#roar before the rolex

[kakunology]

Kakunoshin "Kaku" Ohta, 1.19.25 || Roar Before The Rolex 24

[forzalife]

Quote for Today

Life is a race with no finish line—each moment a chance to accelerate towards new horizons, fueled by passion, resilience, and the unwavering belief that the journey itself is the greatest victory.

[targaryenmarvel]

A Stark Legacy (1)

Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

Summary: The life of a Stark is tumultuous, especially when you are the only daughter of the technology magnates. You find yourself at a crossroads, struggling to meet your father's towering expectations while also pursuing your desires. This turning point is marked by the arrival of a certain green-eyed girl, a meeting that not only disrupts your world but also sets your heart on fire. Will you finally follow your heart or conform to your father's expectations?

Warnings: Language

Word count: 2,333

The unmistakable aroma of salt invaded the air as the gentle summer breeze carried the scent from the ocean. The gentle scent filled your lungs and reinvigorated your body as you took in the picturesque image before you. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the once-deep blue water began to take on new hues. The sky slowly turned from a bright blue to a deep purple, mingled with red, orange, and pink shades, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Despite the roar of the waves, your senses are overpowered by the cheerful and lively chatter of the people around you as they roam in the spacious and meticulously decorated backyard.

Tables littered the well-maintained lawn, some with guests and others with foods ranging from fruits with chocolate-covered pretzels to charcuterie boards and sushi—anything you could desire. Not far away stood a cocktail bar with an impressive champagne tower. While the sun was out, there was no need for any lighting, but as it gave way to darkness, string lights hung all through the yard, taking over the task and creating an almost rivaling image of the sunset ocean.

An atmosphere not uncommon for you as the daughter of technology magnates Howard and Maria Stark. There, amongst the crowd, you could see your father engaged in an animated discussion with an investor. You rolled your eyes. Only your father would discuss business at your birthday party. It was a miracle he had even come, considering work outweighed his priorities as a father. His rare appearance at your celebration had resulted from your mother's persistence or, more so, threats of leaving her share of the company in Tony's control. Although you typically didn't mind his absence after years of disappointment, you were grateful for your mother's actions, knowing he needed to be there for what you had planned. 

Tonight, you would give him what he wanted and make him proud despite his faults as a father. Let him be the family man he so often played in front of the cameras—the picture-perfect family portrayed on magazine covers that photographers frequently complimented.

In reality, your family was anything but loving, specifically your father.  In the solidarity of your home, your father rarely showed affection, and when he did, it was always towards your mother. He only seemed to have harsh words and expectations for your brother and you. Though you had always resented your father's behavior, your mother and brother, Tony, compensated for his lack of love. 

Then there was your saving grace, your childhood best friend, James Buchanan Barnes. He was the son of your father's business partner and his mother, an associate in your mother's charity organization. So it wasn't surprising that you became best friends, attending the same boring gatherings your parents hosted and causing mayhem until your fathers scolded you.

Twenty years later, he remained by your side. His usual crazy brown hair was slicked back, and two of the buttons of his white shirt were left undone. The outfit was paired with black slacks, loafers, and a Rolex on his wrist. His blue eyes crinkled in joy as your gaze crossed, and he clutched your hand tighter while motioning with his chin at your father.

Across the room, your father moved to sit with your mother and brother. Perfect, you thought. You gave Bucky a final smile before you pulled away to join your family, and he made his way to the live band stage.

Your brother was the first to notice your presence as he set down his whisky drink.

"There she is," Tony exclaimed, inebriated. Your father clenched his jaw, throwing daggers at your brother with his gaze. "Are you enjoying yourself, birthday girl?"

"Damit, Anthony. Can you behave yourself for once?" he asked through clenched teeth, giving a false smile as someone passed by. "You are no longer a teenager. You are a man. Now act like one before I make you."

Tony scoffed, ready to retaliate, but your mother quickly intervened. She rubbed your father's arm, willing him to calm down.

"Honey, please. We are celebrating our daughter. Let us not taint this moment with petty squabbles. Our daughter deserves better. Besides, we all know how this will end if it continues," she said, alluding to countless screaming matches between the two. Your father huffed but said nothing else. "Tony, please. For your sister," she continued with your brother, who still looked ready to pounce.

Tony deflated, eyes softening as he looked at you before he nodded. "Enjoying the party, peanut," he asked again, using your childhood nickname.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. "Yeah, it's been amazing. Thank you both for tonight."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't thank us. You deserve it, and if anything, it's James you should thank," your mother responded.

"I'll make sure to do that."

"Where is James?" your father asked, looking around frowning. "George and I need to speak with him about the project. Where is he?"

On cue, Bucky appeared. A high-pitched ring filled the air, cutting through the music as he held a microphone. Bucky laughed nervously, raising a hand to the crowd. "Sorry, everyone. The music will be back, I promise. I want to take a moment to toast in honor of Y/N's birthday." He motioned for a server to bring him a glass of champagne.

"As most of you know, Y/N and I have known eachother since before we could walk. She is my person, my rock during the most harrowing moments when I questioned my existence—teenagers, so dramatic, am I right?" Chuckles rang through the room at Bucky's words. "Anyways, I am trying to say that I am incredibly grateful for your existence, friendship, and, most importantly, for the last two years as partners. I can only hope you feel the same way because if you don't, this will be extremely awkward," Bucky kneeled as his hand reached into his pocket, pinching a diamond-encrusted ring. Gasps ranged throughout the air. Through blurry eyes, you could see your mother clutching at her chest, and your father's usually stoic face merged into surprise; your brother, for once, remained without reaction. Though you did dwell on the fact as you stood from your seat, you slowly made your way through the crowd towards Bucky.

"The last two years have been the most exhilarating and unforgettable of my life. Every day with you has been an adventure filled with laughter, love, and endless joy. You are beautiful both inside and out, intelligent, and breathtaking. Your kindness, strength, and warmth have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible. You are the love of my life. Nothing would make me happier than to continue creating a life—a family by your side. Y/N, will you marry me?"

Tears rolled down your face as the moments with the man kneeling in front of you raced through your mind, and you knew that there was no better man to spend your life with than James Barnes. 

"Yes," you muttered in a broken whisper.

The crow erupted into applause as Bucky slid the ring onto your finger and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Your mother, father, and Bucky's parents were the first to reach you. 

Your mother enveloped you in comforting arms. "Oh darling, congratulations!" You could see the glimmer in her eyes as she held back tears of joy.

Your father came next, seeming very pleased by the events. "Congratulations, darling. You've made a fantastic choice of a husband with James here." He patted Bucky's arm. "Good for business too, don't you think, George?" 

"Certainly, we can work something out." You would have rolled your eyes at the two men, but all you did was share a look of annoyance with your now-fiancee, which was then broken as his father held you both by the shoulder with a grin plastered on his face. "Oh, son, you've won the lottery with Y/N. She'll be an exceptional wife and mother."

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes." You said tight-lipped, knowing he expected you to leave your job at Stark Industries to be a housewife like Minnifred. He was much like your father, except misogynistic. You were glad Bucky's mom was a saint and taught him proper manners. 

After your parents left, many of the guests approached you with their congratulations, telling you how they had seen it coming since you were children. 

Tony was one of the last to approach you two. He pulled you away from Bucky. "Hey, Peanut." He hugged you by the shoulders, kissing your forehead, completely ignoring your fiancé, to which you scolded with a quirked brow. He sighed dejectedly, finally acknowledging Bucky, "Barnes."

"Hey, Tony," Bucky greeted, amused at your brother's jealous behavior. 

While Tony had never had a problem with Bucky, his attitude towards the man changed once you began dating. You just assumed it was part of his protective brother's responsibilities. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment alone?" His eyes shifted to Bucky. 

Your fiancé looked back. "Of course. See you later, babe."

You watched him walk away, only turning to give Tony a sharp, expectant look.

Tony scoffed, running a hand down his face in exasperation. "Y/N, don't you think you're taking this too far?

"What do you mean?" You frowned, crossing your arms.

He clenched his jaw. "I know that bearing with Dad's expectations isn't easy. I know it's better to comply than get the short end of the stick, but that doesn't mean you need to throw your life away to please him Y/N. So please, Y/N, don't marry a man you don't love."

"I love him," you said calmly.

"Are you in love with him?"

You scoffed, fingers running through your hair, a nervous habit. "Tony, please. Stop. I am marrying Bucky, and nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind. For the sake of our relationship, I am asking you to stop with this nonsense, okay?"

You left without hearing his reply and rejoined your fiancé with a group of acquaintances—the children of other investors in Stark Industries. They all congratulated you, hugging you joyfully, but you could see the envy in their eyes. Once upon a time, you considered them your friends until you had heard them badmouthing you behind your back. Then you started to notice the fake laughs and smiles or how their compliment was always backhanded somehow.

"I am so happy for you," they said in high-pitched voices, but all you could hear was, "That should be me. I should be the daughter of a billionaire. I should be marrying the heir to the Barnes estate."

You could only return the same energy, giving them fake smiles and false friendship. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist, kissing your forehead in reassurance. You remained to chat with the group until your mother ushered you away and pulled you to the women of her charity group.

It wasn't until the end of the party that you could finally have a moment alone with Bucky. Most of the guests had left, and others took residence in the many guest rooms in the mansion.

You walked hand in hand with your fiancé, making a beeline to your bedroom. Silence filled the room as you closed the door, holding Bucky's gaze unblinking. You could feel your lips twitch, so you bit your lip, attempting to restrain yourself, but it was in vain as you doubled over, exploding in laughter. Bucky followed suit, chuckling as he moved to the king-sized bed.

You took a deep breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You are unsure if they resulted from your laughter or something else, but you prefer not to dwell on the matter. "God, that was something," you said, looking around the room from your teenage years. Remnants of the age lingered in the form of polaroids with your so-called friends, posters, and stuffed animals. All left untouched since the last time you visited the vacation home.

"Mhm, did you see their faces? My speech had them swooning, and you know what? I wrote it last night before bed," he confessed, ruffling his hair.

You scoffed, playfully glancing out the giant glass window overlooking the ocean, "Oh, I deserve more than minimal effort."

"Y/N, you cried," he deadpanned, sprawling across the bed. You rolled your eyes, pushing away from the door and joining him on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"So this is happening, huh? We are engaged," you mused to yourself, finally grasping the gravity of the situation. Although you were sure of your decision, your stomach still dropped at the turn your life was taking—Tony's voice nagging at the back of your mind.

"What will we do when they ask us for grandchildren?" Bucky asked lowly in a similar state.

"I'm not sleeping with you." You frowned, disturbed by the idea.

"I'm not sleeping with you either," Bucky retorted, equally aggravated. "Look, I am grateful for what you are doing for me. I am, but I refuse to continue if you're not comfortable. It's not too late. We can call it off, and fuck, what anyone says. My father and the inheritance are nothing compared to your friendship, Y/N."

You turned on your side, mirroring his position as you propped your head on your elbow.

"We already discussed this, Bucky. I tried finding someone to love, but everyone I've met only sees me as Stark, an endless money fountain. Not a person. They don't love me for me," you said, your voice wavering as tears prickled in your eyes. You took his hand. "This isn't a sacrifice for me, Buck. I can't think of anyone else I would love to spend the rest of my life with. And I know we will face many obstacles, but we'll figure it out. We always do." You knew the road to follow wouldn't be easy, but you were prepared to face the obstacles with him by your side.

A/N: Hey everyone, how is everyone feeling about the first chapter? R and Bucky's relationship? In the next chapter, expect Wanda content!

[robinfrinjs]

Frederik Vesti, driver of the #31: Cadillac Whelen, Cadillac V-Series.R, GTP during the Roar Before the Rolex 24 by LAT Images/Michael L. Levitt

[jiminrings]

478 drabble: the baby blue couch sex

alternatively, jungkook gifts you a watch and you repay him with something of his choice.

[ 99% smut but of course there’s still plot, oc is the one who’s a little mean this time, 478jk asks to be choked, he says the word mommy one (1) time, they r so in love it’s almost annoying ]

[ 478 masterlist ]

Jungkook’s your cheerleader.

He does what’s given to him with grace and giddiness, sometimes going so far as to do things without actually being asked to. He’s been planning your celebratory party ever since it came out that you were nominated for the Daesang for your role in your latest drama. Without fail, Jungkook’s been praying for your win everyday since then, even if he wasn’t the type to.

Was he completely ambitious (he calls it a feat of manifesting) to start planning your celebratory party even before the award ceremony itself happened? Completely. But was it a far shot for you to win the grand prize? Absolutely not, Jungkook argues. You’ve peeked over his shoulder a week before the ceremony and scolded him for being presumptuous that you’d automatically win, but he only turned the tables and scolded you for being too hard on yourself.

You won last night, and everything felt like a fever dream; from the way you’ve bested all of the veterans you went up against, to the whole public roaring in cheers, to you crying to your palms and Jungkook sobbing even harder than you did. You won the Daesang just last night, and after weeks of preparation and second-guessing himself, your husband throws you a party larger than life tonight.

To be completely loved by everyone in attendance made you feel extremely warm and grateful, the whole night revolving around you just like how Jungkook planned it to be.

“That’s my wife for you!” Jungkook must’ve uttered atleast a thousand times tonight, because as much as he wanted to be glued to your side the whole time, he can’t complain because seeing you getting whisked at every direction with praise had put a permanent grin on your face. 

Your husband’s social battery conveniently runs out when the last of your guests leave, unable to recall a time that he’d been more eager for people to stop complimenting the foyer on the way out. He finally breathes a sigh of relief now that the two of you are alone, immediately untucking his polo and undoing the first few buttons of it.

“Finally-…”

“Isn’t it so crazy how we’re still so hyper?” you blurt out at the same time as him, making him blink because he doesn’t exactly know what we were you referring to. He’s not sleepy but it’s clear how you’re the one who’s more energetic between the two of you. “Are you hungry? Do you want takeout? Wait, what if we cook? I think-…”

Jungkook tunes you out, not out of irritation, but out of clear realization that he’s forgotten to give you his present. He finds you adorable when you’re droning either out of sheer excitement or fatigue, but in this light where you’re hit just perfectly in front of him, hands on your waist and silhouette illuminated, Jungkook blanks out.

For a lack of a better method to catch your attention, Jungkook tugs you down to his lap, his abruptness almost making you stumble with your high heels. He doesn’t even look the least bit sorry; in fact, he looks a little nervous.

“Bought you a watch,” Jungkook mumbles, spawning a box from right behind the couch when you weren’t looking. It was the only hiding spot he could think of this morning, albeit a risky one to think there were hundreds of people that have piled in and out of your house tonight.

You’re a little bit perplexed, both from the whiplash and how Jungkook hid it (you’re nosy and it’s physically impossible for him to hide a large Rolex box in his pocket… right?), but you move on as soon as your eyes land on your husband.

He actually looks nervous, his eyes practically glistening when they look up at you with more trepidation the longer that you don’t open his gift.

“Kook, you didn’t have to,” you start, the smile that forms in your face widening when you finally open the package. It’s the Lady-Datejust that stares right back at you, the white gold casing and the pale pink watch face reflecting your awed expression. It’s the same watch that Jungkook stumbled upon in your old Pinterest board before, dating back to the year where you started taking your acting workshops and wanted to take note of all the things you wanted to buy when you make it big.

You did make it big, yet truth be told, you’ve almost entirely forgotten of the things you used to dream of. Your old to-buy lists and manifestation boards come back right to your head with Jungkook’s gift, the memory and sentiment he has for these sorts of things– for you— making you reel back.

“It’s so pretty,” you speak at last, making your husband sigh a breath of relief because he thought you completely hated his gift. You take the timepiece out carefully, looking at Jungkook playfully as you do. “Is this why my debit card was missing the other day?”

Instantly, Jungkook rolls his eyes and shifts suddenly, joking to drop you from his lap as if he’d ever let it happen. He rests his chin on your shoulder as you wear the watch, his large hands running up and down your bare legs. 

“Bought it with my own money, silly,” he answers, voice lilting when he presses a kiss to your shoulder. He noses the curve of it up until he reaches your earlobe, the low giggle that erupts from him in faux arrogance making you shudder. “The couch we’re sitting on? My money too.”

“Your money,” you snort suddenly, the mischievous upturn of your lips making him raise his brows in provocation. He’s a little tipsy and with just the tiniest bit of alcohol in him, Jungkook’s filter is nowhere to be found. He makes it known that he’s entirely amused, even when you’re poking fun at him. “From where, baby?”

You already know where Jungkook could’ve possibly gotten the funds to buy you a luxury watch, especially since he worked for a large firm after college and was thrifty (maybe too much, even), but you wouldn’t be surprised if he does surprise you with a different answer entirely. 

It just happens that you love playing with Jungkook as much as he loves riding along.

Jungkook chuckles again, squeezing your arms with his hands. He figures that you have goosebumps because the airconditioner you have on works extremely well so he keeps touching you, but unbeknownst to him, its his ministrations in the first place that are making you shudder. 

“Well against my dignity, I became Jimin’s virtual assistant. Did the bookkeeping for like, decades worth of records.”

“My Jimin?” you ask in surprise, voice pitching because as much as you expected Jungkook to surprise you, you didn’t think it was to this extent.

He’s unfazed by your reaction for the most part because after all, he did confess to working with your manager behind your back, but what Jungkook really takes offense to is the way you word your shock.

Your husband flicks your forehead as gently yet as pettily as he could, the roll of his eyes coming like clockwork. “What do you mean, my? He’s just your manager.”

You laugh at the brief childish display, not being any better, when you gently pull on his hair. You’re occupied with getting back at him that you don’t notice the hitch in Jungkook’s breath; how his eyes close briefly in bliss. 

“Right. Sorry, accounting nerd.”

“This nerd got you a couch and a watch.”

The hum that leaves you is playful in good nature, and if Jungkook didn’t want to ravage you alive at the moment, he would’ve cackled. “That’s cute. I got us a house.”

“Mhmm, yeah you did. Pretty house,” he instantly agrees, closing his arms around your waist before he leans back on the baby blue floor couch and takes you with him. “It’s like you’re my sugar mommy, but we’re in love and we’re married and we’re not only fucking.”

“Greatly put, Kook,” you chuckle, the new position you have making the hiccups of your chest from your laughs reverberate right through Jungkook’s.

He’s still amused with you, the glassy look on his eyes evident not just from the liquor and the banter, but from the pure need in his chest. He zeroes in on your face when you look back at him, the intensity in his stare shutting your laughs up effectively.

He looks you over like it’s the first time he’s ever did this night, the desire in his eyes trumping everyone else’s who had looked at you in wholehearted yearning and jealousy — he figures that everyone knows and should know that you’re taken by him. 

Jungkook traces you from your high heels, to your stunning legs, to your pretty face, and finally, to your wrist that bears his gift.

“Thank you for the pretty watch,” you mumble, lost in the way Jungkook’s drinking in your appearance.

“You’re welcome. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he hums, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Jungkook’s speaking an afterthought, one that’s the only thing that’s been plaguing his mind recently. “Maybe you should choke me with it on.”

The skip that your heart makes isn’t out of fear, but instead, it’s out of excitement. Your sex life with Jungkook is the furthest thing from boring, of course — it’s just that this is the first time he’s ever pitched the idea to you and you want to kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

Against the popular misconception of your closest friends (and even non-close, prying people invested in your life too), it’s actually Jungkook who follows your lead. It’s proven by how he clung to you even from a distance during your break, to how he waits for you to come home from work and adjusts to your schedule, to how he craves your validation, and now, to how he wants you to choke him while wearing his gift on your wrist.

“Yeah? That’s what been in your mind all night?” you lick your lips, the drag of your teeth against them assuring you that this is actually happening and it’s not just a lust-crazed dream.

Jungkook’s mind cannot be any more present than now, the nod that he gives you highlighting his desperation. “Heels too, please,” he mumbles, chest starting to rise rapidly in anticipation.

You squint at the volume he regards you at, the way you tower over him as he’s sitting on the couch making him violently shudder. “What’s that? Don’t mumble if you want something, Jungkook.”

Jungkook snaps out of pent-up neediness, the roll of his eyes unmistakeable. “I said, keep your watch and heels on when you fuck me.” He blinks slowly the more that you keep your face straight at him, realizing his mistake belatedly so he rectifies his request sheepishly. “Please.”

“Could’ve said that without the attitude.”

“My fault,” he tests you purposely, knowing that you hate it when he doesn’t say sorry in verbatim. It’s a way of getting to you and on your nerves that he’s mastered. “You should choke me as punishment.”

As much as you try to feign indifference, an amused smile keeps trying to break out of your lips when Jungkook utilizes your moment of silence to scamper out of his clothes quickly, getting out of them in record time. The temperature the room is in should technically make him shiver, and yet the cold doesn’t get to Jungkook at all when his skin’s already hot just by thinking of you getting your way with him.

He has both arms leaned against the cushions, deceivingly composed when everything that’s just running through his mind involves you left alone in your watch and your heels. You undress in front of him like you’re bored and just want to get it over with, and even if it’s merely a show of your pride, it oddly makes Jungkook want you even more.

“I’ll use you however I want,” you croon, testing the waters that Jungkook’s already drowning himself in. He feels woozy already, the manicured nails with the color he picked out scratching against his chest. You’re perched on his thighs and not on his cock and so he bucks up into nothing, the realization that he’s not the one calling the shots making him hiss.

“Y-you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s docile underneath you, prim and proper even when he’s hard. The tiny nudge you give his chin makes him immediately look up, eyes attentive and pleading.

“It’s okay, baby,” you give in, the gentleness of your tone almost making him forget that he’s not dying for you to ride him already. “Wanna be a good boy for me?”

The question barely manages to come out of your lips fully before Jungkook leaps to kiss you, sloppily and messily. He’s whimpering with his mouth open, brows furrowing in frustration when you take control but it’s just not enough until he fills you up.

He’s noisy now, even more vocal than before. You inch closer to fill the space in between the two of you, and even if you aren’t sitting on his cock just yet, your clit brushes against the underside of Jungkook’s cock and it automatically makes him arch, the choked-out groan that comes from your throat making him whine.

Your pussy throbs at the mere attention but you’re sure that neither of you are gonna last either way, making the most out of the little room Jungkook has left before he cums. 

“I know, I know,” you hush Jungkook when you finally line your dripping hole with his cock, the combination of the easy slip and his tip maxing out in your core making him see white. He clenches your hips so hard that you involuntarily squeeze around him, his eyes almost bulging out of its sockets.

“Too — you’re too perfect for me,” he wheezes out when you grind against him before bouncing down again, riding him like you mean it. You’re flush against him, tits against his chest and mouth painting hickeys on his neck like he couldn’t feel any more insane. 

Jungkook makes the sweet mistake of looking away from where the two of you connect and onto the couch, seeing that you did keep your heels on and it makes him choke up over nothing. You pull away briefly from his neck just to see what his attention was on, and you realize that it’s one of the two things he asked you for.

“You’re making this too easy for me,” you huff, the roll of your eyes looking too genuine that your husband’s heart skips. He’s too preoccupied in his pleasure and the feeling of you that he momentarily forgot what he even asked of you in the first place until your hand comes up to his throat. Jungkook gutturally moans at your first, slow squeeze, eyes rolling back immediately.

Even if he hasn’t cummed yet, Jungkook looks completely unraveled beneath you, his moans and whimpers unlike any other. “Tighter. I-I can take it. I’m not gonna break,” he convinces you with his lips trembling, the nod that wracks his head making him even more dizzy.

Your grip on his neck momentarily loosens and Jungkook was just about to whine for more like the brat he is, but he stops in his tracks when he feels you gradually increase the pressure. “But what if I do wanna break you?”

“Gonna– gonna be the fucking death of me,” he whimpers, voice pitching out highly to the point it’s almost recognizable. The groan he releases next scratches the undeniable itch in your brain, setting goosebumps all over your bare skin because Jungkook’s possessed with pleasure. “I’ll let you. I want you to.”

His lips part open without you even saying a word, blinking up at you wordlessly and you take it as your cue to spit in his mouth. Jungkook whines because your hand temporarily betrays his neck to grip his chin in place and so he attempts to move it back himself, only to be swatted.

His eyes are blown-out with nothing but pleasure, snapping out of his daze when you go back to choking him. Jungkook plain-out mewls as your fervent bouncing on his cock transitions back to slow, deeper stroking against your walls. 

Your hand presses down all the right points and Jungkook feels like he’ll go cross-eyed just looking at the watch on your wrist that glints, the slight tremble that’s starting to wrack his body making you realize that’s he’s close to cumming.

“Read the time,” you practically spit as you slowly go back to bouncing on his cock at an angle, the fit tight and obscene with how your walls squelch around him. He’s inside you so deep that you feel the tip of him brush against your cervix, each thrust being the equivalent of you coming closer to being undone.

Jungkook’s close to incomprehensible, his breathing all over the place. “W-what? The– t-the time?” he squints, the tears of pleasure in his eyes making it harder and harder to see.

You bite back a moan when your other hand descends to your clit, digging yourself a grave as you tease. “Read the time, Jungkook. Do it correctly.”

“B-but I can’t-…” he starts to blubber, able to look down on your watch when he cranes his neck down enough, but unable to read the time when he’s this teary and close to cumming.

“Stupid,” you huff, making him whimper. You forego rubbing your clit in favor of roughly pulling his hair back, making him look at you even with the tears in his eyes. “Told you I wanted you to be a good boy. Not a stupid one. Can’t– fuck— can’t even read the time, baby?”

Jungkook’s mouth dries the more that you harshly ride him with no reprieve, the whimpers coming out of him being too high that they barely make a sound anymore. “I-I feel so good that I c-can barely see.”

He shakes underneath you, cock starting to twitch uncontrollably as you rock your hips to a rhythm he can’t keep up with. It feels too good that it’s paining you, swallowing your moans instead by taking out your pleasure by choking Jungkook. “Read the time correctly and I’ll let you cum.”

He feels like bursting already but he wants to please you still, gathering every last bit of clarity in his head. “It’s — t-the time is-…” he stutters, chest rising up and down rapidly. “12:45. It’s — shit! It’s 12:45 i-in the morning.”

You hum, finding the newfound energy to tease him before you see yourself ultimately crashing in the next few seconds. “I don’t know, Kook. You’re off by a few minutes.”

Jungkook’s so frustrated that he can tear his hair out, a new wave of tears running down his cheeks as he repeatedly chants under his breath. He’s begging and pleading and whining underneath you, lip jutting out in an insistent pout. “Y/N, m-mommy, please.” 

“What did you say?” your jaw snaps, the breath in your throat hitching that it makes your hand loosen up slightly on his own. Jungkook’s insistent for your hand to remain though, shaky hands darting up to keep the pressure there. “Where’d that come from, baby?”

“Huh? What did?” he mumbles, so blissed out and lost in pleasure, he feels drunk and sleepy at the same time. 

You finally take mercy when the knot in your stomach starts to unravel out of control, breathless when you take the last step to tighten your hold on his throat. “You think 12:45’s a good time for you to cum, baby?”

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook manages to get out, his vision turning white now that all it takes is one final roll of your hips before he cums inside you.

“Let go, baby, hm? Don’t stop cumming until I tell you to.”

Jungkook finally gets his release and his cum bursts in waves inside you, setting off your own orgasm. He shakes and cries continuously, whining as you slowly rock back and forth through your high as if you’re soothing him. He screws his eyes shut the moment that you grind against him, beyond sensitive to the point of no return. “Can’t — I c-can’t stop cumming! I-…”

You catch your breath as you cease your movements, feeling your husband tear it all out beneath you. “Just until the minute is up,” you assure him, your own vision hazy from how hard you came. “You can take it, crybaby.”

“I can, I can! I’ll be good,” Jungkook whispers, the very last few spurts of his cum draining everything from him. The two of you are completely fucked out, one more-so than the other.

You’re convinced that your husband has already succumbed to sleep if not for the small deep chuckle that escapes him, eyes glazed and slitted.

You don’t hold back this time, indulging Jungkook fully because this time, he says the right thing at the right time.

“If I get you a bracelet next, how far can that take me?”

[delopsia]

Dancing Beneath The Moon | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000  Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Ghost!Rhett AU (with a twist! I won't tell you what kind but it's a twist!), friends to lovers, Trevor does not take rejection very well (please be advised that he does yell at the reader and scare them), unprotected sex, mentions of violence, and Rhett's 'murder.' Please refer to the user manual and wash your cowboy before sex.  

"I-I'm sorry, I need to leave."

"Trevor, wait!" Your feet patter across the floor, struggling to keep up as he lets himself out the door, "I can explain."

Only on the front porch does he stop, ostrich-skin boots clicking against the old wood with every step, "You don't need to," holding up one hand, as if to ward you off, "I just...forgot my Dad asked me to interview our new ranch hand today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, gaping like a damn goldfish.

"I'll call you later," and that's all Trevor leaves you with, skittering off the porch and clambering up into that lifted F-150, with its perfect, custom black paint that glimmers a deep blue as he tears down your driveway.

Ugh.

"Rhett!" Your voice echoes throughout the house, punctuated by the slamming of the door behind you. So loud, and yet you can still hear the vicious banging of your beloved cast iron skillet banging on your kitchen tile. A shrill clatter of noise that has you fighting the urge to cover your ears as you storm into the kitchen.

And there he is. The translucent motherfucker, sitting cross-legged beneath your table, peeking out from beneath it. "What?" A big, shit-eating grin lacing his barely there features, so innocent and childlike that you almost don't believe he was the cause of this mayhem.

Almost.

The skillet in his hand provides a pretty damning counterargument.

"I'd kill you if you weren't already dead," fuming, yanking that dented skillet out of his hand; Rhett's grip is strong, but not enough to stop you from taking your cookware back.

"I was playin' with that," he huffs, a cold wind that tickles your ankles.

The skillet lands in the sink with a clatter. "And I was trying to have a date," you hiss, throwing your hands up, "but I'm unfortunate enough to share a house with a ghost who doesn't have any fucking manners!"

"I have manners!" Rhett's up in the air now, a buzzing collection of mist that floats up to the ceiling, no longer human, "I just ain't got 'em for big shots that wanna play cowboy for a day!"

"He is a cowboy," he's not. You know he's not. But god, you are not giving Rhett fucking Abbott the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. "You wouldn't know, being ancient and all that."

The temperature drops. Mist scattering. You can't tell where he is anymore. "I would know 'cause I am a fuckin' cowboy!" His disembodied, roaring voice comes from all directions. "No good-minded cowboy wears a goddamn rolex on a work day, 'cause they know that shits fixin' t'get scuffed!"

"Cowboy or not, you're going to have to get over it," as you reach for the tap, you think you can feel his presence behind you. Some invisible thing that sends your skin prickling, even with the knowledge of how harmless he truly is. "Trevor's coming back, and if you keep scaring him off, I'm phoning a priest."

"Fine!" Booming behind you.

"Fine!"

He's gone for the rest of the night.

The pizza guy scares the hell out of you when he knocks on the door. Not because you had forgotten about your order but because you were waiting on the curtains to peel themselves open. Expecting to hear a deep, half-hearted grumble about how "your date is here" as the fella clambers out of his beat-up sedan.

But it never comes.

Rhett doesn't even bug you about giving him a slice that he knows he can't eat, but you catch yourself putting a plate out for him. You wonder if he's in the room to see you rushing to put it back in the cupboard. Maybe he's out in the field because the television doesn't miraculously change to the Animal Channel like it usually does. You don't catch a glimpse of him lingering in the mirror whilst you brush your teeth.

You're glad.

You didn't want to see his ugly mug anyway.

Strange how such a big presence can vanish so easily, without a trace or hint of where he went, leaving this big farmhouse feeling like a husk of what it usually does. The temperature drops a degree or two when he's around, but without him, it feels like you've set up camp in the Arctic. How can a dead man bring so much life to a place?

But the covers are tucked around you in the morning.

You can't see him, but when you step into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and yawning, you can feel him wisping around you. That invisible presence seeking for anything to get back on your good side.

The toast lifts itself onto a plate before it can be burnt by that old, barely functioning toaster of yours. On the table, the weekly grocery ad flips open to a discount on new toasters, a lazily written note scrawled beneath it. 'They even have the color you were wanting! :)'

He pulls the chair out for you to sit, and when you defiantly head out onto the porch to eat, he pulls the patio chair out for you too. You hate giving him the satisfaction of helping, but it's hard to avoid him when he's free to roam this entire property.

But the one thing you've forgotten is just how hot Wabang can get, even this early in the morning. Birds tiredly chirp from their nests, unwilling to take flight beneath the sweltering sun; the old wind chime is silent, not even the slightest breeze appearing to help it sing its tune. You've been outside for a mere five minutes, and yet sweat already beads on your forehead.

A cold nothingness wisps past you. Round and round your little patio table, stirring up a breeze that doesn't reach the trees.

"You can come out, Rhett," fighting your laugh is futile because it slips out as you speak, dancing through the air in tune with the wind chime.

The opposite chair scoots out on its own, a pale blue mist collecting in the seat; it'll take him a moment to get settled back into form. "Did ya happen to find my headstone yesterday?"

Your head is shaking before he can get his sentence out. "Are you sure you were buried in Wabang?"

"I don't know where else I'd be," Rhett's face isn't fully there yet, but his scowl is, settled deep into his nonexistent features. "Wabang was the only place my folks ever knew."

Your heavy tongue can't be brought to tell him about the graves you did find. Royal and Cecelia buried together, their son Perry right next to them, and their granddaughter Amy buried in the row in front of them, next to a headstone simply titled 'Autumn.'

Rhett should know. He deserves to know where his family rests, but you can't bring yourself to tell Rhett that his killer was given the privilege of being buried next to his parents. Don't know how to tell him that the Amelia County Sherrif dug up an old newspaper declaring Perry Abbott as not guilty of Rhett's murder.

"C'n I bug you to put a cup of coffee out?" Rhett chirps, and that permanently scruffy face almost looks real. His eyes must have been as blue as the ocean deep when he was alive, for even now, they glow with their color. The only thing off about him is his slight transparency and the rays of sunlight that spear through his body.

"You didn't smell it enough this morning?" You ask, but you're getting up anyway; you'd rather not deny his request and risk him making a mess by trying to do it himself.

His boots click across the old wood, in perfect tune with your step, "wasn't here."

"Where did you go?" You're already grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, other hand reaching for the coffee pot.

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "barn." When you turn around, he's no longer there, a plume of mist once more, but you don't need to see him to know that his eyes are transfixed on the ground. "Didn't think y'wanted me in the house after last night."

Most people would love it if their ghosts would leave the residence; let them live in peace without being heckled by the souls who can't move on. You'd know; you were one of them, once upon a time.

"You don't have to leave every time we bicker, Rhett," it feels strange to say, but those words are spoken directly from the heart, "this is your house too."

He manifests again. Back to his favorite spot beneath the edge of the kitchen table, cross-legged, where he can peek out to see what you're doing. A little too big to fit, but he makes it work.

Like clockwork, his right-hand toys with the cracked edge of a linoleum tile, the one he's pulled up numerous times in the past.

"Please don't tear up my tile," you try to say it as gently as you can; you know why he's so drawn to it, but you really don't want to spend an afternoon fixing your beloved floor again. Wordless, he leaves his spot, content to settle down in a kitchen chair and smell his coffee. The closest he can get to enjoying its flavor.

You wind up back in bed early in the afternoon. Downed by a migraine that refuses to pass, settling deep into your skull, brought on by an unknown cause. You think it may be from the obnoxiously strong air freshener you plugged in; Rhett blames it on your cellphone.

"Care for some company?"

You're fortunate that Rhett Abbott is easy on the eyes because it's difficult to open them. There he is, standing near the edge of the bed, in the same spot you met him three years ago.

At least this time, the two of you aren't screaming, startled by each other's sudden presence.

"As long as you don't hog the sheets," comes your conclusion, and the bed is dipping as soon as the last word has left your mouth. A weight that isn't there settles across from you, a human-shaped indent that by all means shouldn't exist.

Rhett's hair falls into his face as his pretty head lands on the pillow, snuggling against it, and you know he's trying his best to remain as solid as he can. He says he's not touch-starved, but you're starting to think that he's lying.

Your hand wanders out on its own, carefully settling against that misty cheek, trying not to go through him. "You look a little more solid than usual."

"Only took a couple years of practice," the corner of his lip rises with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh, why does he have to look so sad when your hand inevitably passes through him?

You don't know if ghosts can cry, but his eyes seem to water as he feels your touch falter. They always do, but it never gets any easier to look at. It never gets easier, watching his smile wobble back into a frown, and his form grow a little more opaque.

Opening your arms to him probably isn't the best move to make. You've both discussed this; roommates is as far as this relationship can ever go because anything more asks for nothing but heartache. Heartache, such as the crushing feeling of feeling him squirm closer and not being able to feel him when you wrap your arms around his waist.

The only sign that he's real is the coldness you feel against your chest as his head settles against there. And, maybe, just maybe, you think you can feel wisps of his hair tickling your skin.

"What the hell is that?"

You haven't even taken it out of the box, and Rhett is already puffing up like a feral cat about it. "What does it look like, Rhett?"

The living room light flickers, his blue mist settling into the corner of the couch, as far as he can get from the box sitting on the floor. Refuses to take any more form than he already has, doesn't know how to react to this new thing that now sits in the same room as him.

"I don't have a clue," he says after a moment.

"It's a video game console," you want to take it out of the box and prove that it's not going to hurt him, but you don't want him getting any more surprised than he already is.

Against all odds, it seems you've got his attention because you can see his face now, head cocked to the side like a puppy. "A huh?"

"It connects to the television," nodding your head toward the flat screen next to you, "you can use it to play games on it."

He perks at that. "You can play checkers on the TV?"

Checkers wasn't what you had in mind, but you're sure it's on there.

There's a lot of fumbling involved. All the various cords and manuals only serve to confuse him more than he already is, and though he tries his best to help, he's not much assistance. There are less than five cords for the system, and he thinks they're all HDMI cables. But he's helpful when it comes to squeezing behind the television, at least.

"So that box...puts the game on the screen?" He asks as soon as you've settled onto the couch together, scooted as close as he can possibly get. "And you use that thing to play?"

For a cowboy who grew up in the days of black-and-white television, he catches on quickly. "For the most part, yes."

You'd won this thing in a raffle held down at the Bison Valley Bank of Wyoming, entered just for the hell out of it while you were down there a couple of months ago. How you won a new gaming console and why it came with a second controller, hot pink in color, you'll never know.

Rhett's simply poking at the joystick, unwilling to pick it up just yet, but you know he'll take to it like he did your television. Later, you'll wish you hadn't, but for now, you'll download one of his favorite board games.

"Monopoly?" He's fighting it, but there's still a twinge of excitement in his tone.

Now he's picking it up.

And within the hour, you regret even bringing the damn console into the house because you lose. Horribly. As soon as Rhett figured out the controls and the slight change in rules, you knew you didn't stand a chance. You can't even be upset about your crippling loss because he's kicking his legs back and forth and giggling.

"One more round?" He pleads, those opaque eyes sparkling with their childlike wonder, and you know he's never going to let this controller go.

"Let me get a drink, and then we'll play another," are you only agreeing because you enjoy the melody of laughter coming from your household ghost?

Absolutely not.

...okay, maybeyou are, but still.

At least he can't see your smile as you head for the kitchen, socked feet pattering across the cold hardwood without much of a sound. Already formulating a plan in your head, the next surprise move that might help you beat Rhett at one of his favorite games. If you can buy all four railroads before Rhett does...

The floor bends beneath your foot. Something crackles.

"Rhett, can you come here for a second?" Frozen in place, afraid to make another move. The lights are off; you can't see what's going on, but something feels wrong.

His presence is there before you can think any further, a chill ghosting over your body as he breezes around you. Circling like he's making an attempt at thwarting your fears before he flicks the light switch on.

And now you see it.

The kitchen floor is beginning to cave in, bowing inwards, right where your kitchen table sits. Beneath your foot, the tile has begun to crack, breaking into smaller pieces that cannot withstand any amount of weight on top of it.

"That floor's fixin' to collapse, doll," comes his voice, seemingly from all directions.

You're moving to step off of it and venture back out into the presumably safe hallway. But the floor crackles even louder. Tiles buckling beneath both of your feet. Sinking lower.

"I don't think I can," your body sways, fighting to remain upright.

Rhett's silently wrapping around you, formless blue mist shaping around you like a hug, tugging you away with a surprising amount of force. Practically takes your feet out from under you as he hauls you out of the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," you mutter in the hallway. Where the floor is solid and doesn't threaten to come out from under you.

"Only when I'm wantin' to be," he mutters directly into your ear, and you're suddenly glad that you've never asked how strong he is, as a ghost and all, "Now what kind of drink were you after?"

Rhett's your kitchen boy for the next three days until you can get someone to come and take a look at your floor. Balancing drinks and plastic cups that occasionally end in a tragic spill because he's not as good at balancing small objects. The first person never shows up; the second arrives bright and early in the morning, interrupting your morning conversation with Rhett on the porch.

"Now, like I said before, I don't have my equipment on me, so I can't guarantee you that this is the case," the guy begins, and you really, really hope he doesn't look up and see Rhett's dumbass sitting on the counter, "but my biggest guess is that your foundation has been exposed to too much moisture for too long."

"What's the worst-case scenario for this?" Your attention flickers between him and Rhett; what if it's something that you can't afford to fix?

He pauses to press his foot against the floor one more time, carefully surveying the way it shakes beneath the weight, tile crackling once more, "now it's highly unlikely, but worst case scenario, in my opinion, would be a sinkhole."

Your face drops.

"But that's highly unlikely," and he doesn't seem too concerned as he turns to face you, "I wouldn't worry until we get back out here and tear up the floor this coming Monday."

So Monday it is. That will be the day you find out if it's a simple fix or if you'll have no choice but to move out and leave your beloved house ghost all by his lonesome. Rhett seems to catch onto that thought, too. Remarkably quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't blame him. For about forty-five years, this house was occupied by a family of religious folk who used some sort of herb to quite literally render Rhett into a state of unconsciousness. One too many surprise appearances in the mirror doomed him to sleep for all those years, only -reawakening after you moved in and scrubbed this old farmhouse from top to bottom.

He's never known what it's like to be alone. The closest he's come to it is the sporadic vacations you've taken over the past couple of years. None of which have lasted longer than a week, but all of which have ended in him waiting on the porch, tackling you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Unless he can attach himself to you, he'll never be able to wander further than the fields that surround your home.

Rhett doesn't take form again until Sunday night.

You don't know why you've drug these two lawn chairs out into the lawn, past the gravel that eats up the area around the house, but you have. Lounging, gazing up at the moon and stars hanging high above your heads, pointing out all the shapes you find amongst them.

The portable radio drones lowly in between you, stuck on the same old country station, ever since Rhett and his ghostly ways accidentally jammed it last summer.

"Do you wanna dance with me?"

And you don't know if...did you make that up in your head? Or was that just the radio?

"You know I'm not drunk this time, right?" Your head tilts, aiming to get a glimpse of him. He's already looking at you, smiles weakly as you meet his eye. Laying here, cloaked in the silvery light of the moon, he looks...real. If you reached out, you're sure you'd feel the scruff of his cheek scratch at your palm.

He hums, "I know." Pausing, just for a moment, to look up at the stars one more time. Your eyes follow, scanning the speckled sky, delighted to catch the tail end of a shooting star. You should make a wish...but you can't think of anything to wish for. "I just...wanted t' know what kinda dancer you are when you're sober."

"Alright," comes your answer; dry, nothing more to add to it.

And you don't know where it comes from, but Rhett reaches off to the side of his chair and plucks a translucent cowboy hat off the ground. Takes care to dust it off with his scarred palm, even though nothing can possibly dirty it, before carefully placing it atop his head.

He holds his hand out for you to take as if it's something that's become possible all of a sudden, and against better judgment, you do just that. Slipping your palm into the chilly illusion of his, deceiving yourself into believing that you feel his fingers curling around your hand. It's not, but as he leads you out further into the grass, it becomes easy to deceive yourself.

"Whoever taught you to dance, anyway?" You giggle as he spins you around; catches you by the waist when you come to face him once more.

He grins, big and wide, and you think you see his teeth glint in the moonlight. "You give amazin' lessons when you're drunk."

Oh, how easy it is.

Dancing beneath the moon, in nothing but your pajamas, held close by the ghost of a cowboy whose soul fits against your own like a puzzle piece. He doesn't know what he's doing, and if he were human, you're sure he'd be stepping on your feet, but he moves in such wonderous tune with your body that it feels like a daydream. His cold forehead rests against yours, ocean eyes peering deep into the deepest crevices of who you are.

You're drifting away from the grass and into the driveway, feet kicking up loose gravel with each and every step. Sweeping past your car, your shoulder narrowly avoids the passenger side mirror. You should be looking where you're going, you're going to drift too close to the porch and fall, but Rhett's gaze is so captivating that you can't bring yourself to look away.

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy?

And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

"You're thinkin' awful hard," the hand that curls around your cheek feels so real, the vague callous of a thumb stroking beneath the corner of your eye.

"Just figuring out how I'm going to pack you up and take you with me," your words are a poorly collected lie; you both know it, but he doesn't call you out on it.

Oh, and he's pushing your noses together with all the boldness of a man who knows what he wants. Your fingers are trying to tangle in his hair, and it's of no use, but you do it anyway, uncaring of how your hands sink through that collection of mist.

"Take me with you, hm?" He's slowing to a stop, the arm around your waist drawing you closer to him. "What happens when y' find someone to settle down with? Y'gonna turn me into the ring bearer at the weddin'?"

"Fortunately," your gaze flickers down his face, and you're so, so sure he's real, "I've already found that someone."

Rhett has no need for oxygen, and yet he sucks in a breath of air anyway, a little reflex remaining even after all this time.

One of you should shut this down right here before it goes too far. But your arms are wrapping around those broad shoulders, precariously balanced upon the thick collection of mist that makes up Rhett Abbott's ghost. The hand on your cheek is dropping to cup your jaw, and the world spins even faster as both of you lean in. His cold breath fans out against your lips, your eyes meet one more time, and...

Kissing him is the only thing you have ever needed.

A heart-stopping boom tears through the silence. Glass shattering in hot pursuit. As your eyes flutter open, the kitchen light goes out.

"What was that?" Your feet are already moving, Rhett's form dissolving into a thin mist, following at your side.

"I don't know," his distant voice rings, "please be careful."

You can hardly heed his warning. Sweeping past the front door, not bothering to take your shoes off, as you head for the kitchen. It's too dark to see, forcing you to fumble for the dining room light that you never use. Your hands graze over the switch, flipping it on, and, and—

The kitchen floor is nearly gone.

Replaced by a deep, cavernous hole that seems to reach deep into the earth. Consumes over half of the floor where your table once sat, reaching from your cabinets to your teetering refrigerator, on the verge of falling in.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get your spirit to attach to a living person, do you?" You hope Rhett can't pick up on the shake in your tone; there's no way insurance will cover a damn sinkhole.

But your question is met with silence.

"Rhett?" You're turning, and...he's not there. The air is unusually warm, not a speck of mist to be found. "Rhett?" Trying again, louder this time, as you head for the door, because maybe he's outside, maybe he's...

He's not there either. Maybe he's upstairs. Yeah, when he panics, he usually hides out in his old bedroom. He's just upstairs.

The door slams shut.

A second crash follows suit; you don't want to know if that was your refrigerator or if the sinkhole expanded even further.

"Rhett, this isn't funny," shaking the door knob. Locked from the inside. "Rhett, open the door!"

He doesn't.

The windows are all locked down tight. Even the one you intentionally leave unlocked. You find your car keys sitting atop the roof of your car, the paint scratched from where they've been thrown from a distance.

Rhett's chilly presence doesn't visit you when you sleep in the car that night.

He's not there to spook the contractor when he and his crew arrive early in the morning. You don't find him sitting on the couch when they kick the door down, and he's not on your bed when you sneak up the stairs, even after you're warned against going to the second floor. He isn't even there when countless faces enter your home to check out just what is going on in your kitchen.

"I've never seen this before," one of them tells you, her brows furrowed as she looks at her clipboard once more, "but it's not a sinkhole at all."

You don't know if you heard her correctly. "It's not?"

"It's a fifteen-foot hole that must have been dug by a past owner," she pauses to flip through her phone, presenting you with a photo of...just a dirt hole. Nothing special about it in the slightest. "They never refilled it, either; it was only a matter of time before the foundation collapsed into it."

Your mind flickers to your seemingly non-existent ghost. Rhett's never told a lot about his murder, but you know for sure that it happened in the kitchen. "Did you find anything down there?"

That seems to give her pause, ink pen tapping idly against her lips as she rechecks her pages and pages of notes. "Aside from your refrigerator and debris from the collapse...," flicking through another page, "it was completely empty! Nothing to worry about."

Well, at least now you know Rhett's not buried beneath the kitchen floor.

Even worse, his spirit no longer lurks within the paper-thin walls of this century-old farmhouse. You call for him in the fields, disturbing the cattle your neighbor keeps, and you beg for him to be there when you crawl out of bed in the morning. But the house remains warm; the only mist you find is in the fog that settles over your home after it rains, and he doesn't come out to mess with the teen boys employed to carry in bags of dirt, to fill the hole with.

Doesn't even appear when Trevor's F-150, with its irritating color-shifting paint, pulls into the driveway one evening.

"And so there was just a hole under your floor this whole time?" He's sitting in Rhett's favorite spot, cheap beer balanced carelessly between his legs. Has already spilled it once, leaving a stain on your cushion, and you'd tell him off if you weren't hoping it would infuriate Rhett into showing his face.

"The going theory is that one of the past owners dug it," glancing toward the mirror as you speak; still no ghost.

"I bet you more than anything that it's related to that Abbott murder," Trevor says, picking his drink up once more.

Your heart lurches in your chest. "Murder?"

"Did the realtor not tell ya?" Why is he scratching his cheek with the edge of his beer can? "That uh...what's his name? Perry, that's right, got into it with his brother and beat 'em to death in the kitchen."

"They told me someone died, but they never really elaborated," you mutter as he scoots a little closer. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

Trevor's heavy arm slings over your shoulder, drawing you near, musky cologne rudely meeting your nose. This is the same man you've been pursuing for months, so why is it that all of a sudden, your stomach churns at his touch? "Think it was...mmm, I think it was over some broad that went missing a couple of months before. Perry's wife, fiance, or something like that."

The alcohol on his breath has your senses reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden onset of nausea. Rhett didn't have much of a scent, but the little he carried was nothing but leather and honeyed sweetness. Your memory of his touch is brief, can count on one hand the amount of times he wrapped an arm around you, but he never dragged you into his chest like Trevor does.

"I'm sorry," speaking gently, you slide out from under his arm, rising to your feet, "I can't do this."

Trevor's face falls; you already regret speaking up, "what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I just..." shaking your head, eyes landing on the hot pink controller that Rhett once played with, "I can't."

"The fuck do you mean you can't?" He's shooting up from his seat, beer can hitting the floor, the golden liquid splashing across the hardwood.

Your mouth is opening, but you don't get a chance to speak.

"You sure could when you were begging me to stay in this freaky ass house of yours last week!" Roaring, face twinging with red as he tries to close the space between you. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Loud bangings that rattle you so hard the house seems to shake with it. "You put me through all this just to tell me no?"

"I didn't put you through a damn thing!" Your voice echoes through the house, tone fierce, yet your feet timidly take one step back for each one Trevor takes forward. The floor seems to tremble beneath you. An earthquake that only you can feel.

Trevor's quiet at that.

You'd rather if he just yelled.

Because now he's got you creeping backward, and there's only so much space you can back up into. Your voice is caught in your throat. Stifled by something invisible. Mouth opening, but nothing comes out. The light in the kitchen goes out. Glitters of gold flitter past your head like tiny sugar plum fairies.

All of a sudden, Trevor lurches toward you.

Your head smacks against the wall. Jumping away from him.

"You think that little of me," he laughs, incredulous, "you think that fucking little of me?"

"Trevor." Your voice bursts past your lips. Shaky. But there. "Stop."

"Or what, huh?" Spit hits your face. His hand slams next to your head. Breaking through the drywall. "You owe me! I didn't spend all this goddamn time just for you to up and change your little fucking mind!"

"They asked you to stop." That's not your voice.

And it's not Trevor's, either.

Heavy boots thump across the floor. Spurs jingling with every step. Next to your head, a dirt-covered hand takes hold of Trevor's wrist. Muscles flex as it tears Trevor's fist out of the wall. Shoves it into his chest.

Trevor's reddened face has gone stark white. Trips over his own boots as a hulking, dirt-coated figure steps in front of you. Broad shoulders, covered by a vaguely patterned flannel; plaid, it looks like. Dark brown curls rest at his nape, unruly hair flowing freely. Suspiciously similar to...

"Who the fuck is this?" Trevor's still backing up, and this vaguely familiar man eats up every inch of space that's put between them.

"The house ghost." And that's...that's...

Trevor runs for the door before you can finish your thought. Slams it shut behind himself, like it'll keep him from being followed. Truck already rumbling to life. Downright roaring as the vehicle tears out of the driveway, sending gravel clanking against your windows.

But that's not what you're paying attention to.

Truly, you should be concerned about your windows being broken. But all you can do is look towards your kitchen because the light flickers back on. Gives you a momentary glance at a bottomless hole that's returned once more. Leaving behind no trace of the dirt that once filled it. Thin wisps of gold dance through it like an aurora, seemingly alive as they move.

You blink, and it's halfway gone. The edges shrinking inward until the hole is no more. Leaving behind that same freshly packed dirt.

Leaving behind...

"Rhett?"

He jolts at the sound of his name. As if he's surprised you're even speaking to him. Has yet to speak; confirm it's really him, but you already know the answer to that. He turns. Slow. And you can't help but wonder if that really is dirt because it seems to be fading away.

Slow, your hand drifts out from your side, and when your fingers curl around his jaw, you don't know if it's you who sucks in a breath of air or him.

Scruffy. Unshaven face scratching at your soft palm, dirt sticking to your skin as your thumb soothes over a remaining patch stuck to his cheek. Warm. He's warm. And he's hesitantly pushing his head into your hand, and, and—

"Rhett." You say it once more. The only thing you know how to say.

Tears well in those eyes. They're as blue as you ever could have hoped they would be. So, so real, not a shred of translucence to their color. One spills over onto his cheek, rolling until it's caught and wiped away by your thumb.

His arms are moving, hesitant to wrap around you, and you know he's worried about getting dirt on you, but the only thing you care about is stepping into him. Wrapping your trembling arms around that big, warm body of his and feeling him squeeze you into his chest. Where his heart beats heavy, thunking against you with the strength of an ox.

"I don't know how..." he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck, where he's buried his face.

"You're still an ass for locking me out of my own house," you're trying to sound irritated, but it's difficult to feign annoyance when he squeezes you a little tighter.

"Didn't want you bein' sucked in like I was," it's so strange to hear his voice like this, no longer a disembodied sound, "I...it just...kept suckin' me in every time I got out."

You're leaning away, and God, you don't want to leave those strong, trembling arms, but you want to see that face of his even more. The wrinkles beneath his eyes, the wobble of thin, chapped lips as they rise into a meager smile.

The callouses of his fingers drag against the soft skin of your cheek as his big hand settles there. Not the misty, barely there touch you're used to, but just as gentle as it's always been. His nose bumps against yours. Don't know who's leaning in. You shouldn't. You shouldn't do this.

This time, you know for sure that it's you who closes the gap between your bodies. It's you who catches this cowboy's lips in your own, reveling in that surprised gasp of his.

If you thought that kissing his ghost was heaven, then this is something else entirely.

Molding together like you were made just for this, his hand on your cheek and yours delving into his messy hair. Feeling the strength of the arm that curls around your waist and breathing in those faint notes of leather and honey and something warm that you can't quite place.

He pauses for a moment, breaks into a big, dumb smile as you meet his eye once more. And then he leans in to kiss you once more, hands cradling your cheeks, like you're a delicate flower whose petals will fall if he doesn't hold you together. His body shudders with something torn between a giggle and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's smiling so much that your teeth clack together.

Your name tumbles off of his lips. Then again and again, like he's trying to memorize the feel of it in his mouth. The way it rolls off his tongue and twists through the air, the sound seeming to kiss your ears when it meets them.

"Rhett," mirroring him, and oh, how he perks at that. Has he always reacted so beautifully to you calling his name?

"Say it again," his nose bumps against yours as he speaks, "Please. Wanna hear you say it again." So eager to hear you that he looks two steps away from a puppy, the tears in his eyes shimmering with wonder as you open your mouth once more.

"Rhett," you whisper, like it's a secret shared on the playground, and then, again, "Rhett."

This time, when your back hits the wall, it's because a bright-eyed cowboy is carefully backing you into it, one hand protecting the back of your head as he dresses his body against yours. Smiling too much to kiss you, can't seem to get over the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming reality of whatever this is.

"We probably shouldn't be..." Higher thinking rushes back to your head in a whirlwind, thoughts running wild in the darkest crevices of your mind. What if's and why's and wonderings of how this happened, if it's permanent or temporary. "What if we cross that line, and you go back to being a ghost?"

You don't think you'll ever adjust to the sound of Rhett breathing or the way his eyelashes flutter as he thinks for a moment. He's licking his lips, mouth opening, and, "What if we don't cross that line and spend our whole lives regrettin' it?" 

One too many kisses may leave you longing for him for the rest of your life, but one too few may leave you carrying eternal heartache. And that's only if he goes back to being a ghost. But he feels real. When you press your palm to his chest, his warm hand covers it, guiding it to rest over his beating heart. Little thumpings that shouldn't be there, full of life and love and all just for you. 

He could have come back to life for anyone. But he came back for you. 

To hell with it. 

Your bodies collide like galaxies. Blinded by a frantic kiss that promises bruises to your lips. Flecks of gold fall from his body as your hands roam, tugging at a flannel, at his hair, at his hands. Legs tangling because you're moving too quickly, and he's still adjusting to walking rather than floating. 

Only break apart long enough to tumble up the stairs; Rhett almost trips over every one of them. Struggling to keep his confidence but boosted along by the kisses you pepper to his reddened cheeks and the gentle tuggings of your hand in his. 

Your back hits the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn, Rhett tumbling right along with you, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Under the dim lighting of your bedroom lamp, it's easy to catch onto the deep bruising that scatters beneath his right eye. 

"These are from Perry, aren't they," it's more of an observation than a question, your fingers soothing over the marks as if they can somehow heal them.

Rhett's pressing a kiss to your wrist as it roams past, "Don' wanna think 'bout that son 'f a bitch right now."

You can work with that. 

Especially when your bodies squirm further up the bed, his hips settling between your legs, forearms bracing themselves on either side of your head, heaving chests against one another. His lips solid against your own, hungry, urged on by the nails that dig into his shoulders for leverage. 

"You'll tell me if I'm goin' too far?" He's speaking into your kiss, unwilling to remove himself any further. 

Maybe there's a second ghost in this house because something possesses you to roll your hips up into his. Such a faint pressure, the rough bulge in his jeans rubbing against your soft pajama shorts, but it's so much compared to what used to be. "I will," you're interrupted by his mouth once more, "but I'm sure you'll be the one asking me to stop before the end of the night." 

Your hand has a mind of its own, wandering down his chest, flattening out to feel the muscles that ripple along his stomach, hidden from view by his shirt. They flex under your touch, a simple thing that makes your head spin. By some method of madness, that shirt is still tightly tucked into his jeans, the material hard to get ahold of. 

Rhett shifts above you, unintentionally moving when you feel for some slack in his shirt, something to get ahold of, and your hand wildly overshoots. Palm splaying out against the front of his jeans instead. 

"'m not so sure 'bout that, sweetheart," he groans, a deep, guttural noise escaping him as he reaches down, catches your fleeting hand, and guides you to press against him once more.  "I ain't had a dick for the better half of a fuckin' century." 

These old jeans are thick, but even so, you can still feel him twitch against your touch. This wasn't what you were aiming for in the slightest, but watching him shiver as you massage over the outline of his bulge is a hell of a sight. 

"Sensitive," you're only lightly teasing; any more words and you'll be fumbling with his belt buckle.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, head dropping to press his lips to the meet of your jaw, teeth tugging the skin there. 

You think your eyes may pop out of your head. "I thought you promised to stay out of my bedroom when I didn't invite you in." 

"Wasn't in the bedroom, baby," he's chuckling, breath tickling your ear as he works his way towards it, "When you're a ghost, you hear everythin'." 

Then he's leaning back, leaves you feeling cold as he fumbles with his jeans, boots hitting the floor with two solid thunks. An involuntary whine works its way out of you, reaching aimlessly for him. 

"Don't wanna get y'all dirty, sweetheart," he soothes, catching your hand and pressing kisses to your knuckles. Pops open his belt buckle with a pinch of his fingers, and soon those dirty jeans are sliding off, revealing milky white thighs, mottled with bright spots of red and deep purples,  a badly bruised knee to match.

...as well as a pair of boxers patterned with bright red hearts. 

"Y'ain't gonna believe me," Rhett's staring down at them too, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "but I have no fuckin' memory of wearin' these." The tips of his ears have gone bright red. Another quirk hidden until now. 

"We'll get them off soon enough, I'm sure," you say, leaning up to let him peel your shirt over your head. 

As soon as it's out of sight, Rhett's lips return to your neck, one wandering hand soothing up your side, not stopping until it reaches your breast. Does nothing more than feel you in his hand, sucking at a soft spot beneath your ear that has you fighting the urge to close your eyes. 

Your hands wander, one wrapping around a surprisingly muscled bicep while the other delves between your bodies once more. Feeling down his sturdy chest, past his stomach, and not stopping until you can take hold of him through his boxers. 

"Fuck," his body jolts, "'re you sure 'm not dreamin'?"

"I thought ghosts didn't sleep?" You're parroting something you so clearly recall him mentioning in the past, can't place the memory yet. Don't really care to, either. The only thing on your mind is the way your fingers wander past his waistband, wrapping around his cock that jumps at your touch. 

He's thicker than you imagined he'd be. 

Moans prettier, too, for that matter. A little bit breathy and so Rhett. 

"Hands of yours are so fuckin' small," he's muttering in between kisses as he works his way back to your lips. Can't kiss you because a jolted grunt interrupts him, a symphony of sounds as you slowly stroke him. Oversensitive, the first touch he's felt in decades.

His hair drops into his face, acts as a curtain when you look down to where your hand is working him. Can hardly see what you're doing, but you do catch a glimpse of precum beading at his flushed tip, hearing his gasp when your thumb swipes over it. 

"Y'need to stop that," he huffs, voice nothing but air, "gonna...fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep..." And despite asking you to stop, he grumbles when you let go of him. 

Hands now free, you reach for your shorts, not sure why you feel so shy when he helps you tug them down your legs; it's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. From you forgetting he's there to him accidentally floating into the shower while you were using it. 

But these eyes are not the translucent ones you're used to, with their expression hidden by deviations in his mist. No, these eyes darken as they drink up the sight of you, every little thought in his head spoken through his gaze. But even as he kicks his boxers off, shirt going right along with it, you can't help but feel like hiding under the sheets. 

"'ve I ever told you that you're beautiful?" His voice breaks the silence, stroking the inside of your knee as he speaks. 

You don't have words for that. 

He doesn't need them. 

You really don't have words for when he takes hold of your wrist, guiding it up and taking two of your fingers into his mouth. Tongue carefully swirling around each of them, soaking them with a content hum. Your eyebrows furrow, to which he raises his other hand. Dirt beneath his nails and caught in the wrinkles of his hand. 

Ah.

Reluctantly, you pull your fingers from his warm mouth, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press them inside. Open and already wet, helped along by a moment of fun you'd had in the morning, hoping a familiar ghost may come to help you along. 

"How did you know I kept my lube in the bottom drawer?" You can't help but ask, watching as he fishes around for it. 

The tips of his ears are red again. "I learned the hard way not to float through bedside tables."

He's the one who uncaps the container, but it's you who reaches out for him to pour it into your palm. Not because you're concerned with dirt but because you want to feel him in your hand again. Twitching when you take hold of him, a thick vein running along the side of his length. He has to stifle a noise with each stroke, squeezing your knee all the while. 

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asks when you urge him closer. 

"I'm sure I'll be fine, cowboy," fighting back a noise as you guide him down, letting him push between your folds, some lazy, teasing thing that has his plush head dragging past your clit. Sensitive, almost has you considering making him fuck you like this instead. 

But he's catching against your entrance, and you've daydreamed about this man too many times to pass up the opportunity. 

That tentative, forward tilt of his hips is enough to make your head spin. Pressure blooming as he pushes into you, careful, like you'll shatter into a million pieces if he's too quick. 

"Rhett," you whisper, don't quite know why. 

"'m here," he's coming back down, nose pressing against yours in his own little way of reassurance, "I've got you."

Your earlier rendezvous didn't end well for you, but you're so thankful for it in hindsight because his cock stretches you wide. Blunt head dragging against your walls, massaging past the bundle of nerves you couldn't seem to find with a toy, your thighs squeezing his pale hips. 

"So tight for me," he pauses about midway, or what you think is midway, at least, "you're sure 'm not hurtin' you?"

Your head spins, loose on your shoulders, "I'm okay." 

With a noise of his own, Rhett starts to move again, draws back a little before pushing further, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his breath. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hanging on as he finally bottoms out, now flush against you. His mouth moves, but he can't speak. Only capable of releasing a shaky breath, lazily catching your lips in his.

He doesn't need to be asked to move, catching on the moment you grind yourself against him. Withdrawing slow, shallow, before pushing back in, and you're so, so full. Clinging to his shoulders to stay in place, feeling like you'll float away when he brushes against those nerves again.

Fuck, he's just begun to move, and you're already biting your lip. Don't know how you're going to keep yourself quiet because he massages past that little spot every time he moves, never lets it alone. 

His thumb pulls your lip out from between your teeth, "Let me hear you, darlin'."

His words alone have your cunt fluttering around him, and you're leaning into the palm that cups your cheek, mouth falling open. "Rhett, fuck."

You don't think you need to reach down between your bodies, but you do anyway, fingers pressing to your long-neglected clit. Working in tandem with Rhett's quickening hips, jolting as his angle shifts.

"There?" He says as if he hasn't already found that damned spot. All you can manage is a nod, a whimpered 'uhuh' escaping you. 

And he's doubling down, cock head kissing that oversensitive spot again and again. Grins wickedly when you shudder beneath him, nails dragging down his pale shoulders, panting into his mouth.

"Fuck, this sweet lil' pussy of yours feels so good 'round me," he groans, thrusts becoming harder now that he's remembered the ropes. Heavy balls smacking against you, and you really hope there aren't any more house ghosts who can hear the sinful sounds whistling through the air. "'s this what you've been needin', hm? 

"Rhett," you don't know how to speak, his name tumbling off your tongue.

"Bringin' home all those dates that could never make you cum," his voice dropping an octave deeper, damn near growling, but the softness in his eyes suggest he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Wouldn't have terrorized 'em if they woulda treated you better." 

That's why he chased them all off? God, how many times did you bring someone home, thinking he was gone? And how many times has he daydreamed about having you beneath him, whimpering his name as he fucks you nice and proper. 

You should be mad, but you can't. Not when you're falling apart at the seams, hand sliding from his shoulders, barely clinging to his bicep. Bounced by every heavy thrust, can't keep your fingers on your pulsing clit, tightening around him as something warm blossoms between your legs.

And he must be able to feel it because his eyes flicker into the back of his head, if only for a moment. "You gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart?" 

This is new. Fuck, this is so, so new and so much. No longer able to keep your eyes open, tongue lazy in your mouth, words long forgotten as you try to nod your head. Mind clouded with thoughts of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Shit, y'got me so damn close, baby," he rasps, hair tickling your cheek as he presses kisses there, "You want me to cum on those cute thighs of yours? Or your sweet little tummy?" 

You don't have the answer to that question. Distracted by the crumbling of his rhythm, thrusts growing shaky, in perfect tune with the tightening coil in your lower belly. Almost there. Almost there. 

He's still talking. "Or would you rather I cum nice 'n deep in this pretty pussy of yours," you regret opening your eyes. All you see is the sweat beading at his forehead and strong hips working you over. Fat cock disappearing into your wet pussy, elicits a dizzying squelch every time. "Pump you nice 'n full of me, just so you'll need me to fuck it out of ya in the mornin'." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where's your voice? Where's your voice? "I-inside."

Rhett's breathy "yeah?" is all you fucking need. Your back rises up off the mattress, head tilting back with a silent cry as you cum around his cock.

"There you go," Each pump of his length into you only sends your head higher up into the stratosphere. Whimpering, clamping down around him as a shudder washes over you. "Feel so good when you're clampin' 'round me like that." 

And he's still fucking going. Fucking you through it, beating against that bundle of nerves even when you begin to tremble, after-shocks still tearing through you. 

"Hang on for me, baby," his eyes are bolted shut, chasing his high, biceps shaking, so, so close. 

"Please, Rhett," you whisper, your hand soothing over his hardened face. Those deep blues flutter open, softening at the sight of you, like he's just seen an angel "Cum for me." 

A whimper tumbles past his lips,  a second one follows suit, and then those eyes are closing once more, hips stuttering to a halt as his orgasm hits him. Tiny noises escaping his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the familiar tune of your name tumbling off his sweet tongue. Filling you with his cum, making good on his promise, jolting as you involuntarily pulse around him.

For a while, the air is silent. 

Until Rhett lifts his head and kisses up your sensitive neck, sending you into a fit of giggles. "C'n we take a bath t'gether?" He murmurs, seemingly shy, unable to meet your eye.

"So long as you agree to bubbles, baby." Baby. You don't think you've ever called him that. 

You can't wait to do it again.

For decades, the folks of Wabang, Wyoming, have whispered the tale of two brothers. Gossiping about a murder they presumed to have taken place, for they knew that Perry Abbott was a violent man, and it was only a matter of time before his little brother became the next punching bag. 

Never have they whispered about the hole that opened beneath the kitchen floor, swallowing Rhett's near-lifeless body up, escorting him to an unknown safety while leaving his lonely spirit behind. They don't know of the decades he spent forced into an unnatural slumber, only to be awoken by another lonely soul with a heart made of the same glass as his own. 

Nobody giggles about how a human scared a ghost or chatters about the adventures they've shared in that century-old farmhouse. They do not know of the arguments, and the boyfriends lost because a ghost wanted the best for his friend, appearing in mirrors and whispering their deepest insecurities into their ears. Worse, they don't roll their eyes over the many tales of him banging a cast iron skillet on the tile just to see them run.

But you do. 

Only you know of how Rhett smiles, big and dopey, as you take him into town for the first time in decades. You are the only person who gets to explain what self-driving cars are and roll your eyes as some new thing scares him into jumping behind you. Nobody else gets to take him on a road trip, watch him fight with a GPS for the first time, and introduce him to the ocean and the concept of crabs.

"Why are they shaped like that?" Rhett's stumbling after you; not sure if he likes or hates this little creature, only knows that he wants to follow you. "Why is he following me?" 

You wish you could see the little bugger, but it's so dark that you can hardly tell where you're going. The only light you have is a dull light in the parking lot and the silver moon hanging high above your head.

"Probably because you've pissed him off," you laugh, holding your hand out when he reaches for it, "are you going to survive two more nights this close to the beach, or do I need to take you back to the pasture?"

He hums, loud and dramatic as he can manage, scratches his freshly shaved chin for added effect, "I suppose I'll survive, but if that crab kills me, I'm comin' back as a ghost and suin'."

From the moment your feet are on the cool concrete of the parking lot, Rhett's spinning you around. It's still the only thing he knows how to do, and his feet tangle with yours a little more than they should, but oh, is it as magical as that night in your driveway.

"'ve I ever told you that I love you?" He smiles as he speaks; knows he says this every time you wind up dancing beneath the moon.

"Never," feigning surprise, as he pulls you in close, noses bumping together, "but I love you more."

And then you're running. Squealing as Rhett sets hot on your trail. He'll catch you before you so much as reach the hotel doors, trap you in his arms, and insist that no, he loves you more, punctuating every word with a wet, sloppy kiss. And you're so excited for it that you think you may let him catch you early. 

Perry took away a lifetime from Rhett. 

You're more than happy to give him a life worth waiting centuries for. 

Even if he does still refer to himself as the house ghost.

[hulknussen]

driver change for car #24 at the roar before the rolex, 17-01-2025

[formulafemenina]

If you miss cars on track - there are some events happening this weekend.

There's the Formula Regional Oceanic Championship (CTFROC), which is in its 2nd round and features Redbull 2026 prospect Arvid Lindblad (among many other very talented drivers).

Then there is the Roar before the 24 (think that's what it's called). It's part of the Rolex 24/24 hours of Daytona, which is taking place next weekend. That is part of the IMSA series, an American endurance racing series. If you watch Indycar, you'll recognize some faces!

This weekend also marks the start of both the Formula Regional Middle Eastern Championship (FRMEC) & the Formula 4 UAE championship. Hamda Al Qubaisi, who you might recognize from F1 Academy, is taking part in the latter!

I think that's it for racing this weekend, but I'd say: If you want cars on tracks, there's many to watch this weekend!

Oh yeah, for sure, I've been keeping an eye on both Arvid and Hamda in their respective series (RedBull may be a house of horrors, but it's my house of horrors, and I am rooting for them, especially Hamda). A friend of mine has actually been introducing me to Formula Drift, which is pretty freaking cool. It's been keeping me busy enough learning about it. I've also been trying to figure out Formula E because they have a race not far from where I live, and I wanna see if it's worth it to go. Still, though, I deeply miss F1. It was the first motorsport I fell in love with on my own (my dad loves motorcross).

[whosxafraid]

She's A Rolex

Starter requested by @ifyoucatchacriminal

Banging.

That's the first thing that should have told him something was fecking wrong. But up until three seconds ago he was dead asleep--closer to the actual than the metaphorical to boot. And now he's shuffle footing it to his front door. Half fell down the god damn steps before getting to the lock. Half a dozen curse words not in English before he's slinging the god damn thing open. Green and off yellow going wide as he stares down at the face staring up at him.

"Watch?! Lass, wha--?"

No time. Let me in.

And he's on alert in a fraction of a second. Gaze tearing from her to the outside. The outside where the rain is coming down in sheets. The scent of everything sub-duded. Muted. Muggy if he had to put a word to it. And he hates that. Hates that in spades. But where scent is not helping him sight and hearing attempt it. But there's too much movement from the rain and too little of it anywhere else. And its roaring like a dragon thrice pissed. So it's with only so much caution that the door slams shut behind her. Every lock from the top to the bottom shoved into place.

And hand that only dares hover at the small of Watch's back as he ushers her through the space he uses as a garage. Passed the SUV, van, and motor bike, all unmarked, all unassuming and as black as the void in which they sit. Onward up the steps he directs until the next door behind them is pulled closed. And from there she sheds shoes and socks while he takes her coat.

His guest allowed to venture out into the living room of his abode. A living room buffeted on two sides by floor to ceiling windows. Similar sized bookshelves that stand upon either side, in between and along the length of the opposite wall. Watch moving to collapse upon the couch at the center of the view while Luka digs up a towel, blankets, something to eat and drink. And by the time it is all said and done? She looks far better than she did when the banging began.

"Ye go' toi'me now, lass?"

She nods. A breath taken. A wary look at the windows. He knows she knows nothing can touch her here. That glass has stopped stronger things than sniper bullets in and outside of this zip code. And while he will close the blinds if she asks...

I'm being...watched.

He doesn't smile. Not a single lick of amusement to what should have been a slightly funny inside joke to break the tension. But now isn't the time for jokes and there's the slightest chuck of his chin to get her to continue.

I don't know how...or by who...hell I don't even know when it specifically started. I just....things weren't...things haven't been where I put them. Every time I leave the house it feels like there's someone right behind me but every time I try to catch them...

Hands come up as she shakes a frown from her features.

I thought it might have been the nymph you said lives in the tree in my court yard--she's been acting weird. I thought maybe she was sick but she wouldn't talk to me. And then two nights ago...

She wanders away from whatever she was going to say, and he has to redirect. The slightest nudge of a finger against tea mug in her hands now, because anyone that knows Watch? Knows her germophobia cannot handle being touched.

S-sorry uh...t-two nights ago--this is going to sound insane but I--I was working and... I swear I felt someone touch me, Luka. I felt the warmth of their hand the weight of it but the second I turned around...nothing. Nothing but this gut wrenching feeling I was exposed. Exposed like I was in Pa--Paris. I wasn't followed...I checked and rechecked and rechecked again just like you taught me.

And that is all he needs to hear. He promised her what happened to her in Paris would never happen again. And he meant it. It wouldn't. Watch had nearly died that night, and it was not something Luka O'Rian was going to allow to happen twice. And he tells her as much, before getting up. Moving to one of the windows. Phone pulled from a pocket, a number dialing as it settles at his ear.

Because Watch isn't his only "friend" and if there's one thing that all six foot ten and red hair of him is good at? It's finding people that don't want to be found. Especially when they're a threat to his employee and by that measure his own livelihood.

[kakunology]

Kakunoshin "Kaku" Ohta being too cute for his own good during Practice 4 - Roar before the Rolex, 24 Hours of Daytona.

[radio-charlie]

Sorry but whenever I see dumb useless cunts flexing on tiktok abt how they checked out Cartier and dropped 5k sgd on some fun little trinkets before their "low key" 800 sgd lunch w some friends and a visit to Rolex so a friend could get their birthday present watch adjusted, I remember how a bunch of equally dumb and useless but more pizza face uglier shitty grease smell swagless cunts on here were prepared to try to make me kill myself for the sewious cwime of trying too hard to be an actual leftist while having a CEO dad. You people mysteriously never go after people like Cartier stay at home daughter despite your hollow roaring to eat the rich because your moral fibre is soggy rice paper only. You get mad about ppl dunking on cluster b disorders because you embody every single stereotype of them. I have never in my entire life spent 6k Singaporean dollars in a single day lol. May Elon musk mind control you into raping your pets or something maybe you can turn it into a new sexuality to play victim about on socmed

[pearllemon-classics]

Beyond the Finish Line: Immerse Yourself in the World of Legendary Races

There’s a certain magic that transcends the roar of engines and the blur of chequered flags. It’s the allure of legendary races, those hallowed grounds where history was written on asphalt and the echoes of triumphs linger in the air. This isn’t just about competition, it’s about a pilgrimage to the pantheon of motorsport, a chance to witness the past ignite the present.

For the uninitiated, the world of legendary races might seem like a closed circuit, an exclusive club shrouded in exhaust fumes and steeped in esoteric terminology. But fear not, intrepid adventurer! This guide is your passport to unlocking the secrets of these legendary tracks, transforming you from a spectator to an impassioned insider.

Gearing Up for Glory: Choosing Your Legendary Race

The beauty of legendary races lies in their diversity. From the elegant nostalgia of Goodwood Revival to the pulse-pounding endurance of Le Mans Classic, there’s an event to ignite every petrolhead’s passion.

Step Back in Time: For those who yearn for the golden age of motorsport, events like the Goodwood Revival or the Modena Cento Ore (100 Hours of Modena) offer a meticulously recreated window into the past. Picture gleaming vintage machines thundering down the track, drivers sporting period-correct attire, and a palpable sense of nostalgia hanging heavy in the air.

The Thrill of Competition: If witnessing high-octane competition is your fuel, legendary races like the Rolex 24 at Daytona or the Spa Six Hours deliver in spades. Witness cutting-edge technology pushed to its limits, world-class drivers battling for supremacy, and the raw, unadulterated drama of motorsport unfolding before your eyes.

A Celebration of Endurance: For those who admire the human spirit as much as the machine, legendary races like the Nürburgring 24 Hours or the Le Mans Classic offer a testament to grit and determination. Witness teams strategize, drivers push themselves to the absolute limit, and witness the ultimate test of man and machine.

Beyond the Track: Unveiling the Hidden Gems

Legendary races are just the tip of the iceberg. A truly immersive experience delves deeper, uncovering the stories, culture, and history that weave the fabric of these iconic events.

Unveiling the Paddock: Peer behind the scenes and witness the meticulous preparation, the camaraderie among teams, and the raw passion that fuels these legendary races. Imagine the intoxicating aroma of high-performance fuel, the whirring of machinery, and the focused intensity etched on the faces of drivers and crew.

A Journey Through Time: Delve into the rich history of the race track itself. Explore museums that showcase the evolution of motorsport, marvel at legendary machines from bygone eras, and stand on hallowed ground where champions were made.

The Local Flavour: Immerse yourself in the culture surrounding the race. Sample the local cuisine, engage with passionate fans, and soak up the unique atmosphere that makes each legendary race an unforgettable experience. Here’s where a company like Pearl Lemon Classics can be your secret weapon. Their bespoke tours not only grant access to these iconic events, but also curate experiences that unveil the hidden gems surrounding the races, enriching your journey.

Fueling Your Passion: Tips for the Aspiring Race Fanatic

So, you’ve caught the motorsport bug? Here are some tips to elevate your experience:

Do your research: Learn about the history of the race, the legendary drivers who have competed there, and the iconic cars that have graced the track.

Embrace the lingo: Familiarise yourself with basic motorsport terminology. Understanding terms like pit stop, qualifying, and downforce will enhance your appreciation of the race.

Dress the part: While there’s no dress code, embracing the spirit of the race adds another layer to the experience. Consider vintage attire for events like the Goodwood Revival, or team colours for contemporary races.

The Finish Line is Just the Beginning

The world of legendary races beckons, offering a tapestry woven with history, passion, and the exhilarating roar of engines. It’s a chance to connect with the past, celebrate the present, and witness the future of motorsport unfold. So, pack your bags, fuel your passion, and embark on your own legendary adventure. Remember, the chequered flag might be the finish line, but the memories you create will last a lifetime.

[robinfrinjs]

Kevin Magnussen, driver of the #24: BMW M Team RLL, BMW M Hybrid V8, GTP during the Roar Before the Rolex 24 by BMW Group

[24hrsallnews]

Singham Again Update: Rohit Shetty unveils Ajay Devgn's first look from 'Singham Again'

Singham Again is an action, drama film, which directed by Rohit Shetty. Rohit Shetty and team have today revealed the look of Ajay Devgn, in which Ajay Devgn's famous look is seen as Bajirao Singham. Ajay Devgn's first look looks angry and flames and a lion are seen near him. Today Rohit shetty post Instagram, "Sher aatank machaata hai, aur zakhmi sher tabaahi! Everyone’s favourite cop, BAJIRAO SINGHAM IS BACK!… SINGHAM AGAIN…", and Ajay Devgn tweet, "He is Mighty He is Power He is Danger He is Strength Singham will roar again!"   View this post on Instagram   A post shared by Rohit Shetty (@itsrohitshetty) Singham Again is written by Yunus Sajawal, Shantanu Srivastava, Milap Zaveri and produced by Rohit Shetty. Singham is again going to be a multistarrer film. Singham Again is a part of Rohit Shetty's Cop Universe. It is the fifth film in Rohit Shetty's Cop Universe and the third installment of the Singham franchise, following Singham (2011) and Singham Returns (2014). D.J. Chetas, Payal Dev, Divyansh and Manuraj, Lijo George, Jam8 have given music in the film. Kareena Kapoor is playing the role of Avni Kamat Singham. Rohit shetty instagram post, "Meet the strength behind Singham… Avni Bajirao Singham… We first worked together in 2007… 3 blockbusters till now  Golmaal Returns   Golmaal 3  Singham returns… And now working on our fourth project… Singham Again… 16 year long association. Nothing has changed, Bebo is still the same, simple, sweet and hardworking."   View this post on Instagram   A post shared by Rohit Shetty (@itsrohitshetty) The film stars Ajay Devgn, Deepika Padukone, Kareena Kapoor, Akshay Kumar, Jackie Shroff, Ranveer Singh, Tiger Shroff, Arjun Kapoor. Singham Again is scheduled to release on 15 August 2024. Singham again Pushpa 2 is also scheduled to release on the same day. All four films of Rohit Shetty Cop Universe have turned out to be blockbusters. Rohit shetty instagram post, "In Singham Again, we are just doing what our fans want us to do! So here it is… Akshay Kumar and a helicopter! As we complete 2 years of Sooryavanshi, VEER SOORYAVANSHI joins the battle with Singham."   View this post on Instagram   A post shared by Rohit Shetty (@itsrohitshetty) Tiger Shroff is playing the role of ACP Satya in the film. Rohit shetty instagram post, "Meet Special Task Force officer ACP SATYA 🇮🇳… the immortal, like Truth! Welcome to the squad…Tiger"   View this post on Instagram   A post shared by Rohit Shetty (@itsrohitshetty) Deepika Padukone plays the role of Shakti Shetty in the film. Rohit shetty instagram post, "NAARI SITA KA BHI ROOP HAI AUR DURGA KA BHI... MEET THE MOST BRUTAL AND VIOLENT OFFICER OF OUR COP UNIVERSE… SHAKTI SHETTY... MY LADY SINGHAM… DEEPIKA PADUKONE". View this post on Instagram   A post shared by Rohit Shetty (@itsrohitshetty) Shakti Shetty is portrayed as the most brutal and violent cop in Rohit Shetty's Cop World. The film is expected to feature some of the biggest action scenes in the history of Indian police films. This is the second film of Deepika and Rohit, before this they worked in Chennai Express, which was a blockbuster. This is Rohit Shetty and Ajay Devgn's 11th film together and Singham is again their 12th film. Rohit Shetty and Ajay Devgn together have given many hits and blockbuster films.   Read More - Sajini Shinde Ka Viral Video review: Is a mirror of society with a dose of suspense thriller - 12th fail movie Review: Vidhu Chapora 12th Fail Will Inspire You To Start - Rohit Shetty showed a glimpse of Singham again - Suriya, Dulquer Salmaan, Drishti and Vijay Verma team up for Suriya43 film - Love, Death, and Horror: 1920 Horrors of the Heart - Best Comedy South Indian Movies Dubbed in Hindi list - Kushi movie review, Reaction and box office collection - Iraivan has been released on OTT - Rolex Will Return In Kaithi 2? - Leo Hindi Poster has been released today - Ram Pothineni starrer Skanda movie cast, budget and Box office collection Prediction - Unleashing the Ultimate Battle: Skanda vs Chandramukhi 2 - Brace Yourself for the Clash of masterpiece! Read the full article

[bambi-marquez]

what is the 8 tower motorsport on, they are mileeessss ahead of the other lmp2s

[celestialspecial]

Naughty or Nice

 The Yearly Anvil Holiday party is in full swing, you're doing everything in your power to make it on the nice list this year but your Boss has other ideas.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Breeding Kink, Boss x Employee dynamic

Writers Notes: Yes I wrote a holiday themed oneshot in the beginning of summer, and for that i apologize. *mood board will be added later

Snow had started to fall onto the crisp streets of New York adding to the soft glow of the night. Softening the harsh lines that usually were synonymous with the city. Sounds of laughter and people talking were blanketed by the calm hush that accompanied snowfall, fat flakes began building on the sidewalks a sure hint towards a blizzard later in the night.

You rubbed your hands together in a fruitless effort to warm up, blowing whatever hot air was still in your lungs onto your frozen digits as you stepped out of the limo and made your way to the ritzy hotel Anvil had rented out for the evening Holiday party. A doorman smiled at you holding the large golden door open for you to step inside.

“It’s a chilly one tonight that’s for sure.” He commented tipping his hat to you as you strode into the luscious warmth of the lobby.

“My fault for not wearing my long underwear!” You called back to him hearing a resounding chuckle as you made your way over to the elevators slipping your woolen coat off as you ascended to one of the higher floors used for events. You had chosen a dress that probably was meant for warmer weather but you couldn’t help it, you loved this dress, and so did Billy.

Billy. Your boss, and your boyfriend. Both your paths had crossed multiple times from your previous job and eventually that small spark you two had had burst into a roaring fire, kindling being added each day it seemed. Plus he had offered you a corner office and health benefits that you’d be stupid to turn down.

Turning a corner the room opened up to reveal a large crowd of people dressed to the nines, music playing loudly in the background, voices carried and laughter rang out. Decorations dotted the corridor, large opulent wreaths of silver and gold, floral arrangements the size of a small car were placed throughout the venue and garland hung from the ceiling glittering in the soft romantic lighting of the room.

Adjusting your hair and smoothing the front of your dress before venturing forth into the throng of people. You nodded and said hello to people you knew and fellow coworkers, you giggle when you saw a few men you worked with already drunk and singling slurred Christmas carols. Your eyes scanned the room looking for the one person you wanted to see, preferably under the mistletoe.

A loud laugh and a chorus of resounding enthusiasm had you fixating on the man of the hour. Billy stood in a circle of people talking animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly until they all burst out laughing once more. You couldn’t help but bite your lip when you saw him.

If tall dark and handsome was ever a person it was Billy Russo. Long and lean, cut like a predator with a hungry look in his dark eyes. He could command a room easily, dark black suit tailor fit to hug every inch of him, Rolex watch clinging to his wrist and a blood red tie, the only piece of color on him front and center. The men around him continued to laugh at his joke, but his eyes drifted upwards finally landing on you.

You gave a small wave, your fingers dancing with the toying motion. You wanted to cross your legs when you saw Billy’s responding stare, full of desire and lust. You began to back away to let your boyfriend continue his conversation until he raised a hand beckoning you over. Edging your way through the crowd, pardoning and excusing yourself over to the group of men who’s eyes now all rested on you.

“I was wondering when you’d get here.” Billy noted, hand snaking around your waist to pull you in tight to him, planting a heated kiss to your cheek. A few eye brow raises and looks of approval went through the group. Placing a hand to rest on his chest you looked back at the men in the circle before replying.

“Just got in, but I didn’t want to interrupt what seemed like a rip roaring good story.” You smiled sheepishly at them before letting a had drift up and adjust Billy’s tie. It didn’t need straightening but you enjoyed letting everyone know he was yours and you were his and touching him as much as was allowed during a work event.

“Nonsense. I was just finishing up then on the hunt for another scotch, I believe Mr.Donovan over here was going to share one of his yachting hi-jinks with the group.” An older man in his fifties with slicked back salt and pepper hair beamed, nodding at Billy in thanks and a ‘I’ll take it from here’ knowing look. Your former boss didn’t seem to hold any grudges about you leaving, especially since Anvil had made his practice their sole legal authority as well as sending much more business their way since your departure.

Billy placed a hand on your back guiding you away from the crowd as more chattering and laughter piped up. He placed his empty lowball glass on a passing servers tray before pulling you off to the side behind a large column encased in silver tinsel and garland. He made a low snarling noise before burying his face into the crook of your neck, hot kisses peppering your collar bones and a quick nip to your ear.

“I fuckin’ love this dress on you.” He quipped before licking a small stripe on your neck over your pulse, it took everything in you not to moan out load. “But also shame on you for teasing me so ruthlessly by wearing it tonight,”

You chuckled tugging the front of his suit jacket to pull him in so you could place a fiery kiss to his mouth, sucking at his bottom lip before pulling away.

“I’ll have you know I love this dress and maybe I wore it for that reason and that alone.” You felt your knees nearly buckle as he leaned in ever closer to you, hand drifting up from your waist to caress the underside of your breast before tickling the soft skin of your neck and shoulder.

“Baby, I know exactly why you wore this dress.” You suddenly felt hot, the temperature in the room felt blazing from what it was two seconds ago. Billy tilted his head to the side, eyes piercing you, undressing you in his mind. You playfully pushed against his shoulders, unable to hide the grin breaking across your face.

“Nu-uh, I’m on the nice list this year.” The corner of his mouth twitched up at that, his mouth grazed the side of your ear speaking low in a whisper so no one could hear.

“Nice girls don’t do the kind of shit we did the other night.” The heat had overtaken your face, even your ears felt hot, suddenly this revealing dress was still too much fabric on your warm skin.

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” You did your best to grin back at him, not wanting to let him see just how badly his words, his body, him being this close to you was affecting you. And you definitely didn’t want anyone else at the party to pay too close attention to the two of you. “Maybe we better cool off before people start to notice…”

His hand had fallen back to your waist, skirting over your hip and began kneading at the soft skin underneath the thin fabric. Never ceasing it’s movements even at your words. The look on his face was devious, sizing you up and now fully aware of his words and movements effects on your body.

“Maybe I should fuck you here in front of everyone so they know just how naughty you are. Maybe I’ll bend you over that table over there-“

“Billy!” You whispered harshly, blushing even harder. “Not here.” He parted his lips to speak more filth to you before a voice called out.

“Russo, my boy! Come here I want you to meet someone!” A fellow colleague waved at Billy from afar, gesturing to him to come over. Billy held up a single finger before turning to you once more, mouth incredibly close to your own.

“We’ll finish this conversation later.” He leaned in an iota more before harshly pushing back from you, and strolling over to the man calling his name. Your knees felt weak, a sudden emptiness in the space where your lover had once occupied, and now you needed to find a way to keep yourself busy for the rest of the night until you two could go home together and relieve the growing ache between your legs. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to wait until home, maybe you’d ride him in the back of the limo, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming his name and-

“Hey! How are you?” A familiar voice rang out. Your friend Dominique who worked in marketing was walking over, fancy cocktail in hand.

“Oh you know, living the dream.” You smiled, flagging down a passing waiter with a tray of long stem glasses.

“Cristal or Dom?” The man asked holding the tray out to you.

“Dom all the way.” You winked at Dominique before the two of you burst out laughing. Grabbing a glass and nodding to the waiter as he continued making the rounds, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid and shivering at the sensation fizzing and popping down into your belly.

“Look at you, dating the boss and now you have a taste for all the finer things all of a sudden.” You took another sip, dramatically rolling your eyes at your friend.

“Hey now, I had a taste for the finer things before I met Billy, but now I can actually afford them.”

“I hear that!” Dominique smiled cheers-ing her glass with yours, both of you downing the golden hued liquids and giggling more as you both shared office gossip.

The night wore on, flitting between coworkers and friends, catching up and wishing well for the holidays. You kept eyes on Billy watching him work his magic. Grinning brightly, his eyes crinkling with laughter, the way he conducted himself and could hold a rooms attention so effortlessly had arousal pooling between your legs.

You took another glass of the dom perignon, sipping at it as you walked the edge of the room. Moving slowly, calculating, you knew Billy was watching you. Every move you made he was hyper aware of, regardless of how intense his conversation with an accountant appeared to be to an unassuming spectator.

Just thinking about him commanding those around him, demanding attention, had you hot and bothered, emphasis on hot. You fanned your flushed skin with your one free hand before deciding your drink wasn’t cold enough. You thankfully were familiar with this hotel and knew Billy had rented out the penthouse for himself to get ready before the party.

Sneaking away from the party goers you found the private stair case up to the penthouse suite. Your skin felt like it was burning, all your thoughts about Billy coupled with the champagne and multiple bodies heating up the confined space was doing a number on you. Opening the penthouse door you admired the large space, with windows overlooking the city you could see the snow starting to fall more rapidly. A good few inches pilling up on the ground outside.

An assortment of outfits laid over the back of the sofa and a multitude of ties displayed alongside shiny shoes. You stifled your chuckle, only Billy would have multiple clothing options brought to choose from before a company party. You took another small sip of your drink before making your way over to the kitchen area. Setting your glass down and opening the freezer door, hunting for ice cubes.

When your hands had settled around the tray you moved back to close the door. When it flew shut you saw Billy standing in the doorway.

“Shit!” You exclaimed, nearly dropping the tray, a few ice cubes falling out to skitter across the wooden floor, one sliding so far as to hit the toe of Billy’s shoe. He bent to pick it up before walking over to where you stood, dropping the cube into the sink. “Dammit Billy I’m gonna put a bell on you.”

“Sorry love. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He grinned bending down to pick up another of the pieces of ice that had fallen at your feet. Your heart was still pounding in your chest as you watched Billy collect the last few ice cubes and slowly rise, his eyes remained locked on your own. The nearly empty tray sat next to your champagne glass, he nodded towards it. “Dom or Cristal?”

You picked up the champagne, eyes still holding his gaze and downing the remaining contents of the drink.

“You tell me.” Billy smirked, one large hand easing to the base of your neck pulling you close and letting his lips slot across yours, mouth hungrily tasting your own, tongue dipping out, stroking along your bottom lip.

“Mmmmm, a woman after my own heart. What’s that, Dom ‘96?”

“A good year.” You smirked back at him, surging forward to receive his lips once more, this time not holding back and groaning into his mouth. His eyebrows drew together, hands more forcefully holding you to him, sucking and lapping up the residual sweetness from your drink.

“I was looking for you downstairs, I wondered where you’d gone.” You pulled back, nodding in the direction of the ice tray.

“I was overheating, hoping to get some ice for my drink.” He quirked an eyebrow, picking the tray up, popping one of the cubes out and holding it up.

“Needed to cool off a bit?” Your eyes followed the cube as he moved behind you, one hand settling on your waist the other carefully bringing the ice up to your neck letting it  touch your heated skin. You gasped at the sensation, Cold water dripped down the column of your neck, across your collar bones, running between your breasts. Billy’s eyes darkened watching you before placing the cube in his mouth.

You heart the ice clack against his teeth before he drew forward placing a frigid kiss to your neck again. Your nipples hardened, heat gathering between your legs, breath coming more raggedly as his mouth moved down, kiss after icy kiss until he reached your shoulder. He pulled back and you let out a low whine, turning to look up at him innocently, obsidian gaze on you as he crunched the ice between his teeth.

“Feel better?” He asked, hands holding you tight against him, his hardening erection pressing into your backside. You nodded, reflexively rolling your hips backwards to seek the friction your craved. Billy groaned loudly, head dropping to the crook of your shoulder, sucking in a shaky breath. “I thought you were turning over a new leaf and being a good girl?” His breath tickled the shell of your ear, the scent of his cologne wafting over your now chilled skin.

“Would you have me any other way?” You breathed, a husky tinge to your voice as your body ached to feel more of him.

“Bent over, sideways, in front of the windows-“ the erotic moan that left your lips was enough to encourage him, dipping down and lifting you bridal style, two long legged strides and you were dropped onto the cushy sofa pillows, Billy crawling over you, rucking up your skirt in the process. His heated hands stoking along your inner thighs fingering the satin material of your panties.

“And here I was expecting my naughty girl to be wearing nothing at all.” His fingers made quick work of the fabric tugging them down your legs and over your heels, holding them up in the soft light from the snow falling outside. Red, silky and nearly drenched.

“They match your tie.” You managed, wriggling on the pillows beneath him, hands working on his belt, making quick work of the zipper. Billy grunted when he felt your hand trace over the front of his taut boxers, the stretched fabric did little to conceal the twitch of his cock responding to your words.

“So they do.” He mused, balling up the fabric and placing it to your lips. “Hold onto it for me won’t you?” Your widened eyes relented as your lips gently parted, allowing the fabric to settle over your tongue when you bit down. Billy’s eyes seemed to brighten, seeing you obey him so readily, you could feel his hands drifting to your knees pushing them apart to get a better look at you.

“My naughty, naughty girl. You’re making a mess over this nice sofa, what am I gonna do with you?” You tried to make a muffled response but only whines escaped, his shoulders gently shook with mirth at your plight. “Weren’t you ever told not to speak with your mouth full?”

You felt his hands fit under your ass, pulling your whole body closer to him, leaning forward to place a kiss to your temple, then nose, the kisses becoming increasingly more lascivious as he moved downwards. Gracing your collar bones with attention, your shoulder, the top of your breasts which strained with each forced inhale, you swore you could hear the fabric seams straining.

Your own hands slid through his hair, tugging at the now loosened strands that fell into his face, moaning as he tasted each inch of you, kneading your still clothed chest as you pulled at the hair along the base of his neck, until he’d finally had enough. Making a choking sound Billy pushed back, pushing down his boxers in one swift movement, rubbing his throbbing cock with one hand, dark eyes never leaving your face.

Your wide eyes focused on him and only him, you felt yourself clench around nothing, biting harder onto your underwear, saliva pooling in your mouth. He gave another clean pump of his fist and you let the whine you’d been holding loose from behind the stuffed fabric. He looked positively amused at you.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you. You want me to fuck you full?” You nodded as aggressively as you could against the pillows, his flushed skin shone from the light outside as he let out a breathy laugh. “Or maybe I should just fuck my fist and come all over this beautiful dress-“ you whimpered, hips bucking up, he knew what you wanted and was being awful about it.

His large hands flew to your waist pinning you back against the cushions once more, unable to writhe freely against him. “Is that what you want as your present this year? Me to ruin your favorite dress, it’s something a naughty girl like you would ask for-“ you shook your head violently, tears pricking the sides of your eyes, you needed him inside you, now.

“No?” He hummed in thought, keeping you trapped to the pillows, one hand pushed down while another maneuvered a pillow beneath your lower back, lifting your hips to him so he had a better view of your dripping pussy. “Want me to come inside you, pump you so full I’m leaking out of you for days…” another whine built in the back of your throat, attempting to lift your hips further.

Another laugh as he enjoyed watching you squirm beneath him. “It’s very rude that you haven’t even asked what I want.” He bent down again to place a searing kiss to your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point before letting his tongue run over the reddened skin. You made another muffled noise. “Thank you for asking, I think I want you to make me a daddy. Come inside you so deep it takes root.”

It took all your effort to try and buck towards him once more, the ache unbearable, his reddened and leaking cock so close yet just out of reach. “Would you do that for me? Give me a baby-“ another burning kiss to the other side of your neck, “let me knock you up , see your belly growing and everyone in the office will know how good I fucked you and fucked you and how you loved it.” His one hand ventured back to rub tight circles over your clit, forcing a pathetic moan to resonate behind your lips.

“And they’ll do the math and know I pumped you full during our office party. My needy little assistant, begging for my come.” You could only whimper and nod, you were begging him at this point, the pressure on your clit so close to making you come but you wanted him inside you. He quirked an eyebrow up at you, the wicked smile on his face never ceasing as he pulled the panties from your mouth, a string of saliva stretching between your mouth and the fabric. “What was that, can’t hear you?”

“Please Billy, come inside me, please-“ his fingers slowed their tortuous glide against your pussy, before one finger slid in slowly causing you to cry out.

“Is that what you want as a present?”

“Yes, please…let me give you a baby.” Billy growled at that, curling his finger as he pulled it out, surging forward for your lips to finally meet, tongues and teeth colliding in a messily passionate kiss. When he pulled back he hoisted your legs upwards, locking your ankles behind his lower back and slide inside you in one effortless thrust.

You both moaned as the building tension stuck a chord deep within you, his hips moving against you, each thrust threatening to break you open. Your heels scraped against each other crossed behind him tugging at his suit jacket, the sounds of your bodies coming together again and again making filthy squelching noises in the large penthouse suite.

“Billy! I-I’m …so close.” He grunts at your words, hips stuttering as he increases his pace , pleasure floods your senses, his fingers circle your clit once again and with a final stroke you’re spiraling , clenching around him as you scream his name. Another few bucks of his hips and he follows closely behind exploding into you, feeling his hot release coating your inner walls as he groans loudly.

The stars and shimmer of the burgeoning blizzard outside is the only source of light illuminating you two as you come down from your high. Billy lifts your hips repositioning them on the pillow he’d adjusted earlier. Letting out a huff as he falls to his elbows overtop of you, careful not to put too much of his weight on your limp body.

You let your hands drift up to mindlessly card through his hair, then stroke along his back, tickling strokes that you know soothe him as he rests his forehead against yours tenderly. He plants a soft sensual kiss to your lips, as you sigh into the feeling, the rapid fluttering of his heart against your chest soothing you into contentment.

“We should probably clean up before we return to the party.” You note, hands still running through his hair as he lifts up from his elbows to his hands. He slowly pulls out of you, feeling a dribble of his seed running down your thighs, his fingers run through the mess before pushing some of it back inside of you. You make a soft noise as your overly sensitive body receives it again.

You go to move but Billy’s hand keeps you still. “Stay, I’ll get some towels to clean us up. You need to keep your hips elevated.” He winks at you before taking off towards the bathroom, returning a minute later with a warmed washcloth that he dabs over your legs, swiping  away any residual mess, careful to not dampen your expensive dress.

He helps you sit up and smooth out your skirt, replacing the straps to your shoulders and zipping the back up where it had started to gape open.

“Why thank you Mr. Russo.” You turn to him, running your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, climbing upwards into his hair once more attempting to smooth the pieces you’d misplaced.

He takes your one hand, bringing it to his lips and placing an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your palm, darting out to taste the salty sweat on your skin once more before returning to the party. His dark eyes have lost their devilish hue and instead look wide and childlike, full of warmth and love. It’s almost enough to make you melt all over again.

“Thank you for indulging me. Tonight and every night before this.”

“And every night to come?” He grinned at that, walking you over to the windows watching the flakes of snow gather below as his hands sit on your waist, head resuming its rightful place on your shoulder, hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Maybe Saint Nick will bring me what I asked for this time.” He nuzzles you, the scrape of his scruff sending delicious zings of pleasure through you.

“We can always have a go again in the limo ride home, just to be sure.” You take his hand in yours bringing it up to your mouth and taking a digit into your mouth, sucking it slowly before releasing it with a wet pop. Billy all but moans at the action.

“You are a naughty girl.”