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mcondance · 1 year ago

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“and i wish that i could be with you tonight, you give me butterflies”

butterflies — oj haywood

pairing oj haywood x Black!afab fem reader

contents slow burn, kinda, but not too much. little bit of angst and self doubt. canon-compliant except holst and jupe did not die, smut (unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), creampies, it gets rough for like one scene but nothing too crazy)

words 8.8k

notes handful of michael jackson references (like 3) so if you don't like michael kill yourself, oh also the title is from butterflies by michael too, this is a re-upload from my old blog!

The pictures of the horses are beautiful, but the horses themselves? They’re gorgeous. After seeing countless pictures of them and marveling at the still images, you ask Holst who’s horses they are, and if their owner would be okay with you popping up for just a second.

The drive is long as hell, some big ass ranch out in Agua Dulce, far from anything except for Jupe’s Theme Park. You make plans to visit one day. Today you’re on a mission to lay eyes on some of the most beautiful animals you’ve seen. Which is saying a lot, since you work with pictures of Holst’s animals all day.

The man that meets you at the ranch is.. not amused. In fact, he looks extremely annoyed. It seems like Holst is a liar.

“Who are you?” he asks, face scrunched up from the heat of the sun, hands on his hips, body language giving stand-offish. You give him your name and he barely acknowledges it. He would much rather know why you’re here and what you want.

“I, um, I work with Holst.” you say with a nervous smile, his displeasure at your unexpected and uninvited presence evident. “I just saw some pictures of the horses and I had to see them in person.”

Hearing your reasoning for basically trespassing on his ranch strikes a bit of a nerve in him. He’s never met someone who’s that interested in the horses. But he wants to get this over with quickly. He got shit to do, and you just interrupted the horses feeding time.

He turns, nods in a gesture that you take as him telling you to follow him, and walks off. You follow closely, but not too close. You don’t wanna seem like more of a weirdo than you’re sure you already do.

“You drove all the way out here just to see my horses?” he questions, leaning on the arena near a pretty brown horse as he waits for you to catch up.

“Yeah.” you nod. “I been seeing pictures of them for some months now and i just wanted to see them in person.”’

“Mhm.” he nods, reaching up to sift some dirt off of Lucky’s mane.

You step a little closer to the arena, and Oj figures you want to pet Lucky. “Come ‘ere.“ He nods his head again, this time gesturing you to follow him towards the horse. You do, falling into place beside him.

“Gimme your hand.” He reaches for you and meets you in the middle and places it on Lucky. His hair is soft and silky, hot from the California sun, and you can tell just from a feel that Oj takes good care of him, of all of his horses. He’s gentle with your hand, holds it and guides you. That makes heat rise in your cheeks, heat that’s definitely not caused by the sun beating down on you two.

Then Oj pulls his hand away from yours, casting his eyes over the expanse of land.

That breaks you out of your awe-induced stupor.

“I gotta get home.” you say, walking off before he gets the chance to say anything.

On the way home, you have flashes of the cowboy playing through your mind, the burning heat on your hand remaining from his touch, and a couple of butterflies find a hopefully temporary home in your stomach.

—

The next day, you come back.

You find him in the stables this time, throwing hay into the stalls.

Oj’s surprised. Usually, people pet the horses, hang around for a little while, and then lose interest.

“Hey, Oj.” you wave happily.

“Hey. You wanna help me feed them?” He assumes that you’d like to, since you’ve shown some interest in them. And of course you do.

It’s not easy, the bales of hay heavier than you anticipated. But you take the work in stride. It’s not too hard, not when you get to admire these beautiful animals and see how they work. And, to be honest, you like seeing how their owner works as well.

He’s so handsome, with his pretty brown skin, glistening with sweat, the image of a hard-working man. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how, but the cowboy thing is working for him and on you. He’s captivating, his dedication to his horses and his quiet demeanor working together to have you tripping over your words and feet around him.

You could blame it on the heat, or you could blame it on the feeling of his eyes on you the entire time. You’re sure he’s just trying to make sure you don’t fuck up his horses, but you can’t lie, it’s nice to feel for just a second that a man like this is interested in you.

When he asks how long you’ve been working for Holst, it’s like you completely forget the last 8 months of your life. You stutter over your words, and you’re quite literally confused on how you could stutter over two simple words. Still, you do, and you’re sure you just setback any progress you made in getting Oj to find you at all attractive and worth being around.

Because that’s the problem. That’s the dilemma. Here you have a man, who’s happiest in solitude and quiet, and here you are, talkative and loud, and you think you want him to want you. That’s the problem you have. And it’s a big, inescapable problem.

He tells you to hang back by the door of one stable while you’re thinking, telling you that this horse doesn’t take too kindly to strangers. That gives you another chance to really take him in.

He’s so goddamn attractive, and you’re so glad he’s so focused on the horse, because you’re shamelessly staring at his thighs, visibly thick through the denim of jeans. His chest is built; it’s visible under his shirt, too.

And the butterflies are there once again, accompanied by the heat encompassing your entire being.

It isn’t quite professional to be eyeing one of your coworker’s business partners like this, but you’re too caught up in your reverie to care.

And then Oj turns around, and you snap out of it as fast as you can. Not fast enough, you suppose, because he asks you if you’re okay when he makes it back over to you.

“You good?” he asks. “The heat is a lot. You can go if you’re getting too hot.”

“No, no, I’m good!” you nod, reassuring him through a heavy breath.

“You sure?” he pushes, eyes fixed on yours.

“Yeah.” you nod, but you’re not at all okay. He’s close enough that you can feel his warmth radiating off of him, and you have to suppress a chuckle at his previous choice of words. You are getting too hot.

It’s just.. with the way he towers over you, looking down at you under the brim of his hat, the way his pretty brown skin shines with sweat, the way he’s so fucking warm and his lips look so goddamn nice, you can barely focus on anything else. And the way he’s staring at you like he wants to do something more than stare has you questioning if Holst would be upset if you kissed his business partner after only knowing him for like 2 days.

A horse neighs. Oj backs up immediately. You have to go, have to get from around Oj before you do some reckless shit.

“That was the last horse, right?” you ask shakily, uneasiness leaking into your voice.

“Yeah.” he nods, hands on his hips, his stance driving you insane.

“I guess that’s my cue, then.” you respond, walking off before he can even fit another word in.

On the drive home, Oj’s the only thing on your mind.

—

Visiting the Haywood ranch this time is for two reasons.

One: you want to ride one of the horses.

And Two: Oj fucking Haywood.

This time, surprisingly, he isn’t outside with the horses. You hear music playing from the house, so you assume he’s in there. Before you can even knock, the door opens, and you’re met with the face of the man you think you’re developing feelings for.

“Hey.” he greets you.

“Hey!”

“If you wanted to feed them or something, it’s past their feeding ti-”

“No!” you cut him off before he can shut you down and send you home. “I was hoping you’d take me, uh, horse riding.” You say it like a question, eyes searching his face for any emotion, any answer to your question. The music playing is a glaring foil to your current feelings, smooth reggae contrasting with your hyper aware and scrambled mind. You don’t know how he does it.

“Yeah. I’ll take you horse riding.” he nods, stepping out of his house and closing the door. He clicks at you in that certain way, jerks his head in what you know to be directing you towards the horses.

“Which one?” he asks when you both make it to the stables.

“Lucky.” you answer. “I’ve liked him since I saw the pictures of him.” Once it leaves your mouth, you’re sure it sounds weird. But his reaction, a warm smile that seems genuine, tells you otherwise. Perhaps he’s growing as fond of you as you are of him.

After he saddles Lucky up, he calls you over to the horse.

“Okay, so I’m gonna help you up. You ready?” he asks, leaning down to cup his hands together. You nod, throwing one hand over Lucky and stepping into his hands. He boosts you up, and then he’s swinging up behind you, reaching around you to grab the reins.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Because you can feel him against you, and if you don’t hold on tight enough, you just might fall off the damn horse.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you nod.

He takes you down through the gulch, takes you near Jupe’s Park and somewhere way behind the ranch. The sun is beating down on you two, but you know it isn’t the cause of what you feel.

The heat that has enveloped you is caused by Oj’s arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing every once in a while to guide Lucky. Caused by the way you can feel his chest pressed against you, firm and warm. The way merely being close to him has your head spinning.

At some point, he notices the sun starting to bother you. You feel him shift behind you and see his arm go up, and then his hat is on your head, and you’re pushing it down to make sure it doesn’t fall off.

It means nothing, you’re sure. He’s just being nice. But god, it means so much to you, though you’re sure it shouldn’t.

When you make it back to the ranch, you’re jittery and nervous, letting him help you off the horse and then backing up from him as soon as you’re off, handing him his hat from a distance. He doesn’t say anything, crediting it to being your first horse ride and the heat. He’s right, sort of. Just not right about where the heat’s coming from.

He waves you a quick goodbye in that attractive cowboy way, two fingers and all flicking off his forehead in a salute, and you turn away, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

You’ve tried to make your feelings for the quiet man go away, but he’s not made it any better.

You like Oj. There’s no denying it, no hiding it. You’ve fallen for a cowboy.

–

Some time passes between your realization and your next visit. You needed some time to think, to make sure what you feel for him isn’t just some stupid crossing of wires in your brain.

It isn’t. He’s on your mind every goddamn for the next 2 weeks.

Your visit is Holst’s doing this time. He wants you to take some more pictures of the horses. You go reluctantly, not arguing with him so he doesn’t start to pry.

When you get there, Oj seems happy to see you. You credit it to wishful thinking, or maybe he’s just happy to be here with his horses. You don’t know, and you don’t intend to think about it for long. You just flash him your camera and a wry smile and he nods, understanding what you’re here to do.

Well, what you’re here trying to do.

You’re too distracted, eyes flitting over to him with everything you do. You’ll be lucky if you get one clear picture, hands fumbling with the camera like you haven’t been taking pictures all your life.

Everytime your eyes find him, his eyes have found you as well, glances shared from under the brim of his hat. It feels like you’re both in middle school, trying to sneak little glances at your crush from across the ranch, your work going undone.

You’re trying. You really are. You try to focus on your task, to take the pictures Holst needs and leave, but you can’t settle the butterflies in your stomach, can’t get rid of that familiar heat, not with Oj’s gaze lingering over your every move.

But you’re just imagining things. You know you are. There’s no way Oj’s even giving you a second thought. He’s just watching his horses, making sure they’re in good hands.

You feel uncomfortable even being around Oj, knowing you feel the way you do for him and being sure he doesn’t feel the same. You have to go home. You have to get from around him before you do some shit you’ll regret.

You turn to leave, to sneak off before he even has the chance to realize you’re gone. You won’t come back again. You’ll think up some bullshit excuse to give Holst later.

But then Oj’s voice sounds out from across the way, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey, where you going?”

Shit.

“Home. I don’t wanna bother you anymore.” you answer, turning towards him, figuring you’ll be truthful since this is the last time you plan to see him.

The look on his face is one of confusion, which matches what you feel inside. This can’t be happening right now.

“You’re not bothering me.” he says. You’re sure he’s lying, right? He’s just trying to be nice, trying not to ruin his business relationship with Holst, trying not to hurt the weird photographer who popped up at his ranch one day’s feelings.

“I think I am.” you respond, eyes looking down at the dirt. Anywhere but at Oj. “It’s obvious you like being alone.”

“I do like being alone.” he nods, walking towards you. You knew it.

You nod at his statement, gearing up to ask him why he even stopped you. You back up, ready to leave. Until he speaks again.

“Unless I find someone who’s worth sharing my space with.”

Your head shoots up, eyes meet Oj’s sincere expression of emotion.

“Am I worth sharing your space with?” you just want to hear his answer, need to hear it spoken straight from his mouth.

He’s so close now, mere inches separating you two. And the heat is there again, and the butterflies settle in your stomach, just like they have everytime you two have been this close.

“Hell yeah.”

His lips crash against yours, the brim of his hat brushing against your forehead. You both can’t be bothered to care, not when the yearning of two people too afraid to say anything has finally been sated. Not when your lips feel so good together, when he can taste you and you can taste him. Not when his hands have found your waist and are gently squeezing, and your hands have found his neck, scratching softly at the short hair there.

Not when the heat of the California sun is nothing compared to the heat shared between you two.

You both separate for air, and Oj takes that as a chance to pick his hat up. Your hand flies to your chest, feeling your heartbeat as your chest heaves. He stands back up, laughing breathlessly.

“You dropped my hat.” he jokes, dusting it off. His eyes meet yours again.

“Well, it was hindering my ability to kiss the very handsome cowboy standing right in front of me.”

“Yeah, alright.” he laughs, putting his hat on your head.

“I’d hate to ruin the moment, but I gotta go home.” you say reluctantly, blushing at Oj’s action and tucking your braids under the hat.

“Yeah.” he nods, looking in the direction of the already setting sun, hands on his hips like they always are when he’s focused. “Next time you visit, I’m taking you out.” He smiles now, pretty white teeth shining. He looks happy, you think.

“I’ll hold you to that.” you smile back. He kisses you on your forehead as a goodbye.

This time on your drive home, you don’t chase the images of the cowboy flashing through your mind away.

—

Your next visit to the ranch is by invitation. You could call it a date, you guess.

When you get there, the man that meets you is obviously so happy to see you. He greets you with a kiss, one hand on your cheek, resting tenderly. He tastes like lemonade, and his body is warm like the heat of the sun. You hate to pull away, but you just have to admire the handsome cowboy standing right there in front of you.

He has an orange hoodie on, with something like “Scorpion King” written on it. It’s late in the evening, so you can just barely make it out. It looks good on him.

“You staring?” he asks with a smirk.

“Yeah.” you nod with a smile. “I can’t admire the man I just kissed? Plus the hoodie looks good on you.”

He doesn’t answer, just smiles again, shaking his head at your words.

“Nice hat.” he changes the subject, motioning with a nod towards the hat on your head that looks suspiciously similar to the one he gave you last time you saw each other.

“Where we going?” you change the topic, saving yourself from your own bashfulness.

“There’s this food place like, 5 minutes from Jupe’s Claim.” He decides to leave you alone, but inside he’s feeling all sappy about you wearing it.

“Cool.” you smile.

The drive there is filled with talking, mostly on your part, and laughing on Oj’s. You both fall into this dynamic quickly. You speak, and Oj listens. You like it.

You eat in his truck because you know that Oj doesn’t wanna be in the building with that many people. He tries to protest, but you stand firm, even locking the doors when he tries to leave the vehicle.

“You know, you’re holding me hostage.” he deadpans, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, okay.” you laugh through a mouthful of fries. He can’t help but chuckle, reaching for his food.

“And in my own vehicle?” he jokes, placing more fries into his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” you acquiesce. “We’re not going in there. I like it like this, just me and you.”

His eyes meet yours, and you’re so grateful that you can say something about it this time, can act on what you’ve been feeling for the past month or so. So you kiss him, and kissing him feels just as good as the first time.

When you hook your phone up to the aux and turn some music on, he cracks a smile, which turns into a laugh when you begin to passionately sing the lyrics.

“You’re very excited about this, I see.” he remarks.

“Hell yes I am!” you scream over the track. “It’s my favorite song!”

He just nods, choosing to silently watch as you give him the show of your life, grabbing at his hoodie and sobbing exaggeratedly to get the song’s point across.

You end up back at the ranch after a while, sometime after midnight. You leave, still feeling Oj’s lips on your forehead, his form of a goodbye.

—

No way.

Absolutely no way.

You rub your eyes like on the cartoons, squinting to make sure your vision is correct.

“Oj, what the hell!” you scream up at him.

“What.” he responds, like he’s not outside your house on top of a literal horse.

“Why are you on a horse!”

“I wanna take you horse riding. This time as my girlfriend.”

As his girlfriend.

“Good lord.” you laugh as Oj hops off of Lucky so he can help you up.

“How’d you know where I live?” you ask as he boosts you onto Lucky with a grunt.

“Holst.” He answers shortly. This man is gonna drive you insane. He swings up behind you, and then you both are off, riding through the countryside.

He’s so warm, and you are too, just like that third time y’all met. This time, you can express your thoughts to him.

“You know, last time we did this, it made my feelings worse.”

“Is it doing it again?” he asks, not questioning what else you meant.

“Yeah. Hell yeah.” you nod, and you feel him smile against your neck as he places a kiss there. His hand ghosts up your side, the other staying steady on the reins, and he places his hat on your head, just like the other time.

You smile to yourself, relishing in having the affection of the cowboy you could’ve sworn didn’t care for anything other than his horses.

When he drops you off at your house, you kiss him goodbye this time. He leans down over the horse to accept your kiss with smiling lips, and then he’s nodding like the stereotypical cowboy and riding off to his house.

Who would have known Otis Haywood Junior could be such a sweetheart?

—

Oj’s vinyl collection is insane. Currently playing is “Fisherman” by the Congos, the same song that was playing the day you came over for a horse ride.

Oj comes into the living room, two glasses of lemonade in both of his hands.

“I like this song.” you say.

“That’s good. It’s one of my favorites.” he responds, handing you a glass and taking a seat beside you on the couch.

“So when were you gonna tell me you’re this good at making lemonade?” you question dramatically, going back in for another sip.

“I live on a hot ass ranch and I’m outside most of the day. I thought that would be obvious.” He’s a sarcastic little thing, all snarky and cocky under that stoic exterior. You feel so grateful to be able to see this side of him, the side that he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

He finishes up the lemonade in his cup, setting it on the table beside the couch and hopping up to change the vinyl.

“What you turning on?” you ask, swirling your remaining drink around in your glass.

“It’s a lil vinyl I made for us.” He pulls the record out, replacing the one on the player with it.

“You.. you made a vinyl for us?” you ask incredulously, in fucking shock.

“Yeah.” he nods, placing the needle on the record. You recognize the song as one of the ones that you played in the truck on your first date. The one you told him was your favorite.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” You go silent at that, enjoying the song in a different context now.

He goes to the kitchen to wash and put up the glasses, leaving you in the living room, smiling when he hears you singing along to the record. When he comes back, another song is starting.

“All you got to do is walk away and pass me by, don’t acknowledge my smile when I try to say hello to you, yeah”

Michael Jackson croons off the player, singing lyrics that song very similar to you and Oj’s meetings and now relationship.

“That sounds like us at first.” you laugh, remembering Oj’s reluctance to even allow you on his ranch when you two first met.

“Does it?” he questions with a tilt of his head, fully aware that it sounds just like him.

“It does.”

“I just want to touch and kiss, and I wish that I could be with you tonight, cause you give me butterflies”

“You definitely give me butterflies.” you admit.

He’s standing cross-armed now, leaning against the table that the player sits on.

“Come ‘ere.” he beckons with a smile at your confession and a jerk of his head, outstretching his hand to you.

You stand up, entangling your hands and fingers with his. His other hand meets your hip as he starts to sway back and forth, and you fall in line with his dance.

“Would never have pegged you for the slow dancing type, but it works, to be honest.” you smile, eyes fixed on his. He smiles back, shrugging and kissing you on your forehead.

“If you would take my hand, baby I would show you, guide you to the light, babe”

Time seems to slow, the world outside falling away, leaving just you and Oj here together, dancing to music off a vinyl player on his ranch, your hands connected, bodies moving in sync. It feels kinda overwhelming, falling so fast for a man you were sure didn’t want anything to do with you.

Your eyes meet again, and so many things are said with just a glance. You have to talk, have to do something to deal with what you’re feeling. He looks too enamored with you, and you’re in too deep to not express it.

“Oj, I-” but he cuts you off with a kiss, knowing what you want to say.

“Don’t talk.” he shakes his head, separating for just a second. “Just do.” he nods, and then he moves back in. He’s sweet, a mix of lemonade and something you can only describe as him. His other hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face, and you almost melt at his tenderness when you feel his thumb start to rub softly. Your hands find his waist, tangling in the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to keep you in this plane of existence. It doesn’t quite work, though, because merely existing with this man sends you high enough to make sure you’ll never come down.

“Cause you give me butterflies inside”

When you both pull away, it’s with closed eyes and heaving chests. It takes you a second to come back down, to ground yourself back on earth. Oj’s hands have found your waist now, and yours are folded in front of you, too scared to touch him for fear of what will happen next.

He’s starstruck, but sure about what he wants. His hands find yours as your eyes open to find him gazing at you with adoration and sureness, and he places them on the waistband of his jeans, smiling against your lips when you hook your fingers in the loops and pull him ever closer, sighing against his lips when his warmth overtakes you.

Then he kisses you again, hands moving down to where yours are, ghosting under your shirt and resting on the skin above the waistband of your shorts. The kiss is deep, and before you know it your tongue slips into his mouth and his is in yours, and tongue-kissing would be gross with anyone else but with Oj it feels right. Everything feels right with him, and you swear you can feel him, hard and heavy, pressing against your thigh.

You can’t blame him though, because the heat he’s made fall over you has spread, has entrapped you and found its way between your legs.

And, maybe fueled by arousal, or Oj’s urging for you to just feel and do, you unbutton his jeans. You don’t know what to do next, don’t know anything about how he likes it or how he wants it, but you don’t give yourself time to doubt. You hook your fingers in his belt loops again and pull him towards the couch, and you fall back, letting him take his place hovering over you.

He leans down to kiss you again, like he’s addicted to the feeling of your lips against his, your taste mixing with him. And he is, god he is. He can’t separate, can’t bring himself to just stop kissing you, so he doesn’t. You separate just for a second, just long enough to push his jeans down so he can take the hint, and he steps out of them, leaning right back down to kiss you again.

His kisses flow from your lips down to your neck, and your hands find purchase in his short curls, nails scraping at his scalp, and the appreciative groan he gives you send chills racking through you. He kisses and licks, sucks and bites until he finds the spot that makes you squirm and whine just a little louder than the rest. You feel him smile against your skin, then, and you can’t stifle a smile either.

“You found it.” you say quietly, like talking too loud will wake you out of a dream, and you’ll wake up in your bed and not under Oj on his couch, with music playing off his vinyl record player.

“Mhm.” he hums against your neck before he goes to work on that spot, focusing his kisses and licks on that sensitive patch of skin. His hands drift down your body, nimble fingers unbuttoning your shorts with one hand. You lean into his touch, nodding when his eyes find yours, and he asks “Is this okay?”

Your brain blanks at the feeling of his hand so close to the heat that he’s created inside you. And then his hand slides into your shorts, slipping into your underwear to meet the mess he’s made of you.

“This all for me?” he asks with a smile, and you, with a heaving chest and a fluttery stomach, nod again, head falling back onto the couch. His other hand eases the shorts down your legs, giving himself more room to work with. On his way back, he kisses down your leg, drawing a small laugh from you, so happy to be seeing this loving side of him, and he smiles at you.

Then he’s focused again, fingers moving against you, experimenting with different angles and movements and motions, still kissing and nuzzling at your neck while you whine and squirm. He’s determined, wants to find that one thing that makes you tick.

And then he finds it.

“Fuck, that’s it.” you moan, chest arching into him, feeling him press against you, firm and warm, as his fingers find your clit.

“That’s it?” he asks, mirroring you as you nod before he even gets the question out. It’s arousing, for some reason, and he swears he can feel the blood rush to your clit. He rubs soft circles over it, watching your face, making it his one and only purpose at this moment to learn how you like, how you want it and what drives you crazy. And when he rubs a certain way, flicks his fingers just right, he can’t help but smile again at the unadulterated moan that rips from deep in your chest.

“That’s it.” he speaks against that sensitive spot he’s found on your neck, and it drives you wild.

“Shit.” is all you can manage, back falling down from its arch, legs closing around his hand.

Oj takes it all in, your whines, your groans, the way you squirm and shake and jerk against him. It feels so good, Oj on top of you, his hands on your body, one between your legs and the other stroking your hair, soothing you as you get lost in the pleasure that he’s giving you.

“Feels so good.” you whine, one hand curled in his hair, the other curled in the fabric of his shirt that you wish was off right now. “Off.” you manage to say, and he hates to pull his hand away, but he gives you what you want, pulls his shirt off as fast as he can, returning his hand to where you both want it.

“You dripping, baby.” he hums, and you shiver at the pet name that slips off his lips so easily.

You bring him down into yet another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he finds his rhythm again, working you up into ecstasy like you’ve never felt before.

“You- fuck, you make me feel so good.” you confess. “You’re making me feel so good.”

That makes him press harder, makes his movements against your clit speed up, makes him grow harder and heavier against your thigh. He needed that, needed to know that what he’s doing is still something you want.

“You shaking, baby. Feel good, yeah?” His accent has you hanging off his every word, his deep voice and drawl adding to the blood rushing to your clit.

“I wanna come.” you say, eyes locked on his.

“Well come, baby, you got that shit.” And you do, shaking and shivering as you soak his hand and your underwear and the couch beneath you. You find it funny how you’re coming for him on his couch, coming for a man you swore didn’t want you, laughing as you come down, small huffs with your arm thrown over your face, in awe at how fast and hard he made you come.

Then his lips are meeting yours again, and everything feels so perfect, final pieces of clothing falling onto the floor beside the couch.

You and Oj make love that night on his couch for the first time, with a vinyl he made for you two playing.

–

You wake up in his bed, slightly confused until the memories of last night come rushing back.

—

Oj bottoming out inside you, kissing you softly as his hips slot against you. His thrusts jolting you up the couch, your arms and legs wrapped around him, his soft praises of “You look so pretty, been wanting this for so long” meeting with your moans and groans of “Right there, fuck, right there, Oj.”

Your chest arching into his, breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hard and peaked and sensitive. His hand finding your chest, flicking softly, smiling once again at the shakes that rack through you. His golden chain dangling over you, glittering and hitting against your chin with every forward push of his hips into your heat.

Your hands gripping at his back, scratching and smoothing down his pretty brown skin, leaving red marks in your wake. His hisses and moans into your mouth at the feeling, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths too.

His fingers finding your clit, using the circles he learned earlier. Your legs tightening around his waist, his other hand ghosting down your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin, tight enough to leave pretty marks that you’ll admire in the California sunlight tomorrow.

Both of your moans and pants, warnings of your impending orgasms mixing together until you’re coming with each other. You soak his cock and he fills you up, giving warmth to each other like you’ve never felt before.

Oj collapsing on top of you, caging you in, you both resting in the afterglow of making love after holding back. Music sounding out, the soundtrack to you and Oj’s expression of passion.

Oj carrying you to his bed after a while, disappearing and returning with a warm, wet towel. While he was gone, you heard the music stop. You feel his hands ghost between your legs, soft and slow as he cleans you up, throwing the covers back over you.

Oj coming back after putting the towel away, settling on the other side of the bed, not knowing what to do next. You moving over to him immediately, arm thrown over his chest, and his arm coming up to embrace you.

You both drifting to sleep, laying in each other’s arms.

—

Oh. So that’s why you’re in his bed.

You throw the covers off your body, and you admire the bruises on your thighs in the California sun streaming through his windows. He’s not beside you, but you hear music spinning and smell food cooking.

You pick one of his shirts from his closet, a faded blue tee that stops right around the middle of your thigh. The marks he left yesterday are slightly covered, but enough peek out to satisfy your loving admiration of his touch left lingering on you.

When you make your way to the kitchen, you find Oj at the stove stirring a panfull of eggs. There’s two plates sitting on the counter, decked out with toast slathered in jelly, grits, and sausage. The food is paired with two glasses of cold lemonade — you can tell by the way the glasses are dripping in condensation.

He’s just finishing up, sliding eggs onto both plates. He leans into your touch when you embrace him, sliding your arms over his sides and to his front.

“G’morning.” you hum.

“G’morning, pretty girl.” is his response, voice deep with sleep, deep enough to shake you to your core. He turns around in your arms, places a finger under your chin to lift your lips to his.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Great. Even better since I was beside you.” you answer honestly, your smile mirroring his.

“Yeah?” he muses, before dipping down again to kiss you once more.

Kissing Oj feels like magic, feels like sparks and flames and butterflies, shooting heat through every nerve in your body. He pulls away just to sit there, to smile at you and watch you smile back, before kissing you again.

His hands ghost under his your shirt, resting on your waist. He hums at the lack of obstruction, the way what you both know is going to happen is just within his reach. You rest your hands on the sides of his face, thumb rubbing against his skin.

Things move fast this time. His hands are running down your body and over your thighs, hooking under your knees to place you on the counter, still kissing you with all he has in him.

His jeans and boxers are down as quick as quick as he can pull them, and then he’s pushing inside you again, seating himself where he belongs.

He ruts deep, hips flush against yours with your arms wrapped around him, shaking legs pulling him as close as you can. His face buried in your neck as he finds that spot on your neck, and that spot inside you again.

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he nods against your neck, smiles when he feels you nod with him, slipping into the morning bliss and the feeling of you around him, wet and warm. Your skin is heated, swapping warmth from him to you and back to him, passion and infatuation hanging in the air.

Now, you both learn that you two love it like this as well, slow and deep on the kitchen counter, sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating and bearing witness to love-making between two people learning to love each other.

And when you come, and he does too, it’s with quiet moans and groans of each other’s name, his forehead against yours, hands gripping your waist, and you, with your fingers curled in his hair, shivering at his touch.

Luckily, cold eggs don’t sound too bad.

—

You make the ranch your home in no time. You have to go home for changes of clothes that day, but you’re back before sundown, decked out with some vinyls from your house to add to the collection.

You fall into your own routine, getting up and making breakfast somedays, prepping sandwiches for lunch on the days Oj cooks breakfast. You really could just do anything for the rest of the day, but most of it is spent with Oj, learning more about the horses and helping him where you can, sappy little moments ever abundant. At night, he ends up buried inside you again, which is becoming his favorite place to be. And during the day too, if you’re being honest. You two fuck like rabbits.

It’s cozy, existing in the same space with him. He’s soft, kisses you every chance he gets, makes you food and fucks you good after. And he’s funny, his wit endearingly annoying at times, though he tries to pretend like he doesn’t know.

“Put that shit on.” Black fabric hits your face as you’re sat on the couch, and when you feel it you can tell it’s the satin of your bonnet.

“What the fuck, Oj.” You deadpan, though you know he’s right.

“You left that in bed last night. Them braids look new. Put it back on.”

“So,” you start, raising up your hands so you can count on your fingers, “and I’m just tallying you up here, you can: cook, clean, you’re funny, you fuck amazing, you care about my hair, and on top of it all, you’re a real-life fucking cowboy?”

That draws a deep laugh straight out of his chest, his chuckles reverberating through the house, and through you, it feels. You laugh with him, feeling something like home sinking down into your bones. He makes his way to the kitchen, where he was on his way to before he spotted your bonnet on the bed.

“Yeah, I guess. And you went through the day without that on your head. So put it on.”

When you fuck on the counter a little after that, your bonnet is on.

–

The birth control / no condom conversation isn’t awkward at all, actually. It happens around two weeks after that first night.

With Oj’s cum leaking down your legs in the shower, his head resting in your neck, he finally says something.

“You on birth control?” he murmurs. “I been cumming inside you this whole time.” You can’t help but chuckle, breathless, still coming down.

“Yeah.” you nod.

“Thank god.” he responds.

He cooks you dinner that night, and kisses you every time he can.

—

It was inevitable, honestly, getting Oj between your legs. He’s tasted you on his fingers too many times to not want it from the source.

A morning spent in bed evolves into kisses, though everything with Oj means kisses. You’ve learned that Oj loves to kiss.

He sucks and licks at your neck on the way down to where he wants to be, hiking his repurposed shirt up to your stomach to reveal your core, wet and waiting for him to have his fill.

You know what’s about to happen, but you still jolt in shock when he licks that first stripe up your folds. Someway and somehow, he knows where your clit is, swirling his greedy tongue around it, indulging in your arousal.

“God, of course you’re good at this.” you moan, throwing your head back onto the pillows.

“Mhm.” he chuckles with an open mouth, tongue out and focused on your already sensitive clit. He bobs his head up and down, moving from your hole to your clit, always returning to the bundle of nerves that he’s so proficiently found and laid claim to.

He spreads you out with his thumbs, licks a fat stripe up from your entrance, sucking your clit into his mouth. You’re dumb now, stupid from pleasure and mind spinning with ecstacy. Sunlight streams through the windows, lights his pretty brown skin up, gives him a golden glow. It lights you up, too, gives him a better view of what you both know belongs to him already.

And you’re so close already. Three-ish weeks at the ranch has shown you it doesn’t take him long to get you high like this.

“Oj, ‘m gonna–”

“I know. Do it. Come for me.” He’s so sure in his words that you can’t help but follow them. You come, shaking and damn near crying on his tongue for the first time, and he swears you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He makes you come with just his tongue two more times before you both start your day. You have to lay in bed for a while before you can even think about walking anywhere on your still-shaking legs.

–

“When’d you catch feelings for me?” you ask him in bed one night while you read and he lays beside you, thinking.

“I thought you were pretty when you first came. But I really got roped in seeing you in your element, taking pictures of the horses, even if you were nervous. The day we kissed the first time.”

“Good to know.” you nod. You don’t feel the need to say anything else. Sitting in silence with Oj is something you’re growing to love.

–

You return the favor a couple days later.

He’s gentle, letting you take your time and take him into your throat at your own pace.

It’s messy. Spit dripping out of your mouth and onto the ground in the stables. Depraved, cause you couldn’t wait to get him in the house. He chuckles breathlessly at your greed, the way you basically jumped him, pushed him against the wall murmuring “God, you’re so fine” before you dropped to your knees, unbuckling his jeans with ease.

“That’s it.” he groans, hands threading into your braids.

You bob your head up and down, wrap your hand around the base of him, giving him just a little pressure, just enough to have a low growl reverberating in his chest.

You don’t pull off when he tells you he’s about to come. You don’t give a fuck, truly. You want it all. And you take it all.

You learn he’s the type to kiss you after he busts in your mouth.

–

Angel and Em come over a couple weeks after you move in. It doesn’t take them long to catch on to what you and Oj have going on.

“She’s yours?” Em motions to you with her vape as she steps into the house. Angel trails behind her, yapping on about aliens or some shit.

You see Oj nod from the corner of your eye as Angel makes you his next victim, asking “Do you believe in aliens?” like you didn’t see the picture of Jean Jacket on the news. Oj watches in quiet fascination as you fall quickly into Angel’s rant, nodding and adding your own two cents every once in a while when Angel needs a second to breathe (which, rarely happens, unsurprisingly).

The house gets loud pretty quickly, with Em quizzing you on who you are and if you’re any good for her brother in one ear and Angel going on tangent after tangent in the other. Oj’s content to just watch, to see you get loud with people who also enjoy being loud. He’s getting to know all the sides of you, learning the outgoing side he saw in the truck on your first date, learning the quiet side he sees on those music and lemonade nights, learning the soft side he sees when you two make love, learning the side of you that likes it rough and carnal, learning what makes you you.

After a while of talking and sipping lemonade with your copy of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album spinning, Oj joins Em in the kitchen.

“She reeled you in, didn’t she.” Em questions with a smile, poking fun at her brother with the smooth notes of “Human Nature” filling the house.

“Yeah, she did.” he admits with a nod and a smile. “She something special.”

“I can tell. she got you smiling and shit. You ain’t smiled this much since before.. you know. And from talking to her it seem like she’s what you need.”

“She makes me happy. For real.” is all he says, and Emerald knows what he means without him having to say anything else.

When Em and Angel leave for the night, you ask him one question, standing across from him in the kitchen, him leaning against the counter.

“I make you happy?” You ask.

“Hell yeah. You been making me happy since you came here that first day.” He hopes you believe him.

And you do. You can see a future with him. He sees one with you too.

When you both fall asleep in each other’s arms, you’re content.

–

It’s hot as fuck. Like, hot. It’s been a month or so living on the ranch, so you’re growing accustomed to the heat. But shit.

Oj’s feeling the effects of the sun too, wiping sweat off his forehead every second it seems. You take a second to lean against the stables for just a moment, just enough to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asks when he sees you stop tending to Ghost.

“Yeah.” you huff, fanning yourself. “It’s just hot as hell.”

You see him reach down to turn the hose on, and you pay him no mind. He’s just giving the horses some water.

Then you feel water hit you.

“Oj.” you laugh, wiping your face off.

“Yeah?” He feigns innocence. “I’m just tryna cool you off.” It’s sweet, really, his playfulness mixing with him caring for you, making sure you don’t pass the fuck out.

It turns into a water fight, the hose making its way from your hands to his, wetting him up too.

Eventually, the hose is dropped on the ground, spraying water up over you two while you kiss, laughing in between.

–

It’s not all love-making with Oj, though, not all sappy moments and heartfelt confessions. Oj knows how to break you just the way you like.

Over the months he’s learned you like it face down in the pillows sometimes, his hips snapping strong and determined into you, cock pressed right up against that spot. He’s learned you like when controls you, when he takes the reins.

“You can take it, beautiful. You got that shit.” You sob into the pillow, writhe and thrash in his grasp as he tightens his hand around your wrists, pushes them closer to your back where he has them pulled behind you.

“You feel me deep, don’t you? Feel me deep in this pussy, my pussy.” You couldn’t form words even if you were able to. He knows this, knows his voice, his accent, his drawl all get you that much wetter. “Its mine, hm?” he knows all of you belongs to him. All of you, down to your soul, belongs to him.

“Yours.” you choke out, tell him what he knows already. He makes you come so many times that night, you just barely pass out.

–

Things go so easy. It’s so easy to love Oj and it’s so easy for him to love you.

The first time he says it is completely on purpose, about 6 months after that first date, and 5 months after you moved in.

It’s a night that goes like many of yalls nights, sipping lemonade and spinning records. The conversation is meaningless, but meaningful because it’s with you. And then things get silent, and it gives Oj a moment to lay in what he has with you. The words make perfect sense when they roll from his lips.

“I love you.” His eyes are trained on yours.

“I love you too.” You’re sure about it. You’ve loved him for a long time.

And that’s the end of it. It isn’t a big deal, because you both knew what it was you were feeling before you even felt the urge to put words to it.

You love him. And he loves you too.

–

It’s funny how a quick visit to see some horses could evolve into this.

Moving onto the ranch, making love whenever you both please, letting Oj break you the way you love and he loves too. Kisses and I love you’s shared, horse rides and lemonade and dates in his truck, with and without music playing. Compliments on your hairstyles and reminding you to wear your bonnet, late night runs to the nearest store, dates at Jupe’s Claim. Water fights on days when it gets wayyy too hot. Nights spent listening to music and talking about the most mundane of things, eyes and lips always landing on your lover.

He eventually tells you exactly how Pops died. How that shit fucked up him up bad. But he makes sure you know he’s grateful for you, thanks whoever’s listening that you walked into his laugh with a love for something he loved too and shy ass smile.

“You make me happy in a way I aint felt in a long time.” he tells you in bed between kisses one night with you wrapped up in his arms. You’re glad you could do that for him.

“You make me feel safe. You make me feel seen.” He’s glad he could do that for you.

Funny how one meeting could spawn all this

#oj haywood smut #oj haywood x reader #oj haywood x black reader

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evangelinesbible · 1 year ago

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THE ASTROLOGICAL FAME OF …

MICHAEL JACKSON

SAGITTARIUS MC

No matter your 10H sign, the 10H still rules Fame. And the most success you’ll find in career is when you embrace your 10H. Having a Sagittarius 10H makes you a person who wants a career that involves expansion and change. You’ll want to do something in this life that opens up not only your mind but others. That’s why most prefer jobs that involve teaching or philosophy. Sagittarius rules over travel as well so these people make their abundant income best when they get to travel the world. Even though Michael didn’t like to tour much he made millions off of touring alone. He was a world wide phenomenon and he used his music to spread messages to the whole world. For example, “Black and White” or “They don’t really care about us”. Michael was also known for his generosity and huge charitable donations. Donating over 500 million dollars to charities.

SATURN CONJ. MC

Michael has been famous since he was a child. Saturn rules longevity and even after death Michael is still extremely well liked and a famous name known worldwide. This placement also explains the amount of work his father put in him to be famous. This placement also explains all the very public challenges and hardships he faced.

MC RULER 8H JUPITER

Having his MC ruler in the 8H also gives him a long lasting career since the 8H also rules longevity. Michael was also very controversial whilst also being extremely liked at the same time. He was known in the public eye embrace and insist change. He was a pioneer, Being the first black man to have his video Billie Jean play on MTV, having an MTV award named after him,having a statue built in his honor, winning multiple Grammies, and being named the king of pop whilst also inspiring artists we know today like Beyoncé. He was also known for his wealth and investments. Having some of the most expensive music videos ever, a theme park in his backyard, and a very expensive wardrobe.

JUPITER CONJ. NEPTUNE

This is a great aspect for music fame. Neptune rules over glamor and melodies whilst Jupiter rules over abundance and popularity. Having them be aspected gives Michael a lot of luck and popularity in the Music Industry. He also made a fortune off of music as well.

LEO, PISCES AND SAGITTARIUS PLACEMENTS

I have two posts about underrated fame indicators and basically Neptune/ Jupiter influence is very important for fame. Michael not only has a Leo stellium but he also has Neptune (Pisces Rising and Moon) and Jupiter influence (Sagittarius MC, and Jupiter conj. Neptune) with this ultimate combo he was destined to not only be popular but an enigma as well.

SUN CONJ. PLUTO

Aspects to sun are import when looking at fame. Michael has his Sun conj. Pluto which makes so much sense when you look at how much power he had in the music industry. He was extremely magnetic, has sexual charm, and gained a lot of attention for not only being mysterious but very powerful as well.

LEO FAMA

Naturally having Fama in Leo can make someone gain fame at little easer than others. Since Leo can rule over entertainment naturally having Fama in the sign can make someone especially famous in any form of entertainment. Also Michael has it at 8 degrees. Typically if you have Fama in a Scorpio degree your fame might come with a lot of intense obsession and you’ll be extremely controversial. People might hate you because they believe you’re evil, taboo or think you’re a dark and messed up person.

GEMINI STARR

Michael was a Star known for speaking up about anything and everything that was on his mind. He wasn’t just a singer but also a writer. He was known to put his personal beliefs in not only his music but his music videos as well. Michael was also talked about and gossiped about ALOT. Whether truthful or not he was in multiple headlines in magazines and newspapers everywhere. It’s also apparent that his Starr is at 28°, which is the household name degree.

LEO APOLLO CONJ. SUN/ PLUTO

People with Apollo prominent have natural talents and gifts that give them a special type of attention/spotlight and praise Having Apollo in Leo can make someone extremely magnetic, popular, and even worshiped in the field of entertainment. Apollo conj. Sun makes someone extremely popular no matter what they do. Especially when it comes to whatever talent they might hone into. It always seems like the attention gravitates towards them because of how much they shine. Having it conjunct Pluto will make someone naturally shine in powerful and mysterious ways. It’ll also amp up the obsession people will have over you. Pluto also rules transformation and to say Michael had a few would be an understatement. Music wise and physically he transformed. He also transformed the industry. These placements help explain why he was deemed the King of Pop. And he still is.

That was the astrological fame of Michael Jackson 💋

- ⚜️💫⚜️

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro placements #astrology notes #pisces #aries #capricorn #taurus #cancer #fama asteroid #fame astrology #Starr asteroid #apollo asteroid #fama #michael jackson #king of pop

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last-starry-sky · 9 months ago

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About me:

F/32/US - call me by my url(s) or just Kate

This is my 18+/nsfw fandom and writing blog for COD, specifically MW2.

My main (which is generally sfw) is first-full-moon.

I write and support a wide spectrum of fanfic/art. If you don't enjoy dark themes, then my blog isn't for you, sorry! I tag all pairings and all fics should have PLENTY of warnings. Block what you want! As an adult, you are responsible for your own content curation here.

Asks are OPEN. Anon is ON.

Masterlist:

All of my writing is tagged with starry writes. Everything in the subcategories is organized oldest to newest.

I give permission for my works to be saved for personal use.

If you’d like to translate/post to a website I’m not on, please contact me here FIRST so we can work things out!

FEED MY WORKS INTO AN AI AND I WILL FEED YOU TO AN ALLIGATOR.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- character tag - x reader tag - ghost/soap tag - ghost/soap/reader tag - Phantom!Ghost ((this is baby's first fic. pls don't read it. also, i'm never going to finish it lmao)) Girl's Night Out: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 pt1 - Chapter 2 pt2 - Chapter 2 pt3 - ((Chapter 3 is up next!)) Babysitting with Totally Platonic Roommate!Simon: Chapter 1 Size Kink prompt for lovely anon❤️ Jealous Simon/bi!reader prompt for anon - part 2

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

- character tag - x reader tag - Medieval Highlander AU: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - ((Part 4 may be the last one. We'll see if I ever feel like writing it.))

John Price

- character tag - x reader tag - put your ear to my heart//or set your teeth against my throat

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

- character tag - x reader tag -

141 x reader

let it out[COMPLETE]: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Phillip Graves

- character tag - x reader tag - too sweet: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - ((Ch. 5 is A Thing and will happen))

Misc:

- König x reader tag - character tag - kinktober 2024 masterlist

WIP List:

Girl's Night Out ch. 3 (also the goddamn finale)

too sweet Ch 5

an unnamed Gaz fic (or two, we'll see how spicy I feel) that expands on a random idea post I put out a few months ago.

maybe an expansion/rewrite of put your ear to my heart, bc something about park ranger price/shifter price is so ❤️

uhhhh the cnc ghost thing i've had kicking around FORVER?

credits: divider by saradika, shit-ass header by me

#masterlist #pinned #about #starry writes #wip list

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ralfmaximus · 1 year ago

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Heroes & main characters get hurt a lot in SF/action shows.

Bonked on the head to make them unconscious, hit with phasers set on stun, knocked out during a terrible vehicle crash at the end of a chase scene.

And next episode? They're fine. No TBI. No lasting effects. No trouble remembering things, no personality shifts, no anxiety about getting hurt again, phasered again. I mean a Star Trek phaser is like getting tasered, right? Same idea.

The Stargate series, like Trek, routinely transmogrifies its characters into monsters, uploads them into computers, swaps bodies, ages them into geriatrics or children, duplicates them, converts them into energy and back again thousands of times. With no lasting effect. Without extended recovery or rehabilitation.

Hell, they rarely even talk about it. Me, I still talk about the time I fell at a theme park and hurt my leg so badly I thought it might be broken. I limped for weeks, avoided stairs, watched my leg turn various shades of purple & green. And that was not nearly as interesting as having my DNA rewritten by The Ancients.

You know who gets it right though?

The Expanse.

Early in the series Holden & Miller receive a lethal dose of radiation, equivalent to watching a nuclear detonation way too closely. And very realistically, they soon start exhibiting the signs of severe radiation sickness: malaise, vomiting, whole body pain.

But because it is hundreds of years in the future, medical technology has advanced to the point that they are saved. Their radiation sickness is cured!

If this was Star Trek or Stargate, nobody would show any ill effects afterwards. Next episode they'd be 100% normal, and any future callbacks would be a throwaway line and possibly a joke.

Not in The Expanse. Here, our characters are shown to suffer the aftereffects of their ordeal. They have permanent subcutaneous ports installed in their arms so they can continue to receive medicine for the rest of their lives. Because as miraculous as 23rd century medicine may be, they cannot cure radiation damage. They can only treat it.

And if our characters fail to get their treatments? They suffer for it. They'll eventually die from it. And the show revisits that theme and never lets us forget it, because those ports are visible whenever our characters are seen without sleeves.

I was just thinking about this after watching the episode of Stargate Atlantis where Sheppard literally gets turned into a man-sized insect then at the end of the show he's shown completely healed. Ha ha, I was a bug. How wacky is that?

If that happened to me I'd never stop screaming.

#stargate #star trek #the expanse

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thatmexisaurusrex · 5 months ago

Note

Prompt: Tommy invites a very excited baby bi Buck to his queer book club. 🌈

send me headcanons and microfic prompts

Queer Book Club

Tommy had known Evan was a reader.

There were piles of books littered around Evan's loft. Recently published books with spines newly cracked; old, tattered books the size of a hand, made to fit in a large pocket with their covers falling off and their glue barely holding the pages together; books from take a book, leave a book little libraries at national parks and novels from a book fair that happened recently over on a college campus nearby; books owned by Evan and books Evan always returned early to the local library.

Tommy had an inkling that Evan might enjoy the queer book club he was part of with Karen, Hen, and Josh, especially since Evan had spoken of an affinity for novels made by the Bronte Sisters and Austen. His eyes seemed to light up when Tommy explained that their next meeting would be about two adaptations: Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa and Escaping Mr. Rochester by L.L. McKinney.

"I hope I'm prepared enough," Evan had nervously whispered when he got into Tommy's car.

At the next red light, Tommy glanced over and could see Evan fidgeting and flipping through the pages. There were color-coded highlights and notes in every single margin; about themes, motifs, symbolism, the expansion of the idea of the original through this new lens of the story.

Tommy could tell Evan that this was mostly an excuse to read queer romances and drink craft beer together with some friends.

But Tommy didn't have the heart for that.

"You're impossibly prepared," Tommy almost gushed - okay, maybe completely gushed, smiling at his boyfriend.

The most adorable dork in the world.

"You think so?" asked Evan, relaxing a bit.

Tommy leaned over and gave Evan a quick kiss before the light turned green.

"Oh, I know so," said Tommy, making it his mission to listen to Evan's entire infodump about each novel tonight.

Because he adored it when his boyfriend was this excited about something.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy microfic #tevan #kinley #the ally and the beast #my fics #Queer Book Club #asks

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court-jastor · 5 months ago

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Ever wanted to see the glowing waters of Yios? How about the extraordinary Cerulean Palace? The perilous Malleus Key? Get wonderful views of these iconic sights and more at CRLand's new Marquet expansion!

Marquet as seen through the lens of an old theme park poster for CR Land for @artists-guild-of-exandria 's CRLand Project!

#I'm not dead!#critical role #cr3 #theme park #poster #CRLand #critical role fanart #critical role art #Critical Role Land #Marquet #Yios #Malleus Key #Jrusar #Ank'Harel #graphic design #art #cr art #landscape #illustrator

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forasecondtherewedwon · 6 months ago

Note

3 & 38 💕

Thank you, friend 💕 This prompt took my face in its hands and whispered, "Drunken late-night bus ride."

3) SHIP: Cressida x Eloise

38) SCANDAL: public drunkenness!

more Bridgerton-themed fic prompts

Happy Times We Had (And Yet the Times Were Sad)

Pairing: Cressida x Eloise Rating: M Word Count: 1729

Summary: Drunk on champagne and shining like two falling stars, Eloise and Cressida take the bus.

They rushed onto the bus, out of breath, and Eloise hoped it was the right bus. The lit-up number over the windscreen had seemed right as they’d dashed down the sidewalk, but it was only a blur in her memory as she snapped open her clutch and poked around for their fare.

The driver pitched the bus forward, which Eloise supposed was as much a mark of trust as a completely arseholish thing to do; he was assuming she could pay. The bus swung away from the curb to avoid a parked car and Cressida wrapped her arms around Eloise’s waist from behind, the pair of them swaying together. As soon as Eloise got their fares sorted, she took Cressida by the hand and led her, wobbling, down the aisle, collapsing into a pair of seats across from the rear door. She fumbled out an error-riddled text to Benedict, saying they were on their way home.

The pair of them glittered in their evening finery—dresses with little straps that crisscrossed their backs and sparkling eyeshadow fallout under their eyes. Their insobriety made the effect all the prettier. Eloise grinned lazily as she stared at Cressida, whose head rested back against the window, headlights and neon lights and stoplights sliding past outside, her perpetually too-tight blonde hair tugged loose to drape, like a third drunk, over her shoulder.

“D’you think he’ll be angry at me?” Cressida asked.

Eloise twisted until the pointy toes of their high heels knocked together. The large sequins on Cressida’s skirt would leave impressions in Eloise’s bare knees as she pressed against her.

“Who?”

Cressida sulked.

“My father.”

“Oh yes. Well,” Eloise reflected, patting her friend’s hand, “you did call him a pompous, uptight bastard. And you gave him the ol’ ‘fuck you’ gesture when we were on our way out.”

Cressida slumped a little in her seat, tilting her head.

“But d’you think he’ll be mad?”

“I think…” Eloise said slowly, because the thought was still forming and because she was drunk. “I think, if your father sat down with himself—”

“Mhmm.”

“—and really got to—got to know himself—”

“Mhmm.”

“—that maybe he would maybe see tha’ he is a pompous, uptight bastard,” Eloise concluded.

Cressida’s head swung loosely from side to side.

“That is never going to happen.”

“No, it doesn’ seem likely,” Eloise agreed. “Maybe if you hadn’ said it in front of all of ‘respectable society.’” Her air quotes were expansive.

“‘Respectable society’ can kiss my ‘Daisy by Marc Jacobs’-scented arse,” Cressida declared, yanking her shoes off and dropping them onto the floor of the bus.

Eloise laughed richly, leaning her head on Cressida’s shoulder. After a minute, she sighed. She could feel Cressida breathing. Turning her face just a little, Eloise inhaled. She could smell Cressida’s perfume, mixed with champagne sweetness and, gradually, the lingering scent of smoke that clung to Eloise, courtesy of the cigarette she’d smoked in the restaurant bathroom before they’d made their escape.

“You smell really nice,” Eloise observed.

“Thanks.”

The word sounded wet, so Eloise raised her head, and saw that Cressida was silently weeping. Eloise’s mouth fell open in panic. She was not good at this: emotion. She had never been a natural at comforting others, never the right-shaped shoulder to cry on. Her younger siblings had always gone to their mother for solace—failing that, to Daphne or Benedict (to be fair, so had Eloise). In this moment, with Cressida’s fat tears washing her bottom row of eyelashes of mascara, leaving them pale and clustered and vulnerable to the world, Eloise had never wanted to help so badly.

She touched Cressida’s cheek and gently shushed her, but it was obvious that Cressida was a deadly combination of too overwhelmed and too intoxicated to stop crying that easily.

“I’ve totally fucked my life,” Cressida sobbed.

And Eloise said, “No. No. No,” in various sympathetic tones, meaning each repetition with her whole heart.

“They’ll send me away!”

“They can’t. You’re not some child in boarding school, you’re at uni.”

But Cressida was shaking her head, adamant.

“They’ll send me away. They’ll make me live in Denmark. I got too good at Danish. I never should’ve declared a minor, but my father said a language would be good for—good for my business degree,” she wailed.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Eloise thought fast. “I’m going to hide you in my closet.” This thought had indeed come to her fast, but was perhaps not sound.

Cressida sniffed.

“In your closet?”

“Uh huh. I’ll protect you.”

Although her face was streaked with tears that glimmered pink and gold, Cressida smiled. She pulled Eloise’s hand onto her lap and held it.

“You sound about four years old,” she said.

Eloise smiled back and reached out to trace the shape of Cressida’s chin with her fingers.

“I dunno about that, but I think I’d melt if you called me ‘baby.’”

The bus rolled jarringly over a pothole, nearly flinging Eloise from her seat. She gripped the nearest pole and swiveled her head to look out the window. Well done, she thought to herself. Right bus after all.

“C’mon,” she said. “Le’s get off at the next one.”

She told Cressida not to forget her shoes, and they hobbled off with all the grace with which they’d made their ascent. The bus puffed hot air and pulled away. Cressida squinted at the buildings they faced from the sidewalk. Her heels dangled from her hand, her fingers hooked through the straps.

“Is this right?”

Eloise grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to look across the street.

“Oh. I know where we are,” Cressida announced. “You are protecting me.”

But Eloise felt a bit embarrassed about that, and the other thing she’d said, now that they were out in the warm evening air and the bus wasn’t lurching them along. They darted across the road. It wasn’t until they were on the other side, not a ten-minute walk from both of their houses, that she looked Cressida in the eye—and this was because Cressida grabbed her hand to stop her.

“This would all be awful without you,” she said.

Just for Eloise, there were streetlights like angels’ eyes that made Cressida’s hair glow and her dress shimmer and her eyes shine above the muck of her cried-off mascara, and the way she watched her was divinely tender and fearful, both.

Eloise kissed Cressida on the cheek; she wasn’t so tall without her shoes on, with her hair down. Eloise breathed her in, then stepped back.

Cressida wore an alarmed, animal expression, like something not used to human touch. But then she dropped her shoes—Eloise heard the clatter—and sunk her fingers into Eloise’s tangled hair. Eloise was breathing fast, but Cressida just leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. Eloise’s eyes crossed as she watched Cressida’s close.

“Don’ go,” Cressida murmured.

“I-I’m not.”

Eloise was ashamed of the stammer, thinking she was making too much of this. She was always making too much of things, but this was worse than usual because it would hurt more. She’d thought, someplace between the restaurant and here, that it was time. She had misunderstood; Cressida was only drunk and morose, lonely and needy. Maybe she did see how Eloise needed her (it was different) and she was playing on that. She used to be that sort of mean girl. Eloise didn’t want to think her friend capable of such a personal cruelty though. She just doesn’t understand, Eloise told herself, staring at Cressida’s blurry, too-close face. She won’t feel me wrapped around her finger until I start cutting off her circulation.

“Don’ go,” she was still mumbling, shaking her head, their foreheads rubbing.

Somehow, Eloise’s heart felt heavier in pieces than it had a moment ago, whole. But she wouldn’t go. She couldn’t. Cressida meant too much to her. They were each other’s life raft in all this society bullshit and parental expectation. Anyway, she wasn’t about to leave her friend standing drunk and barefoot on the sidewalk.

Gentle, Eloise reached up to pull Cressida’s hands from her hair. Without warning, Cressida thrust her face forward and kissed Eloise on the mouth. Eloise blinked.

Now it would hurt, and this hurt would scar—when she had to maternally tuck Cressida’s hair behind her ears and say, That’s enough now, Cress. But before she could speak, Cressida said, “Baby.”

“What?” Eloise’s voice sounded choked.

And Cressida’s fingertips trailed up and down the sides of Eloise’s neck, and she traced the pendant that hung against her throat, and she pressed their faces together, and she said, “Baby,” and she kissed Eloise again.

Eloise kissed her back, sloppy and yearning, cataclysmic and sweet. Cressida wasn’t someone she could kiss and laugh about it the next day. She couldn’t enjoy these benefits and keep being just-friends. She couldn’t hook up with Cressida, have a fling with Cressida, eat Cressida out on a pristine bench in a private park after dark because her dad was the worst and she was somehow even prettier with swirls of cried-off makeup making her cheeks look like candy-coloured Italian marble. Eloise couldn’t do this and recover, but she did it. How could she not? She did it and she led Cressida through the gate of the private park with their fingers linked, and Eloise laid her back on the pristine bench and crouched to give her head while Cressida named all the constellations she could see, getting all of them wrong. Eloise did it, gambling that it wouldn’t seem ugly when they were sober. She did it, remembering the pressure of Cressida’s arms around her waist while she paid for the bus. How, how, how could she not?

And then Cressida curled into Eloise’s side and said, “You’re the only one who matters.”

And Eloise combed her fingers through that long blonde hair and said, “That isn’t true.”

And it could’ve ended there, but Cressida went to Eloise’s home because her house wasn’t one, and slept in a guest room, and, half-awake, lifted the sheet for Eloise when she turned up later on, a way to beckon her in because she was dithering in the doorway. They slept deeply.

Eloise, who had appointed herself protector, woke up to feel Cressida wrapped around her from behind.

#my writing #the Big Feelings fic #Bridgerton #Cressida x Eloise #Creloise #Bridgerton fic #Cressida Cowper #Eloise Bridgerton #Creloise fic

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tainbocuailnge · 4 months ago

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@druidquest see it was very obvious to me throughout dawntrail that a lot of this was an epic previous final fantasy reference (i haven't meaningfully played any final fantasies besides fourteen) but unlike endwalker postgame being a bunch of ff4 nostalgia bait that falls flat if you haven't played that game (with a "hey you guys loved shadowbringers right, remember shadowbringers?" bonus round) dawntrail works perfectly well without ever having played final fantasy nine. it pays homage and references and builds upon both earlier expansions and earlier games but it's not trying to ride the coattails of a better story in order to have any meaningful emotional payoff it's just good on its own and probably enhanced by knowing the original context of the things it references.

i don't think it was clumsy at all, dawntrail has a laser focus on its themes and message from start to finish in a way that makes the digressions and silly little errands you inevitably get sent on to pad the space between major plot beats feel much less excessive and annoying than they did in every expansion before. and it's funny that you call it an amusement park ride because the final area being exactly that is extremely intentional, living memory is an artificial experience meant to bring joy and relief from everyday sadness and sphene is dressed in a tacky plastic looking dress because she's the theme park mascot princess that serves as the face of that artificial experience. saying it's just clumsy but heartfelt references and cool shit rather than an emotionally impactful and well written epic is massively underselling how well put together dawntrail is. it's at least as good as shadowbringers and endwalker and which one you think is better will come down purely to personal preference.

#efksiv #dawntrail spoilers

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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october fifteenth

day fifteen: bradley "rooster" bradshaw after a hookup, you and bradley spend an unexpected night together | friends to lovers, only one bed, 18+, mdni, fem!reader, sex, porn WITH plot | 3.7k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, rooster jacks off in the shower, dirty talk, mentioned oral (m receiving, f receiving, doesn't happen on the page), fingering, p in v sex)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be much easier.

A full day of driving: San Diego to Napa in 10 hours, if you’re lucky. But Bradley is a good driver and it was cheaper than flying this time of year if you split gas and you really thought it would be fine. That’s what you told yourself.

“Fucking Nat,” you mutter, inaudible over the pounding of the rain on the windshield. Of course she had to have her fucking birthday party — which is really just a party with the other aviators and you — in Napa, of all places. Of course she’d suggest you and Bradley drive together.

Of fucking course.

“I think we’re going to have to call it,” Bradley says. He’s white knuckling the wheel, which can’t be a good sign considering he flies million dollar jets for a living. “This isn’t going to get any better and I’m worried we’ll get stranded if we wait too long to pull off.”

It really is pouring. It started a half hour ago and hasn’t let up since. And now it’s dark and you can barely see in front of you with the headlights on.

“Yeah, okay.”

He pulls off at the next exit — you think you’re somewhere south of San Francisco, maybe near Carmel? You look for a motel on your phone as the car crawls down the empty exit ramp.

“There’s a Days Inn in .5 miles if you turn…right?” you tell him. “That work?” Bradley doesn’t look at you, eyes focused on the road. His jaw is tense.

“Is that okay for you?” You’re not sure what he’s implying. At this point, you don’t really care where you stop as long as you do.

“Cheap is fine,” you say. “I just want to sleep.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up for just a second. “Me too. Maybe we can order food, or something. I’m starved.” He’s always hungry.

“Okay.”

Rooster is a good guy. You know it, everyone knows it. Nat knows you have a bit of a thing for him, which is why you’re in this car. What she doesn’t know is that you and Bradley…got drunk at the last Hard Deck theme night and made out in the bathroom. You had his tongue in your mouth and your legs around his waist and his hand on your breast and you felt him through your thin shorts and. Well. What Nat doesn’t know is you remember all of it in excruciating detail, the sounds he made, the way he groaned your name, his hands on your skin, and Bradley, it seems, remembers none of it. He has not called you or brought it up since.

Is that bad? Not really. Maybe he doesn’t remember. You were both pretty drunk, though you distinctly remember him asking you Are you sure? as he hoisted you onto the bathroom counter. But whatever. Maybe he regrets it and is saving face because you’re all friends and it would make things awkward, especially before Nat’s big weekend. Maybe he doesn’t like you at all and he’s embarrassed. You’re not about to ask him and find out when you still have hours on the road together.

The Days Inn is a typical California motel — doors on the outside, mercifully covered by an overhang. Rooster parks as close to the reception office as he can. “I’ll go get rooms and then park wherever they are,” he tells you. “Stay here?”

“Not going anywhere.” Neither of you have raincoats so he just takes a deep breath and then shoves the door open and makes a run for it. You sigh.

God damn. He really was a good kisser. Sitting next to him for the last few hours hasn’t been awkward, not really, but you’ve had to stop yourself from staring. At his chorded forearms, the tan expanse of his neck. His hands, the memory of them pressing into your hips hard enough to bruise, his thumb rubbing your nipple through your shirt that night —

Fuck. He’s been nothing but nice to you, which somehow makes it worse. He ghosted you, maybe without knowing, and all you want to do is touch him. It’s driving you insane.

The car door opens and you jump a little, eyes flying open. You hadn’t realized you’d closed them.

“Sorry,” Bradley says. “Good news and bad news.” He turns in his seat so he’s facing you as much as he can. He shivers a little. He must be cold. “They have…a room,” he says slowly. “And it’s, uh, only one bed. A queen.”

“Oh,” you say. You can’t think of a single other word.

“Yeah,” he continues. He runs a hand through his wet hair. “She said that everyone is booked up because of the storm. I got the room, but I can tell her we don’t want it and we can keep driving if you want, find somewhere else around here. Or I can just sleep on the floor, obviously, but I don’t want you to —”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt. “Bradley, it’s fine. No big deal. We can share the room and the bed.” He blinks and you look anywhere but his face. “It isn’t safe to keep driving and we’re both tired and need something to eat.” The bed, though…you’re not sure what to think of your offer but it’s too late to take it back now.

He nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. A drop of water runs down his nose. “Okay.” He drives around to the back of the hotel and parks in front of what you assume is your room. “Ready?”

You grab your bags from the back seat and throw open the door, hopping out and running the few feet until you’re under the overhang. Only a few seconds and you still feel like you’re soaked.

Bradley unlocks the door with an rusty key on a blue tag and gestures for you to go in. “There’s a local pizza place that’ll deliver in this,” he says, locking the door behind you. “At least the reception lady thinks so. I have their number and I can call them?”

You keep talking to each other in questions, like you’re both unsure of yourselves. It’s…strange. You put your stuff down on the — yep, one — bed and sit, toeing off your wet shoes.

“Whatever you want is fine.” You shiver. “I’m cold so I’m going to, uh, take a shower. Unless you want to?” A question again.

Bradley shakes his head. “No, you go. Get warm. I’ll go after.”

You grab the first comfortable and dry thing from your bag you can find and bring it into the bathroom with you. Fuck. How are you going to do this?

The shower does wonders to warm you up but you can hear Bradley’s voice through the wall, low and steady as he talks to the pizza place. Your hand drifts down your stomach, ghosts between your legs before you yank it away. No. Get it together. You’re friends.

Enough of that. You towel off and put on your clothes only to find that you…didn’t bring your shorts into the bathroom with you. You stare at your underwear and t-shirt hopelessly as if it’ll make them appear. “Are you fucking kidding me,” you say. You could use your hair towel and wear it like a skirt but your hair is wet and your t-shirt is white and the only other towel in here is for Bradley. “This cannot be real,” you tell your reflection.

Nothing to be done, it seems. You’re going to have to go out there in only a t-shirt that barely hangs past your ass.

So you do. Bradley clears his throat. You glance at him and he shifts in the chair he’s in at the tiny table. “Pizza should be here soon,” he says, gruffly. His eyes don’t seem to know where to land. “I’m going to shower.”

He’s up and through the door before you can say anything. “Okay, then,” you mutter. You dig in your bag for your sleep shorts and…can’t find any. Great. You’re going to share a bed with him in only a t-shirt.

Someone rings the doorbell and you abandon all pretense and take the towel from your head and wrap it around your waist. The peephole reveals it to be the pizza, so you open the door and a teenager hands it to you without a word and runs back to his car.

“Thanks!” you call. You set it on the table and hear the shower still running. “Pizza’s here!” you yell through the wall.

Bradley makes a noise that sounds like a curse. “Go ahead!” he shouts back.

“Fine,” you say to the empty room. “Don’t mind if I do.” You crack open the box and see that he’s gotten all the stuff you like. You have no idea how he knows that.

You’ve had two pieces by the time he comes out. It’s like a fucking porno the way the door opens and steam rushes out to reveal Bradley, shirtless and damp, a towel wrapped around his waist. The temperature of the room seems to shoot up exponentially.

You fist one hand in the towel you’ve draped across your lap and don’t even try to look away. “Forgot my clothes out here,” he mutters. You don’t say anything. You watch the muscles of his back flex, watch the water drip down his shoulder blades. You can see the v of his hips, the hair that disappears under the towel.

You wonder how big his dick is.

Good god. Cut it out.

He rifles through his own bag and you watch that, too. You swallow and press a palm to your cheek. God, you’re flustered. There’s no way you can sleep next to him like this. You have to face it head on.

“Bradley,” you say. Your voice is lower than you’d expected.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Do you remember that night at the Hard Deck?”

He stills for just a second, so quick that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t staring at him.

“Which one? We’re there a lot.”

Okay, that’s it. You stand, leaving the towel on the chair as you walk across the scratchy carpet to stand right behind him.

“C’mon,” you say, serious now. “You know that I’m talking about.”

He turns around and seems a little startled to see you so close. His eyes rake down your form and linger on your bare legs before snapping up to your face.

“Do you remember it?” he asks. His hands are fists at his sides.

You are getting frustrated. “Well, I’m asking, aren’t I? Why haven’t we talked about it?”

“You were drunk!” he says, exasperated. He runs his hands through his hair, biceps flexing in a way that makes you press your thighs together even tighter. “I took advantage of you!”

The laugh that comes out of you is like a bark. “You did not,” you say. “You didn’t, Bradley, I remember it all and I wanted it all.” It’s true. You were drunk, but if anything it gave you the courage to rub your ass against him on the dance floor, to take his hand and drag him to the bathrooms, to read his blown pupils for desire.

He looks stressed. “Nat said you were throwing up like, twenty minutes later!”

You wince. Yeah, that did happen, but that was on you. “That was an ill-timed shot and too many chicken wings,” you admit.

Bradley tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, sighing your name. You want to lick the vein in his neck.

You reach out and put your palm on his bare abdomen. His muscles contract and you feel it as well as see it. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “If you want to forget it, just tell me,” you say softly. “If it was a mistake or your embarrassed to have done it with me—”

His hand circles your wrist. “No,” he says firmly. “No.” Softer this time. “I don’t regret it. It wasn’t…I—” He takes a breath that you feel. “I just thought I fucked it all up.”

“Fucked what all up?” The air in the room is still hot but it’s like time has stopped. Like nothing apart from you two matters.

“My chance with you,” he says softly. Bradley looks at you, pupils blown but with such a raw expression it takes your breath away. This man is so much more than he appears.

“Oh,” you breathe. “No, I don’t think you did.” He couldn’t. You don’t know what it would feel like to not want him.

He releases your wrist and reaches for your face, his wide palms settling on your jaw. You close your eyes and wait for him to commit, wait for him to finish what he started, and he does. His lips are light on yours at first but once you press back it turns into something firmer. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands move, one sliding under your shirt to grab your bare hip and the other winding in your hair.

The kiss turns messy, tongues and teeth until his lips trail down your neck. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since that night,” he pants, nipping and soothing with his tongue.

“I’ve wanted more than that,” you gasp. You grasp his biceps for dear life.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brush the bottom of your breast. “If it’s a competition, I’m winning,” he rasps in your ear. “I had to jack off in the shower just now after you came out here in a t-shirt.”

You groan. You actually groan at his words. You slide one hand down his damp skin until you find the edge of the towel still around his waist. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he hisses. You tug on it and it gives, falling to the ground at your feet. You look down and find his cock already hard, ruddy and weeping, demanding your attention.

“See how badly I want you?” Bradley backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you sit down suddenly. And there he is, naked head to toe, chest flushed and heaving and all you’ve done is kiss. You get an eye full — he’s big, no surprise there — as he takes himself in hand and strokes, eyes fluttering shut. Your clench around nothing. He’s going to ruin you.

“Let me do that,” you say. Maybe he’ll let you suck him off. You can imagine his weight on your tongue, his hands in your hair as you gag around him.

“Won’t last long,” he pants. “Next time.”

Next time. That sounds nice. You scoot back on the bed, shoving your bag to the floor, and pull off your shirt. It goes flying somewhere that doesn’t matter. Bradley groans, stroking himself slowly as he watches you. “Look at you,” he says. “Better than I imagined.”

He goes back to his bag to dig through it a bit desperately and you stretch out on the bed. It he doesn’t touch you soon you might die. You spread your legs wide and look down to find a wet spot on your panties. Fuck. He’s hardly touched you and you’re soaked.

Your fingers work their way under the damp material and you run them through your folds and sigh with pleasure, eyes fluttering. “What did you imagine?” you ask.

“All sorts of things,” he says. “I’m very creative.” He makes a triumphant noise and holds up a condom. His eyes narrow when he sees what you’re doing on the bed. “Fuck. I —” He swallows. His cock twitches. “Do you want to?”

“Oh, I want you to fuck me, Bradley.” His nostrils flare. “Like, right now.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. He saunters over to the bed looking better than your best wet dream. “You have no idea how goddamn good you look right now. Can you take those off for me, sweetheart?”

The pet name coincides with the pads of your fingers brushing your clit and you moan. Right now, you’re pretty sure you will do anything he asks of you. You pull your panties off and toss them.

“Spread for me,” he says. You do and he puts his hands on the insides of your thighs and just looks. It makes you a little shy but you also feel…powerful. There is hunger in his gaze, raw want and desire. He licks his lips and strokes your skin. “Here’s my plan,” he says.

You throw an arm over your eyes. Always a man with a plan.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers first,” he says. His fingertips trail up your thigh and you squirm. One of them brushes your clit ever so slightly. “And then I’ll fuck you properly until you scream.” His thumb presses down on it. You keen, high and long. Bradley ignores it. “And then we’ll eat more pizza and then I’ll have desert.”

His hands disappear and you whine. “Do I get some, too?” Bradley laughs and despite the situation, the filthy, filthy things he’s saying, it sounds genuine. You pull your arm away to look at him. He tosses the condom on the bedside table.

“You get whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He kneels on the bed, crawls up your body and kisses you deeply. You feel him hot and hard against your stomach. “Does that sound good?”

You nod. “Get to it, Lieutenant.”

He groans like you’ve touched him. Bradley kisses you firmly, his mustache scratchy in the most delicious way as he licks into your mouth. One of his hands pays attention your nipples and the other slips down your stomach to your folds.

“God,” he says against your jaw. “You’re so wet.” He circles your clit a few times before pressing one finger inside you. You know right away it’s not enough. You fist one hand in the sheets and the other in his hair. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. All for me.”

“More,” you groan. “More, please.” You think he might tease you but he obeys right away, giving you another one as he starts to fuck you with them. You’re so wet that it’s making filthy noises as you writhe under his touch.

If you had more presence of mind you’d try to make it good for him, too, jerk him or at least pay him some kind of attention, but you’re barely hanging on. He ruts against your thigh as your pleasure builds.

You grab for him desperately, bringing his face as close as you can get it. “Fuck me,” you say. “Please, Bradley.”

Your plea seems to undo him. “Yeah?”

You nod frantically. He pulls away and you try to catch your breath as he tears open the condom and rolls it on. You keep your legs spread and he settles back between them, hands on your thighs as he looks at you again. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

“That’s nice.” You arch your back. “Please fuck me now.”

He laughs again. His chest is flushed and damp, eyes bright and pupils blown. “Okay, sweetheart.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds a few times before hitching one of your legs around his hip and pressing into you slowly, slowly, slowly.

“Talk to me,” he gasps.

He’s big, but you want him so badly that the stretch comes easy. It feels incredible. “Keep going, I—” It’s like you can feel every inch of him. Every vein, every ridge. You could lie here with his cock inside you forever. “God, how big are you?”

He laughs but it’s a rasp and a groan all in one. “Almost done, baby.”

“Baby,” you mock. You love it.

Bradley presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hush.”

Just when you’re starting to think that maybe you can’t take him, he bottoms out and you’re both panting.

He steadies himself over you and you hook your ankles behind his back and roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “This might not go as long as I’d hoped.”

“Fine with me so long as you get going.” He presses his forehead to yours and starts to move, his hips going slow and then faster when you urge. His cock drags along your walls as he gets impossibly deep with every thrust. One of his huge hands presses into your side hard enough to bruise and you hold on for dear life.

The rain is probably still pounding outside but you don’t hear it over the smacking of his balls against your skin, the sound of your slick, your combined moans.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants, breath hot on your face. “Taking all of me, so tight—” He kisses you but it’s more like a desperate press of his mouth to yours.

“Bradley,” you manage. “Bradley I—” All words seem too far away, so you settle for chanting his name, your nails digging into his back.

“C’mon, baby,” he says. “So close, so close, yeah? Lemme feel you.”

One of his hands rubs roughly at your clit, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter and you can only get out one last gasp of his name before it snaps and you jerk in his hold, back arching and cunt spasming around him, clenching over and over.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, just like that, oh shit —” And then he’s chanting your name in a punched out voice and his thrusts become erratic. You come down from your high just as he begins his, body stilling above you as he thrusts, once, twice, then shudders.

He pulls out of you and flops to your side. You’re both sweaty and panting.

Bradley’s hand reaches blindly until he finds yours and kisses the back of it.

“Can I take you out?” he says. “When we get back?”

He just fucked you within an inch of your life and he’s asking you on a date?

You laugh, exhausted and thrilled. “Sure, Bradley.”

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