#wet fish I guess

[tinapaysmp]

I can't believe I'm blocking the fwhimmy tag. Like I love the ship but only in a way that I ship it.

And only in a way how I interpret Count fWhip because only I trully understand his character and nobody understands him like I do /j /hj

But for real, I might unblock it one day. But for now the common portrayal is pretty meh to me.

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

Kremy doesn’t like being wet

Like yes, he’s an alligator and all m but I don’t think he really enjoys water or swimming. I think he still likes damper environments but, being the man that he is and caring more about his suit and appearance than the rest, I don’t think he likes being wet.

It’s probably not a good sensory experience for him, especially with more than underwear/shorts on (and a swim shirt maybe).

He’s likely a naturally good swimmer, and arguably the best of the Krew aside from maybe Frost (because he would have been properly taught in his life) but since he doesn’t practice or swim often, he’s not nearly as good as he could be

I actually do agree with this with the condition I think he does like taking fancy shmancy baths. Completely controllable environment; temperature how you want, lighting how you want, no flora or fauna touching you unexpectedly, and you can use fun ye olde bath bombs.

I agree most definitely with the sensory thing, as per one of my other hcs, I think he is very sensory avoidant with physical touch specifically, and lakes and marshes and what have you are all about the "was that a plant or was that a lake monster who knows".

It's also, on top of feeling terrible to wear wet clothes, probably not good for the suit. These materials are expensive and sensitive!! I DONT WANNA PAY FOR DRY CLEANING RIGHT NOW!

[critter-creature-or-beast]

Photo by Dina Abdel Wahab on Unsplash

[box-dwelling]

I have had inspector hosonaga for one case and a single investigation room and if anything happens to him I am going to end up on the news

[moltengoldveins]

. old bones .

(Went for a dig and found another old notes app poem. It’s about dysphoria, so heads up.💜)

.

There is a little girl I’ve hid beneath my bed in boxes, dressed in big clothes.

She’s tucked away within the stacks of old unfolded letters, pressed and tied closed. 

(And there are things I wish someone had known to tell her.) 

She shrieks and rattles the bed frame most nights, she’s a loud one. 

She knows she wasn’t right when she walked the world, she was a proud one. 

(She knows she was not made a cavern-dweller.) 

She did not like her name then, when called aloud. It hurt her senses,

To feel the world bear down and roar like thunderclouds. She was defenseless. 

She did not like the way her body felt lit from without, under the sunlight. 

Within she begged for something else, a name for times of drought, a tougher birthright. 

(It felt absurd to live set up beside the walking dead.) 

But I could live life alive like she was not allowed, her plan backfired.

She gets quiet quickly now, the raving stops and starts. She’s growing tired. 

(‘Take over, just for a little while’ is what she always said) 

I stole this from her, the body lit without, the sunlit road. 

I put her beneath my bed, I stuffed her skin, my fingers borrowed. 

(She was the first one here. She has always owned this head) 

I crawl down there to meet her there some nights when she is quiet, I tell her stories. 

Of college classes, Waffle House, our latest book, those little glories. 

She likes them. She’s not sure how she feels about the way we dress, 

But that sick uneasy swoop that came with skirts is there with her. It’s laid to rest. 

(There are so many things I’ll have to build and learn and witness in her stead.) 

[kiddphel]

close ups of my Many Guys

[fingertipsmp3]

Love that the second entry in my cry log for 2023 is going to be “experienced unexpected dentistry”

[astrangeghost]

Girls will be sooo hungry and soooo ready for lunch and when they get there all the foods are things they don't like

[rafeandonlyrafe]

favorite girl to see

words: 700

warnings: implied sex, cart girl!reader, soft!rafe, fluffy

“hey boys.” you grin as you greet them all, but your eye is on one boy in particular.

“there's my favorite girl to see.” rafe smiles, quickly putting his putter back in his golf bag.

you roll your eyes despite your cheeks blushing. “you just like me because i bring you drinks.”

“nope.” rafe shakes his head, walking closer to you as you stay sat in the cart, worried your knees would buckle if you tried to stand up with his full attention on you. “otherwise id say that to all the cart girls.”

“mmm, and you don't?” you raise your eyebrows.

“absolutely not.” rafe scoffs like it's a ridiculous notion.

“what'll it be for you today?” you ask rafe, standing carefully and rounding the golf cart to the drinks area, opening up the cooler, expecting to grab him a high noon or white claw like usual.

“just a water, actually.” rafe turns to look at his friend he's golfing with. you don't even glance away from rafes perfectly chiseled features. “anything for you top?”

“im good.”

“one water it is.” you dig out a bottle from the melting ice, taking a towel and drying off the sides so you don't have a wet drink to rafe.

“so kind.” he coos, reaching into his wallet.

“rafe-” you sigh, already knowing what is coming as he pulls out a hundred dollar bill.

“nope.” rafe says, stuffing the bill into your hand. “take it. a tip for my favorite girl to see.”

“the water is like five bucks, this is a ridiculous tip.” you state, always trying to argue against the way rafe tips you, knowing you'll end up conceding and taking it. 

“well, if it makes you feel better about it, there is something else you can do for me.”

“hm?” you question as rafe pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons, and then hands it to you.

“put your number in.”

-- 6 months later --

you look around the golf course, having taken a later shift instead of the early one you're used to. you're getting out on the green much later than normal, trying to spot your regulars, one in particular.

you put your cart into drive the moment you see him, skipping by any other groups who may be trying to buy something. you'll loop back later to get their orders, but your sole focus is on one man.

“rafe.” you hop out your cart, giving a quick look around before jumping into his open arms, knowing while employee member relationships are technically against the rules, rafe could pull a few strings if anyone ever tattled on you.

“my girl.” rafes smile is infectious, especially as his hands drop down to squeeze your ass over your skirt, pulling your hips right up against his. “you're here late.”

“let's just say someone kept me up late last night.” you giggle, pressing a kiss to rafes lips, knowing he's the reason you had to switch shifts this morning.

rafe deepens the kiss, one hand coming to the back of your neck to keep you close as his mouth covers yours, lips and tongue gliding against each other.

“babe-” you sigh, pulling away.

“yeah, i know.” rafe steps away, knowing you only allow so much pda when you're at work.

it's one of the reasons rafe tried to convince you to quit many times, insisting you didn't need to work now that you had him, but you like picking up a few hours every week.

“what can i get you?” you ask, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the cart.

“another kiss.” rafe smiles. you roll your eyes and press a quick peck to his lips.

“and to drink?”

“gatorade, i guess.” rafe shrugs. “im also kinda tired from last night.”

you don't miss the wink that he gives you as you fish out his drink.

rafe grabs his wallet from his back pocket as you let out a groan, knowing what is to come, his tipping habits not changing one bit despite being together.

“what?” rafe says, handing you the large bill, knowing he'll take you shopping later to spend it. “i want to make sure you give better service to me than any of these old bastards.”

“speaking of service-” you get on your tiptoes and whisper into rafes ear. “meet me in the employee break room in 30?”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[tired-needs-sleep]

rhea, after finally completing the quest: it's a... fucking... magikarp. a magikarp! hahaha.

[rowarn]

mean keegan ): orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, punishment, condescending keegan too <3 brat taming i guess???

he's so unbelievably mean. always edging you, denying your orgasm, or sometimes plain ruining them just for a little laugh. he talked in that slow, deep, condescending voice that makes your cheeks flush in humiliation. he goads you, sugar-coated words that sound sweet but are just filth. 

and you had enough one night, attempting to take control and give him a taste of his own medicine. the only problem was that keegan was unbreakable. 

"come on, you can do better than that, right?" he chuckles in your ear, arms folded beneath his head as he watches you slowly bounce on his cock, "you're not going to make me cum like this, you know."

you glare at him with teary eyes, making it much less threatening than you intended, "i'm not doing this to make you cum! i wanna cum."

he raises a brow at that. it should have been a red flag but you were too distracted by the way he prodded against your cervix when you sunk all the way down on him, wrapping him up in the tight heat of your cunt. 

"is that so?" he asked slowly, cocking his head to the side as he watched you. 

he had to admit, you were cute like this. your hands planted against his chest, fisting his shirt. you hadn't even bothered to strip him, simply fishing his cock from his pants and stuffing yourself full. you were completely naked and he was grateful for that because it meant he got to watch your pretty tits bounce as you eagerly fucked yourself on him. 

your arms trembled from supporting yourself and he could tell you were quickly tiring yourself out from the bouncing. but your moans were so sweet and the way your eyes rolled when you managed to hit a particularly pleasurable spot was enough for him to allow you to continue.

"you strugglin' there, sweetheart?" he chuckles, lopsided grin widening when you glare at him.

"sh-shut up," you snap, "c-can't concentrate with you running your stupid mouth."

he chuckled again, much darker than before but you didn't notice. too preoccupied by your own wet cunt full of fat cock. 

you were cute but this little attitude you had wasn't. 

"you should watch it, darlin'" he warned, giving you a chance to change your attitude.

"shut up." you snapped again, this time moving to slap your hand over his mouth. 

he huffed, staring at you through his lashes. you worked your hips over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. your thighs twitched as you moaned, whining as the pleasure grew and grew with each sloppy movement. 

you were so wet, dripping down his cock and leaving a creamy little ring around the base of him. he wanted to make a comment but your hand was over his mouth and he wasn't going to move it. he wanted you to make the smart decision and do it yourself before you regretted it. 

but you were lost in pleasure. your orgasm building and building. he could tell with the way your eyes rolled back and your pussy pulsed and clenched in that familiar way. 

he counted down in his head. 

3...2...1...

just as the orgasm you worked so hard for began to wash over you, he had you pinned against the bed, a hand around your throat to keep you in place. he pulled his cock from the tight clutch of your cunt, watching as you thrashed and wailed in agony as your orgasm faded, washing through you with absolutely none of the pleasure. ruined. 

keegan simply stared down at you with cold indifference as little tears trickled down your cheeks. you glared up at him, hands slapping his shoulders and chest in frustration. 

"i told you to watch it," he explained, cocking his head as you tearfully stared up at him in defeat, "i tried to be nice, baby, but you had to push it."

"keegan..." you whined in despair, sinking into the pillows.

"i know, baby," he cooed, that irritatingly conscending tone making its appearance, "but i had to teach you a lesson." 

"i'm sorry..." you tried pathetically, "i'll be good, kee."

he huffed through his nose, "too late for that, baby," he reached up to wipe a stray tear away from your cheek, "here's what's going to happen. i'm gonna fuck you. i'm going to cum and fill you up. you're not going to cum at all and if you do i'm gonna ruin it like i just did. understood?"

your soft features dissolve into sniffly little tears as you shake your head and babble, trying to convince him to let you cum, to make you cum. but a firm glare from him and squeeze to your throat has you agreeing with a pathetic sniffle. 

"good," he sighs, slowly pressing his cock back inside your sticky, pliant little cunt, "maybe if you apologize for being such a brat, i'll think about letting you cum once tomorrow. so be sweet and tell me how sorry you are, darlin'."

IM DOIN BREATHING EXERCISES FR BRO

[critter-creature-or-beast]

The oarfish is officially a beast!

By Rvalette - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

[charliewrites99]

Me describing characters from Supernatural without ever watching it, based on what I could put together from random tumblr posts

Dean Winchester:

older brother

bi and the closet is glass

psycho-sexual relationship with his car

has a doctor kink

divorced married divorced married widowed by an angel

DADDY ISSUES

don't do this cas

was in hell at one point

shoulder hand print

red-blooded all american hunter manwhore

Sam Winchester:

younger brother

flannel

straight representation (except Gabriel I guess)

Third wheel

dropped out of uni

was engaged to a blond woman (RIP)

a literal walking death sentence to anyone who kisses him

party city wig

was possesed???

the one with common sense???

Castiel:

gay angel

world's saddest eyes

wet soggy orphan beagle

victim of the trench coat epidemic

powerful, but idk about where he lands on the scale

was brainwashed???

the daddy-est of issues (is his father god?)

YOU CHANGED ME DEAN

fish out of water

ditched heaven for the beauty of humanity (Dean's dick)

Jack Supernatural:

destiel child

may or may not be a new god

something celestial

floppy sad boi hair

Gabriel:

just here to have fun do drugs and flirt

trauma

Loki?

Sam's Man Crush Monday

had his lips sewn together at one point

is he dead-dead? or just dead to the writers?

Daddy Winchester:

did not know what he looked like until I went to google the pictures

the worst person to ever exist despite having god and the devil on this show

left the sons the trauma factory that is the family hunting business which killed their mom

doesn't know what hugging looks like probably

Various female-looking objects:

dead girlfriends

beards

that one redhead that called Dean a pussy for not knowing what fifth base is (she seems fun)

another redhead that played Poppy in The Magicians and almost killed Quentin (that I for some reason thought was from Doctor Who)

evil angel girlboss??

This was my contribution for this years November 5th celebration

[kiddphel]

bastard spotted !!

[birdyshewrote]

“Birthday Girl”

Wolverine x Female!Reader

written by birdy

Wade Wilson throws you a rink-a-dink birthday party every year, and this year is no exception. But this time, you have a new guest.. and he’s been watching you for a while.

Notes- hi. ive never written a fic before EVER, so pls be nice. this is mainly for me to be able to get my thoughts out of my head because I’ve been thinking about this man for way too long. happy birthday bitches 🫶

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut- 18+ Logan Howlett x Female!Reader, Logan calls reader “Kid”, light smoking and alcohol consumption, Wade being a menace

——————————————————————————

You had caught glances of him a few times in the hall. The scent of smoke, leather and alcohol that belonged to only him drifted in the air behind him for a few seconds even after he had walked into the apartment room across from yours. There had been a few times where you stepped into the elevator and musky cigar smoke had filled the small space. You didn’t complain though, secretly savoring the intoxicating smell, taking more, quicker breaths than you needed too. You couldn’t deny the knot it put in your stomach and the weakness it put in your legs before stepping out of the elevator, down the hall and into your own room.

Eventually, you were tired of the mystery. Two weeks into the seemingly one sided tension, you trapped your long time friend and even longer time across-the-hall neighbor, Wade Wilson, into the elevator with you. Ever since the stranger had moved in with Wade, he had stopped inviting you over. Your birthday was coming up, and so was your annual not-so-surprised birthday party. Once the elevator doors closed, you started,

“Hey, who’s your new roomie?”

Wade scoffed, putting a hand across his heart on his chest, the other gripping a full black trash bag that smelt of blood and for some reason bubblegum scented air fresheners. “THATS how I am greeted nowadays? No, ‘Hello Wade’, ‘Looking good Wade’, ‘Here’s that five bucks I owe you Wade,’

You roll your eyes, putting a hand on your hip stepping away from him. “Okay, first of all, I do not owe you five bucks. You OFFERED to pay for the funeral arrangements after you killed my fish-“

“He looked hungry, who knew fish could be over fed?” He interrupted.

“I told you before I left!” You argue back. “I was only gone two days and you-“ You rub your forehead and shake your head, frustrated. “Whatever. Not relevant. Hello Wade, you do look good.” You say, defeated.

Wade giggly adjusted his weight to his heels, to his tippy-toes, then back to his heels again “Thank you.” He said, satisfied, and turned back to the doors.

“You didn’t answer my question. Your roommate? Who is he?” You ask again as the elevator dings and the doors creakily open.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you sideways as the two of you walked down the small lobby. “Uhm, news flash doll face, Blind Al is not new. She’s an OG. Been here a while, silly.”

“Not Al.” Talking to Wade was like trying to a horse with dementia. “You know, ‘Mr Tall and Handsome,’ always sulking, ‘I don’t care about no smoking rules.”

Wade throws his head back, “Ooohhhh, you mean Peanut. What about him?”

“No introduction?” You ask confused, watching Wade as he carried his trash down the hall, holding the entrance door open for you.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess Iuh… I forgot.” He stuttered as he led you down the wet alleyway, towards the dumpsters.

“Last month you called me into your room to show me your new toothbrush. You have a new roommate and you just, ‘forget’ to introduce us?”

Wade shrugs, shifting the thin, plastic bag straps in his hand uncomfortably as he walked.

The truth was, Wade did not forget. The truth was, in fact, that one of the first things Wade had done was mention your existence to Logan before he was even fully settled in the apartment.

“I think you two would hit it off, hardcore. And I mean, HARD.” Wade had said.

“Absolutely not.” Logan grumbled, immediately shutting him down, not even looking up from the blow-up mattress he was unrolling in the living room.

Wade sat on the couch arm rest, looking down at the burly man. “Come on Wolvie, let a girl heal your cold, withered heart. You’re a tough, ‘don’t get too close’ typa guy, she’s an ‘I can fix him’ type of girl, I personally think it’s a perfect match.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m telling you to drop it.” He snapped, glaring up at Wade. “I don’t need you playing Cupid here, you hear me? I swear to God, if I hear you that you’ve even said my name to anyone I’ll get the fuck out of here and never look back. I don’t need to be getting mixed up in any of that shit right now.”

Maybe years ago Logan would have been a flirt, he wasn’t new to women or relationships, but he had been through too much. He had lost too much. He’d never admit it, but the truth was, the infamous Wolverine was scared. Scared of intimacy, scared of getting attached, scared of loss, scared of you. Still, this didn’t change the fact that he had been secretly watching you leave your apartment through the safety of the peephole of his own door. And yeah, maybe if you weren’t so loud coming out of your apartment he wouldn’t know your schedule within a week. Like what time you wake up to leave for work or school, or what time you come home. What days you take your trash out or do your laundry. And when he found one of your sweaters lying around the apartment when he first moved in, what should he have done with it? He was holding onto it for safe keeping. And yeah, he knew it was yours, but only because your sugary perfume clouded his nostrils and made his head feel fuzzy. It was so recognizable, he knew immediately the sweater was yours. Maybe if you wouldn’t drown yourself in the body mist he wouldn’t instinctively know when you were just in the hall, he told himself. It wasn’t his fault he had animalistic smelling.

He couldn’t, however, find an excuse for how he’d hesitate in front of his door, watching for the elevator to stop at your shared floor, wait for the doors to open and inhale the scent of your panties from down the hall once you saw him, then he’d unlock his door and rush in quickly. Sometimes if he was unlucky he’d steal a glance of your full body out of the corner of his eye.

None of this meant anything though. He could contain the animalistic urges he had towards you. Especially when he caught a glimpse of your thigh when you knelt to pick up a dropped grocery. He could handle himself when he heard your thick, sweet laugh through walls when watching a show or movie. But at the same time, what harm would it cause if he touched himself while inhaling the scent of your hair, sweat and perfume through your abandoned sweater late at night? And keeping it locked away in a locked dresser wasn’t creepy, it was just there until you asked Wade to look around for it.

He could handle himself from a distance. He knew this. He knew his limits.

He had been woken up from the couch after a long afternoon of drinking and despair by a loud “SURPRISE!” followed by laughter and clapping. He did not know there was a party going on, let alone a party for you. He was completely blindsided when you were standing within ten feet of him, in his living area, talking to Al and Wade and the others, laughing that sweet laugh

Shit..

Where could he escape? The front door was no longer an option, everyone was clustered in front. Maybe he could make a run for it through the bedroom and out the window? Or maybe take his chances down the escape ladder through the-

“Sleeping beauty has awaken!”

Shit.

Before you could blink, Wade was pulling you through the small cluster of friends to the couch, where a very confused, very hung over, very huge piece of man stood like a deer in headlights. This was your first time seeing him up close, and shit was he alluring. His hair was untamed and messy from his interrupted sleep, his thick brows furrowed. Frown lines prominent as his large muscles twitched under his shirt-

“Hey, his eyes are up there you horn dog.” Wade publicly snapped you back into reality. Immediately flustered, you began trying to save the situation that was doomed from the start.

“I wasn’t looking at- I wasn’t even doing anything, Wade!”

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. He’s just a moron.” He put an understanding hand up as he spoke. Fuck his voice was so deep and low, almost a growl. It felt rich and threw shivers straight to the back of your throat and straight into the dark jeans you wore. You swallowed. Hard.

After an awkward greeting, Wade had basically pushed a drink into both of your hands and left you to fend for yourself. Logan took a seat on the couch, the worn furniture dipping under his weight. He was clearly uncomfortable. He kept his eyes low, rarely meeting yours. He threw his arm over the head of the couch, spreading his knees. He pulled out a cigar and gestured to it. You couldn’t tell if he was offering you one or asking if you’d mind if he smoked, you shook your head no to both. You politely sat next to him, pulling your legs under yourself next to him.

Unfortunately, this man was not the easiest to speak to.

“So, Logan. You’re new.” You fidget with the cup in your hands.

He lets out a low “Mhm” while taking a puff, then lets smoke pool out of his mouth and drizzle out of his nose, before speaking again. “Yeah. Don’t really know how I ended up here. Just, kind of did.”

You nod, looking around the room. 2016-2018 pop hits played on the pink Hello-Kitty speaker Wade had bought for himself, now sitting on the kitchen table next to the drinks. Various characters lounged around the apartment chatting and eating pizza and drinking.

“Seen you around, y’know.”

You turn to face him again.

“Oh?” You ask, sipping your drink.

He nods in return. “If you need help bringing groceries up to your room or somethin’, you can just let me know. Heard you drop a few things before.” His top lip twitches just the slightest in what you assume is his version of a smile. He puts the cigar back into his mouth and chews.

You furrow your brows at the sarcastic banter. “Oh yeah? Didn’t know I had a stalker.” You bite back, smiling while doing so.

“Not stalking you, kid. Just minding my own business and getting interrupted every two seconds by my noisy neighbor.”

After this, the two of you spoke more fluid. Relating in Wade’s schemes and circumstances became a common interest. You felt yourself becoming more and more comfortable with the man’s presence. After your second drink, your leg rested against the rough denim of his thick thigh. He said nothing about it, so you continued to speak to him. You were unaware of what he was thinking or feeling.

He was freaking the fuck out. Especially when you asked him to go outside with him to get some air. He agreed, and the two of you slipped out of your own party. The night was dark as you walked through the city-lit pathway to the side of the building. Logan watches you and takes another puff of his cigar as you stretch in the open air. You sigh, relieved to be out of the stuffy room.

You could feel his eyes on you. The heat and heaviness of his lingering eyesight, watching your every move as if you were his prey. It made you nervous. It made you intrigued. You wanted to be in his sight, and he wanted to keep watching you.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much, shit’s awful for you you know.” You say, leaning on the brick building next to the tall, muscular figure.

He gives you a slow, sharp smirk in return, his canines showing through resting on the cigar.

Your heart begins to thump and he looks deep into your eyes, like he sees through you.

You let out a shaky exhale as your smile fades and take a step closer to him. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and looks down at you, shaking his head.

“You don’t want this, kid.”

You pause, trying to read his face in the dim lighting. “I do, and I think you do too.” You speak low and soft, like if you’re too sudden with your movements he’ll get startled and dash away. You slowly raise a hand and rest it on his hard, warm chest. You feel it rise and lower, he’s heaving now.

You bring your face up, closer to his. He doesn’t move, so you whisper into his own lips, “Logan, it’s okay.”

The light encouragement is what he needed. He looks down at your parted lips, pushes the lit cigar into the brick wall next to you, putting it out and dropping it, before muttering back,

“Well, you are the birthday girl.”

He leans down to give you what you’ve been asking him for, and what he’s been yearning for. He kisses you, slow and respectful at first, stepping in front of you. He puts his large, rough hand in between your head and the jagged building, protecting you as he pushes you against the wall. You bring a soft hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down farther into your space. He tastes like alcohol and smoke, and you couldn’t get enough. The kiss gets sloppier as you welcome his tongue into your mouth. You look at his face through squinted eyes, only to see his brows furrowed in deep concentration and self-discipline as to not overstep. You shut your eyes again as you grab his other hand, dragging it to your waist. He lets out a soft, low groan in response to the contact of your skin. Your waist feels so soft and warm is his heavy grip. He softly paws at your side, then up your loose shirt. He pauses underneath your bra, and you arch your back in response.

He breaks away, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you momentarily before breaking. “This okay? You’re sure? I can touch you like this?” He’s almost pleading, even with all of the consent in your body. He looks down at you, eyes half lidded.

“Yes, Logan. Stop asking me.”

He nods, smiling slightly, and slowly shifts his long, thick fingers underneath the garment, and towards your chest. He brings his mouth to yours again, greedily taking and lapping at your mouth. The scent of your arousal intoxicates to him. You clench your legs together, to which Logan uses his thick, sturdy knee to break you open and apart. You feel exposed to him now, resting on his knee. The rough denim rubbing sends jolts to your throbbing core. The kissing is wet, his stubble rubs against your lips as he gently bites your tongue with his canines. His hand gently gropes your breast, while pushing his knee against your dampening soft area. He brings his calloused hand down back to your waist, slowly guiding your hips to rock against his knee. He uses his other hand against your head to gently grip your hair and push your head closer against his mouth.

Logan didn’t get you a birthday present, but he was definitely making up for it.

[maxlarens]

53) holding the other’s jaw + logan

this is to make up for what i wrote last night viv hope u like ittt 😋🫢😌 @coff33andb00ks

You meet Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant in a dive bar in Austin, Texas and you don’t know if you have the heart to tell him that you’re in Austin specifically for the Grand Prix.

It’s cute that he assumes you don’t recognise him, it’s even cuter that he tells you he drives race cars and then assumes you still don’t know he’s an F1 driver. It’s a little sad maybe— especially when Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan are sitting in a booth across the room, trying and failing to take surreptitious glances at the two of you. But you’re trying not to think about that, probably as much as Logan also is right now.

You’re leaning with your back up against the bar drinking a vodka whatever, he’s standing in front of you. Ostensibly in line to get a drink, but he hasn’t stopped talking to you since you almost bowled him over trying to get back to your friends. There’s no drink in his hand that’s for sure, just an empty beer glass that he’s bringing back. You think that’s unbearably sweet— well, no, actually you think that’s hot.

You’re not the kind of person who’s into Formula One for the drivers. You’re into it because instead of watching football games like every other all-American family did, your dad used to sit in front of the TV every weekend to watch twenty men drive around a track. You’d grown up on the sport; the roar of the cars before they hybridised them, old-school turn names, fiery crashes ending in tragedy, the blood sweat and tears of teammate rivalry. Your dad complains that the sport has changed too much— but still he puts the races on every weekend.

You try to watch the sport for the cars, for the racing, but at the end of the day, you’re not immune to a cute guy. You follow most of them on Instagram (except the drivers you hate), find yourself smiling at promo videos and liking pictures that have nothing to do with the sport. Your dad is annoying about it, but you don’t care.

You especially don’t care when Logan Sargeant is smiling something crooked at you as he tells you he’s here with his friends. You nod, looking where he’s pointing, where you’ve already seen Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan, you laugh a little, giggle really, and you lean toward him.

Deliberately.

“Yeah,” you take a sip through your straw, maintaining eye contact, “I know who you are, Logan.”

He goes red immediately. Pale cheeks turning a very pleasant colour. You lick your lips, lean back against the bar. He blinks his sparkling wet eyes at you, mouth gaping like a fish out of water for a moment before he snaps it shut and scrubs a hand across his stubbly beard.

“Oh— I—”

You wave his shock off, barrelling on to avoid anything awkward for him, “Sorry, should’ve told you.”

“No,” he shakes his head, apparently desperate to make it fine, to make it okay, “You’re good. I just— I didn’t expect someone so—”

He trails off, trying to start the sentence again. But you’re intrigued, very intrigued.

You cut him off, not rude, just insistent, leaning forward into his space, “What was that? Finish your sentence.”

His eyebrows go up in a flash. The blush on his cheeks grows a little more prominent. He’s biting down a little on a smile, on something.

“I—”, he flounders for words for a minute, you give him that minute in silence but you’re staring at him, a little fiery, a little intense, “I didn’t expect someone so,” he stops, whines something a little desperate, quiet enough that you’re not supposed to hear it, “cute, I guess. To know who I was.”

“You guess?”

He nods, slowly. Getting braver as he leans past you, deliberately getting in your space to put his empty glass on the bar behind you. You’re trying not to smile, you’re biting down on the inside of your lip so the biggest grin you’ve probably ever grinned can’t split across your face.

“Yeah, I guess.”

This is how you end up in a dark corner booth with Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant. This is how you end up making out with Formula One driver Logan Sargeant. You’re halfway in his lap, your legs a weird tangle as you try to fit yourselves into the space. But you’re hardly thinking about his knee digging into you or how you’re slipping off the seat every five seconds because Logan’s got a hand buried deep in your hair and another on your waist. His hand splayed against your back, a few fingers touching the bare skin at your hip.

He tastes like beer and ketchup and he kisses you like he’s starving. It’s slow, it’s deliberate but the slip of tongue and the way your mouths slide against each other is intoxicating. Makes your head feel fuzzy.

You’ve got a hand on the side of his jaw, the crook of your thumb hooked on his ear, fingertips pressing into his neck, the base of his skull. He tries to pull away from you— ostensibly to breathe, to say something. But you’re a little desperate, chasing his mouth and bringing your other hand up to his jaw to drag him back.

You feel him laugh a little into your mouth.

“What?”, you mutter, eyes closed, still kissing him, "Finish your sentence."

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, you feel his mouth move against yours as he speaks, hot breath fanning across your jaw, “Just. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?”

And this is how you end up in Formula One driver Logan Sargeant’s hotel room.

this is probably the most bordering on nsfw content that i will venture to in my writing just a heads up for people:)