#rock funnel

[jadafitch]

Atlantic puffin chasing a rock gunnel through rockweed. STICKERS & STUFF

[sergle]

I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon

[blood-choke]

hi i just played the demo and i’m just asking for clarification! but will we have the option to be strictly monogamous with valentina? the conversation with hana where she talks about wanting her to care makes it seem like we’ll be in a v poly relationship. will there be a conversation between all parties if that’s the case?

you can be monogamous!

it's just... complicated. Hana and Valentina do have a bit of a situationship, but Hana is very aware that a lot of the physical and romantic aspects of their relationship were temporary/Valentina just needing someone to fill the space that mc left behind.

that's what Hana is talking about in that conversation. when she says she wants Valentina to care about her, it's that she doesn't want to just be discarded now that mc is back. she wants both mc and Valentina to acknowledge her as her own person, separate from mc, and she wants to be cared for as her own person now, wether as a lover or a friend. she just wants to be an equal.

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

I will CONSTANTLY be on my CaitVi being the cutest lesbian couple you’ll ever see at a carnival/ fair/ festival agenda

ALWAYS AND FOREVER

I NEED to write something for pride month (+ as a present to myself for my middle-of-pride birthday……) and my og plan for love premiere’s last chapter was for it to be a collection of dates Cait and Vi went on (escape rooms, picnics, etc etc). Might not be connected to love premiere but it could be if I wanted it to be….

[oflostinfound]

handing Eath a funnel cake.

|| 🔷 ||: ❝ This doesn't look like a normal cake, but I'll try it. It smells wonderful. ❞

One Funnel Cake Later

|| 🔷 ||: ❝ I need twenty more of these. ❞

[notmuchtoconceal]

what do u mean specificity in language clarifies facts and concepts?

fuck u i'm not learnin any more of ur vocabulary words, big bro

[niklassarwatka]

✏️ Daily Doodle 019 ✏️

Bismuthopper are treasure beings. They can filter attacks through utilizing their arcane magic.

[zwei-rhunen]

hmm, maybe there's yet a use for my tomestones after all

[duckysprouts]

batman is an optimist. how much must i shout this fact into the void that is the internet before people realize. he is the biggest optimist in the universe. he is so insufferably compassionate, he is delusionally kind, his worldview is somehow more catholic than matt murdock because he believes in redemption even when hes lost everything over and over and over. gotham is a shithole that deserves to burn, rent is dirt cheap because nobody sane will live there by choice, and it’s crowning achievement is being the home to the biggest max security asylum on earth staffed by people so corrupt that villains escape every other day. and this stupid boy wrapped his mothers broken pearls around his fists like prayer beads and goes out to get his shit rocked every night for the past 20 years because he fell head over heels in love with said shithole city and its garbage residents, funnelling his wealth into the pit of endless greed because he hopes that a few cents will reach the pockets of those who need it

[socialistexan]

The disappearance of any genre of rock as major popular music genre with mainstream relevance in conjunction with the rise in relevance of country has led to more angry, disaffected teenage men to be funnelled into a more conservative cultural mindset.

In this essay I will...

[catmask]

How do you make interesting male character designs, male fashion is so fucking boring and bad, and you seem to have a good sense of fashion, please help im suffering

two important tools you must remember:

1) there is no such thing as 'mens clothing' and 'women's clothing' theres just clothing and if you see something a lady is wearing and it looks good you dont have to say 'aww but a guy can't where that' yuuuup buddy you can. draw whatever and wear whatever you want forever. my wardrobe is completely mixed in terms of 'men's' and 'women's' clothing bc it's just MY clothing not anyone else's

2) pinterest

almost went on this entire rant about 'women's fashion is more expansive in part due to misogynistic double standards of appearance and men's fashion is only bad/boring because of years of being funneled through capitalism patriachal expectations of power homo/transphobia and racism' but if i do that people will start throwing rocks at me with the intention to kill and if i write multiple paragraphs of reflection on the false gender divide within fashion and the patriarchy and someone only reads 2 sentences to get mad at ill start blowing things up gotham city style

anyway these are the secrets to good mens fashion there is no brand that will save you there is no purchase that will save you utilmately you must study what you like blind to gender and then mix and match what you believe looks good. because i cannot just tell anyone 'this is fashionable' it is about going and finding what you specifically feel reflects yourself (or a character in this instance)

[cybertron-after-dark]

Average transformers g1 episode:

Megatron is attempting to black out the entire sky across a hundred mile radius and funnel all the sunlight into one, concentrated solar death ray to target a heavy duty solar panel he's having soundwave and the cassetticons build in order to convert it to energon. Then he plans to hit the autobot base with the death ray just for funsies. Starscream plans to push Megatron directly into the death ray, also just for funsies.

Optimus sends Wheeljack and Spike to deal with it, along with two bots you're pretty sure have not been in this show before this point, but you're kind of past asking how many of these fuckers were on the ark offscreen when it crashed. One of them has the worst fake Canadian accent you have ever heard, and the other's name sounds inexplicably dirty.

Starscream tries to get Megatron to stand in the spot he told Skywarp and Ramjet to direct the death ray, but is interrupted when Rumble asks why Starscream stuck him with extra work (a task Megatron assigned specifically to Starscream). This vexes Megatron. The autobots show up and try to figure out what the point of the blacked out sky is while Starscream attempts to talk his way out of it. Then the death ray goes off two feet away from Megatron, which only pisses him off further.

The Canadian bot yells "AH BINARY-BEAVERS!!" because the death ray caught him off guard and completely gives away the bots' position. Soundwave immediately fires on them. Gratuitous robot violence ensues. Spike is generally useless and tries chucking rocks at Rumble. Megatron is too busy trying to almost-murder Starscream to bother with the autobots and just lets Soundwave handle it.

Probably-an-innuendo-name-bot is luckily a flier and takes the chance to see what's blocking the sun now that their cover's blown anyway. He gets up there and the seekers are sticking tinfoil on the clouds to make the tops reflective. The writers are really just hoping you don't think too hard about it.

Skywarp starts firing on dirty-name and calls him a nerd. Dirty-name takes evasive action. Skywarp runs out of ammo and starts just chucking tin foil at him. Dirty-name calls him dumb and says his processor is made of spare toaster parts. Then he crash lands and canada-bot asks if dirty-name's wings are spare toaster parts as well. Wheeljack yells that they'll all be spare toaster parts if they don't focus on the decepticons. The death ray goes off again and barely misses the autobots. Wheeljack corrects himself to Melted spare toaster parts.

Dirty-name gives Wheeljack the rundown on the tinfoil clouds so he can figure out a way to get rid of them while Canada-bot fights Soundwave and the cassettes in the background. Spike is kind of helping too sort of almost. Those rocks hes chucking sure are damaging. Ravage gets straight up drop kicked. It cuts back to Wheeljack whipping up a good old fashioned Device™️.

Starscream flies up past the tinfoil barrier while Megatron shoots at him. All the holes he's shooting in the blackout barrier are just making more, slightly shittier death rays and the main one is losing concentration. One of them hits Megatron right in the optic and he keels over with an over the top screech. Starscream descends, breaking another hole in the tinfoil to see a golden opportunity.

"MEGATRON HAS BEEN BLINDED!!! I, STARSCREAM AM NOW YOUR LEADER!!!"

Wheeljack finishes his Device™️: A grenade that makes tinfoil entirely invisible, thus rendering the whole weapon unusable. The writers are hungover, please do not think about it too hard. Pretty please. Dirty-name doesn't know if he can throw it into one of the holes in the barrier on his own since he can't fly in robot mode and he cant throw in altmode. Spike offers to get on his back and throw it in for him if he can get close enough. And he's just SO good at throwing things. The other two agree he's their best shot, they're so happy spike is around, couldn't do it without him.

Starscream is hovering in the air as he gives his Decepticon Leader Acceptance Speech he's prepared for this very occasion, golden light streaming in from the him-shaped hole in the barrier. Dirty-name and spike zip past him and spike makes the best goddamn throw of his life. Before starscream can properly question the Fucking Audacity of these autobots interrupting him while he's trying to have a moment, the invisible explosion goes off that the animators are just happy they don't have to put that much effort into drawing. Starscream gets knocked out of the air and crashes directly onto Megatron. This vexes Megatron.

Sky's normal again. Don't worry that there's still tinfoil there, don't even fuckin worry about it dude. Spike and Dirty-name touch back down. Round of applause for spike for throwing super good. Wheeljack comments that he's just happy it blew up the way it was supposed to. Cue uncomfortably long laughing. Megatron manages to roll starscream off him and calls for a retreat.

Back at the decepticon base, Megatron has an eyepatch and is skulking. Starscream yaps about how it makes him look like a proper tyrant, brooding and battle scarred, and, dare he say, darkly handsome? This vexes Megatron.

[comatosebunny09]

cotton candy clouds | sylus

summary: you guilt-trip sylus into taking you to the carnival. you get caught up in more than just the festivities, hidden feelings finally coming to light. genres: romance, fluff, minor angst warnings: kissing, unrequited (not really) feelings, tender touches, pet names, incredibly self indulgent, profanity, cheesy af, fuck fate notes: limerence au, but a little less pain. now playing: siren guitar - carlos carty

Well, it seemed like a good idea. 

Until it wasn’t. 

You see, the boardwalk wasn’t too far of a walk from your bungalow. You saw the Ferris Wheel gleaming in the near distance from the passenger window of Sylus’ rental. Caught sight of it on the ride back after spending the morning with him.

The carnival beckoned to you. Taking you was the least Sylus could do after torturing you with restricting dresses and uncomfortable heels all weekend. And he could sweeten the deal by winning you a plushie and stuffing you full of cotton candy. 

Sylus relented with a chuckle, pulling the car into the carport. Good on you for suggesting you travel on foot to the boardwalk after you dropped your bags at the house. He looked like he wanted to contest you, gaze turned skyward like he knew something was amiss. Instead, he shrugged and settled his dark shades onto his face, following your lead. 

The carnival was lively. 

It smelled of funnel cake, smoked turkey legs, and lubed machinery. People milled about, their glee staining the stratosphere. Carnies coerced you into trying for prizes. You had an armful of colorful plushies with a grin to match by mid-afternoon, courtesy of your boss and his impeccable aim. 

If you hadn't known any better, you swore you were on a date. But you knew that could never be, given the state of your relationship and your position in Sylus’ life. 

You were halfway through a candied apple when Mother Nature decided, ah, that’s enough fun. 

The sky, once a bright cyan with a golden sun pinned to its center, gave way to ominous, dark gray clouds. Thunder followed, and eventually, the nimbus clouds opened up to pelt the boardwalk below with its glacial downpour.

You scattered along with the other carnival goers, Sylus in tow, the spoils of your endeavor forgotten. On the race back to the bungalow, he grabbed your hand, and you laughed like two carefree adolescents as he tugged you across the sand to your temporary lodging. 

You were breathless when you reached the porch, shoving into the warm sanctity of the entryway with a “Hurry, hurry!”

It was quiet inside. 

The light pouring in through the sliding doors and windows illuminated the stilled space. Your teeth chattered as Sylus helped divest you of your clothes in the living room. Such a gentleman, his gaze never dipping past your collarbones as he tore his sweater from his shoulders. He left you briefly, taking his warmth with him to light a fire beneath the mantle. 

Clad only in your undergarments, you pawed at him, giggling amid your shivering when he came back to drape you in an oversized throw. 

He led you to the high-pile rug in front of the fire. Sat down cross-legged, drawing you into his lap. He shrouded the pair of you in the throw blanket, his arms encasing your middle, hands smoothing over your arms to ward off the cold.

For a while, you sat like that, watching the fire kindle. Chuckling, panting, and existing in the moment until your shared quivering abated, and only the rhythm of your even breaths, the crackling fire logs, and distant waves crashing against the shore colored the air. 

Even now, you sit like this, still housed in Sylus’ lap and arms, his chin notched in the hollow of your shoulder. He absently rocks your body side to side, his occasional pleased hum vibrating your spine.

You’re no longer a sopping, chattering mess. You’re much warmer than before, Sylus’ proximity causing your cheeks to prickle with heat. You don’t want to disrupt the mood that’s descended onto your shoulders. Ignore the complicated thoughts and feelings that burble to the surface, threatening to bare themselves in the face of your peace. 

He feels too good. Smells even better, the scent of his cologne easing the tension from your shoulders. And a glance at him in your periphery reveals his lashes fluttering, eyes closed in what you assume is contentedness. You study him for a beat or two, ingesting the peachy tone stippling his cheek and the pretty curl of his lips. He looks so boyish and unguarded this way, his hair falling into his face, and you find yourself wanting to see this side of him more often.

“You look like you want to say something,” he teases through a smile, thumb cruising over the skin of your belly.

You shake your head no, eyes wide like you’ve been caught rifling through the cookie jar. 

His hold on you stiffens the slightest. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” He moves to pull away, but you quickly ensnare his wrists with your hands, quietly imploring him to stay. He acquiesces, holding to you a little tighter. Nuzzles a little more affectionately, inhaling deep the warm aroma of your skin.

“What’s on your mind,” he queries on an exhale, tenderness lancing through his question. He almost sounds like he’s afraid to scare you off. Afraid to let you go, swept up in the spell of the moment and the sensation of your body against his.

Your lips pull into a rigid, thoughtful line. Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you rub cautious thumbs over the veins pulsing in Sylus’ hands as you study the geometric patterns of the rug. Sighing, you figure it’s best to broach the subject now rather than let it fester.

“Is this alright?” you timidly ask. Uncharacteristic of you, but in light of everything that’s transpired since he whisked you away on this impromptu vacation, you’ve become even more confused and unsure of yourself.

Sylus shifts, drawing back until you feel his eyes on the side of your face. In the corner of your vision, he cants his head quizzically, lips parting.

“What do you mean?”

The angle is awkward, your neck straining. But you turn as best you can to look at him, and the puzzled pinch of his brows makes your chest tighten. 

“I mean, us being this…close. Is it really okay?” Your question hangs in the air like the pop and fizz of the fire. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob whilst he swallows, and he scrutinizes you, the cogs in his mind slowly turning. 

“Is this a problem? Because if I’m making you uncomfortable, sweetheart—”

“Sylus, that’s…that’s not what I mean.”

He watches your lips tremble. Expression still reads like he has no idea what you’re on about. He strokes up your arm, encouraging you to elaborate. With another weighted sigh pushing through your nostrils, you relent.

“I mean, like…what the hell are we doing here?” Try as you like to mask your frustration, bits and pieces of it leak into your words. You clench your fists in your lap, brows furrowing as your eyes burn and glaze over with the threat of tears. “Why did you bring me here? The last few days have been so… wonderful and confusing, and I—I just wanna know where I stand with you.”

The past weekend with your boss has played out like a dream. 

It began when Sylus snatched you away from the arctic darkness of the N109 Zone in favor of something brighter, more low-key. Wanted you to take a load off after employing you for so long. To show his appreciation for you laying your life on the line for him each day.

He bought you gifts at every turn. Said things that thoroughly derailed your perception of him. Touched you in ways that, although weren’t sexual in nature, lit a fire within you and gave you an inkling of hope. Hope that he cared for you as much as you pined for him despite his history with the Hunter. 

You knew it wasn’t right to covet him like that. But you couldn’t help yourself, and how he’d been behaving since you arrived on the island only worsened matters. He treated you like a lover more than his subordinate, and you needed—no, deserved—an explanation for the sudden shift in tone. 

“I thought it was obvious,” he half-chuckles, shaking his head whilst pinching the bridge of his nose. 

As if you’re the problem here.

You make a sound. Maneuver yourself in his lap to get a better look at him, fixing him with a perturbed look. Explain, demands the quirk of your brows. 

“Well, it’s been brought to my attention that maybe I haven’t been completely clear with my intentions.” 

Sylus shifts you around in his lap until you’re straddling him, your legs framing his hips, wrists instinctively crossing behind his neck. He drapes his arms about your waist, a wide, possessive hand at the small of your back to hold you in place. He peers at you with all the softness of the world, and from your vantage point, you make out the amber flecks nestled between the crimson wash of his irises.

He tilts his head, quietly studying you. Turning over the right words in his mind. “I care about you.” His voice is low and abrasive, but the crackle of it sparks in your chest like steel dragged across a flint stone. 

Your breath hitches, and you watch him with widened eyes and parted lips.

“I care about you. Maybe more than I should. Perhaps more than I deserve to, but I do. And you mean more to me than mere words can illustrate.”

Great. Now you feel absolutely horrible amid the butterflies piling in your stomach. “Sylus—”

He chuckles sardonically, glancing off to the side. “I thought that by bringing you here, I could make it inherently clear how I feel about you. No distractions. No outside forces. Nothing standing between us.”

Unconsciously, you gather his cheeks into your hands. Lure his gaze back to yours, and the look in his eyes makes your stomach somersault. You’ve never seen him so wounded. Like he fears your rejection, yet he’s determined to set the record straight.

Sylus’ voice steeps a few octaves when he closes in, his warm breath fanning over your lashes. You feel dizzy like you would collapse if not for his virile arms keeping you fastened to him. 

“Fate be damned,” he whispers. Molds his hand to the nape of your neck, fingers easing up into the delicate hair that resides there, and you shiver when his gaze slacks to your lips. “You were an oversight—a pleasant oversight. A detour in my plans that I didn’t anticipate. A detour I don’t regret taking.”

His lips graze yours, and you’re panting as pleasant tingles ricochet up your spine.

“You occupy all of my thoughts.” Sigh. “You ruin me,” he husks, sealing your chest to his. “I don’t want anyone else but you. And I know your mind has more than likely convinced you otherwise. But I’m here to say that I truly…” He draws back to kiss the tip of your nose. “Honestly…” Brands the corner of your mouth with the languid drag of his lips. “—pine for no one else. You’re the only person I want in this lifetime.”

“Sylus,” you halfway sob in the slither of space between your mouths, every nerve in your body trained to the feel of him.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry, your mind fogging over. “You gonna keep waxing poetic, or are you gonna kiss me?”

He snorts out a laugh at your impatience, cupping your jaw with a tender, sweltering hand. “There is nothing I would like more,” he breathes, luring you closer for a taste of your lips. 

[0mg-bird]

Sunrise~ Tyler Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: The curious case of the tornado wranglers, down to earth, girlfriend.

A/n: I just watched Twisters and am in love. Right now Sunrise by Ryan Bingham is my favorite song so here’s a little one shot inspired by it.

Warnings: Language, implied smut

Everyone’s called you crazy ever since you were born. The people in your small Texas town said you were the wild child, your parents had four boys and when their baby girl came around, she had a mean streak just like her brothers. Ten years old and standing in an empty corn field, looking at the thunder heads forming above you, hot and muggy air gusting against your skin, the crack of thunder didn’t scare you, you were utterly curious and amazed. You’ve known storms since you were a babe, you remember the shrill sound of the sirens going off and your mama screaming for you to come inside. Your family was in a panic, you remember your daddy letting the horses loose and the way the cattle ran. That funnel touched down and prayers were prayed, you watched from the bathroom window despite the way your mama dragged you away.

It was beautiful, so utterly terrifying in the distance, a force of straight power.

You were hooked.

Telling your parents you were going to the University of Arkansas to study meteorology was a good idea in theory until they told you becoming a weather girl was a sweet job.

You told them about storm chasing and your mama almost had a stroke.

But you’ve worried everyone your whole life, only you would choose something so crazy.

You met Tyler your sophomore year when you had the same class, your energetic personality hid the fact you were a nerdy kind of cowgirl. The two of you quickly became best friends, despite his cocky personality. You formed a dare devil connection, you were the call he made when he got a lead on something.

Graduation came and you said you were going back home, he hated that idea.

“Come with me.” He said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

It’s hard to say no to a man with puppy dog eyes.

Somewhere between gathering a crew up from all over the boons and adopting a one eyed dog you found stranded after a storm in Little Rock, the two of you fell so deep for each other, it hit harder than any storm you experienced.

Here you are now in Oklahoma, cutting through fields in Tyler’s red Ram truck. “Lilly, talk to me.” You call over the radio system on the dash, looking for what data the girl in the vehicle following has. In the backseat, Boone, the right hand man, is recording like always, talking to the followers.

“Welcome back guys, we’re currently back at it again in the Oklahoma plains. This beauty we’re going into is gaining speed, turning into something good. What are we thinking, Tex?”

You look to the camera and smile. “You know, I’d like to call this an easy F2 but the strong updraft we’re getting here could push this baby into the F3 category.”

Also from the back seat, Ben, the London journalist asks to explain what you just said.

The rain cap starts and muddies the earth, the truck drifts as Tyler maneuvers it greatly. You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward to get a better look at what you’re driving into.

“What are you thinking, darlin’?” Tyler asks, seeing the way you evaluate the area.

“Take a left, it ain’t gonna hit the tree line, see the way the wind shifted?” You instruct.

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, giving you one of his perfect grins before making a sharp left.

Ben makes a sort of strangled cry of fear as he gets tossed around in the back. You, completely nonchalant, chewing on a Red Vine, turn to look at the Brit.

“Ben, baby, how you feeling back there?” You ask, pointing something else out to Tyler.

“Oh I’m bloody great.” He lies before getting knocked into the door again. You laugh. “Man, I love this guy.” You declare, finding him so amusing. “Let’s keep him, Ty.”

He rolls his eyes at you, making you scoff. You look at the dog in your lap who’s wearing a tiny helmet with the words ‘Killa’ written across the front. “What you think, Rocky? You wanna keep Ben?”

The dog lays his head down and places his paw over his small snout.

“Rude. Ty, Rock used to agree to everything I say, now you’ve done gone and brain washed him. Poor fella.” You pout before yelping in surprise at the way Tyler drifts into a spot. He grips the radio, calling for the convoy to assume their positions.

“Sorry, I’m no expert but it looks like the twister is going to roll right over us.” Ben says as everyone buckles their harnesses.

“You’re exactly right Benny boy.” You say, opening the center console and placing Rocky inside his designated safety seat. “We need to be in its path so the data bugs we’ll launch have enough wind speed to reach the height needed. Put your harness on and you’ll be about as secure as a pistol in a PTA Mama’s purse.”

Ben looks to Boone in question. Boone just shrugs. “At some point you get used to all the odd shit she says.”

Tyler cranks the E brake, then looks at you with a smirk. “You wanna touch my joystick?” He ask, motioning to the control stick that has the button to activate the drills that will anchor the truck into the ground.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You scrunch your nose, pushing the button.

The truck is secured, you’re all buckled in tight, now you have to focus on when it’s the perfect time to launch the processors. Things are blowing against the windows, Tyler’s laughing and Boone is howling into the camera, showing the viewers what they see.

“Tell me when.” Tyler says, and as thick water drops pummel the windshield, you stay silent, waiting…watching.

“Now!” You shout and he presses the button that activates the hydraulic opening lid to the tub in the truck bed, the small bug sensors fly out and are carried up into the funnel that is passing over you.

“Breaker breaker, what are we seeing?” You call into the radio, Dexter in the caravan off in the clearing responds. “We got eyes, Tex. Data is coming in clear.”

You shoot your arms up in victory, this was the first time you were launching the 2.0 sensors. “There we go!” You look directly into the camera Boone is pointing at you. “You see that kids? I still got it.”

You watch the storm pass you, the funnel goes into the distance and the winds calm a bit as you unbuckle your harness. You’re pulling the pup from its safety and throwing open the door, running to the spot it just was.

“Whoo!” You hear Tyler whoop, and you throw that snapback hat of his you were wearing, adrenaline pumping through you. He sweeps you into his large arms, twirling you around. “Did you see that, baby? God, that was beautiful.” He laughs and you pull on the brim of his cowboy hat. “I sure did, let’s go get those bugs before we lose their signals, cowboy.”

Later as you set up camp in some cheap motel, Ben is approaching Lilly and Boone with questions.

“I need a story about the girl, uh Tex? Does she have a name?” He settles into one of the fold out chairs and motions to you sitting on the roof of the truck, looking up at the stars and listening to the music playing on the radio.

Lilly chuckles and then makes an adjustment to her drone. “She does, but she’d kill you if she found out you was using her government name in your fancy paper.”

Ben finds that interesting, he writes a few notes about a very mysterious persona you have. “How long has she been in this business? I tried to ask her some questions but she shushed me and told me she was ‘meditating to a Childers song’ and it was very important that she did this.”

Boone shakes his head. “She says confusing stuff to make people go away when she wants her peace.” He explains. “Tex is the original, her and T were the ones to assemble the squad of us, they taught me everything I know. She might be crazier than he is if I’m bein’ honest, always pushing the limits but every move she makes is calculated.”

Lilly agrees. “She’s my best friend, but has always been a curious case. She comes from Texas, hence the nickname and the accent that gets too thick when she’s drunk. Mama wanted her to be this Southern belle but she turned out to be a real wrangler. She’s the smartest person I know, but has a very relaxed way about her.”

“Who?” Dexter asks as he passes by.

“Tex.” They answer.

He shakes his head. “That girl’s a tree hugging loon.”

Ben quickly comes to know the dynamic of you and Tyler. There is no home but each other, you make the best of every situation because you are together. Two pairs of cowboy boots and wide eyes, that’s what you two are.

“I’d compare her to like…a coyote.” Lilly determines. “She’s the perfect balance of wisdom and foolishness, always willing to make light of situations. One time, we were tracking a desert storm in New Mexico and we were camping in our trucks, it was hot, all our leads were gone and we’re ready to turn back. The sunrise comes and it’s prettiest thing I ever seen, we wake up to just a color spill of orange and pink. We open our doors up and Tex is out there dancing in a sports bra and boxers.”

Boone leans back in his chair, laughing at the memory. “Man, we thought she finally lost it, that being with Tyler for so long finally made her go off the rails. T is standing there, watching her, asking what the hell she was doing and she claims she was doing a rain dance.” He says, making Ben chuckle to himself.

Lilly lights a cigarette and rolls her eyes. “She was out there shaking her ass.”

“You fucking joined her!” Boone argues, taking the cigarette from her.

“Well yeah, you don’t let your best friend dance alone. And what happened that day? The rain came and the biggest thunderheads I had ever seen blew in. The lightning was beautiful, Ben, you shoulda been there.”

New Mexico rain was a memory you thought of often, it just felt a little fresher. Blame it on the heat you were dying of or the thirsty land you stood on, but you stood out in it, getting soaked to the bone and then fell into Tyler’s arms.

Now, far away in Oklahoma, Tyler stands looking up at you soaking in the moonlight. “Come down from there.” He calls. You lean over the edge of the roof and look at him. “Why don’t you come up here?” You challenge.

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m tired, darlin’. Let me take you inside.”

You look back up at the stars, then slide from the top of the truck, making him reach out and catch you. “Alright, take me to bed you old man.”

He shakes his head at your comment. It’s hard to resist anymore, you just looked so gorgeous underneath the moonlight. He leans to kiss you, nothing too deep but still of passion because he loves tasting the sugar of your lips, you were always so sweet that it made his head cloudy.

Arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist, the two of you say goodnight to your friends and head to your motel room, Rocky trotting after you. The lock on the door is hard to budge open, the room has a sort of stale smell.

As Tyler is distracted by setting up a bed for the dog, you grab your things from your duffel. “Dibs in the bathroom.” You shout before making a run for it. Tyler groans and tries to beat you, but you stand in the doorway, sticking your tongue out at him. “You just gotta be faster.” You tease before shutting the door in his face.

The low bulb light casts a hazy orange glow to everything, you start the shower and find it to have weak water pressure. Your clothes make a pile on the floor and soon the air steams up.

Your muscles relax as you wash off, you let out a small groan at your fingers scrubbing your scalp. The sound of the shower curtain being pulled back and Tyler stepping in behind you makes you turn. “I haven’t even been in here that long.”

He shrugs, then moves to hog the water. “I got impatient.”

After being with someone for so long and sharing everything, nothing really fazes you. The crew jokes that you and Tyler could probably morph into one body at this point.

By the time the two of you are mostly rinsed off, he’s getting handsy. His fingers trace over your handful of tattoos, wet skin sliding across you in a feverish way. You lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him. “Ty…”

He looks down you was an innocent smile. “Oh come on, we’ve been traveling with people for too long. We get one night without Boone gagging when I kiss you.” He says, then leans his head down, nuzzling into your neck.

You bite your lip at the feeling, your arm coming up to run your hand through his hair. “Who’s in the room next to us? These walls are thin.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” He mumbles, hand slipping far past your navel, earning a loud gasp from you.

You lean your weight back against him, nodding feverishly as his fingers do wonders to an aching spot between your legs. “Okay, not having Boone around is really good.” You breathe.

He’s practically holding you up, his other arm is around you, holding you to his chest while he makes you fall apart.

It didn’t matter that the room hasn’t been updated since the 80’s or that the mattress groaned under the weight of the two of you or that Rocky runs and hides, the two of you were savoring this alone time because you didn’t know when the next time would be when you got it.

You’re laughing, making out and switching positions. The feel of his hand running past the valley of your breasts and giving your throat the lightest grip, it makes you feel on fire. The headboard’s getting knocked into the wall, you’re breathlessly whining and he’s loving every reaction you give him. By the time you’re gripping his shoulders so tight and his name is sounding broken as it cuts from your throat, he’s barely holding himself up.

The air conditioning makes an odd hum sound as you lay against him, skin on skin. You never understood how people could get bored of sex after being with someone for a while, having sex with Tyler Owens was hotter than west Texas in the Summer.

Well, the first time was a little awkward. Most people don’t establish they love each other before they sleep with each other, but you guys did. When you sat in his lap, lips slotted against his, you had to fight to push the idea out of your mind that you were grinding against your best friend. Everything was slow and every touch was unsure, after it ended you were scared that the relationship dynamic would never work if this was how sex was together.

You laugh now, thinking about it.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, fingers tracing the long horn skull that is tramp stamped on you.

“I’m just remembering the first time we had sex.” You shake with amusement. He groans. “You have to stop bringing that up.”

Pushing up from his chest, the blanket falls off of you. He watches in amazement as you swing your leg over his waist, your hands planted on his chest. “I think it’s cute, we were just babies.”

“Yeah, sometimes I miss the days where I didn’t know how insane you were.”

You glare, immediately going to move off of him before his grip yanks you back to your spot.

“I’m kidding, I always knew you were crazy.” He says.

“You love it.” You lean over him, and his hand comes to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “You know I do, darlin’.”

Falling asleep was easy, you could fall asleep anywhere, but in a bed with Tyler holding you to his chest, it had you dreaming in seconds. You wake before he does, slowly sliding away to get dressed. You stand at the balcony outside, a cup of coffee in your hand as you watch the sunrise. After a few moments of peace, the door behind you opens and out comes your lover boy.

“No rain dance this morning?” He asks, kissing the top of your head.

“There’s plenty of rain in Oklahoma, they don’t need me to shake my ass in the parking lot for it to come.” You state, leaning down to pick up Rocky who trailed out after Tyler.

The two- well, three of you, look out at the horizon line, the air is already getting hot.

“You ready?” He asks you, and you turn to kiss his jaw. “I’m always ready.”

[spurbleu]

unraveling careful threads

nurse!reader x johnny mactavish (sfw oneshot)

s. johnny finds you where he needs you. wc. 2k for @kentwos, <3

you don’t know what it is about your door, but it seems to beckon chaos.

it has no business being there. on the days you return with sore heels and needle indents on your pointer and thumb, it should not follow you. the military is its ball and chain- two trenches deep behind security fences. it should remain there- you’ve told the damn thing to sit and lie and yet it stalks you to a place of respite.

stray cats pitch on fat paws by your front steps. doorbell ditches- neighborhood boys who strangle their youth. rain.

tonight, its dressed in a bleeding temple and wine cheeks. bruises beneath the porch light and leans against the wood of your door frame. lubberly smile.

“come here often?”

although your concern is sluggish, it waxes the underside of your ribs when he lumbers past you into your living room. you lock the door before following him.

“johnny? what on earth h-“

“jus’ a scuffle. some bam off his rocker- one tae maneh bevvy’s,” he limps across your carpet with a right lean- sobering up slowly as he rummages through your cabinets, “where d’ye keep yer aid?”

whatever brought him to your door had beaten off the drunken stupor. you can’t classify what replaces it, but the shadow of it follows him. wimpish, reeking of pub grease, caramelized liquor, a drying anger.

the lights of your flat soften it.

in fact, it softens him.

unfamiliarity sheets the corners of your vision. him, unmitigated substance- raw sinews that thread thick strands beneath tanned skin are left exposed to the mundane. violence in a butter dish. grisly silt on a vacuumed carpet. a sergeant in cotton.

you’ve seen him only in the context of harsh lines. charcoal draws his boots on concrete, nothing picks the gravel from his teeth, and horizon grays let him taunt grim reapers and their assault rifles. where the world is his adversary and he takes it by the throat. even in the confines of your office, the walls feel as though they’d been sanded on whetstone when he receives a third set of stitches.

delicate looked unnatural on him. johnny was rock. impenetrable, inevitable. a dulled stone, rounded and heavy, bludgeons docile until it’s drying in saline and the vim that grows haphazardly on his knuckles. he did not belong where things were soft, and certainly didn’t fit in your kitchen.

he sends you a look over his shoulder. “ah ken ‘m good lookin, but i could realleh use a bandage.”

you swallow. “what?”

realization funnels through your exhaustion. you’re on leave. so is he. neither of them, given the circumstances and distance, should converge. regardless, he stands beaten to a variant of death, offering you a wilting smile and a flirt.

your eyes narrow. “johnny, why are you here.”

“cannae wounded soldier nae get help from his favorite nurse?”

a cautious step forward. “on base. but this is my house. how-“

“christ bonnie, jus quit it with the interview ‘n give me yer aid,” he rubs his temple and leans against the fridge, “that fuckin bastard.”

the disquiet comes back in a wave.

you’re vaguely acquainted with the state. the lull of anticipation as you sit in the after brood of consequence, sore operative on a stretcher. a mothering silence, rocks you both into placidity. its where you become removed from the outcome of the stitches, the draw of their brow, the blood that gets on your shirt. fades to somewhere beyond the both of you, mental death among other reliefs. lets you work.

but its never there when you look at johnny. never has been.

you’re left so agonizingly present around him. you blamed his sound for years- the resonate baritone in foreign gaelic that forges its way into spaces that cannot fit it (medic rooms, your ears…wayward sentimental thoughts) and how after he’s stopped speaking, it lingers on the back of your neck for hours.

but the longer you’ve known him, you realize it isn’t how loud he is, or the territory of his torso- not even his eyes. it’s the untitled charm that soothes a callous under your skin. you don’t know how to name it, so you let it guide your body to the corner base cabinet, searching for your aid.

because he needs it. and you have never been above giving johnny want he needs.

“go sit down.” there’s a disjointed noise from behind you as you pull the box to the counter.

“’m perfectly capable of-“

“johnny- go sit.”

you feel him staring at your back, but when the kitchen goes quiet, you know he’s done as told. you put the kettle on the back stove and set the heat to low, before walking around the banister back to the living room, where he waits with a pouting lip and a wide sit.

what a charmer.

you set the aid on the coffee table and assess the damage. shallow gash on the right side of his temple, bruising cheekbone that swells his left eye, split lip and a smudge of blood under his nostrils.

you pause where you stand, realizing in order to be productive you’ll have to be up close. you don’t have another chair that won’t risk an unsteady hand. johnny follows your thinking rather quickly for being roughed up and half sober. “my lap donae look comfeh enough for ye, bonnie?”

this little-

out of spite, you plop ungracefully on his right thigh. you hoped- expected- a fragment of surprise. instead, he gives you a loose grin, before gently resting his hands on your hips. the breeze of his fingertips makes you flinch.

“wha-“

“jus’ tryna keep ye steady,” he close one eye, the other full of mirth, “ready for my check up, doc.”

you scoff before pulling out your cotton swabs.

the routine begins. cleaning infections, pinching the skin to prepare it for stitches, breathing slowing. all while trying to ignore the sensation of your hands ghosting over his face, and how when you pull them back, they’re burning, sweating between each gap. all this fuss over how his thumbs mindlessly fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt.

your fingers are the spiders that web him back together. the lifelines of your palm could never reach him, but you find that he’s already been there. burrows in the vulnerable fissures of your body, your mind, until you’re unravelling while he’s sewn together.  

and yet, you’re anchored. calmed. his discord serves as relief from a world that is inherently boring. you’d feel compelled to thank him if you think he’d understand.

“yer makin tha’ face again.”

you pause the needle before it hits his skin. “what face?”

“yer lip puffs out and yer brows do tis’ ting where d’ey meet n ta’ middle of yer-“ he smiles to himself and loses your eyes, “ye make it when ye need tae focus.”

you squint. “does it bother you?”

he laughs. a deep sound, resonates with the child in you that remembers waves against mercury bluffs, or watching thunder from your bedroom window. awe. having heard them before, and yet they sound foreign every time.

“nae,” he shakes his head softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a classic grin. if you had been standing, your knees would weaken at the gnaw of their blue when he looks at you again, “nae quite ta’ opposite. might be the most beautiful thing i’ve eva’ seen.”

the ceiling fan whirrs above you in a rhythm that matches your heartbeat, the carpet feels decade rough on your socks, and the clock in the corner is quieter than it’s ever been. and it’s all because a man who takes up leagues of space just by smiling called you beautiful.

you’d never say that aloud though. you’d be feeding the thing that makes him that way.  

“you’re hopeless.” is all that you muster.

he smiles, but its without gravity. it’s almost sad. “aye, maybe for ye.”

you lose yourself in the moments you find him like this. pliant, willing, gentle. (is that how cain killed abel? virgin hands wield a rock on innocence? softness weaponizing itself? you’re unsure, but when he meets your eyes for a third time, you’re convinced he’s waiting to kill you with the tender that holds you still on his thigh.)

“this is going to hurt.”

he recoils when you push the needle through the edge of his temple, but relaxes with a labored exhale. suddenly its quiet like it hadn’t been before. a breed of silence where you realize how close you are, how you swallow his breath, and feel the blimp of his pulse on your hip bone.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish closing the tear. when he feels you pull away, he tips his head up to look at you.

“looks like i came tae the righ’ d-“

“why are you out at this hour?”

your interruption is involuntary if anything else, but now that you look at him- half blue and half bloody- the concern you usually remove from patients rears an ugly head and hits the roof of your mouth.

he falters. “wha’d’ye mean?”

you drag your knuckles across his cheek bone and the flesh swelters. plums where other men became sideways and angry- and it’s the cotton in you that can’t help but swipe a thumb over it. he cringes, but you persist until the pad of your thumb cools where it burns. when you find his eyes, you lose something in your lungs.

“I…I know you’re on leave, and your life is your own but…” you pretend to idle your hands over his jaw- looking for any contusions, or perhaps a lifeline that could stabilize you as you rest on his lap, “getting into fights at pubs isn’t exactly the point of a vacation.”

he sighs before looking at your palm, “I…” his voice below a whisper, his stubble barely itching your fingers tells you he’s trying not to startle you,  “I get… antsy. gets me inta’ trouble,” he offers you a clumsy smile, “donae think I’m capable of sittin’ still for very long.”

you steal a look at his lips. they’re not bleeding anymore. you blink. “you’re doing it now.”

he gives you a look like you’re torturing him and your mouth dries. “I’ve got ye on my lap. ay’d be a very, very foolish man, to move now.”

johnny has a way of saying things so simply that you think it’s better if you say nothing at all.

instead you take antiseptic and wipe his stitches clean. the only remnants that remain of night- the swell of his eye, the healing cut on his temple- are now replaced with remnants of you. needle and thread, careful breath, your skin on his.

you didn’t know nursing could ever feel so intimate.

“i’m…you’re all..” you swallow the blue in his eyes like their air, “done.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. in fact, neither of you do.

the lamp light tames the sting of his iris. they can’t startle a paralysis under downy soft yellow. instead, hot blue steel melts you. diminishes your flesh and bone to the second skin he has a tendency to stare at it until it’s been torn apart and pieced together. the countless times you’ve done it for him under a needle and thread do not compare to what he does with his eyes.

it’s an oddity you’ve grown much to fond of for something that is so inherently finite.

“i…meant what i said,” this will not last, “about you being beautiful.”

it will pass, god let it pass. “Johnny…”

the teapot whistles from the kitchen brings you back to your senses. you cough the penciled fear into your fist and try for a smile. both of you know its not honest.

“sit tight.”

the tea is still warm in your belly as you watch him shuck his coat on his shoulders from your position on the wall. you both remain comfortably mute, in this odd routine that doesn’t feel new at all. despite every experience tonight proving something different, as he stands at your door you’re prompted with an overwhelming rush of deja’vu.

“you sure you’re alright to drive home?” you stifle a yawn. “I know you’ve slept on more uncomfortable surfaces than my couch.”

he laughs, albeit its muddled by his own exhaustion. “very temptin’ bonnie. but i cannae stay- gotta get back to my own.” something other than his own bed is tugging him out the door, but you let a sleeping dog lay (or, an injured sergeant lie).

he opens your door and turns to face you before walking out. you can’t tell if the shiver is from the cold rush of air that hits your bare elbows, or the preserving look he throws your way. “thank ye, bonnie. yer a life saver.”

you smile. “i would say come again, but i feel like that’s redundant.”

he nods. his eyes flit to the space behind you and then back to your face. he pulls his hand from his pocket and tucks a stray behind your ear, and you swear it’s the first time you’ve seen the sergeant properly blush.

“sweet dreams, mm bonnie?”

“yeah. get home safe,” your smile broads, “not keen on staying awake too much longer to fish you out of trouble again.”

he nods, stepping out the threshold of your door. you feel like you’ve lost things tonight but gained something infinitely more important. “goodnight, Johnny.”

“g’night.”

you don’t realize that its yearning until his footfall recedes back into a world that is boundless and without your hands to keep him threaded together.

at least then, he’ll return to you.

[lipglossanon]

Day 8

Kink: Spitting & Overstimulation

Pairing: Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a slightly softer CC Leon (don’t ask me how it happened lmao), dirty talk, possessive Leon, spitting, overstimulation, praise, daddy kink, fingering, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, squirting

not proofread

The night’s breezy, sending chills across your body and making you regret your choice of wearing a cute skirt to meet up with Leon at the local carnival. Surprisingly, the date has been sweet. He’s only touched your shoulders and lower back to guide you around the stalls and rides. 

You split a funnel cake and share a messy, powdered sugar flavored kiss afterwards. It’s enough to let your guard down, which is your second mistake of the night (after the fashion choice). It all starts with some people from out of town, a couple of guys who more than likely have had too much to drink. 

They say something to you, but you’re not paying attention. Leon is though. Leon’s head is always on a swivel when you’re out together. He leaves you standing next to the basketball game, hands clutching the plushie he just won you as he walks over to the pair. Your heart rate picks up, seeing the look on Leon’s face—nothing ever bodes well with that look. 

A group of teenagers stop in front of you, blocking the trio from view. Standing up on your tiptoes doesn’t help and you don’t really wanna move and have Leon be disappointed you didn’t listen to him. The teens shift and you see Leon walking back to you, bypassing the noisy group to stand in front of you again. 

Glancing down you see blood on his knuckles and you gasp.

“Are you okay?” You reach for his hand but he pulls away. 

“Of course,” he uses his clean hand to cup your chin, thumb smoothing across your skin. “Let’s head home so I can clean up.”

You nod, “Okay.”

His lips tic into a half smile, “Such a good girl.”

Heat sweeps through you and you bite your bottom lip, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you out of the carnival grounds to his car. The ride back to your place is quiet save for the radio playing on low volume. You squeeze the plushie to your chest, eyes watching the landscape pass you by until he’s pulling up to your place. 

Once the door’s unlocked, Leon disappears into the guest bath to use the first aid kit tucked under the sink. You kick off your shoes and wander down the hall into your bedroom. Gently sitting the stuffed raccoon on your dresser, your shoulders drop, tension leaving your body now that you’re home.   

“Is this where you’re gonna keep him?” 

Leon’s thick arms wrap around your body, hugging you back against his chest. 

“Mmhmm,” you smile although he can’t see. “It looks cute here.”

“Sure does, sweetheart,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “Know what else is cute?”

A breath hitches in your throat as he slips his hands down your body, one pulling up your skirt so he can run his other hand over your panty clad mound.  

“This soft pussy,” he groans, fingers delving underneath your panties to rub against your slit. “Cutest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

He bites down on your neck and you mewl, hips rocking into his hand. Moving your hands behind you, you tangle them in his hair with a sigh. 

“Oh,” you pause, body stiffening, “how’s your hand?”

“Aw, are you worried?” He chuckles and it makes your skin prickle. “It’s fine, just a few cuts. Won’t stop me from playing with your hot cunt, pretty girl.”

Shivering, you whine and relax back against him. 

“That’s it,” he coos mockingly, “you like me taking care of you, huh? Yeah, you do.”

“Leon, please,” you whimper, slick filling the gusset of your panties. 

“Spoiled pussy,” he grunts. “Nothing but a spoiled little pussy.”

Three of his fingers sink knuckle deep into your drippy hole. You whimper and rock down against his hand. 

“But this is my spoiled pussy isn’t it, baby? She’s only crying so much cause daddy treats her so nicely.”

“Yes, yes, please, Leon,” you hiccup a whine, thighs trembling. 

“My pretty girl,” he sinks his teeth in your shoulder and you cry out, clamping down tightly on his fingers buried in your cunt. 

Curling the digits, Leon rubs against your g-spot, heightening your pleasure until it’s too much for your body to handle. He pulls his fingers out suddenly and your orgasm teeters on the edge before tapering off. Frustrated tears slip from your eyes as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Daddy, please, ‘m so close,” you moan softly, fingers tugging his hair.

He cups your throat with one hand, angling your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers tightening on your neck. 

Dropping your bottom lip, you loll your tongue out, heart pounding in your chest as arousal blazes through your veins. He laughs down at you. 

“Don’t have to tell you to swallow, do I, pretty girl?”

Not letting you answer, he spits down on your tongue, watching with dilated eyes as you swallow with a moan. He shakes his grip when he feels your throat bob against his hand. 

“Again.”

Your lips fall open eagerly and he drools a line of spit down into your mouth. Whining, you swallow down the saliva, mouth dropping back open without Leon saying anything. 

“Good girl,” he spits on your tongue one last time before manhandling you over to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress and shoves your skirt up, yanking your panties down and off. 

His hand comes down and smacks your clit, the flat of his fingers stinging in the best way. Your hips writhe, torn between wanting more of those rough slaps or reprieve from the sharp pleasure. Leon decides for you, gripping one of your hips and pressing down on the bone until you whine. Once you still your movement, he rains slaps down across your thighs and cunt, catching your clit with his fingertips. 

Crying out, you tangle your fingers in the sheets, leg muscles twitching and jumping. 

“God, look at this wet mess you’re making, baby,” he croons nastily. “Love getting this fat pussy slapped, don’t you?”

He lands a hard smack across your cunt and your whole body shudders, slick dripping from your hole to saturate the bed spread. His fingers part your pussy lips and he fucks the digits into your fluttering walls, scissoring you open before curling upwards to rub across your g-spot. 

“Leon, oh that’s so good,” you keen, head grinding back against the pillow. 

He fingerfucks your pussy fast and hard, thumb pressing against your clit to circle the swollen bud. With his fingers constantly rubbing the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, your orgasm winds higher and higher. 

“Soak my fingers, sweetheart,” he grins, eyes dragging up from your spread open pussy to your blown out gaze. “Show me how good it feels.”

He leans over your hip and spits, a hot glob of saliva dripping down over your clit that he rubs in with his thumb. That’s enough to push you completely over the edge. A low cry spills from your lips, toes curling while your body jerks as you cum. The wet sound of Leon fingering you through your orgasm meets your ears—the loud plap plap plapmakes you whine, cunt fluttering and milking his fingers even more. 

“Give me another, I know you can,” he goads, the pads of his fingers grinding against your g-spot. 

On the heels of your first orgasm, creeps the second. It doesn’t take as long as you think before your back bows off the bed, climax creating fireworks in your brain as you moan and whimper. Leon still doesn’t let up and the pleasure begins to become too much. He pins you down against the bed, roughly fucking his fingers into your sopping wet cunt. 

“Leon, I can’t—“ 

Your voice cracks, a sob breaking free as tears fill your eyes. 

“Please, daddy, s’too much.”

“One more,” he murmurs. “One more and you can rest.”

Openly crying, you nod, knowing that when he wrings out your next orgasm it’s going to make you pass out. Your cunt pulses at the thought and Leon groans, thumb rubbing your slippery clit. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, you can do it.”

He lets go of your hip and brings his hand down to pinch and lightly smack your clit. The pain is enough to trigger your third orgasm of the night, pussy squirting so much it soaks the bed and Leon’s arm. 

 “Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl,” he hums, pleased as punch. “God, look at this messy fucking pussy.”

Blood rushes through your ears and your dazed eyes meet his before they flutter shut in empty bliss.