#yeah this got under my skin can you tell

[shutupineedtothink]

It’s about Self-actualization, not Sacrifice

I can’t overstate how much I Do Not Want Agatha to sacrifice herself and/or die at the end of this series, and tbh I’m mad that people are even floating that idea out in the ether.

I don’t care if her sacrificing herself for Billy or anyone else is making a different choice from how she couldn’t save Nicky or stealing witches’ powers, and is therefore “narratively satisfying.” I don’t care if her dying means she gets to be in some kind of eternity with Rio. I don’t care if she was some kind of ghost figure in the comics and we could see her specter in future projects. I do not want Force ghost Agatha.

I want living, breathing, transformed Agatha to come out of this more herself than she ever has been before. Freed from the hold her past and her limiting beliefs and her reputation has had on her for the last several centuries. I want this to be a new beginning of her journey, not the end.

Fortunately, I think Jac and the writers have my back on this. (Please, god)

The journey here on the Road is not about sacrifice. Because a) I don’t believe and have never believed that Agatha actually sacrificed Nicky for the Darkhold. Red herring, it didn’t happen that way. So there’s no narrative reversal to be had there in the first place. And b) the various deaths, the witches’ stories we’ve seen play out so far have not been about Sacrifice either, at least not primarily.

Alice ended up sacrificing her life to save Agatha, but that was not her story in that moment. That was not the narrative we were meant to see.

Alice saving Agatha in that moment was about her stepping into her power, her highest self, the Protection witch she was always meant to be free from the generational curse. Someone who cannot stand by and watch others in pain if she can do something about it. That’s her highest self.

Lilia’s sacrifice wasn’t her true journey either. Her story was about embracing her power, becoming the Traveler, playing out her story in the way she saw and accepting her gifts for what they are (your task is not to control but to see). She too, regained her full power, her full self in that moment, and took out at least five of the Seven with her. She took her power back from the fear that had been holding her for so long, and became the highest version of herself, the Queen of Cups.

Agatha’s journey isn’t about sacrifice either, it never was.

Agatha’s journey, as I’ve said in other posts, is about finding her true self, her true power, unmasking herself from all of the facades she’s worn over the years to protect herself and hide her pain. Answering the question, who IS Agatha, all along? It’s about dealing with her trauma so that she can exist as her true self, and be seen by others as her true self.

We’ll find out in the next couple episodes what that looks like but I can already tell you she’s NOT inherently evil, or inherently good. She is a woman shaped by heartbreak, grief, and sorrow. She has made choices, some bad, some good, and she is capable of making new choices. She is capable of transformation, of peeling away all the false versions of her to find who her truest self is — which I believe, is a leader, a mentor, a guide. The Mother, in many ways.

In that case, sacrificing herself for Billy or the coven or whatever isn’t the play here. It’s teaching Billy (probably, and maybe Jen) what he’s capable of and how to access his true power. It’s the same role she played for Wanda, only this time, when Billy realizes what he’s done (create the Road, probably) she’s going to help him, not fight him for his power. There’s probably also some element of them trusting each other and working together, having seen each other’s true selves.

I’m not going to try to predict the specifics, but my point is that Agatha dying at the end is simply not the move. And if she does, the only way it works is if it’s a dying on the Road to be reborn in the real world type of situation (so everyone else lives too). In which case, fine, I guess, but I still don’t want her to die. I want her to choose life. I think with everything she’s suffered, death is the easy choice. Living and changing and growing and letting people in is much harder.

Besides what an absolute fucking waste it would be of Kathryn Hahn’s talent to just kill off Agatha here and not have her show up later and irritate the shit out of some Avengers.

[mars-ipan]

Mars, you have a lot more patience than I would at this point gdhfkjgdsfg. If you'll allow me to choose violence for a second:

-

Hi anon! Did you know you can engage with other people without interpreting every word they use in the worst way possible, making a million assumptions about their background and prescribing opinions to them they've explicitly told you they don't have?

I don't even disagree with all of those rebuttals, but if you want people to engage in discussions with you you have to treat them like human beings, not your opposition in a court case. What are you expecting to get back when you act like this? About nonexistent fingers in his ass guy?

You should at least have got off anon and owned what you said- unless you're using anon to block evade, in which case you should consider respecting people's boundaries.

:D waow…. feeling very cared for in this chili’s tonight

[tonycries]

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Synopsis. You know it’s wrong to fuck your best friend. But how can you complain when you’re slammed against the library desk and stuffed full of his big cock like this?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, panties in your mouth (+ some other very heinous things), really fucking dirty, public sex, jealous sex (from his side), pet names (my angel), swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. My ancestors are prolly so proud of me rn. Art by @_3em on X.

“Best friend” his ass. 

It’s laughable really - the way those other losers think they have a chance with you when you’re begging for his dick every night. 

He’s known you since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - and right now he’s got you sitting prettily on his lap in a study room tucked on the campus library. Your needy mewls are muffled into the crook of his neck as he holds you steady by your hips, the length of his achingly hard cock nudging the line of your ass. 

Panties hastily pulled to the side, your slick pools on his flushed tip, dripping along his length to his tight balls. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your racing pulse, he drags his hefty erection teasingly along your dripping folds. 

God, he could feel the way your pussy was clenching desperately around nothing and it was driving him insane. 

Surely that study buddy of yours could wait a few minutes. Who did that scrub even think he was? Eyeing his pretty lil’ best friend like that.

“Hngh- please, I want-.” you whisper into his ear, the heat of your breath sending blood rushing straight to his already rock-hard cock. Your needy whimpers are cut off as he subconsciously thrusts in-between your swollen folds, juices making the prominent veins along his length glisten.

Fuck, this was getting too much for him too. 

“Tell me what you want, my angel.” he leans down to murmur raspily in your ear, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine. You were so fucking hot. 

That scrub couldn’t even imagine this. How perfect you were. How wet you were for him. How lustful your voice is as you sinfully whine, “I want your cock in me so badly. Want you to fuck me right here. Right now.”

With lightning speed, he’s got you bent against the cold surface of the library desk, painfully hard cock throbbing under the thin material of your panties. You gasp as his length grinds against your quivering cunt.

Having you splayed out so sinfully for him, he’s never been more thankful that the old librarian was such a heavy sleeper - probably wouldn’t wake up for a stampede of elephants if it happened. 

“This shit is getting in my fucking way.” he groans out as a large hand grabs your soaked panties. 

A sharp rip! of fabric sounds throughout the still air of the study room. “Much better.” he grins dangerously, harshly groping every inch of skin now laid completely bare for him.

“Please. Put it in.” you mewl, voice dripping with need for him. Fuck, he’ll never get used to this. 

“Shhh, my angel.” with a low hiss, he bullies his thick cock into your dripping cunt.

“God. S’tight, so tight. Pussy so desperate for me hah- sucking me back in. She doesn’t want me to leave, huh?” he grits out through strangled moans as he sheaths himself completely into your wet pussy. Shit, at this point they’ll hear him and not you.

Warm walls squeezing him to insanity, he fucks you at a feral pace, pulling out till his tip teases your dripping entrance, only to ram himself fully inside once more. 

“Ah! Hngh- It’s too much. Please!” 

He would never get to know the feeling of your snug cunt desperately sucking his cock back in every time he rams into you. He would never get to feel the way your walls clamp down on him, struggling to adjust to the burning stretch of his thick cock. He could never make you feel this good.

That loser probably has a small dick anyway.

He drinks in the pornographic ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth at each harsh thrust, feeling intoxicated off the animalistic cadence of his hips, and the thick white ring of slick forming at his base. 

“Shit. Always so good f’me, my angel.” he groans, your pretty moans only making him thrust impossibly deeper in a way that has you scrambling to hold onto the table for support. 

His throaty groans and the merciless slapping of his heavy balls against your ass echoes across the room as his fingers dig deep purple marks into your hips.

“S-someone’s gonna hah- hear-” 

“Then we must be quiet, hm?”

Before you have a chance to process what’s happening, the wet panties that were tightly gripped in his hand are now stuffed into your mouth. You moan around the large fingers forcing themselves inside, cold rings stretching your mouth as much as your cunt.

His cock twitches as he forces you to taste yourself, feeling you getting impossibly wetter. That’s his girl. 

He could never fuck you like this. 

Moans now muffled by the fabric in your mouth, his saliva-coated fingers move down to draw rough circles on your clit - making you yelp at the stimulation. 

He knows someone could walk in at any moment - and a part of him actually wants it to happen. Let them see, he thinks. At least then those fuckers would finally take a hint.

A soft whine of his name snaps him out of his pussy-drunk thoughts, blown-out eyes now meeting your dazed ones as you lock eyes with him over your shoulder. Lipstick smeared, tears clinging to your lashes, and panties half-hanging out of your kiss-bitten lips.

Ah, actually scratch that - he’s gonna keep his pretty lil’ best friend all to himself.

“Shhh, my angel. I’ve got you.” he towers over you, pressing a trail of kisses up the curve of your spine before angling your neck to attach his lips with yours. He delights in your surprised squeal, clearly not expecting him to kiss you with your panties still in your mouth. But for you, he’d do anything.

Cock twitching, your feet almost lift off the ground as the rhythm of his hips gets harsher. He intertwines his tongue with yours, sweet slick-soaked panties wrapped in the middle. Fuck, he was going insane at the contrast of your soft tongue with the lacy fabric of your panties, hand around your neck getting tighter.

You moan incoherently as he sucks on your tongue, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth and onto the polished library desk. 

It was so fucking lewd. Doesn’t matter how many losers swarm around you - none of them deserved you. None of them could fuck you like this.

Your sounds of pleasure get more and more frantic as his cock still slams inside you relentlessly, ringed-fingers continuing their abuse on your clit - getting closer and closer to what you crave.

He can feel the way your walls flutter so snugly around him. God, he’s so fucking turned on that he doesn’t know whether the heartbeat he feels between his legs is his or yours.

Neither of you have to wait long. His tongue still continues its dance with yours, around your soaked panties, as you both cum with a muffled moan. 

Your pussy clenches around him as you climax him as if to milk his cock for all he’s worth. And you do, thick ropes of his hot cum painting your pulsing hole white. 

Riding out both your highs, he fucks his cum into you animalistically - feet lifting off the floor at his firm grip on your waist and the sheer power of his rough thrusts.

So messy. Damn, he has to send the librarian an apology gift later - a fruit basket or something, he wonders, barely lucidly. 

His mind is still foggy as he pulls his sensitive cock out, and pockets your panties for a lonely night without his dear best friend. Promptly plugging his fingers in your quivering pussy, cum smearing on his fingers, he mutters out a quick “Keep it inside.”

Walking out of the heavy, sex-filled atmosphere of the study room, he bumps into that fucking study buddy of yours - running late and clearly surprised to see him there.

With a slow smirk, “Sorry in advance, my girl made a bit of a mess in there. Hope you don’t mind.”

Hey, this is what best friends are for, right?

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, Tsukishima, ATSUMU, SUNA, Oikawa, Kuroo, EREN, Armin

A/N. Teehee *blushes like a slut*

Longfic Sunday incoming if I manage to write 6k words by tomorrow.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[rafesangelita]

Can I please request: Sweet!Pouge!Reader x Rafe. Smut smut smut. Maybe she is sitting with her back against his chest, between his legs and he is teaching her to touch herself, wanting to watch her infront of a mirror but she is super shy, feeling so exposed and tries to close legs, get them to stop etc, he gets super horny just hearing how wet she sounds

warnings: soft!dom!rafe (?), use of the nickname daddy (only one time), slight size kink, finger sucking, fingering, slight praise, voyeurism, squirting, cum eating, teasing

a/n: ty anon for the req <3 i wrote this at seven in the morning.. i’m afraid i might be unhinged.

“i don’t know, rafe..” your brought your thighs together, your boyfriend trailing kisses down the curve of your neck. “just relax, baby, m’gonna show you.” he cooed. rafe currently had you sitting between his legs, your back flushed against his chest. “what’s making you nervous?” you gasped when you felt his large hands snake around your front, cupping you through your bra before rolling your sensitive buds between his fingers.

“i’m the only one without clothes on..” you bit your lip, feeling a sense of relief when rafe slipped his shirt off. “poor thing, feeling exposed huh?” he teased, the warmth of his skin making you relax in his hold. you nodded, glancing at your reflection in the tall mirror in front of rafe’s bed. “see how pretty you look?” he slowly pulled your thighs apart, his eyebrows knitting at the sight of your glistening cunt. “fuck.” you shivered when he cursed under his breath.

“you’re so wet, do you see that?” both of you moaned when he spread your folds, revealing the sensitive bundle of nerves that just ached to be touched. “go ahead, baby, show me what you know.” rafe pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, watching as your fingers found your soaked pussy. you had an idea on how this worked, but you weren’t too sure. instead of starting off soft, you went straight into rubbing your clit, the sensation making you jolt with a gasp.

“woah, go slow pretty girl, there’s no rush.” you did as he said, your heart blooming at the nickname. slowly, you circled your fingers around your entrance, gathering the slick there before stroking upwards where you needed it the most. rafe was going crazy over the fact he could hear just how wet you were, the wet sounds making his cock harden indefinitely. “like this?” you squeaked, your body buzzing with pleasure as he unhooked your bra, squeezing the swells of your breasts.

“shit— yeah, baby. just like that..” he was hypnotized at the sight. there you were, with your pretty pink nails rubbing your pussy for only him to see. “show daddy how you put a finger in.” your eyes widened for a second, the look on rafe’s face giving you all the courage you needed. whimpering, you inserted a finger, feeling pathetic as the sensation didn’t come anywhere near to the way it feels with rafe’s fingers. “it doesn’t feel like yours.” you whined, making rafe huff out a laugh.

“do you want it to?” he prayed you’d say yes to him so he could make you do his favorite thing and have you unravel, shaking and crying out in pure orgasmic bliss. “please, rafe.” you took out your digit, rafe bringing your hand up to his mouth before sucking your succulence off of your finger. “tell you ‘what..” he spoke up, “since this is your first lesson, i’ll go easy and do the hard work for you. but next time? you’re going to give me two orgasms all by yourself.” rafe whispered the last part, sending a shiver down your spine.

“okay..” you agreed. rafe’s hand trailed down your body, his familiar touch making you feel at ease. “i’m gonna fill this cunt up with my fingers and you’re gonna rub that clit for me, you got it?” you smiled, accepting his proposal. rafe was so much bigger than you, his hands being at least three to four times larger than your own. he started out sweet like always, gathering your slick before slowly pushing in a finger until he was knuckle deep. fuck, you felt so full already.

you started circling your clit, the curve of rafe’s finger making you mewl. “you’re so tight, baby, those walls are just squeezing around me.” rafe was sure you could feel his erection poking at your back. your head was resting against his chest now, your eyes screwed shut as you picked up your pace. rafe didn’t dare look away from the mirror, this image forever ingrained in his brain. “feels s’good.” you whined, pulling your plush bottom lip between your teeth.

one thing about rafe; he was going to give you the maximum pleasure experience. with one hand thrusting into you, the other rolling your nipple between his fingers, and his teeth nipping at that sensitive spot on your neck, it wasn’t long before your thighs threatened to shut again. not because you were shy, but because you felt like you were going to make the biggest mess yet. “think you can take one more?” your eyes fluttered open, meeting rafe’s. “yes— oh, my god, yes.”

inserting another finger, rafe started thrusting his digits into you at an unforgiving speed, the pads of his fingers slamming that soft, gummy spot inside of you. you cried out, feeling a stream of wetness before your orgasm hit you full force. “rafe!” you practically screamed, thankful that no one was home to hear your cries. “ah, fuck, give it to me, baby.” rafe kept your legs open as you shook in his arms, your teeth biting down on his bicep. you only bit rafe when you couldn’t take the feeling anymore, your boyfriend picking up on the indication to slow down.

he eased you out of your orgasm, peppering your shoulder with kisses as you went through the aftershocks. rafe was sweet enough to tuck your hair behind your ears, his cock jumping when he met your fucked out gaze. “i think i made a mess-” your voice sounded strained, your legs collapsing once rafe pulled his fingers out, licking the digits once again. “you did. ‘was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” he kissed you, making you taste yourself on his lips.

“rafe?” you met his eyes in your shared reflection, “can i make you cum now?”

[thesuperiorrobin]

Damian looks horrible.

His once-perfect skin was covered in bruises and dry blood that either belonged to him or someone else, but you couldn't tell. His hair, which was supposed to be gelled back, is all over the place, his once neatly ironed suit is wrinkled, and his blazer is falling off his shoulders. Pennyworth would be disappointed if he saw the boy like this. For once, he's out of breath as he stands in front of your front door with a nice-sized bouquet in hand. He knocks twice before you open the door.

"Damian?! Oh god! What happened!?" with wide, worried eyes you open the door more, allowing him to enter your home.

"My apologies for being late tonight Beloved," he hands you the flowers "I ran into some trouble and my father needed me to patrol longer. We still have time to make it to the reservation"

"Damian, forget about the reservation! I mean, look at you!" you glace up and down at his figure. “We can just go another day. Let’s get you cleaned first”

You grab ahold of his hand, dragging him to the closest bathroom. As you switch the light on you signal him to take a seat. You start to dig around under the cabinet beneath the sink for a first aid kit. You’ve never owned one until now—until Damian had appeared one night badly wounded.

“But you’ve been begging me to go” His voice was horsed, green eyes following your every move.

“I know” you sighed, Damian sat on the edge of the bathroom bathtub waiting patiently. “But that’s not important right now. Like I said we can go another day when you don’t look like you just got run over by three cars on the highway”

“That’s very specific” He chuckles.

“And it’s probably true” you roll your eyes. You get up from your position under the sink with a first aid kit in hand. “Let’s stay in tonight yeah? My parents won’t be home until late at night and we get the living room all to ourselves….”

“That……sounds lovely actually ” Damian lets out a heavy sigh—closing his eyes for a moment. Basking in the scent of your perfume and your gentle touches. He can hear you hum a soft tune as you tend to his wound carefully. Damian could almost fall asleep then and there.

“We have to finish twilight,” you say, Damian opens his eyes to stare into yours and frowns.

“Do we have to?”

“Duh. It’s twilight season”

It really is twilight season for me🤭

I won’t EVER get tired of writing soft!Damian

[evie-sturns]

overstimulated - Matt Sturniolo

summary: where you overstimulate matt to the point where he can’t walk anymore.

contains: smut, sub!matt, overstimulation, slight humiliation, mocking, teasing, use of safe word.

————————————🎀————————————-

i don’t even know how matt and i got in this position, but right now i’m sitting on his lap, pinning him down as his erection pokes into my thigh.

“please?” he whispers shakily, his pale cheeks a cherry red.

i trace my fingers along the waistband of his sweatpants, earning a soft whimper from him.

he’s been desperately horny this whole day, constantly clinging to me, but i’ve been too busy.

i slowly rock my hips against the clear bulge on his lap, my clothed cunt rubbing against his sweatpants.

his head tips back, “oh god- don’t do this to me” he sighs

“dont do what?” i grin, reaching my hand down and tracing the outline of his dick through his pants.

“you know- ‘m gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that” he says barely above a whisper.

“that would be pathetic, wouldn’t it sweetheart?” i say, cupping matt’s jaw and making him look up at me.

he nods, squeezing his eyes shut. i wrap my warm hand around his dick through his pants, squeezing lightly.

“oh my fuck-“ he whines, rutting his hips up into my hands.

he clutches the bedsheets beside him with his veiny hands, trying to resist his movements.

“look at you, all whiny, don’t even have your dick out yet.” i scoff, matt nods frantically,

“-‘m sorry!!” his breathing picks up.

i feel his dick twitch in my hand as i continue to rub the fabric over it, before a loud groan escapes his red lips, raw from being bitten.

and he finishes in his pants.

a large damp patch is obvious right under my hand as matt’s hands cover his embarrassed face.

i let out a small laugh, “poor thing.”

he shakes his head, “i couldn’t help it, i really tried!” he states with a small pout.

“yeah? now your gonna be sensitive for the rest of this.” i say, matt’s eyes widen

“what- more?” he breathes,

“you thought we were done?” i taunt him, pulling my shirt off of my body.

i reach down for his pink shirt, text lays across the fabric saying ‘i need a kiss’.

i tug it off of him, laying it on the matress beside us.

goosebumps travel up his skin from the cold air as he looks up at me with pleading eyes.

i stand up off his lap and tug down my pyjama shorts, leaving me fully revealed for him.

his eyes roam over my body.

“you’re so pretty.” he sighs, clutching the sheets beside him again.

i smile at him before crawling back onto his lap, i look down infront of me, he’s hard again.

i tug down his sweatpants to his thighs, before pausing my movements.

his eyebrows furrow, i just sit comfortably on his lap, waiting for him to start begging.

he fidgets with his short nails as he avoids eye contact,

he’s never usually this submissive, quite the opposite, i guess he’s not used to having to wait.

“please?” he finally speaks up, his voice husky.

“please what.” i reply instantly.

he bucks his hips up slightly, his dick hitting my stomach.

i push his stomach down, placing him back on the bed.

“use your words.” i tell him, staring into his eyes.

he shakes his head, “that’s embarrasing-“ he starts, but i instantly cut him off.

“if it’s so embarrassing then i’ll leave you here, all needy and nobody will be here to get you off, would you like that?”

he shakes his head, “no- no! i just.. ‘just need you!”

“matt that’s not clear enough, tell me exactly what you want from me.” my voice is stern, seeing how far i can push him.

“i want you on- on my dick.” he speaks quietly,

“yeah? then what.” i reply,

“then- then i want you to ride me.” he says, his eyes travelling everywhere but mine.

i run my hand through his hair, “there we go, wasn’t so hard to use your words wasn’t it?”

he nods,

i grab his jaw, “i want you to keep looking at me okay?” my tone is softer now,

i take his length in my hand and pump his cock a few times.

“oh-“ he stammers, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time through his squinted eyes.

his hair sticks to his forehead, and his abs tense.

i run my thumb over his tip, he gasp lightly, gripping the sheets harder.

“you’re doing so well, so good for me.” i praise him, continuing to run my hand up and down his length, squeezing slightly as i go higher up.

“thank- thank you-“ he squeezes out breathlessly.

his legs shake slightly as his orgasm comes on, spurts of white hit his stomach.

his jaw hangs open slightly as he lets out strings of moans.

i don’t waste time to sit up properly, hovering myself above his sensitive tip.

i run his cock through my folds, his eyes spring open. “i can’t! ‘m to sensitive-“ he pleads,

“i know you can do it for me matt,” i whisper with a warm smile.

he shakes his head, his hands find their way to my bare hips, he grips tightly for dear life.

i slowly sink down onto his dick, a strained groan escapes his lips as he digs his finger nails into the plush of my skin.

“i’m gonna cum too soon, that’s- that’s embarrassing” he stammers, squirming slightly on the mattress.

“that’s okay, you’re okay matt” i assure him through sharp breathes as i continue to bounce on his cock.

the sound of skin slapping along with matt’s strangled whimpers fill the room, his eyes are scrunched shut and his brunette locks are messily laid across his flushed face.

my pace picks up, matt sinks his top teeth into his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to silence his pathetic noises.

“so close already? you already came twice tonight.” i scoff, which tips matt over the edge

his legs judder as his back arches off the bed.

he frantically grips the pillows beside him as he finishes, his warm seed coating my insides.

i don’t stop riding him, chasing my own orgasm.

he winces with pained moans, “too much! too much-“ his voice cracks.

i don’t stop, matt knows we have a safe word.

he shifts himself below me, his arms twisting as he tries to squirm under me.

“s-stop- stop i’m too- too sensitive!” he squeezes out.

i shake my head, strings of groans exiting my mouth as i clench around him, signalling my upcoming orgasm.

“red- red” the safe word falls from his mouth, making my heart skip a beat.

i instantly pull off of him, my juices coating his dick, even dripping onto his pelvis.

i look at matt, a few tears roll down his cheeks.

my eyes widen, “hey- hey don’t cry, i’m sorry sweetheart are you okay?” i ask, flopping down ontop of him and wrapping my arms around him.

“no- i’m fine just intense, i-i’m not sad or anything” he says shakily with a small laugh.

“i’m sorry baby.” i say, squeezing his waist tight as i hug him.

“don’t apologise- tha-that was so hot.” he mutters.

i hover above his tear stained face, i reach my hands down and wipe away his tears.

“i promise i’m not crying- just sensitive.” he laughs, i giggle in response before standing up off of him.

i look down at him on the bed,

what a sight.

i clench my thighs together as i look down at him, he’s flopped messily across the matress, his arms and legs sprawled out different directions.

his face is a deep red, and his hair is stuck to his sweaty face. his lips are raw and bright red,

and finally he’s coated in his release, white streaks painted across his tummy and chest.

i just admire him, “jesus fuck- matt you don’t understand what you’re doing to me right now.” i whisper

he smiles in response,

“can- can i please take a polaroid of you?” i ask shyly, “just for me to keep.” i follow up.

he grins with an eyebrow quirk, “finnneee…”

i clap before running over to my closet and pulling out my polaroid camera,

i stand at the edge of the bed, matt gives me a tired smile and thumbs up, i snap the picture.

“thank you-“ i say with a small laugh, he rolls his eyes with a smirk.

“cmon, let’s get you nice and cleaned up.” i say to matt,

he nods with a small hum, followed by a massive yawn,

“you’re so tired sweetheart.” i laugh,

“how could i not beee..” he whines,

“i’m just teasing you.” i smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him up

he stands up on his feet before stumbling over, his legs basically jelly.

he flops backwards onto the bed,

“can you seriously not stand up straight.” i ask with a giggle.

“no- no i can!” he protests, heaving himself back up off the bed, but his shaky legs instantly give out.

i erupt into laughter,

“oh my god!! i’m gonna use that forever! imagine me telling people that i took away matt sturniolos ability to walk”

he covers his face with his hands as he laughs uncontrollably with me,

“you’re so insanely stupid” he giggles,

“tell that to me when you can stand up!!”

-

@downbad4reid @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris

@jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 @sturnthepot t @zayyluvz z @realuvrrr r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s@ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonly @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos

[silverskyeline]

'joyride' 18+

✭ logan promptober day 1 - motorbike oneshot - logan fucks you on his (scotts) motorbike in the middle of the forest because you can't keep it down inside the mansion. (1.7k words) pairing - logan howlett (x-men timeline) + afab!reader tags - established relationship, reader lives at the x-mansion, pet names + praising (princess, doll, good girl etc), he fucks you on scotts bike, lots of dirty talk, dom!logan and sub!reader, wet mentions, creampie, overstimulation, reader orgasms twice, he covers your mouth to keep you quiet, outdoor sex, a little rough, reader wears a skirt.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

it's dark, the trees and forest surrounding the road only serving to cloak the ground below even further. you can make out his silhouette above you, lit only by the moon high in the sky. he's big, broad, towering over you as his frame moves with each thrust, casting a shadow down upon your body.

he's got you laying on your back on his bike parked at the side of the road. well, scott's bike. logan would clean it before he returned it, or maybe he wouldn't. scott was well acquainted with cleaning up messes.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you fit perfectly against the seat, your back supported against the fuel tank with your legs draped over either side of him on his thighs. his rough hands had hiked your shirt up over your chest, revealing your breasts that he'd littered with kisses just moments before plunging deep inside of you.

"wore a skirt cus' you knew i was gonna fuck you, huh?" he grins, you can just about make out a flash of white from his teeth in the darkness. you don't want to say yes, too embarrassed to, but he knows that's exactly why you dressed the way you did. "givin' me easy access? how kind of you, doll."

soft little moans are slipping from your lips from the way his cock eases past your panties he's pushed to the side and glides inside of you with little resistance. he fills you so perfectly, your walls have become accustomed to his thick length and crave the way it stretches you out just right.

he's holding you in place, gripping your waist as he picks up the pace. the bike creaks a little with the movement, protesting under the rigorous thrusting. "good girl. . ." he coos with a low grumble, "tell me how it feels, tell me how i'm makin' you feel."

"feels so good," you whimper, it's all you can manage, letting your head fall back against the metal of the handlebars, one hand gripping the side of the bike and the other gripping the front of logan's white tank to keep yourself steady.

he could listen to you all day, he's drowning in the noises you make, his heightened hearing serving him well - the quiet mewls, the wet sounds from your dripping pussy, the way your breath hitches in your throat. logan drinks it all up, his mouth watering, he can't get enough.

"bet you were gettin' wet the whole way here," he grumbles through each thrust, "bet you left a real pretty wet patch on the seat, didn't ya?" there's a clear smirk in his voice as he continues, "mmh, n' now you're takin' my cock like you were made for it. takin' it so fuckin' well, look at that. . ."

his eyes drift downwards to watch the way his length disappears inside your pretty pink pussy, he exhales shakily at the sight of you sucking him in. he pulls out, almost all the way but not quite, seeing how your slick glistens on his dick in the moonlight. his eyes flutter shut as he slams back in, biting his lip as you instinctively clench around him at the harsh movement.

you cry out and it echoes into the forest, thighs tensing as his dick curves inside of you, threatening to hit that spot that makes you go fucking crazy. the sound you make spurs him on, encourages him, a low rumbling laugh escaping him as he fucks into you with renewed vigour.

"takin' it like a good girl," he praises you, rubbing his thumbs across the exposed skin on your waist as he watches your chest bounce with every slam of his cock, "but you gotta be quiet, yeah? they'll be able to hear you back at the mansion with those moans, am i makin' you feel that good?"

you can't help but nod, whimpering softly in an effort to suppress the noises he's pulling from you. logan always knew exactly how to fuck you, how to make you sing out, how to find that perfect angle as he pounds you relentlessly.

he hadn't even needed to knock on your door to invite you out that night, you were already watching him wistfully from your bedroom window as he approached the bike. logan caught your eye and smirked as he jerked his head, signalling for you to come with. and come you did.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum!" you frantically scream, gasping suddenly as you feel the pleasure coil in your gut. it's coming in slow-rising waves, each brush of his cock against your sensitive, spongy g-spot threatening to tip you over the edge.

his hand is over your mouth, muffling your moans as he picks up the pace, his other arm wraps around your thigh, helping his angle and allowing him to push deeper. the bike is really rocking now. brows twitching, he knows he's close too. he often can't help but cum from all the beautiful sounds you make when you're close, and it doesn't help - the way your pussy so desperately clenches around him. you're practically begging him to cum deep inside of you.

"shhhh," he shakes his head, grinning down at you, "that's it. . . that's it, cum for me pretty girl. cum for me nice and quiet, right here, right now, on this bike. cum for me cus' i'm askin' you to, tellin' you to."

his words do nothing to calm the rising tide within you, they spur your orgasm on further. between his filthy, dirty laced demands and his cock plunging deep into your aching walls, you feel yourself coming apart at the seams.

you're screaming beneath his palm as you feel the edge near, and before you know it you're tumbling over it with a loud moan, eyes rolling back. "fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck me - fuck me logan!" is what he'd hear if he moved his hand from your mouth, but his calloused hand stays roughly planted over your lips as you cum. loud. hard.

"oh fuck, shit-" he curses under his breath, feeling your walls flutter around him as you arch your back off the fuel tank, "cum around my cock, that's it, atta' girl."

it's almost too much, the praise, the dirty talk, the way he's making light work of you with his throbbing length. he makes you see stars every time, your eyes rolling back to see the actual stars above you both, the woods filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin as he shows no signs of slowing down.

you're struggling to keep your eyes open, feeling the orgasm wash over your whole body, a warmth spreading from your groin. it feels so good, and he can tell. he can see it in your eyes as he watches them flutter.

"you're gonna make me cum," logan pants softly into the cool night air, "gonna cum inside that pussy, you want that? hm? want me to fuckin' paint your walls with my cum? gonna be spillin' out the whole ride home."

holy fuck his words. you feel a second orgasm approaching, chasing the end of the first.

he's moaning, grunting as he pumps into you. his thick veins throb against your walls as he feels himself cum, white hot ropes spilling into your begging cunt. his mouth falls open, gasping as your pussy drinks it all up through your second orgasm, taking every last drop just like he knew you would, just as you do every time he takes you out here to fuck you.

logan catches his breath, hunched over you as he sits up, moving a hand to your waist to keep you steady as his other hand runs through his hair. hand slipping from your mouth, he lets it trail down your chest, along your tummy, to rest over your mound. his thumb spreads apart your wet folds before diving in to find your clit.

you gasp, clearly overstimulated from both orgasms. your legs twitch, your whole body shaking slightly as he plays with you. he can't help but smirk at the reaction he can illicit from you just from a few little strokes.

"sensitive," he mutters, thumb dancing across your sensitive bud, "you were such a good girl for me, i gotta train you to be quieter though." logan tilts his head, watching as you squirm beneath him, "can't keep taking you out here just to fuck you, you gotta learn to behave n' keep it down so i can fuck you at the mansion too."

whining, your hand snakes down to join his over your clit, urging him to go slower, and he does.

"though," his smirk widens, "you do look too good like this, spread out for me on this bike, messy and drippin' with my cum." eyes trailing down your body, he admires each and every inch of you. "think i'll keep fuckin' you on it even after you learn to be quiet, i'd have you anywhere. . ."

he leans down, kissing along the valley of your chest, "in my bed. . ." he continues, kissing down along your tummy, "in your bed," he sits up, "in the garden. . ." his thumb on your clit speeds up, causing you to gasp, "anywhere i can have you. i will."

you whimper and he hushes you, "you like the sound of that, princess?" logan nods, "want me to take care of you everywhere? fuck you so hard in that bed of yours where you sit and think about me?"

your cheeks flush a deep red, squirming on the cool metal of the bike. the night air nips at your heated skin.

"thought so," he grins and pulls his hand away from your clit which earns a pathetic whine from you, bringing his thumb to his mouth to lick your sweet, sticky wetness from it.

you watch him with an almost hypnotised look through hooded lids. but he grins, this wasn't over. he wasn't done with you yet.

"let's go home and test just how quiet you can be, hm?"

[savannahsdeath]

Ellie and reader having sex, but Ellie starts to talk dirty and reader gets embarrassed so she hides her face in ellies neck. But Ellie teases and tells her not to hide bc she's so pretty. (Imagining this w/ strap in missionary position if u could do that'd be wonderful😍)

shes so awhzjxbag ok i cant . also i got really carried away but uhh hushh warnings: just strap on smut, everything said in the ask;)))

: ̗̀➛ "you hear that?" ellie asked, smiling proudly as she looked down at you. you closed your eyes and tried to focus on whatever she meant, but the only sound entering your used, tired brain was your own moans. you strained your hearing and slowly drifted off to more distant things, like the strap pumping in and out of your desperate cunt, messily and noisily. "such a mess..." ellie chuckled, listening to the sloppy act. "but it's not my fault you're so wet for me."

: ̗̀➛ you gulped, losing a hold of your concentration. your foggy mind couldn't think of an answer - did you do something wrong? should you apologise? or was it some kind of a praise? "els—" you started, but the long s turned into a melodious moan.

: ̗̀➛ "speak up, sweetie." ellie whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. you used the moment of closeness to hold the back of her neck, not letting her pull away. she cocked her head to the side, your gaping lips brushing her earlobe as another whine escaped your throat. you quickly pursed your lips, letting yourself make only muffled sounds. but you didn't last long, as every thrust and every inaudible whimper seemed to forcefully open your mouth from the inside. "don't hold back, i want to hear you." ellie reassured, but much to your surprise she didn't wait with her ear next to your face to hear your response. she tilted her head to face you, making you feel her piercing, but not judgemental, gaze.

: ̗̀➛ you honored her with another moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, to the point your eyelids uncontrollably closed. "mh— fuck." you groaned, your fists clenching around the bed sheets as your chest raised in a deep breath.

: ̗̀➛ "i can make you feel way better." ellie bit her bottom lip, holding back a proud smile. "i can make you be way louder. do you want that?" you huffed, way too dumb to speak up. she could as well start talking about the weather now, and you wouldn't have any idea how hilarious it is. "tell me, doll."

: ̗̀➛ you swallowed up another pornographic sound which wanted to sneak out of your throat. ellie's questions were usually easy to answer, so you thought a simple, weak "yes" will satisfy her.

: ̗̀➛ yet, her only response was an amused "yes... what?" as she brushed your messy hair out of your face.

: ̗̀➛ your face flushed, almost burnt with heat. your hands tightened their grip, bringing her closer, making your face find a spot to hide in - the crook of her neck. "i—" your lips parted again, brushing against her skin. she let out a sound similiar to your whine, as if to mock you, yet there was a loving undertone to it. "want you to make me feel good, els." you quickly murmured, finding a one second break.

: ̗̀➛ "well, i want to see your pretty face as i do." she whispered in a gentle tone, but didn't move away. "you have no idea how beautiful you look under me, with half lidded and watery eyes." she continued and your body slowly got rid of the previous tension, your grip on her also relaxing. she finally withdrew, glaring down at you. "just don't move and look pretty for me, yeah?"

✧˖°

[ferritins]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE (HOT TO GO!) | J. TODD

“I don't care how many years I've known you and how goddamn hot it is; we have not been friends for long enough to excuse you wearing short shorts in my home.”

“Short shorts?” Jason splutters. “They’re not fucking Daisy Dukes! These are US Army issue nylon tricot weave PT shorts! The Marines wear these!”

Yeah, you think, but I strongly doubt the Marines make them look borderline obscene.

Your eyes keep tracking to the thick, corded muscle of thighs, the ochre-gold of tanned skin cut through with dusk-rose scarring, the way the hems of his shorts strain against the sheer bulk of him.

(You’re ogling him. Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to look away.)

“Actually, they phased silkies out of Marine PT uniform issue in 2011.” You say, mouth dry. “The US Armed Forces is responsible for many atrocities, but your slutty choice in shorts is not one of them.”

Realisation of what you've said strikes like a meteor through marzipan. You start throwing silent prayers to every god you can think of that Jason doesn’t pick up on a particular detail of your response.

You can practically see the moment that any divinity that exists in the universe decides to spite you, and the second half of your comment registers in Jason’s head.

He blinks hard, mouth dropping into a comedic little ‘o’.

“Wait a minute. You think my shorts are slutty?”

"...I think that if you can look me in the eye and tell me that three inch inseam shorts aren't a questionable choice when you're packing heat like that, you're lying to both me and yourself.” You reply diplomatically, tearing your eyes away from those delectable thighs.

Jason's ears flush crimson.

“Oh, like your shirt is so much better with that many buttons undone.”

You start, glancing down at yourself. Sure, there's more décolletage on show than you'd perhaps feel strictly comfortable with in public, but your shirt is hardly indecent. You look back up to find Jason's eyes trained on the hook of your collarbone, right at the point where it dips into the suprasternal notch; his eyes flit up to meet yours, pupils blown, as a patchy flush floods his cheeks.

“Wha— are you a bloody Victorian? Is showing a little bit of collarbone in my own apartment really scandalous enough to make you blush?” You ask, laughing a little with incredulity.

“Nothing Victorian about either of us, if the way you were staring at my legs is any indication about how your mind works. ”Jason retorts. Your jaw drops, and Jason snickers. “Yeah, sweetheart, I noticed.”

You feel your blood rush to your face at a frankly mortifying speed, Jason's smirk turning distinctly wolfish at your clear embarrassment.

“Okay, so we're both godless slatterns. Good chat. Glad we can end this here before I die of embarrassment.” You mutter.

Jason quirks an eyebrow.

“Slattern? Why, was ogling my thighs doing it for you, sweetheart? Thinking about how one of them would feel between your own?”

Jason's voice tips into a baritenor rumble at the end of the sentence, the sound sending heat dripping into the pit of your belly.

You can see that goddamn smirk on his face, caught somewhere between teasing and a flash of teeth, clearly enjoying every second of your fluster.

You've got to get your lick back.

“Depends. What was it you were thinking about, Jay? How pretty my collarbone might bruise after you sink your teeth into it? Or is touch more your thing, huh? Wondering about my skin under your fingers?”

The sound that leaves Jason is punched-out, his pupils blowing out to the size of dinner plates.

Your lips quirk up, something like victory in the corners of your smile.

Before you can gloat, you find yourself pressed up into the back of your sofa, Jason we'll and truly in your personal space.

Hovered over you, he’s all supposition; unyielding muscle and sharp lines, hard planes to your soft curves, flooding your nose with the scent of cologne and gunpowder.

You find yourself blinking up into a pair of ink-black pupils, ringed ever so faintly by teal.

“You are playing,” Jason murmurs, “a very dangerous game.”

“Am I winning?” You laugh.

“Fuck.” Jason mutters, husky and emphatic, then; “if you knew how long I’ve wanted—“

He breaks off, a savage huff of breath leaving him.

“Look, if you’re just teasing, I need you to say something now, before—“

With a roll of your eyes, you press your lips to his in a brief, close-mouthed kiss. When you pull back, Jason looks sun-stunned, hope and disbelief warring in his eyes.

“Idiot.” You snark fondly. “You didn’t answer my question. Am I winning?”

A moment, then two, then he’s brushing butterfly kisses to your cheeks, temple, the tip of your nose and the soft hinge of your jaw before, finally, finally, his lips press to yours, close-mouthed and chaste.

The two of you trade slow, shy kisses, soft and sweet until you catch Jason’s full bottom lip between your teeth, tugging slightly.

You hear his breath catch, and the kisses abruptly turn filthy; Jason licking at the seam of your lips until you open up for him, the electric pressure of his tongue against yours, sharp, incisors nipping sharply at your bottom lip.

You could die happily like this, you think; Jason’s hands rucking up your shirt, his mouth on yours, the knowledge of how he tastes burned into your synapses.

When you part, your chest is burning with air hunger, and your lips are spit-slick and puffy.

As much as you’d like to continue, you’re desperate for a cold drink, and only some of the sweat at your hairline is courtesy of your marathon make out.

You say as much to Jason, who groans, full throated, and sucks a savage mark into the side of your neck.

“Okay, you absolute menace. I’ll go grab you a coke, and as soon it gets below 95 in the shade, I’ll show you just how much of a winner you are.”

wallahi england is a godforsaken nation and not just because of r*shi s*nak and k*ir st*rmer. how is the humidity 81% at 11pm at night??? “marley aren’t u african and from desert country” YES. WHERE HOT ALSO MEANS DRY, AS GOD INTENDED.

at least desert country is arid heat.

anyway: Jason Todd good hot, England bad hot (and also a failed state run by cartoonishly corrupt devils, but enough abt britpol).

this one goes out to my fellow Jason Todd apologists @sems-diarie and @stars-n-sweets !!!

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,�� you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

[wonderjanga]

Billy and the Robins

Marvel has met all the Robins up until now. Like, let’s say Billy has been doing this for like eight maybe ten years. This Billy as Marvel met Dick a year before he became Nightwing, met Jason all the way through until his death, met Tim, and met Damian. He’s also been able to connect them to their new vigilante identities almost immediately. Now, Damian still is Robin and of course, Tim going from Robin to Red Robin isn’t too hard to figure out but I can see him doing this to the other two:

*Nightwing just joins the Justice League and all is looking swell so far. His first mission is with Captain Marvel and he remembers the dude being pretty nice. The mission goes well and they’re on their way back to the Watchtower.*

*Two are talking about whatever*

Marvel: *Pauses mid convo and stares at Nightwing a bit before he does a little finger snap* “Oh! That’s where I know you from! You’re Robin! Dude, it is so cool you became your own hero. The blue’s awesome.”

Nightwing: *Has a mini-heart attack* “Wha? Psshh… Dude, I’m not Robin.”

Marvel: “Uh… Yeah you are? You guys have the same” *gestures to Nightwing*

Nightwing: “The same what?”

Marvel: “You know. The same” *gestures to Nightwing again* Nightwing: “You do know that doesn’t tell me anything… right?”

or

*Zatanna, her father, and Constantine are unavailable to help with a magic artifact. This led Bruce to begrudgingly ask Billy for help. At the scene are Bruce, Billy, Damian, Cassandra, and Jason. Bruce is briefing them on something Marvel isn’t listening to as he stares at Jason trying to figure out why he’s familiar.*

Marvel: *cuts Bruce off* “Aren’t you Robin number 2?” *ignores the stares as he looks at Jason.*

*silence from literally everyone*

Marvel: “Holy moly. You’re like 6’2.” (He says as if his Marvel form isn’t like 6’11. I love freakishly tall Marvel) “You used to be so tiny!”

Red Hood: *Gets hit in the face with a flashback*

//Flashback//

(Recently adopted Jason)

Jason: *sitting on a couch in one of the Watchtower’s rec rooms eyeing a box of donuts on a coffee table.*

Marvel: *walks into rec room with the intent to steal said donuts as food for Billy. Sees Jason.* “Robin?” *Walks over.* “You look… different.”

Jason: *fumbling for words, slightly surprised a hero came up to talk to him* “Oh uh- I’m not Robin- Your Robin. The Robin that you know.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well, that’s kinda obvious. You’re all skin and bones, kid.”

*The joke was met with no laughs and a look of hurt.*

Marvel: “Not- not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing! As somebody who frequently lived on ketchup sandwiches and sugar water at your age,” (as if he isn’t still that age, and still lives like that) “trust me when I say, I’m not making fun of you.” *grabs the box of donuts and offers it to Jason* “Look, why don’t you take one of these, or maybe a couple. I saw you eying them when I walked in. I’m sorry if you got upset at what I said.” *really doesn’t want Jason to cry*

Jason: *grabs two donuts. Chocolate and strawberry* “Why?”

Marvel: “Why what?”

Jason: “Why’d you live like that at my age?” (He finds it surprising this guy, this hero, lived like that at some point.)

Marvel: *contemplates whether or not telling Jason is a good idea for like 3 seconds before he throws it out the window* “I was homeless.” *shrugs*

Jason: “Oh. Me too.” *nibbles on one of the donuts*

*After a while of awkward conversation, Marvel soon gets Jason to open up and they branch away from the topic homelessness and spiral into other topics. Jason goes back to Bruce with a smile on his little face*

*After that, and a couple more encounters between the two, Marvel was the first person Jason bee-lined too at the Watchtower. Of course, not before saying hi to Wonder Woman. Greek heroes hold a special place in his heart for some reason.*

//End of Flashback//

*Under the helmet, Jason’s face slowly reddens in embarrassment and he just facepalms, not caring that he hit the metal of his helmet as he went through memories upon memories of little him following Marvel around like a little duckling.*

[wcters]

𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗡 𝗢𝗨𝗧

pairing: lando norris x fem!driver!reader

word count: 1.2k+

summary: your boyfriend is there as you crash out in a race

warnings: pda, some swearing, injury mentions, protective lando, i guessed on some stuff | i do not know how certain things work in f1 so if i messed that up i am sorry 😚😔

Your pre-race playlist filled your ears as you leaned the side of your body against the wall of the track barrier. Even though you’d done this so many times before, it doesn’t lessen the nerves in your body. It wasn’t even your first time on this track, yet it had you picking the skin off you fingers as you zoned out.

You were pulled out as someone came up behind you and wrapped their arms around your waist, grabbing your hands and holding them in theirs. You knew who it was right when you saw their hands. You looked behind you to see your boyfriend. You freed your hand from one of Lando’s and took out an earbud. “Stop picking.” Is the first thing you heard out of him.

“Sorry,” you replied as you took the hand still holding his and brining it up to your mouth and kissed his knuckles, “just nervous.” He smiled softly at you and turned you around to pull you into his chest. “I know, but you’re going to do great.” “So I guess you see the future now, yeah?” You joked. He shrugged his shoulders, “one of my many talents.” “Sure.”

Lando had come to see you race because it was the one race that didn’t take place at the same time as his did. The Bahrain Grand Prix had just taken place about three days before. He had taken a day to himself before he came and joined you in Jeddah. It was challenging with both of your schedules but you made it work, you always did. You both knew the risks and the troubles of two F1 drivers dating, and you both were prepared.

He poked your cheek. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” He asked you. “Yeah. Just have a feeling something will go wrong today.” You said lowly as you looked at the cars on the track. “You’ll be fine, y/n. You’ve had this before and nothing happened.” You nodded into his chest as you breathed in and out. Right as you pulled away your race engineer came up to you and told you it was time. Lando kissed you and wished you good luck as you handed him your phone and earbuds and put your mask and helmet on.

Time passed quickly ━━ probably because of the adrenaline ━━ and before you knew it you were in your car watching the lights. Your hands felt sweaty under your gloves as you didn’t dare to blink. You didn’t want to miss it. As the lights went out, your car came to life and you sped ahead. That feeling of something going wrong was still there but you tried to shake it off and focus on the race.

Lando was in the garage with your engineer and mechanics, eyes peeled on the screen. He noticed how shaken up you were and he was worried. Like he said to you, you’d felt this before but this time he could tell something about it was different. His hands were shaking as he kept his eyes on you and talked to your engineer to try to calm himself down.

Your voice interrupted his senses as he watched you enter your 24th lap. “Somethings up with the tires, I’m getting no grip.” His eyes flicked to the man beside him. “Noted. See if you can hold on a little longer.” Your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Got it.” Lando was left alone after that as your engineer got up to talk to the mechanics.

When the big screen showed your car, Lando got worried. He saw how little traction your tires had and how you were slipping on your turns. He could hear the commentators voice as well commenting on that as you finish the 27th turn and get ready to start your 25th lap.

As he watched you speed up the track, he didn’t even notice until after it happened. As you tried to turn on the first turn, you tires skidded across the track and you couldn’t complete the second turn, causing your car to crash into the barrier. It didn’t look too bad, but all Lando could hear was silence and all he could think about is if you were okay.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Your engineers voice cut into the silence of the radio. He got even more worried when you didn’t answer. “Y/n? Baby?” Lando asked into the headset. More silence. He turned around to see if anyone knew what was happening until he finally heard your voice.

“Doing great.” You grunted. “Nothings broken ━━ I don’t think ━━ but my side does hurt. I think I might’ve bruised it when I hit the barrier.” Lando sighed it relief. He was right, it wasn’t too bad. Nothing was broken and you thought it was just a bruise.

“The safety car’s been deployed and it heading your way. Don’t go running anywhere.” You engineer instructed you. “Not going anywhere,” you joked with a light laugh before a hiss came out. With only some trouble you eventually made it out of the car and sat against the barrier to wait for the safety car. You could tell that Lando was worried by the sound of his voice . . . and because you know him. You and him were on the same wavelength, if you could describe it in any way. You felt things the same, and because of that you knew how the other was feeling. You felt the same when he crashed in the Las Vegas GP. It was almost the same too, you spinning out and hitting the barrier. It was entirely coincidental.

You sighed in relief when you saw the safety car ━━ you were ready to get out of there. Your side hurt like a bitch, way more than it did before, and your legs were starting to get tingly. The adrenaline must be wearing out. Lando never turned his gaze away from the screen as they put you in the safety car. He knew you were in good hands, but it ultimately didn’t matter to him. Anything could go wrong.

Lando was right beside you when you got out of the safety car and taken to the doctors on site before you were taken to the hospital. As you were in getting checked out the the doctors, Lando was rambling. “They should’ve taken you off the tires when you told them. They should’ve taken it more seriously. If they had then ━━“ You interrupted him by putting your hand over the one that was holding yours. “It’s fine. If I had felt more nervous I would’ve boxed anyway. Plus, Will would’ve done the same and you would be acting like me. It’s not their fault.”

He sighed, and you knew he knew that you were right. “I know, I just worry.” You kissed his hand, “I know you do. And I do too when the same things happen to you. But I’m fine. They’ll take me to the hospital where they’ll double check I have no injuries. If it makes you feel better I’ll even let you check.” You joked. He laughed and shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

The doctors eventually told you that you were good to go to the hospital. Nothing looked too bad, but it was standard procedure. You sat up with a groan and Lando immediately made a face. You shot him a look. “C’mon, I’m fine.” He didn’t agree. You rolled your eyes. “Let’s go, you’re coming with me to the ambulance. Maybe they’ll let you turn on the sirens.”

[rafesangelita]

rafe + corruption kink

warnings: flirting, teasing, groping

“how come you’re here if parties aren’t your thing?” rafe currently had an arm draped over your shoulders, his hand resting on your thigh as he gazed down at your pretty face. “my friend wanted me to get out for a while..” you bit your lip, glancing up at the handsome stranger before quickly looking away. rafe smiled at your nervous antics. you gave him the impression that you’re not used to being in close proximity with men, and that idea enticed him more than he cared to admit. “do you know my name?” rafe watched your breathing quicken when he started rubbing shapes into your skin, his hand slowly moving under the hem of your dress.

“no.. i’m sorry, am i supposed to?” he leaned down so his lips were right next to your ear. “well, you’re in my house.” your eyes widened slightly. “really?! you have a beautiful home.” you smiled nervously. “yeah? you like it?” he got up, taking your hand in his, “wanna see more?” you nodded, fully expecting him to show you the pool outside, or maybe the bar in the corner of the living room, but instead you found yourself following him upstairs. “tell me..?” he trailed off, “y/n.” you answered, swallowing thickly as you two entered his bedroom. “y/n, i’m rafe. do you have a boyfriend?”

he guided you to his bed where he pulled you on top of his lap. “umm, no.. but i go on dates sometimes.” nervously fiddling with the ring on your finger, rafe hummed. “dates, huh? do these dates go anywhere?” he stroked your hair softly, tucking a few strands behind your ear as you shook your head. “i don’t think i understand what you’re asking.” your voice was small, the feeling of his fingertips on your skin made butterflies flutter in your tummy. “do they get to have their way with you?” his tone sent shivers down your spine. “like if we kiss and stuff? no.” you felt embarrassed saying it out loud.

rafe cursed under his breath at the revelation, his cock hardening in his shorts. “how come?” he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way you shifted in his lap. “i don’t know, i just get scared i’m going to disappoint them.” you shrugged. “and why is that?” finally, you looked up, meeting his eyes. “because i’ve never done anything before.” it was like a switch flipped in his brain, and the only thing rafe could think about was stuffing you with his cock and turning you into his own personal slut. “do you want to?” his hand was back under your dress, as if to coax you to say yes.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking at him. “you’ll teach me?” rafe watched your eyes sparkle as you waited for him to answer. “baby, i’ll do so much more than teach you. i’ll make you feel so good you won’t even know what to do with yourself.” you nodded before a word could leave your lips. “you’d do that?” rafe smiled, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties. “of course,” he cooed, “but only under one condition.” your stare faltered when you felt a single digit slide between your folds. “no one else except me can touch this pretty pussy.”

[celestialprincesse]

🎀💞

I just know that Simon Riley wants his face sat on🤭

nsfw below the cut 🪷 mdni

You'd always been a little shy when it came to sex, understandably so considering that your boyfriend was a real life Adonis, some kind of cruelly beautiful deity come to taunt you for your prudishness. Obviously, you and Simon had done it, you'd fucked countless times when he came back from deployments or frustrated from debriefings gone bad, but it was always, for lack of a better word, tame. You'd always assumed, given his past, that he wouldn't be down to have sex, period. The beginning of your relationship was a minefield of navigating boundaries and understanding the complexity of the beautiful man you got to share your bed with. What you foolishly failed to recognise, however, is that whist you subconsciously saw Simon as wounded, he saw your fragility as clear as day, like a ripple under the surface of clear water.

He'd aways been so impossibly gentle with you, even when you'd wanted things differently, too afraid to ask him and send Simon spiralling back into that dark place he'd only recently been pulled from.

"Want you to fuck my face." Simon's deadpan voice snaps you from your reverie, brings you back to where you lay sprawled and waiting in the centre of your shared bed.

"I'm sorry?" You barely manage to splutter, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at where he sits patiently between your knees, not even needing to look down to your panties to know that your cunt is already dripping.

"Fuck, love." The sound of his exasperated sigh makes you feel like you've done something wrong, but the almost pained crinkle of his eyes confuses you. "You need me to spell it out? I'd like you to sit on my face and let me eat you out." Simon's words make you choke, jaw hanging agape as you process the fact that not only is he willing to take such a step in your sexual relationship, but also that he's so seemingly comfortable with the idea of you essentially fucking his face. Sure, he's eaten you out before, but never in such a compromising way. "Are you -" A soft kiss being placed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is enough to silence you as you look down at Simon practically grovelling between your legs.

"If you don't want to, you can say no, baby." "It's not that I don't want to. I just don't want to - fuck." You huff, slumping back against the mattress with a sigh as you struggle to find the words you need to express the way you feel. "You don't want to fuck?" He smirks wickedly at you, one hand still cradling your outer thigh as he presses his cheek to the warm skin, trying to lighten the mood. Ease you up a bit. "Simon." "Tell me what you're thinking. I'll make it make sense." God he's always so unbearably patient. It almost has you in tears.

"I just - I'm not so confident with stuff like that, you know? I mean it took us six months of having sex for me to even feel comfortable enough to ride you. Now you want me to sit on your face?"

Simon's eyes soften at your reasoning, and he practically drags himself up the bed until he's face to face with you, propping himself up on his elbows to stare down at your face, so beautifully flushed and bashful.

"If you don't want to do it, that's fine, but I need you to know, that I look at you and get hard okay? You're the most beautiful thing I've seen. Ever. If I died by being suffocated between your legs? Fuckin' kill me already, yeah?"

His words have you giggling softly as you play with his hair, distracting yourself from the burning arousal in the pit of your tummy.

"Okay." You nod, slowly, meeting his eye to make sure that he sees you're serious. "You don't have to say yes if you're not sure." "I'm sure, but can we go slow?" "Of course, baby. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with."

It doesn't take long for you to be sat nervously on Simon's hips, clothes piled on the floor, discarded in order for you to sit naked atop him, bottom lip pulled nervously between your teeth. "Do I just -" You point awkwardly between the general vicinity of your cunt to Simon's face, heart fluttering when you catch the way he gazes up at you like some sort of statue, some masterpiece. "Mhm." He nods slowly, pupils blown impossibly wide, the chocolate of his gaze turning almost entirely black. You feel his massive palms take your hips, guiding you up to your knees before settling your slick cunt just over his face.

"Sit." He grunts when he doesn't immediately feel the press of you against his mouth, his nose barely touching your puffy clit. "What if I hurt you?" "I'll let you know. Now, sit." Before you know it, his fingers are digging into your hips, leaving you gasping at the suddenly overwhelming sensation of his entire lower face stuffed against your pussy.

"Holy sh-" You whine, already beginning to roll your hips in search of stimulation, all whilst Simon gives a contented hum which rumbles through you and has you clenching around nothing. His hands guide your hips in their rhythm as his tongue licks a flat stripe between your wet folds, leaving you stuttering and your eyes rolling back, all whilst you grip onto his hair like of you let go he'll disappear entirely.

He sets a languorous pace with his tongue, eating at you like you're his final meal, hands digging firmly at the meat of your ass whilst he uses the slight bump at the bridge of his nose to press up against your clit, making you dizzy. Whilst he uses both hands to guide you, you use the hand not tangled into his hair to roll a hardened nipple between your thumb and forefinger, the sensation going straight to your pussy and making you gasp. Simon, perceptive as ever, notices your want and pushes his tongue inside you to push just that little bit further - and he can tell that you're close by the way your thighs clench around his ears and the fact that you're wonderfully more vocal than usual.

Similarly, sensing your oncoming orgasm, you desperately attempt to pull yourself off of him, all of a sudden shy about cumming on his face like you haven't done it countless times before. Your wriggling is met with a small slap to your ass which has you seeing stars as the small sting snaps the elastic band stretching taut in your lower belly, and Simon laps up every bit that you'll give him.

"Didn't think that men like me got to go to heaven." Simon sighs when you both lay sprawled and happy in bed together.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I did not intend to write 1.1k of smut when I opened my laptop this evening but boundaries and communication are just so !! sexy !!

N e ways I'll just leave this here for y'all💕