door behind him. Today, his eyes are so cold they elicit gooseflesh from all the way across the room.

   “Well?” Your voice comes out raw and wrecked, wobbly as a colt. 

   He’s quiet, contemplative as his eyes trace over you as though you’re an exhibit in a museum, on display just for him, wrapped in an ornate gilded frame; as though you’re splayed out on canvas, body filled with birdshot, skin dripping with black blood. His caged prey. You don’t allow your eyes to wander down the way they want to, to take in the full sight of him, to see what you know is becoming visible through his slacks. It’ll only make the ache that burns beneath your skin that much worse, which feels impossible enough as it is.

   Your throat sticks together as you try to swallow down the sudden burst of electric activity ricocheting through your being, and your nausea and crushing headache drift into the mist of your mind. You hope to God you aren’t shaking noticeably, but with the way bathwater ripples around your skin— red as a crustacean who sits in a large steel pot, blissfully unaware of its impending demise, boiling to death— you know your body is betraying you.

  “You slept late, didn’t you?” His eyes devour you bones and all while he speaks.

  The concept of this moment alone is indecent; a man in a suit staring you down as you sit naked before him, form obscured just barely by crystal clear water. The experience of it is nothing short of licentious. You feel primitive and simple, spit welling up in your cheeks. You nod in response because there’s nothing else you trust yourself to do in this moment. The corner of his mouth quirks up just so. 

   He crosses the bathroom in two short steps and leans down, resting his hands on the cool porcelain ledge of the tub. Your eyes are glued to the shape of his fingers, thick, long, and well kept as they are. A flutter ripples down your chest, through to the base of your spine, and stretches its way into the pleasantly warm ache between your thighs. 

   He hovers just over you in a perfect imitation of sweetness— as though you’ve awoken from a fainting spell to find him guiding you through the river into earthly paradise. This holy river-water erases the memory of every jealous thought you’ve had regarding him, and strengthens those of his touch until you feel every moment spent above and below him as acutely as if it’s happening now. Your eyes flicker upward to meet his. 

   His amusement seems to grow as he stares, gaze pressing on every last piece of exposed skin like a kiss. A fresh bout of goosebumps break out as your breath hitches. Fond pity twists across his face, fingers of one hand stretching up off the tub-side to graze your knee cap. There’s a challenge in this, buried deep somewhere. He’s pushing again, testing the boundaries you were bred not to have. His hand closes over your kneecap for a moment, firmly spreading your thighs apart before he moves a wet strand of hair out of your eyes and settles it behind your ear.

     “You’ve been incredibly sweet toward me of late, darling little bird,” He muses, parting your lips with his thumb, “I do hope you aren’t misinterpreting my affections.” 

   His words land on your back like a divine boulder— not heavy enough to kill, yet heavy enough to press your knees deep into your chest cavity until you’ve supplicated a satisfactory amount— but you don’t look away. You instead allow him to work his thumb further into your mouth, until his nail is resting against your soft palate, and you close your lips around him firmly. Your tongue flattens and curves against his finger. Probing. Teasing. The want this draws into his eyes is enough to soothe the lashing of his words, at least for now. His jaw tenses as you begin to suck. There is no longer any pretense of conversation. 

   “Huc est mens deducta tua, mea Lesbia, culpa atque ita se officio perdidit ipsa suo.” He murmurs.

   He’s quoting from a poem Camilla had dramatically recited last night. An ancient collection, translated by Peter Whigham— you remember as much, because Henry complained about it for nearly twenty minutes— and you remember, dimly, how the translator had rendered it. ‘Reason blinded by sin, Lesbia, a mind drowned by his own devotion.’

   You know, of course, that his devotion is to the carnal in this case. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, yet you allow yourself to pray that you aren’t alone in this affliction. This senseless devotion. Even though you are. You must be. He pulls his thumb from your mouth with a satisfying ‘pop,’ smearing saliva down your chin. 

     “What do you want?” You ask, voice soft and breathless. 

   His eyes dip back down to your mouth, eyes studying the curve of your lips. You watch a light flush dust his cheekbones and shade in the place you pressed a chaste kiss to hours ago. This would translate well to watercolor, you think, or charcoal pencil. Henry, eyes blown out, face hot, moments away from slotting your lips together. When his eyes meet yours once more, he speaks. 

   “Your mouth.”

  It’s two words. Short, businesslike even. An eager whimper creeps into the back of your throat. Your cheeks burn so hot that your eyes begin to feel like hailstones cradled by molten lava. You don’t know that you’ve ever wanted something more than you want this. To blow him.

   “Okay.” You nod, eyes wide and earnest. 

    He leans closer, presses a quick kiss to your lips, and pushes himself back up to standing. You allow your legs to disappear beneath you, wet chest on full display as you rise up onto your knees. The water is cool by now. You don’t mind. You curve your fingers over the edge of the bathtub, still faintly warm from Henry’s hands.

   “Sparrow?” He draws your attention away from the hands that are so deftly unfastening his pants, “Don’t get my clothes wet.”

   “Wouldn’t dream of it.” You mean to sound sardonic. Your words come out bubble wrapped in deference instead.

   He pretends not to notice as he frees himself from the confines of his clothing, taking himself in his hand. He’s swollen red and leaking like you get him going without trying, as if he exists in a permanent state of arousal when beneath the same roof as you. You reach out and replace his hand with your own, careful not to let water splash against him. A sigh graces your ears as you guide him into your mouth and continue the treatment you gave his thumb moments earlier. 

  He’s heavy and hot against your tongue. He tastes like salt and skin, and a little like you. You bob your head forward and back, mindful not to disrupt your forgotten bath, eyes fixed upward. Henry’s expression is strained, cheeks bright red, lips pressed shut with force. His hand clenches and unclenches beside your head, refusing to grip onto your hair until you’ve permitted it. Unfailingly polite, even as you’re loosening his limbs.

    With your free hand you clumsily nudge his hand into your hair, encouraging him to guide you against him as he sees fit. A desperate noise tugs itself from his throat as you press him down into your throat at his will, allowing him to fuck into your mouth as hard and deep as he’d like. You moan around him softly at that, do your best not to gag.

   His eyes squeeze shut, hands shaking as his hips sway, and his head tips back. It’s a sight so sinful urgency strikes into the need you feel. Ardor uncurls itself all the way up into your ribcage, desperate for his touch. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down groans, hypnotized by the sight of him. Big, strong Henry Winter, the unfeeling stoic of the group, blissed out and pulsing in your mouth. 

   You could bring him down this way, it occurs to you. Cut his hair and allow black death to swallow both of you beneath the rubble of this makeshift temple. His hips jerk harder, waking your headache and nausea in one go. Bile rises up your throat and you swallow it down, unavoidably swallowing around him at the same time. A whimper. He spills hot down your throat, hips bucking wildly until it’s over. You swallow that down too, greedily taking a piece of him to keep with you once he’s gone.

   You hold onto the tub-side like a lifeline, eyes never leaving his face. You want to remember how it looks from here, record every sight and sensation sucking him off incites. When he’s finished, pulled from your mouth, he hunches over to catch his breath. His large hands bookend yours in a way far too intimate for this. His glasses slip down his face, lips parted ever so slightly. 

   “Filthy little bird,” He breathes out once he’s come back to himself, “Who knew you were so depraved?” 

   You don’t think this needs an answer. Even so, a sticky smile spreads across your cheeks like jam on toast. It’s a perverse badge of honor, earning a reaction like this. One you privately wear with pride. You still want him, need him more than you think you’ve ever needed anyone. But when you lift your lips up to meet his, he dodges your kiss. He straightens up instead and begins to put himself back together.

    You watch him in silence. A striking, sickening truth sinks back into your bones, etching itself deep into each one. You are not special, after all. Not to him. Not to anyone. Not really. It aches, even though you’ve never had any illusion that you were the only one; that this was real. On the contrary— there’s nothing you might be able to defend as “real,” and you know that. But you continue to follow along anyway because it’s more fun this way, because you like hurting, because you have nothing more amusing to do this summer. 

   You wonder if he feels things. Not corporeal sensations, but real human emotion. You don’t think he really does, not the way you do. Yet you can’t help but hope, foolish and falsely, that you’ll earn a place next to him. That you’ll take over for Camilla, somehow, and become the special one for once. You aren’t even sure, not entirely, that you’d want to, given the chance. He is not yours, yet you still feel as though he is, in part. Like he belongs to you in some small way. Perhaps it’s the hangover, or the summer heat. 

    “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Henry speaks as he pulls the medicine cabinet open and rifles around in it. He must be looking for aspirin.

   “Yeah.” You croak out, slipping off your knees.

    He isn’t going to touch you at all, you realize. Tears of frustration needle at the backs of your eyes and shame twists into your chest, alongside something weaker, something you wish you didn’t recognize. You are empty, both physically and emotionally. He’s being unfair. Cruel in a way you haven’t yet allowed yourself to think of him, and above all else, selfish. You feel used because you have been used, and it doesn’t feel okay this time. Still you say nothing.

   He dry swallows a small handful of aspirin, fixes his hair once more, and draws out his pack of cigarettes. The matchbook he uses is yellow. In artwork yellow represents many things— cheer, warmth, confidence, and happiness, to name a few— but your favorite meanings are less often considered. Deception and cowardice, greed. It’s fitting.

   “Richard made coffee, when you’re done in here.” Smoke curls from his mouth as he speaks.

   “Save me a cup?” 

  He nods once in your direction, silently agreeing to do as much. And this is enough tenderness that you let it go. You forgive him for being selfish and flash him a smile. His eyes trace your form one last time before he slips out, leaving the door unlocked behind him. Your fingers are pruned up and the water is cold, so this hardly bothers you. 

   You let the water out of the tub and take a deep breath in preparation for the rest of the day. 

[karlachismylife]

Strawberry foam

#PriceGazWeek

Day six: Fantasy

I asked my comrades to give me additional prompts and they gave me: massage, strawberry, jacuzzi/hot tub.

CW: suggestive, kinda dirty talk, thus NSFW (MDNI)

"What's your status, Gaz?"

"Like a depressed pig in mud, sir. No movement."

"Aye, well, stay sharp, Sergeant. No movement on my end either, but tha' can change rather quickly, yeah? We'll get ya cleaned up afterwards."

"Gonna scrub my back, sir?"

Kyle hears a snort, distorted by the shitty sound in comms, and smiles into his rifle's scope. He wasn't kidding about feeling like a pig in mud - weather conditions turned the slopes they were supposed to have this stakeout at into a greasy mudbath, so that after crawling around for just thirty minutes the need in a ghillie suit disappeared entirely. With every passing minute Gaz can feel cold, liquid, slippery and squelchy mud seeping deeper into his clothes, and he's pretty sure that the few more sturdy and steady rocky bits he placed his rifle on are slowly drowning in this shit. At least it smells like wet clay and not like...

"Don't needa hear your fantazies over the comms, Garrick. Keep the channels clean."

Price's hushed voice sends shivers down Kyle's spine - or maybe it's the nasty Russian summer chill, and he shrugs it off his shoulders without tearing his eyes off the target - or the lack of such. He can clearly hear his Captain smirking, so he pushes his luck again.

"I don't know, sir, feelin' kinda filthy today. Drippin' wet, even."

"Dirty boy, are ya? Too bad. Bath isn't on the schedule till the end of the mission. Over."

They probably both cringe a little - all in good fun, and Kyle sighs, getting back to the enthralling task of doing jack shit. He doesn't get antsy like Soap before the lad locks in, but his mind is wandering - especially because he started suspecting something since the hour two of stalking the empty warehouse up ahead.

"Sir." He waits for Price's quiet "wot" in his earpiece and sighs with extra flair. "The intel was dogshit, wasn't it?"

"You're not getting out of this jus' because ya got bored, Sergeant."

"Ya can't blame me, sir. I don't even have a nice view of your arse this time."

Price clears his throat on the other end and Kyle realizes - John in his turn must have a decent view of his arse, covered in shit, leaves and sticks. Must be fuckin' nice staying on the upper, drier land further back.

"So it's not me who's filthy, eh, sir?" He muses and gets half a mind to wiggle his butt for Price, but the slightest movement causes the pit his body indented in the diarrhea-like soil to make a pornigraphic squelching noise, and Kyle groans in a hushed voice. "For fuck's sake... don't tell me you're not fantasizing about a bath yourself, sir. Or a shower, at least."

At this point Gaz expects Price to get serious and shut him up for good - there's only so much joking complaining his Captain will take over the comms before he deems it too distracting; but to his surprise John sighs wistfully and relents. Probably agrees deep down that the intel was shit, but his stubbornness is too strong.

"A proper hot tub, Sergeant. With massage jets. Go big or go home."

"Mm, fuck, and some fragrant foam," Kyle doesn't mean to practically moan into his mic, but the thought of putting his cold, stiff back against a pressured stream of hot water is too enticing. Even without imagining Price sitting across, wet fur clinging to his chest and arms resting on the tub... "Like a strawberry scent, what do ya say, sir? Or better, actual strawberries on a plate right there... with a nice strawberry shake, too..."

"Gettin' pregnancy cravings already, Kyle?"

The answer rolls off his tongue fast - and obvious.

"Negative, sir. Haven't been bred in a while, ya see."

Price chokes on the other end of the comms and grunts, then Gaz finally hears his rifle supports fold.

"Olrigh', cheeky. Get your arse up here, I'm gettin' us outta here. There's no way these fuckers show up, intel's shite."

Gaz takes off his place in an instant, crawling back to John like a lizard on speed, then getting up and crouch-rushing. He gets to Price and wipes the mix of grime, paint and mud off his face, dripping the shit sludge down his legs. John senses there's some demand coming his way by the sheer look of those big brown eyes, guilting him with no words uttered yet.

"If ya get us that hot tub, I won't say "I told ya so", sir."

Cheeky git. How can John ever say no to tha'?

[2000sangel]

RAHHHH tenna x autistic reader who likes video games RAHHHHHHHH

Thanks for requesting !!! I'm not autistic, so I hope I was more or less accurate with what I went over.

Warning for mention/slight description of meltdowns, right after "★ !!" ; feel free to skip that part if you're uncomfortable!

*★*★*★*

Tenna x Autistic Reader who's into video games !! - Headcanons

★ Tenna knows very well about your unmatched love towards video games: you're always the first one who wants to try out the ones he creates! He feels appreciated when you do, like his work is worth something, especially considering how passionate you are when it comes to them.

★ You've got your favorites of course, be it because of their characters, plot, or simply for the sense of comfort that they grant you from replaying them over and over…Tenna knows each one of them by now, and makes sure to add little references to them in his own sometimes, just to see your face light up as you realize!

★ He has super good memory so when you info dump about your favorite games he retains every single information; should you have to stop talking for a while, he'll remind you where you left off, making you grin at how attentive he is.

★ Sometimes it happens that you need some more time spent on your special interest -video games, of course- to self regulate or just because for one reason or the other your interest in them is heightened; at first, Tenna might get nervous because of this, thinking that he's done something wrong to make you want to spend more time on games than doing anything else, but all you need to do is sit him down and explain that it's got nothing to do with him, actually!

★ He manages to calm down over time, and either lets you be and have fun or gets comfortable on the couch next to you if you invite him to watch or play along. He's not the best at games that are modern even though you've explained each concept to him…he holds the joystick weird sometimes, or gets confused on how to save if there's a lot of things going on on the screen already plus many controls, he might even be afraid of slowing you down but you reassure him it's all in good fun, and he's good again!

★!! With you being autistic, sometimes things get a little too much; so much so that even the soft music playing from whatever console you're using might send you over the edge, if combined with other things. Each sound is too loud, each feeling is amplified, and suddenly Tenna is by your side turning off whatever device managed to irritate you and removing anything that could be upsetting for you from your proximity. He's a natural entertainer, and through your relationship he has learned to ‘entertain’ you during meltdowns just the same, just a little differently than he's used to on stage; he's quieter if you're quiet, more reassuring, and brings up topics that he knows you'll enjoy hearing about, and adding to if you're up to it. He validates your emotions by having genuine reactions to what you're saying, the dramatic side of him never really leaving.

★ Tenna, despite not being autistic himself (at least in my headcanons), emphasizes with you if you dislike disruption of routine. He's got quite the busy schedule often, but he likes recordings happening at the same time every time, and having that short hour after lunch to slightly nod off -don’t judge him, okay?-. Most importantly, he likes spending the end of the day with you, finally switching off from his TV Time persona. So rest assured that he'll always be around for an evening watch of your skilled gameplay. <3

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer: Okay, Ad, im about to head out! Are you sure you dont want to come?

Adele sighed as she rocked herself on a yoga ball. Today, she was officially a week overdue and it was driving her mad.

Adele: Yeah, I'm sure... I love the sins, but I don't think I can mentally sit through another one of those meetings... especially with these two refusing to move- they havent even dropped yet!

The king sighed and walked over, pulling Adele into a soft hug: I'm sorry, darling. But dont let this condume you, yeah? Just... spend your day how you usually would. They'll come when they're ready.

Adele nodded into Lucifer's chest: What... what if they don't come? For like... another month, or something?!

Lucifer chuckled: Then so be it... if they haven't come in another week, we'll go down to Sloth, hm? Speak to Bel.

Adele: O-Okay... but uh- maybe... you coukd help me... when you get home~?

The king looked down and blushed when Adele winked at him: Oh. Darling. Of course~.

-

Lucifer had been gone for over an hour, and Adele hadn't stopped trying things to help induce labour or at least to help her when the time does come.

The curb walks were the hardest, they fucked with her hip. It'll probably only help those bitches having one kid, but having two pressing against her bones and organs? Yeah, no, this isn't helping.

Sighing, she headed back inside, maybe she should just start making dinner. Hopefully Lucifer would be home soon.

Thats when her phone rang.

Adele: Sup?

Charlie: Hey! Vaggie and I are heading out to a spa tomorrow, wanna come with? Get some pampering before the babies are here?

Adele: O-Oh! That would be nice-! But... I'm trying to get these little shits out...

Charlie: Well... sometimes massages can help! There is a reason why I wanted to invite you~.

Adele: A massage, huh...? Could be nice.

Charlie: Oh, come on! It'll be great! You'll feel great and ready to push those little brats out!

Adele laughed: Yeah, yeah. You don't need to convince me to have a spa day, babe. Im already there~.

Charlie: Yes! I'll send you a text when we're on our way tomorrow!

✨Worship✨

@beef-brisket

Adele was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, everything had to be perfect. She was wearing a black mini skirt, a black thin crop top, fish net stockings, a push up bra and crotchless lace panties.

She was ready, she's been preparing for this moment for years and now it was finally going to happen.

Adele was going to summon the devil, marry him, and have all of his babies. She worshiped him for years much to her mother's disappointment. Adele even saved herself for him and stopped taking her birth control to be sure that she would get pregnant.

Adele: There, all finished.

Looking around her room, that was normally a mess but she even cleaned it up.

She grabbed this book that she got from this shady looking guy outside a Walmart parking lot, he said that it would summon the devil to her guaranteed. He also said there was a spell to bond him to her.

Adele sat down on the bed and took a deep breath, she needed to calm down before this happened. First impressions matter!

-

Down in Hell, Lucifer was reading over the papers that his lawyer gave him for the divorce proceedings for him and Lilith.

Ten thousand years down the drain.

Groaning he slapped the paper down, he didn't want to deal with this or that woman right now.

He needed a distraction.