#⠀᳞‿‿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀᳞‿‿ ⠀⠀♥︎⠀⠀⠀᳞‿‿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀᳞‿‿

[rainandsugarcane2000]

@lesbian-avenue

[blu3-b3rry-88]

Professor Sylus~ because Sylus assuming positions of authority is my favorite take ♥ More art on Patreon~

[poyopoyosim]

🩷ELVINA | SKINBLEND & LIP PRESETS SET

ELVINA SKINBLEND FACE A

15 swatches / HQ compatible / TEEN-ELDER compatible

ELVINA SKINBLEND FACE B

15 swatches / HQ compatible / TEEN-ELDER compatible

LIP PESETS N10-12

CHILD-ELDER compatible

DOWNLOAD HERE 🦋

EARLY ACCESS

Tag me when you use my CC so I can see your creations!🩷

Thanks for your support ♥

[piastriprincess]

guess i'm a bad liar  ⸻  alex  albon  x  reader  .

featuring  alex  albon  ,  russell!reader  ,  secret  relationship  ,  george  russell  being  a  messy  bitch  who  lives  for  drama author’s  note  had  this  insane  idea  and  simply  had  to  make it happen  as  soon  as  possible  because  i’m  deep  in  my  alex  feels  .  one  thing  i  love  to  do  is  put  alex  albon  in  a  situation  .  as always let me know what you think and please  enjoy  <3  title  is  from  bad  liar  by  selena  gomez  !

liked by georgerussell63, alexandrasaintmleux, and 432,225 others yn.russell a little silver for silvo ⛓️ pants and jacket by me, hat(s) by mercedes

user1 MOTHER HAS RETURNED TO THE PADDOCK carmenmmundt Vibes are immaculate as always ♥ liked by author ⤷ yn.russell coming from you!!!! miss you so much xx ⤷ carmenmmundt Miss you more! user2 George kinda giving Peaky Blinders in that hat ♥ liked by author user3 tell me these pants will be in the new collection!! georgerussell63 Delete this right now or I’m blocking you ⤷ yn.russell ummmmm george can you not lash out with unnecessary anger and borderline violence right now… user4 russell siblings most random crossover of the century like wdym one kid is an f1 driver and one is a designer… mercedesamgf1 Please keep bullying George on main queen we love it! ⤷ yn.russell give him a contract renewal and i will!! commit or quit cowards 😤😤 alex_albon where’s the williams blue representation… ♥ liked by author ⤷ yn.russell saving it for next time you actually finish a race <3 ⤷ alex_albon ouch!

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liked by carmenmmundt, alex_albon, and 551,312 others yn.russell spring into summer 🌿💌☁️🌷🫧

user8 WHOSE SNEAKERS alexandrasaintmleux Neeeeeeed to come visit the atelier soon ♥ liked by author ⤷ yn.russell ANY TIME sweets !! text me, we’ll set something upppp user9 soft launching a new man AND a new collection … oh mother is mothering georgerussell63 You’re doing this on PURPOSE georgerussell63 I have RIGHTS you know. ⤷ yn.russell you also had the right not to shrink my one direction tee in the laundry in 2014 but here we are xx alex_albon did you post this just to watch him spiral ♥ liked by author user10 swear to god lando has the exact same blue trainers as #thatman ⤷ lando not me mate 🤫 ⤷ georgerussell63 LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW user11 lizzy caption oh she’s in loveeee ♥ liked by author

───────── ☆ ───────── to: Y/N Russell <ynrussell@gmail.com> from: George Russell <george.russell63@mercedesamgf1.com> cc: Alex Albon <aa23@williamsf1.co.uk> subject: URGENT - Formal Inquiry Into Your Nonsense attached: 📎 Mystery_Man_Investigation_FINAL.pptx

Dear baby sister whom I love so much, 

I hope this email finds you well. Although I suspect it finds you somewhere smug, sipping iced lattes with Mr. Blue Trainers.

Let me begin by stating the obvious: you are soft launching. You are doing it intentionally, strategically, and with what I can only describe as malicious glee. You are doing it solely to annoy me. And though I hate to admit it, it is working.

As you well know, I recently launched a full-scale investigation into your secret boyfriend’s identity. I’ve attached a PowerPoint presentation detailing my initial findings (compiled in partnership with Alex, who, frankly, was disturbingly good at this.) It includes:

Comprehensive suspect board, including names, potential connections, and Instagram handles

Cross-analysis of shortlisted suspects and their known beverage/shoe preferences

Full-scale timeline of events from speculated first meeting to recent posts

The investigation remains active. I’m asking that you please review my findings and kindly disclose the identity of this man so I can begin the necessary background checks. And possibly threaten him a little.

With immense frustration, George Russell (your older brother. BLOOD RELATED TO YOU. In case you forgot.)

PS: If this is really payback for the One Direction t-shirt, I would potentially be willing to admit fault and negotiate terms of forgiveness provided that I get a name.

—

to: George Russell <george.russell63@mercedesamgf1.com> from: Y/N Russell <ynrussell@gmail.com> cc: Alex Albon <aa23@williamsf1.co.uk> subject: re: URGENT - Formal Inquiry Into Your Nonsense

Hello,

Thank you for reaching out to Y/N Russell Designs. We appreciate your inquiry and your continued support of our brand!

At this time, however, we are unable to disclose information regarding creative direction, atelier operations, or the personal life and romantic affiliations of our founder. We understand your curiosity, and can assure you that all public-facing content is crafted with care and intention and aligned with the brand’s identity. 

If you have any further questions or believe you may have reached us in error, feel free to respond or to reach out to our press team at hello@ynrusselldesigns.com or via the contact form on our website. One of our team members will be happy to assist you. Please allow 5-7 business days for a response. Or 5-7 months, if your name is George Russell and you’re STICKING YOUR NOSE INTO MY BUSINESS.

Thank you again for being part of our family! (NOT!!!!!!)

Best,

Client Services Team

—

to: Y/N Russell <ynrussell@gmail.com> from: George Russell <george.russell63@mercedesamgf1.com> cc: Alex Albon <aa23@williamsf1.co.uk> subject: re: re: URGENT - Formal Inquiry Into Your Nonsense attached: 📎 Mystery_Man_Investigation_v2_FINALFORREAL.pptx

Do you think I’m stupid? No, seriously. Do you??

This is your PERSONAL EMAIL ADDRESS. I literally taught you how to use Gmail!!!!! Also, “Client Services Team?” Be serious. I’ve seen you answer customer emails at 2 AM while eating Frosties straight from the box. You and I both know you’re a one-woman operation. A completely unhinged one, but still. 

Though you were entirely unhelpful, I’ve made inroads regardless. The PowerPoint has been updated with additional evidence — Alex helped me zoom and enhance on your sunglasses photo from two weeks ago. Based on the reflection, we can confirm that the mystery man has dark hair and is approximately 177cm-185cm tall. The net is closing. But you still have the chance to tell me who it is before I figure it out myself.

Look, I’m not trying to be dramatic here, and I don’t want to ruin your happiness or stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I just want to make sure this guy, whoever he is, is good enough for my baby sister. 

Love, George

—

to: George Russell <george.russell63@mercedesamgf1.com> from: Y/N Russell <ynrussell@gmail.com> cc: Alex Albon <aa23@williamsf1.co.uk> subject: re: re: re: URGENT - Formal Inquiry Into Your Nonsense

georgie!!!

that was so cute. i always knew you actually liked me!! …still not telling you though xx

Sent from my iPhone

ps: at least, not right now. okay?? pps: it’s not about the one direction tee btw. but i really do deserve compensation for that. that was original up all night tour merch!!! 

—

to: Y/N Russell <ynrussell@gmail.com>, George Russell <georgerussell.63@mercedesamgf1.com> from: Alex Albon <aa23@williamsf1.co.uk> subject: re: re: re: re: URGENT - Formal Inquiry Into Your Nonsense

Can the two of you stop cc’ing me on your bickering? Please? Love you both deeply but I’m in a strategy meeting and Vowles looks like he might kill me if my phone buzzes one more time. 

Alex ───────── ☆ ─────────

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liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, and 611,053 others yn.russell tell a friend to tell a friend… she’s baaaaaack (in the paddock)

user15 waiting for the inevitable george crashout in these comments ♥ liked by author georgerussell63 Why must you torment me every race weekend. ⤷ yn.russell i prefer to call it making your life interesting mercedesamgf1 Our favorite guest 🤩 user16 she’s been at so many races recently… wag energy going off ⤷ user17 ew that’s her brother you freaks! ♥ liked by author user18 SHE’S SO UNSERIOUS LMFAO lando can you please stop soft launching on race days george doesn't believe it's not me and i'm getting scared he's gonna shunt me into the wall carmenmmundt Love this blue moment! ⤷ alex_albon looks familiar! ♥ liked by author ⤷ user19 alex said it’s my turn to have yn in the garage for the weekend

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───────── ☆ ───────── you have (3) missed calls from georgie porgie • listen to voicemails?

0:24 ▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

“Hey. Uh, I was looking for you and no one in the garage knew where you went, and — I just saw your story. Are you… are you with Alex? I mean. That’s a joke, right? Please tell me that’s not real. Because if it was real that would mean that the both of you have been lying right to my face for god knows how long. And neither of you would do that to me. So. Just, uh, call me back, yeah?”

0:28 ▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

“Don’t bother trying to come up with another lie. Carmen just told me everything. I cannot believe this. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Do you have any idea how stupid I feel right now? I asked Alex to help me figure out who you were dating, and he let me just sit there making theories and spreadsheets and bloody PowerPoints and the whole time it was him? What, were you both just laughing behind my back this entire time? You’ve let me make a complete idiot of myself. You know what? Don’t call back. I have nothing else to say to you.”

0:11 ▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

“And another thing. You know, you and Alex? I would have been fine with it if either of you had just told me. I mean, eventually. Probably. Maybe. But you didn’t even give me the chance. I mean, he’s my best mate, you’re my sister. You’re both my family. I dunno, I just… I thought I would’ve mattered enough to both of you to tell me about it.” ───────── ☆ ─────────

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liked by alex_albon, carmenmmundt, and 882,941 others yn.russell yeah okay YOU GOT US!!! guess i’m a bad liar too. best year ever with this one, love you @ alex_albon 

user20 oh my god obsessed with this!!!!!!! georgerussell63 Gross. ♥ liked by author ⤷ alex_albon sorry mate :-/ ⤷ georgerussell63 You’re lucky you make her happy! ⤷ yn.russell love you georgie porgieeeee user21 i knew it was yn in that pap photo !!!! the outfit was so chic ♥ liked by author user22 neeeeeed to know george’s reaction ⤷ yn.russell generational crashout tbh ⤷ georgerussell63 It was warranted!!!  user23 ALEX ALBON??? ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??? kimi.antonelli Finally! Now I do not have to keep the secret anymore ♥ liked by author ⤷ georgerussell63 YOU KNEW? ⤷ yn.russell careful what you say kimi, he’s gonna force you to sit through the powerpoint presentation on betrayal too user24 ive only had alexyn for five minutes but if anything happens to them i will kill everyone in this room and myself alex_albon i love you so much :-) ♥ liked by author ⤷ yn.russell SIMP 🤣🫵 (i love you more actually)

[ssavaart]

I GOT MY FIRST BOOK REVIEW!!!

A whole HALF STAR from my son Brendan (who is SO tired of hearing about my book) 😅

The book isn't even out yet (it comes out in November) and it's my first ever book and I'm really nervous and he's just sick of hearing me be nervous about it)

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/790575/becoming-an-artist-by-scott-christian-sava/9781401996932/

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

[miraihikariart]

Shiori Novella ♥

[diminuel]

Emperor of the Sea? Nope, sunshine baby ♥

The prompt was: Croc hugging and kissing Luffy, embarrassing him. Though I'm sure Luffy wouldn't be too embarrassed because he is used to hugs and kisses but it's strange for it to happen in public like this!

And if the crew teased him a little (once they got over the the surprise of seeing Crocodile so cuddly) he'd maybe get a bit embarrassed.

[ember-des-meeres]

Good times, for a change See, the luck I've had Can make a good man turn bad So please, please, please Let me, let me, let me Let me get what I want this time Haven't had a dream in a long time See, the life I've had Can make a good man bad So, for once in my life Let me get what I want Lord knows it would be the first time Lord knows it would be the first time

"Perhaps The Smiths at their most delicate, 'Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want' is a minimal, yet lush two minutes of almost otherworldly beauty."

— Reuben Tasker

[i6corais]

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀nicknames

𝗍𝗈𝖽⍺𝗒⠀⠀𝓘𝗌⠀⠀ೋ⠀⠀𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄⠀⠀

⊹⠀⠀𝗆⍺𝗇𝗍𝗋⍺⠀⠀𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅,⠀⠀𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄.

𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗅𝗀𝗂'𝗌⠀⠀𝖻⍺𝖻𝗒⠀⠀𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 ❀

୨ৎ⠀⠀𝗈𝗇𝖾⠀⠀𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇,⠀⠀𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄

♡⠀⠀👐🏻⠀🪹⠀🌰⠀⠀1. ⠀𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀playlist

꒰◍ ´꒳ ◍꒱◞⠀⠀♡⠀⠀𝗳𝗼𝗿⠀⠀𝗄⍺𝗇𝗀⠀⠀𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗅𝗀𝗂

𝗆⍺𝗒𝖻𝖾⠀⠀𝗂⠀⠀𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌⠀⠀𝗒𝗈𝗎⠀⠀ᶻ 𝘇⠀⠀𓇼

𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾⠀⠀𝗂𝗌⠀⠀𝗁⍺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋,⠀⠀𝖻𝗎𝗍⠀⠀𝗂𝗌⠀⠀𝗈𝗄⍺𝗒

레드벨벳⠀⠀강슬기⠀⠀𝗀𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗌⠀𝖼𝗁⍺𝗈𝗌.

⎯⎯⠀⠀✿.⠀⠀𝓢𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗌⠀⠀—⠀⠀𔘺 𝗃⍺𝗓𝗓

[bloodstainedmuzzle]

Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023) Leon S. Kennedy [ 1 / ??? ]

[limerlove]

1k for my little poetry piece. oh, i love y’all bad.

A BOUQUET OF GREED, A COUNTRY GIRL WITH NEEDS

pairing. bullrider!abby x fem!reader

eighteen+, minors dni. cowgirl!abby essentially, this is smut with the tiniest amount of plot, cheating (don't cheat on your partner y'all), strap!sex, munchcity, some excessive profanity.

“If your girlfriend could ride a bull this good, maybe she would actually beat me.” With her thick accent cutting through, not moving an inch, Abby is cemented in her ego.

Before tonight, she would believe the blazing heat swarming in your eyes had been a figment of her imagination. But then you’re dragging her to the back seat of her truck.

It’s a lucky break. Abby’s charm, her stroke of cockiness enabling her to leave a baby pink strap in her glove compartment.

An arrogant goddess for you to tame but seems all she’s doing is crushing you. Pleasing you. Doing everything in her power to have this moment ricochet in an everlasting timeline, one you’ll be forced to keep tucked away in your mind.

A sultry secret for the sinners to guard.

“Abs—” With a single glance, you warn her through accusatory eyes but she draws your sensitive and perked nipple in her mouth, flicking her tongue as she massages the other.

Intense cries escalate, a needy ache settling over you — a scratch you can’t reach — and she’s enjoying the fuck out of you bouncing on her cock.

Devious blue eyes look through blonde eyelashes, her signature hat on your pretty head. Even if you aren’t hers, you sure do look like it. All it took was some pretty words flying out of her mouth and your girl steaming after a loss to send you in the right direction.

“Keep ridin’, darling. You wanna be my cowgirl?” Abby shifts her hips upwards, thank fuck, but she gives you no time to adjust.

You nod, giving your supple compliance.

“Then enjoy the ride, sweetheart.”

With a firm hand on your ass, she guides your hips to meet the push the prized object inside of you, unable to stop yourself — all you can offer is clear submission.

“Oh fuck, Abbbyyyy, it’s—”

Eyes rolling into the back of your head as she fucks up into you vigorously, each moment she keeps on her mind, committing to a memory she never wishes to forget.

Each glide of her cock feels like an angel’s touch christening her swollen, puffy lips to perfection. There’s too much to answer for but her stupid southern accent wants to punish you further.

“Pretty slut you are. An even prettier angel just begging to be fucked right.” You can’t help but whimper in downright agony, your clit being abused isn’t enough. Desperately you need her to fuck you for the rest of your life.

Even so, an eternity of her lips, that mouth, these hypnotic hips encased in godly strength — it’s not enough. Unless you can have her whenever your sin feels the desire to reach, it can’t be.

“Need you, baby. Please. Don’t stop.” Whatever pride you were so desperate to cling onto evaporates like dandelions in the spring breeze.

“Yeah? Tell me what you need, sweet girl.” Abby smirks like she’s the best fuck you’ve ever had. The only thing you despise more is how true the statement rings.

Like a rooster before sunrise, you’re not sure what’s louder right now. You or the feathered friend.

“I wanna come, Abby. I-I’m so f-fucking close.” You desperately plead, as you slam yourself on her, using every bit of it to your advantage. There’s nothing more you want, a release to forget it all. The guilt floods your soul but she splits you like the red sea. 

Even god could forgive this. 

“Then tell me who the best bull rider is and I’ll get you there.”

“I think I’m handling the bull quite nicely. Maybe I’m better than you.”

“How about with a little pressure?” Abby questions before she’s pushing her thumb inside your mouth. A velvet tongue swirls, pulling off with a pop, when your drool glides to your chin.

Intricate, soft and full — there’s harmony in the way she circles your clit. “You’re so much better, god baby, no one has fucked me like this. Ever.”

It’s meant to be a mumble. A thought to be trapped in the forefront of your mind. But it releases out in the wild and she relishes every word. Caging your sinful moans in her lips, a lock only she can break, you come completely undone.

Bucking like a wild horse being broken for the first time, just in time for the show.

“Don’t be shy now, pretty girl, let me hear you. You’re my fucking girl, my pussy to fuck — my cock making this slutty cunt spill.”

Abby keen on being unforgettable, slaps yours ass as she fucks you through the highest of pleasure. Until shakes take over your body as you cling onto her frame.

For a moment, just when you think you’re free, when you’ve given all you have to offer. Abby hasn’t quite had her fill. Laying you out where you’re comfortable, pushing your leg up to your chest, flattening her tongue at the head of the rose, watching as each petal begins to blossom. 

“You don’t have to—”

Abby moans your name and wages wars with each stroke of her tongue. The sweetest pussy she’s ever tasted. It reminds of her strawberry syrup, craving for your taste to stain the muscle of her tongue with the cries that shiver in the back of your throat. 

Weaving your hands in her golden roots, you push her into where she desires to be, head first into the thick of you accepting home. Flourishing as ever, she calls for you to return home — one you never knew you had to begin with. 

A destiny of intervention. 

Fuck, she’s practically made for it.

She consumes like a woman starved. As if Abby has thought of nothing else but this moment in weeks. You in her bright red chevy pickup, a long white stripe down the middle, each piece of stainless steel polished to perfection. A gem in her prized possession is a homecoming of some sort, one she forced by the will of her hand. 

But she’s always been the greedy type. Dying to eat more than her serving, taking you right off of someone else’s plate.

Never has she been shy to become the sinister succubus lingering in the shadows, praying to exploit the humming tucked in your finely laced panties that lie ripped on the floorboard. 

Opening her eyes and looking up to get a glance. You’re right there with her, hanging on her every move. Much to your surprise, she leans forward, chin resting on your soft stomach as you’re petrified. 

With fear? With love? Who’s to say what’s worse.

It’s a small saying, one you’ve heard the minute you call this small corner of the world your home — a devotion of the devil marks the sins of a fallen angel — some notion of superiority to keep satanic measures distant from the pure hearted. 

There was warning of this selfishness, the sinful heart and how it flourishes at the bottomless pit of dead roses, the light so hard to reach when the devil splits you apart for her pleasure alone.

A bouquet of greed will only bring you closer to her heart. Hands reach for the vines, pulling the petal from stem.

One by one, the immoralities of a fallen angel become righteous discipleship. Abby reaches for your hand and she smooths her fingers over a fluttering cunt. Every exquisite fold that belongs to her, and with a jerk of your hips, you fall into her command. 

“You’re gonna call her.” Abby speaks softly, her honey-soaked spills over. When she talks like this, you’ll do anything she asks. “And you’ll try not to moan my name when you talk to her but you know what’s going to happen, darling?”

“What?” A slap to your pussy sends you shaking in desperate despair.

“I’m not stopping until you do.”

[slipng]

᭨ ྀlighters.

[hillhomed]

just FYI!

[videos-i-didnt-make]

nintendogs.mp4

[thegr33nc0met]

holy peak🔥🔥🦅🦅💯🙏

but seriously this is so good

howdy! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests or not so feel free to ignore this if not:)

but if you areeeee i was wondering if you’d write something for joaquin torres x roommate!reader where after his injury in cabnw, he’s super horny but it hurts his arm to jerk off:( so ofc reader notices how moody he is from being so pent up and he begs them to help him when confronted??

no big deal if not! love your writing:3

notes: zoo wee mama of courseee. i love this... so hot. + thank u angel <33 mwah

warnings: 18+ smut, handjob, pent up and horny, mentions of humping etc, sub!joaquín / dom!reader, no anatomy mentioned so gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.8k

—

Joaquín Torres is in agony. Not in that casual, exaggerated way people toss the word around. This is actual, bone-deep, soul-crushing fucking torture.

The ceiling fan spins lazily above him, stirring the humid air in his room just enough to make him sweat more. His sheets stick to his back, damp and wrinkled from his constant tossing. Every breath feels heavier than the last, heat coiling low in his gut, and his good hand—his only functional hand—lies clenched in a tight fist on his bare stomach. He’s hard again. Of course he is. Like clockwork. Same time every night, same pulsing, unbearable ache, same half-assed attempt to get himself off that ends in a sharp curse and a sore fucking arm.

He swallows hard, dragging his palm slowly across his chest, wincing when the heel of it grazes the edge of the bandage on his shoulder. The pain that flares is sharp, electric, cutting straight through his ribs. Not enough to stop him—he's too horny to give up like that. Just enough to make him grit his teeth and hiss out a breath that trembles with frustration.

His jaw clenches, a frustrated groan spilling past his lips. "Come on."

He’s tried everything. Warmed lube, different positions, a pillow between his thighs like some horny high schooler. He’s rubbed against the mattress until his hips ached. Even tried old porn from his saved folder. Videos that used to get him off in under five minutes back when he was running missions and too wound up from adrenaline to sleep. Hell, this morning he leaned over the edge of the tub in the shower, one arm braced against the tiles, showerhead angled just right, steam curling off his skin. He was panting, desperate, leaking, nearly sobbing with how badly he wanted it.

But it never fucking works. He’s too tense. Too slow. Can’t get the rhythm right. His shoulder screams every time he twists too far or jerks too fast. He ends up sweaty, sore, and even more frustrated than when he started. And now it's you. Always you.

He sees you every time he closes his eyes. You, in those little sleep shorts that barely cover your ass, padding around the apartment like you don’t know what you're doing to him. The way your hand wraps around a glass of water at night. And in his head, you're touching him instead. Fingertips wrapped around his cock, teasing the head while he groans into your shoulder. Watching him. Enjoying watching him come undone.

It’s sick. Twisted. You're his roommate, for fuck’s sake. You probably think he’s just tired. Just cranky from being laid up, his body healing slower than he wants. You probably don’t realise he's one sleepless night away from crawling down the hall and begging you to touch him. On his knees. Forehead pressed to your doorframe. God, he’s hard just thinking about it.

He lets out a strangled, guttural sound, rolling onto his side, hips grinding against the mattress out of pure instinct. It doesn’t help. Just teases him. His cock is leaking, slick pooling on his stomach, his abs tensing with every twitch. He strokes once— a slow drag of his fist, tight grip—but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

He has to bite back a moan. Get it the fuck together, Torres.

All he can think about is how your voice would sound, low and amused, just a cruel little taunt:

"Is this what you’ve been hiding, Torres? Can’t even jerk off like a big boy?"

He would fucking die if you said that to him. He’d cum untouched.

He squeezes his cock harder with his good arm, thumb brushing the tip. A moan slips out before he can think to stop it. It's loud. Too loud. Joaquin freezes, breath stuck in his throat.

Fuckfuckfuck. Did you hear that?

Did you already hear the others this week?

Maybe... maybe you'd come in. See him like this, all writhing and desperate. Take pity on him and climb into bed to help him out. Or maybe you'd laugh. Tell him to shut up and go to sleep like a normal person. He'll survive a few weeks of not being able to jerk off, right?

No. No, he can’t. His balls ache. His head is foggy. He’s so turned on he’s sweating. He’d do anything for your hand wrapped around him. Anything to cum. Anything to stop feeling this fucking full all the time. He strokes again, slower this time, trying to imagine it's your hand, your mouth, your voice whispering filth in his ear. And then—

Pain. Blinding, white-hot, lancing through his shoulder. He chokes on a gasp and rolls onto his back, eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Yeah. No orgasm tonight.

Just sweat, agony and a whole lot of built up tension.

—

It takes until around week two for you to notice.

It's subtle enough at first, the kind of shift that would be easy to ignore if you didn’t know Joaquin as well as you do. He’s usually warm, bright, quick with a joke even when he’s in pain. But now, that energy’s dimmed. Not groggy like when the meds first kicked in, but dull. When you ask if he wants help changing his sling, his response is clipped, borderline irritated. A tight little "I’ve got it." No eye contact. Just stiff shoulders and a clenched jaw. You let it go. Everyone gets moody when they’re healing, right?

But then it keeps happening.

At dinner, he barely picks at his food, eyes glued to his phone and disinterested in conversation. You try to tease him about his sad little portion of rice. He doesn’t even crack a smile. Just shrugs and mutters something under his breath that you can't even pick up. When he finally gets up, he mumbles a flat "goodnight," and closes his bedroom door a little too hard behind him.

Something’s off. More than just pain meds or boredom.

You let it slide for a while. But by the end of that second week, when you're curled up in bed with a book and a fan to combat the sticky heat, you hear it.

It's soft. Barely there. A noise. Like a grunt. Pained, but not quite injured pain. Frustrated.

You freeze, waiting. A few seconds pass.

Then another sound. This one is sharp, short. Half a growl. Half a groan. Your eyes go wide and—

Oh. It clicks. He's trying. And it's not working.

Everything seems to fall into place at once: the moodiness, the tightness in his posture, the way he's always shifting in his seat like he's constantly uncomfortable. Of course. He can't jerk off. Not properly. Not without messing up his injuries any further or risking a tear in his stitches. And with how wound-up he probably is after being grounded for weeks, too sore to move, too proud to ask for help...

Yeah. No wonder he's spiralling. Poor guy’s been stuck in his room every night with nothing but a needy body and a hand he can’t use.

You think about it more than you should after that. The image is too easy to summon. Joaquín in his bed, sweaty and flushed, grinding into the mattress like it’ll give him relief, biting down groans so you don’t hear them. And failing, clearly.

The next evening, he’s on the sofa, laptop open in front of him, pretending to be absorbed in something on-screen. But his eyes flick toward the door too often. His jaw clenches tight. His good hand is resting on his thigh, curled into a fist like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower. You sit beside him, watching plaintively with your your legs curled under yourself, angled just slightly toward him. His shoulder stiffens, but he doesn’t look away from the screen.

"Hey," you prompt gently after a while. "You good?"

He exhales through his nose. "Yeah." What a fucking liar.

You narrow your eyes. "You’ve been acting like Sam told you he wants his suit back."

That gets a soft, reluctant laugh, the tiniest upward pull of his lips... but it fades fast. His fingers tap against the keyboard for a second, then he shuts the laptop and stares at the flat top of it. He chews the inside of his cheek. Doesn’t meet your gaze.

"...It’s stupid," he mutters, in that Joaquín way of his that means he really wants to tell you but he's too embarrassed to do so without a little push.

"Then say it anyway," you offer, feigning patience instead of rolling your eyes. "Maybe it’s not."

He hesitates, shoulders tense, the silence thick between you. Then, barely louder than a breath: "I’m so fucking horny I want to die."

You blink, pulse skipping. That was more upfront than you were expecting. He immediately buries his face in one hand like he regrets saying anything at all. Or even leaving his room until this crisis is over at all. "I can’t do anything. My arms are both fucked, and I’m going insane. I’m climbing the walls. I—fuck—I didn’t think it would get this bad."

You stay quiet, processing slowly, because your brain is doing something extremely unhelpful—flashing images you really shouldn’t be entertaining about your roommate. The flush on his neck, the way his hips lift off the couch slightly like he can’t even sit still anymore. That low, wrecked sound you heard through the wall last night when he couldn't find relief.

Your thighs press together instinctively. Shit. You're both fucked up.

"Why didn’t you just tell me?" You probe, keeping your voice as even as you can manage. You're far from calm inside.

He lifts his head, eyes tired and glassy. He looks so pathetic you almost pity him. "Because what the fuck was I supposed to say? 'Hey, roomie, can you give me a hand because I’m one more bad night away from humping a couch cushion like a hormonal teenager?'" He doesn't mention that he's already tried that and failed.

You snort. Can’t help it. He watches you with a look that’s full of tension and shame and raw, unfiltered want. "I’m not trying to be gross. I’m just—I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I didn’t mean to, I swear. But then I imagined you walking in, catching me, and... I couldn’t stop."

You feel your breath catch. And then, softly, you prompt, "... So ask."

His brows furrow. "What?"

You lean in without breaking eye contact. Your voice drops. "Ask me. If you want help that bad."

His lips part, stunned silent. For the first time in days, he looks at you—really looks. The sarcasm is gone. No jokes. No charm. Just wide eyes and something close to disbelief.

"…Please," he whispers after a moment, like the word’s been waiting to fall out of him. Maybe it has. His voice is raw, desperate, cracking around the pleas that spill out of his cracked lips. "Please. I need you so bad. I can’t—I just need something. Just need to feel you."

There's no need to waste time after that. You straddle his thighs slowly, deliberately, palms braced on his chest as you settle into his lap. He’s warm and trembling under you, his breath already stuttering. He's far from the confident man that usually roams the apartment in low-hanging sweatpants and grins at you with sparkling eyes over breakfast.

Your hands slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats. He lifts his hips for you without needing to be told—obedient, eager, almost desperate. You tug them down just enough, fabric catching for a second on his thighs before freeing him. No boxers, apparently. The friction had been too much for him.

His cock springs up against his stomach—flushed dark red, leaking, already twitching with need. You didn't exactly expect him to be small (you've seen his imprint) but it's a different thing entirely to see it in front of you. You hum low in your throat, eyes dragging over him as the veins bulge under your heated gaze.

"You’re this worked up over nothing?"

"That's the problem."

Your fingers curl around him, and his reaction is instant. He jerks beneath you with a choked moan, hips twitching like he’s trying not to thrust. Your grip is firm but unhurried, dragging your hand up slow, from the thick base all the way to the slick head, then back down again.

"Fuck—" Joaquín gasps, head falling back against the cushions.

You click your tongue, feigning sympathy. "Pathetic," you murmur. "You couldn’t even ask like a big boy. You had to sulk in your room and hump your sheets like a virgin for two weeks."

That hits something sharp. His hips jump again, and you slap a hand to his thigh—not particularly hard, but enough to make him freeze.

"Stay still," you order.

"Okay," he gasps, eyelashes fluttering under your unexpected firmness. "Yes—fuck, I’m sorry."

His voice is wrecked already, all raw and hoarse like it’s been clawed out of him. You stroke him again, a little faster now, adding a twist of your wrist at the top, thumb pressing into the tender spot just under the head. Precum spills over your hand, and he twitches again, biting his lip so hard it’s gone bloodless.

You lean over him, letting your breath ghost across his heated cheek. "How long’s it been, Torres?"

“Like, two weeks," he groans. "Maybe more. I—I don’t even fucking know anymore. Counting makes it worse."

Your smile is slow and sweet and god it goes straight to his dick. "Poor thing. All backed up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

His abs twitch when you taunt him, hands gripping the sofa like he’s holding on for dear life. You press your lips to the shell of his ear as you stroke him, voice low and sultry. "You gonna cum for me, or am I gonna have to edge you all night? Bet you'd like that. Bet you've been getting off on how pent up you are."

He gives a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. His thighs are shaking under you, whole body taut and thrumming as your firm hand pushes him closer and closer towards his climax.

"Please," he pants. "Don’t stop. Don’t stop, hnnghhh, I’m—shit—I’m so close, ah—"

You speed up, stroking his length fast and slick, your fist gliding wetly from base to tip, then down again in a relentless rhythm that has him seeing stars. Your other hand braces on his hip to keep him grounded, even as he bucks into your fist, chasing his release. His body arches, spine bowing, neck exposed and glistening with sweat. When his mouth falls open, no real sound comes out. Just gasps, high and sharp, like his lungs can’t keep up with the onslaught of pleasure.

"Come for me," you whisper, right against his lips. Just roommates his fucking ass. "Be a good boy and make a mess, Joaquín."

That’s all it takes. He absolutely fucking breaks.

"Ohmygod, I'm— ohhnghh—"

His whole body locks up as he spills hot over your fist, groaning your name like it’s the only word he remembers. His abs contract hard, cock pulsing again and again as thick stripes of white paint his stomach, your fingers, the waistband of his grey sweats. You stroke him through it, gentler now, milking every last spurt while he trembles and shakes under your hands.

When it becomes too much for his spent cock to handle, he whines out a broken, breathless sound, and bats at your wrist weakly. "Too much," he gasps, voice shattered. "Fuck. Fuck, that was—”

“Yeah,” you murmur, wiping your hand on the edge of his waistband to clean the sticky mess. As tempted as you are to bring your fingers up to your mouth, that feels like too much of a boundary to cross. "I know."

You lean back to take him in in all his exhausted glory. He’s wrecked—flushed, sweaty, breathing like he just ran ten miles. His curls are damp against his forehead, lips red from biting down, eyes glassy and barely able to focus on you like he's still on morphine and not just because he's had the greatest orgasm of his life from just a measly handjob.

You run your fingers through his sweat-mussed curls, slow and soothing, letting him come down from it. "You okay?"

He nods (barely). "'M perfect," he mumbles. "Might be dead. Don’t care."

A huff of amusement escapes you. There's the Joaquín you know. And then he sighs, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes as some form of coherency comes back over him. A few pants later and he's sighing out a:

"You’re in so much trouble when I can use my hands again."

One can only dream.

—

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