#Elastic stack

[minhphong306]

[Learning notes] Elastic Stack: Fulltext queries, combine queries

Full-text search queries: Running full text queries and complex queries with Elasticsearch and Kibana Match query: search bất cứ field nào của document có chứa một trong các từ (term) Continue reading [Learning notes] Elastic Stack: Fulltext queries, combine queries

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

possum project on pause.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Just a Tuesday

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: Bob’s decides he can’t take the silence in between missions all alone so he ventures around New York and stumbles across a flower shop with the most gorgeous owner he just knows is his soulmate. Problem? He accidentally says he has a girlfriend, and is now finding ways to still see her at the shop.

WC: 3.4K

Part Two

⸻

The city was quiet in its own crooked, charming way, a quiet that didn’t mean stillness so much as a familiar undercurrent of life. Horns honked lazily in the distance, feet slapped hurriedly against wet pavement, and sirens wailed somewhere far off, like the city sighing through its teeth. New York never truly slept, never fully silenced itself. But that morning, something about it felt subdued. Or maybe it was just Bob.

The Thunderbolts had shipped out hours earlier, some hush-hush mission in the wooded dead zones of upstate New York. Hydra remnants, government paranoia, it didn’t matter. Bob hadn’t even asked for the details. He didn’t need to. He already knew how it went.

He wasn’t invited. He never was.

Not because they didn’t want him. Not exactly. But because they couldn’t. Bob couldn’t let the Sentry, a walking nuclear option, out with the other side. His powers didn’t come alone. They came with him. With it. With the thing inside him that clawed at the walls every time he even considered using them. The Void.

So he stayed behind. Again. Grounded like some too-big dog who might accidentally maul the mailman if someone dropped the leash.

It was becoming routine.

He wandered the long, sterile halls of the Thunderbolts’ tower like a ghost, half-drifting from room to room. He paced. Sat. Stared out windows like they might show him something besides concrete and clouds.

Then he reorganized his comic collection.

Then he reorganized it again, once alphabetically, once by publisher, and once by how the covers made him feel.

He tried baking. Banana bread. Twice. The second loaf burned slightly at the edges, but he ate it anyway, standing barefoot in the kitchen in a hoodie that didn’t fit quite right anymore, wondering if this was what it felt like to live in a snow globe.

The silence pressed in.

It wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, elastic, suffocating in the way only loneliness and fear disguised as control could be. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring just to remind you you’re still alive. The kind that made Bob itch beneath his skin. Made the Void whisper.

He could feel it, coiled and patient, somewhere deep inside. Like a shadow beneath his heartbeat, waiting.

He couldn’t risk it. Not even a flicker of light. Not even a sliver of power. Because when he let the Sentry out, the Void always followed.

And so he didn’t fly. Didn’t lift. Didn’t glow. He stayed grounded. Human. Harmless.

Until that morning, when he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

So Bob Reynolds did something rare. Something almost revolutionary in its simplicity.

He put on his shoes, shrugged into his old zip-up hoodie, pulled the hood over his messy blond hair, and left the house.

Just Bob. Just the city. Just the hope that maybe, somewhere out there between the cracked sidewalks and overpriced coffee, something might remind him how to feel like a person again.

⸻

It was the kind of gray morning that felt like rain was near, the sky heavy with clouds the color of wet concrete, soft and close like they might fall if you looked at them wrong. The kind of morning that muted the city’s chaos just enough to make you believe something meaningful might actually happen.

Bob zipped up his worn hoodie and pulled the hood over his unkempt hair, letting the city swallow him whole. No plan. No direction. Just feet on pavement and the low, steady thrum of New York waking up around him.

He moved through it like a ghost, unnoticed and unremarkable, past bodegas stacked with sun-faded chip bags, past graffiti-tagged corner stores and cafes spilling steam onto the sidewalk, past a man outside a laundromat playing a saxophone with the kind of fury that suggested jazz is the only genre.

Bob might’ve kept walking, might’ve looped the city like he always did until the static in his head quieted, but then the air shifted.

Not in the way he was used to. There was no warning chill, no thunder in his chest. No Void whispering from the seams of his mind.

This was different.

It was subtle, almost fragile. A sudden burst of scent, fresh, sweet, alive.

He turned instinctively, like he’d caught something moving just outside the corner of his eye. And that’s when he saw it.

A flower shop.

Delilah’s. It sat tucked between a wine bar and an antique bookstore, almost too charming to be real, like someone had dropped it in from a movie set. The windows were fogged slightly with morning dew, framed by climbing ivy and painted lettering in faded gold.

He might have kept walking, honestly, he meant to. But then he glanced through the window.

And there you were.

Behind the counter, surrounded by wild arrangements of roses, tulips, peonies and eucalyptus, your hands moving with gentle precision as you wrapped twine around a bouquet. You laughed, something light and true, and tilted your head just slightly as you tucked a final bloom into place for a customer.

Bob froze.

There were things he understood deeply. The gravitational force of the sun. The pressure of time against skin. The weight of a million lives resting on your shoulders. The yawning, endless black of the Void.

But you?

You were something else entirely.

Not celestial, not apocalyptic. Not a vision or a threat. You were, real. Warm. Human in the most impossible, breathtaking way.

And radiant.

Not in the way Bob knew radiance, that blinding power he kept caged behind his ribs. Yours was quieter. A kind of glow that came from being good without needing to prove it. A light that didn’t demand to be seen, but somehow illuminated everything around you.

He panicked.

He stared for exactly three seconds too long, long enough to feel the shame settle into his spine, then spun around like someone who had forgotten how walking worked. His steps became frantic, clumsy, too-loud against the pavement. His heart thudded like a warning bell in his chest.

He didn’t stop until he was three blocks away, chest tight, ears ringing, hoodie pulled low enough to shadow the flush in his cheeks.

But it was already too late.

You were in his head now.

⸻

The next day, Bob found himself walking down the same street.

He told himself it was just coincidence. A convenient route. A longer way to the coffee shop he didn’t even like. But as his steps drew him closer to Delilah’s, his breath hitched in his chest the same way it had the day before.

There you were again.

Through the window, sunlight filtered in golden shafts, catching the strands of your hair as you leaned over a vase. You were laughing, again. Laughing, like joy came easily to you. Like the world hadn’t ever tried to crush it out of you.

Bob didn’t go in. He passed by without turning his head. Except, of course, he did turn his head. Just for a second.

Just enough to see you tuck a flower behind your ear, all soft petals and easy grace, and that was it, he was done for.

And then he came back.

The next day.

And the day after that.

He tried to keep it casual, though casual had never really been in Bob’s skillset. Hoodie pulled low, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he could somehow fold himself into invisibility. A blur of anxious glances, a carefully calculated pace, fast enough to look like he had somewhere to be, slow enough to not miss a glimpse of you.

Some days, he walked past three times. Four. He’d loop the block like a lost tourist, count red lights as a stall tactic, curse how obvious it felt. But you never seemed to notice. You were always busy, greeting customers, arranging spring displays, tying ribbons around wrapped stems. Bob had learned you hummed when you worked. That you wore your hair different every other day. That you had a habit of smiling to yourself when no one was watching.

Except someone was.

Every day, he nearly walked in.

He’d pause near the corner, heart thudding painfully hard against his ribs, hand twitching like it wanted to reach for the door. But the moment would pass. Panic would settle in his chest like a stone. He’d picture himself stammering, fumbling, freezing, ruining whatever spell your world had unknowingly cast over his.

So he didn’t.

Not yet.

⸻

It was day eight when Bob finally cracked.

Something in him gave out, maybe it was the way your laugh echoed through the glass that morning, or how the corner of your mouth lifted as you tied a ribbon with practiced care. Or maybe it was just the quiet that waited for him back at the compound, the echo of empty halls and silence that pressed too hard on his lungs.

Whatever it was, it propelled him forward.

His hands were sweating. Badly. The kind of clammy, panicked sweat that soaked into the sleeves of his hoodie. His heart pounded like war drums in his chest as he stood across the street, psyching himself up like he was about to disarm a bomb instead of walk into a flower shop.

When he finally crossed and pushed open the door, it felt like stepping into another world. The bell above the frame jingled, a small, cheerful sound that somehow made it worse. More real.

The air was warm and sweet with the smell of fresh blooms, eucalyptus, and something soft like jasmine. Everything was bright and lush and beautifully chaotic, with flowers arranged in mismatched vases and shelves lined with little ceramic pots and twine. It was nothing like the cold steel and concrete of his usual life.

Bob stepped in like a man who was unsure of everyting, reverent, terrified, entirely unsure of himself.

You looked up from behind the counter and smiled.

“Hi there!” you greeted, voice honey-light. “What can I help you with?”

Bob opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again as his brain hit the emergency eject button.

“I, uh—I need flowers,” he said, his voice about an octave higher than normal. “For uh-“

“My girl-..? Uh-“ Bob mentally cursed himself for saying. He didn’t have a girlfriend? He could barely speak to people in general, he got mixed up in his thoughts thinking about this girl and him wanting her to be his girlfriend.

A beat of silence.

You blinked once, then smiled wider, completely unbothered. “Aw, that’s sweet! What’s the occasion?”

Occasion?

Girlfriend?

Right. The lie. Commit to the bit, Reynolds. Commit to the bit.

“It’s just…” Bob cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Tuesday. And she, uh… likes Tuesdays.”

He winced internally. Likes Tuesdays? Really?

But you just giggled, an actual, genuine giggle, and began pulling tulips from a nearby bucket.

“That’s adorable,” you said warmly. “Honestly, I wish more guys bought random flowers just because. What kind does she like?”

Bob’s brain went blank. Static. He couldn’t remember a single flower that existed, except one color.

“Purple.” he said. Confidently. Like it was a personality trait.

You didn’t even pause. “Nice. Irises and lavender, then. They go beautifully together.”

With the grace of someone who’d done this a thousand times, you bundled the bouquet in brown paper and tied it with string, then handed it over like it was nothing.

Bob took it like it was everything.

“Tell her she’s lucky.” you said with a wink.

He managed a noise that might have been “thanks.��� shoved a few crumpled bills into the register tray, and turned to leave. His foot caught on the doorframe. Naturally.

Outside, he all but sprinted back to the tower, clutching the bouquet like it might break if he breathed too hard. Once inside, he stuck it in a vase, then stared at it. For an hour. Maybe two.

The flowers sat perfectly still on the counter.

His pulse didn’t slow for the rest of the day.

⸻

It became routine.

Every few days like clockwork, Bob would return, hoodie zipped, hands fidgeting, nerves jangling. Each time, he walked through the door of Delilah’s with a new bouquet request for his completely imaginary girlfriend.

“She likes lilies now.” he said on a Wednesday, eyes darting anywhere but at you.

“Big fan of sunflowers.” He claimed the following Monday

You always played along. No judgment, no suspicion. Just that same warm smile, that same easy grace.

But something changed.

You didn’t just ring him up and send him on his way. You talked to him. Really talked.

You asked what kind of food he liked “Is banana bread a food group?”, what movies made him cry “Okay, but Paddington 2 is a cinematic masterpiece, don’t judge me”, and what he thought the best pizza joint in Manhattan was “That’s a loaded question and I refuse to start a borough war”.

You told him when to visit Central Park for the best view of the cherry blossoms, which corner of the East Village had the best dumplings, how the city sounded different just after rain, quieter, but softer.

You laughed at his awkward jokes. Teased him when he flubbed his words. Every bouquet he bought came with a little extra, a sprig of rosemary, a twist of eucalyptus, a single daisy tucked in with a wink. “Just because.” you’d say with a shrug.

And then came the days when he stopped pretending altogether, well, mostly.

He still mentioned his “girlfriend.” but he stopped buying flowers.

Instead, he brought coffee. A scone. A wrapped muffin from the bakery two blocks down.

“She had a dentist appointment.” he said one morning, sheepishly placing the cup on the counter. “I, uh… just happened to be in the area.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Uh huh. And you just happened to bring my favorite latte?”

“…She likes vanilla.”

“Does she now?”

He nodded, perhaps too vigorously. “She loves it. Obsessed, really.”

You smirked, taking the drink. “Well. She has excellent taste.”

He flushed. A little too pink in the cheeks, a little too jittery in the hands. But he stayed. Leaned against the counter while you prepped arrangements. Asked questions about dahlias and peonies, even though he barely remembered which was which.

It wasn’t just about the flowers anymore. Or the lies.

It was about you.

Your voice, your laughter, the way you scrunched your nose when you miscounted stems or forgot where you put your scissors. The way you always looked so at home in the chaos of petals and twine and color. You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t announce itself, it radiated.

And Bob was caught in your orbit.

He just hadn’t figured out what to do about it yet.

⸻

[cherrycolaheartss]

A helping hand

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ mdni 18+ ˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

pairing: Dr!Gregory House x f!reader (patient)

contents / warnings: cheating (but the guy sucks so it's not that bad), smut (fingering, oral (m!recieving)), teasing, nicknames

word count: 1.5k

a/n: call me mrs house cuz he lives inside me

You lay next to your boyfriend, looking at the ceiling, disappointed once again. He was asleep next to you, exhausted after 10 minutes of mediocre sex.

You nudge him in an attempt to wake him up, and he rolls over to look at you.

"Babe, can we go again? I didn't cum." You pout at him.

He groans and rubs his eyes. "Huh?"

You sigh and sit up against the headboard. "I don't know, maybe it's an issue on my end, but I didn't."

"All my past girlfriends were quicker, I think you should get that checked. Maybe it's like an orgasm disorder or something."

"I think we should just try again, maybe change something about the foreplay–"

He grunts before rolling back over to his side. "It's definitely not me, just go to the doctor, baby."

Dr!Gregory House walks up to the receptionist of the clinic. "4:23PM, Doctor House checks in, write that down." He looks around the waiting room, brows furrowed in annoyance. It's filled with crying babies, people with weird rashes, loud coughs, and other strange issues. But then he notices you.

You look nervous, eyes scanning the other patients. There is a stack of magazines on a stool next to you, but you don't seem to notice them. You're bouncing your leg, an anxious tic, with the other crossed over it.

He walks over to you, the annoyance still clear on his face, but it's combined with something else now. Maybe interest?

"See me in exam room one." His tone is stern, and he immediately walks away. You hurry to catch up with him, which you do quite quickly, and you sit down on the table in the middle of the room.

He leans against a cabinet, and immediately trains his eyes on you.

"What's your issue?" His tone is almost sarcastic.

You stay quiet for a moment, gaze focused on the floor.

"It's clearly not any of the usual problems. There's nothing disgusting coming out of you, and you don't look like you're in pain." When you look up at him, but continue to say nothing, he adds "So what are you, mute?"

You give him an irritated look.

"No."

"Oh, she speaks!" His sarcasm is clear now. You wonder how he still has his job.

"I haven't been having... orgasms." It comes out as a whisper, almost.

"Find a boyfriend, case solved." He turns to walk away, but you speak up.

"I do– I mean, I have one. That's the issue." He stops to look back at you.

"And you're sure it's not his fault?"

"When I asked him about it, he said none of his exes had that kind of issue."

He looks puzzled for a moment, and you're expecting another mean comment. Instead, he says "It could be anorgasmia. We'll run some tests. How scared are you of needles?"

You confirm you aren't, and he wraps an elastic band around your arm. Now that he's so close, you notice the color of his eyes, how the muscles of his jaw tense in concentration, and you realize you find him almost... attractive?

He puts a bandaid around your arm and takes a step back.

"Right, that's it. We'll have the results on Wednesday, you can come in then. Let me know if anything changes." With that, he's gone, and your heart rate is up by just a bit.

Dr!Gregory House walks into the exam room. You'd been waiting for about 10 minutes when you heard the door open. He throws a stack of papers onto a nearby desk.

"Your boyfriend is a piece of shit." He sighs and looks at you.

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head in confusion. "Don't talk about him like that."

"You don't have anorgasmia. In fact, you're perfectly healthy. He, however, is selfish and rude."

"Are you sure? It could be something else–"

He walks over to the table you're sitting on, and looks down at you. Your lips are slightly parted, and your skirt had ridden up your thighs when you were trying to hop onto the table earlier.

"Open your legs."

"What?! No. You're insane, and I have a boyfriend."

"Fine, let him keep leaving you desperate while you do everything for him. Good day." He begins walking away, but you grab his sleeve and turn him back around. It was an impulsive decision, and you kind of regret it now, but it's too late to back out of it, right?

"Fine." You slightly part your legs, and he doesn't waste any time pulling your panties to the side. "And I'm not desperate." Your last word is cut off by a loud moan.

"Yeah, I can see that." He rubs circles on your clit and you can't stop the whines you let out. Finally, he slips two fingers inside you and you feel like you're going to explode.

Pleads and curses fall from your lips as he continues to finger you before you finally have your first orgasm in months.

Your legs shake and your cunt tightens around his fingers. Maybe he was right about you being desperate.

"See? He was the problem." He says as you catch your breath.

"Thank you." You breathe out. He smiles in response, just barely. It looks like he hasn't done it in years.

"There's many ways to show gratitude." He groans out, and you notice the bulge in his pants.

"Oh, I'm so sorry–" You get off the table and take a step closer to him.

"Don't worry, I was joking. You're free to go." His voice comes out strained.

"No, please, I want to." You look up at him and he sighs.

He doesn't have to say another word, you're already on your knees pulling down the zipper of his pants. You stroke his cock through his boxers, and his hips twitch in response.

"Who's desperate now, hm?" You tease, but your laughter is short-lived because he takes his cock out of his underwear and pushes it right past your parted lips.

"Still you, love." He holds your hair back, holding it tightly, and he pushes your head down, his tip touching the back of your throat. He quickly finds a rythm that allows you to catch your breath between thrusts. Your mouth finally accomodates to his size and you put your tongue in action, licking the base of his cock.

He moans loudly, and it encourages you to keep going. The sound of his voice sends shivers down your spine and turns you on all over again.

The pleasant sounds of his groans are suddenly cut off by an unpleasant ringtone which you recognize as yours.

Dr!Gregory House picks up your phone, looks at it for a moment, and averts his gaze back to you.

"Oliver. That's your boyfriend, I assume?" You look up through teary eyes, and his cock leaves your mouth with a pop.

"Yeah." Feelings of guilt and anxiety build in your gut.

"Answer him then." It's not a question. It's not even a request.

"Wait, I can't–"

"Sure you can. Explain that you're leaving him for someone who actually makes you cum. Oh, and make sure you're still sucking me off when you talk to him."

"How am I supposed to do that?" You're cut off once again by the way he pulls your hair, and that's when the phone stops ringing.

"Baby, where are you? I'm getting worried." Your boyfriend's voice is full of concern, but you don't really have it in you to care anymore.

"I'm, uhh, just at the clinic." Your words come out muffled, and it doesn't take long for Oliver to catch on.

"What the fuck!? You're fucking him now? You fucking slut–"

Dr!Gregory House whose moans had previously served as background noise to the phone call, cuts him off before he can keep insulting you.

"I think you have an orgasm-faking ex to get back to. Have a good day, sir." With that, he ends the call.

It doesn't take long before he cums, hard. His moans get louder, and his grip on your hair tightens. The cold-hearted doctor is completely losing his composure, and it's encouragment enough for you to keep going.

"Yes, baby, fuck, just like that–" And he's done. His hips twitch once again as he releases in your mouth.

You swallow and lick your lips before standing up again.

"Fuck, if you keep looking at me like that we'll stay in here all night." You smile in response, seemingly innocent, and he adds "The cleaning staff will hear us. Go home."

Dr!Gregory House zips his pants back up as you collect your things. He looks at you, gaze fixed on your ass when you bend over to look for your purse.

"Maybe you should visit for another check-up next week, anorgasmia can be deadly."

You chuckle and hand him a card with your name and number handwritten in a curly font.

"I'll make sure I do that. Thank you, Doctor."

You wink before leaving the room, and you swear he groans quietly as he watches you leave.

@cinnamongrl2006 my beautiful irl bestie who helped me write this ily lets have a threesome with house <3

[tojisth3rdwife]

Part 2

a/n: this one is probably 40% smut parts here. Pregnant sex is the bees knees, speaking from experience. A 💋 will mark where it starts and ends in case you want to skip it. There will definitely be a part 3 lol

BabyDaddyToji was enjoying your pregnancy more than you were.

For starters, and not to be crude but the sex was unmatched. Toji had a thing for cumming inside of you raw before but now?? With the only motivation not to no longer being relevent, there wasnt a day where Toji didnt want to be inside of you.

Granted, he wasnt jumping your bones 24/7. Especially in the beginning. He let you set the tone for that based on your mood. And it was rough in that first trimester. It seemed like as soon as you confirmed the pregnancy , every symptom in the book hit your ass like a mack truck.

You slept majority of the day.

You spent many mornings, afternoons and evenings face down in the toilet.

Your mood was unpredictable, although you did your best not to crash out and frighten Megumi or take it out on Toji.

Even when you did, Toji didnt take it personally.

You’d been snippy with him all night over the smallest things.

He closed the door too loudly when he came in the bedroom, not helping your hormonal headache whatsoever. When he asked you how you were feeling, it was returned with an attitudinal “How the fuck do you think I feel? I cant eat. Im always tired. My back hurts. My head hurts. The dog’s wont stop barking..” you trailed off. Toji approaches where you were now sitting up at the edge of the bed, bent over with your face in your hands.

You were a mess. Your hair. Your skin. You just felt gross and overly emotional, something that was so unlike you. Toji knew it, but unlike you, he at least understood why.

The tears were already flowing by the time he joined you on the bed, reaching for your hands to pull away from your face.

“N-no Toji....” you sniffled, attempting to hide yourself from Toji as he gripped your wrists gently. He smiled as you fought against his strength pointlessly , and he pulls you into him for a hug he knew you needed.

Mind you, Toji was far from perfect. There were plenty of times when he didn’t know how to comfort you or the right thing to say at the right time. But being with you over the years improved his sense of compassion and empathy towards others, meaning you were no exception.

Toji rubbed your lower back, pulling your body as close as he could.

“Im sorry, baby. Seems like today is kicking your ass..” he says with his lips in your messy hair. You chuckle dryly at the sentiment, sniffing back the snot threatening to dribble from your nose.

“Yeah.” You sigh. Toji hums against your crown, slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband of your leggings. Not in a suggestive or sexual manner, just to hold you better. He sat with you for a few seconds in silence before asking you if you wanted him to get out so you could rest.

“No…” you mutter, clutching his t-shirt. You gave in to his embrace and nuzzled his chest, your breath stuttering from the sudden rush of emotions. Toji smirks.

You were so cute when your were stubborn.

In other news…

Your body was gradually changing. Too much in appearance , although your tits were gigantic now, but more in how you felt and responded to your environment.

For starters, nothing tasted or smelled the same, in good and bad ways alike.

The smell of cooking/ grilled meats? ❌

The scent of certain cleaning products and laundry detergents?✅

Megumi’s dogs? (Although you still loved them to pieces) ❌

The sweet and savory combo of pizza and strawberry toaster strudels stacked on top of eachother with the frosting and marinara sauce melding together? ✅

The smell of Toji’s favorite instant ramen? ❌

Eggs? ❌

Yogurt? ❌

Chocolate? ❌

The scent of anything Toji related? His cologne? His after shave? His sweaty shirts straight from the gym? ✅✅✅

But despite all of that, especially once the sickness and exhaustion began to taper out as you entered the 2nd trimester, you were horny.

Like VERY horny, tracking back to the opening statement..

And fuck, Toji loved it.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

He’d barely made it inside after returning from dropping Megumi off at school before your hands were at his belt.

“Whoa..” Toji’s brows shot up as well as his hands when you made quick work of undoing his pants and pulling his dick out. He wasnt even hard yet and he still felt heavy in your hand as you stroked him slowly.

Lips at his neck and your other hand pushing his shirt up, you mumbled against his skin.

“I want you so bad it hurts..”

And it did. The spike in hormones, coupled with the increased blood flow down there made everything feel 10 times more intense. All Toji had to do was kiss you and you felt your inner thighs become slippery against each other from his wet you were. After a simple ‘brb’ smooch on his way out the door to take Megs, your clit was engorged and your gummy walls clenched in need of him.

You tried rubbing one out but you were too frustrated to get yourself there.

You needed release.

You needed him in the worst way.

Toji groaned as your expert touch had his dick jumping and swelling to life with every stroke of your hand.

“Hurts?” He frowns at your choice of words. You paused trying to undress him to take Toji’s hand and guide under your large sleep shirt to cup your sex. You had soaked through the fabric of your panties and just Toji’s touch had your walls pulsing.

“Fuck..” he exhaled,taking the initiative to rub your puffy clothed lips as if to sooth you. But all it did was rile you up even more.

“See?” You whimper and Toji cusses under his breath again.

“Shit, babe…How are you always this fucking wet? Hmm?” He tilts his head, now the one taking the reigns.

“Toji..” your breath hitched, breaking and stalling as the rough pads of his fingers rubbed yiur clothed pussy. His fingers found tiny hill of your clit pressing through your panties and he circles it slowly. You gripped his flexing forearm desperately, breathy moans leaving you as your back collides with the wall adjacent to the front door, with Toji’s height eclipsing you in his shadow. He speeds up his antics, all while pressing his lips to your pulse in a gentle kiss.

By the way you keened in his ear, Toji was sure of one thing.

“Gonna cum right here? Right now?” He asks, strumming his middle and index over your civered clit faster. You nod with you mouth agape, digging your nails into Toji’s arm.

“Yesyesyesyesyesbabyplease..fuck..”

Your knees buckled as the wave of pleasure washed over you, a gush of slick staining the your underwear. Anyone walking by outside definitely heard your cry of ecstasy, but Toji never gave a damn about his neighbors.

“Shit..c’mere” he pulls you towards him by the throat for a sloppy breathless kiss, licking into your mouth and catching every moan off your tongue as he rubs your sensitive folds over your drenched panties.

Without warning, Toji picks you up like you weigh nothing to carry you in the room, tossing you on the bed to fuck the ache out of your pussy until it was damn near time for Megumi to get out of school.

But as you began to show around week 14-15, Toji was more mindful of how he handled your body. You assured him that you could take it and encouraged him to go harder, but it was pointless. He was just too damn big and you seemed way too fragile to be bent in half and pounded the way he used to.

The tenderness was welcomed in exchange though..

As much as you loved your belly, you hated how it blocked your view of Toji eating you out. Watching his tongue glide over your puffy lips and clit made you even wetter and Toji lapped it straight from the source. He groaned at the taste of you. Not that he didnt love your pussy’s flavor before you were pregnant but there was something more intense about it now. Even your scent was more potent and addicting, having him thinking about burrying his face between your legs all damn day.

Toji ate your pussy like his life depended on it, swirling his tongue over the hood of your clit and flicking its underside in the way he knew would make you shake.

“Mmmhmm” he moaned against you, hugging your thighs and caressing your baby bump affectionately.

You’d attempted to crane your neck to get a glimpse of what he was doing in the beginning but now you just surrendered to the fact that you wouldnt be seeing anything down there without a mirror for a while.

That was ok though.

Allowing yourself to focus only on what Toji’s lips and tongue did to you made cumming on his face most enjoyable for the both of you.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

“Are you ready to know the sex?” your doctor asks from behind the monitor. You glance at her in surprise, even though you knew the question was coming.

Toji hated that he couldnt be there and damn near walked out on a job if you hadnt convinced him to stay and focus.

But you really wished he was here.

“Could you write it down and put it in an envelope for me?” you asked, doing your best to keep your gaze from traveling over to the big mounted screen on the wall, and your doctor obliged.

That way when you took it to the bakery and asked them to pipe the corresponding color frosting in a pre made jumbo cupcake, it would be a surprise both you and Toji could share.

Taglist: @queendessi24 , @xllizs, @whoreforjjkmen , @hellokittyloverrxox .

Part 1 <<<<<

Part 3 (soon)

The Fushiguro’s <<<<<

[heich0e]

"what a surprise to see you here!"

you let out a long, weary sigh in the wake of the unduly jubilant exclamation, letting your bag hit the desk in front of you with a thump.

"i work here, gojo. just like you."

the aforementioned man steps into view around your shoulder, craning down into your face with that same easy grin he always wears—the one you find exhausting just to look at on days like today, because you know it means he plans on tormenting you for an extended period of time.

"and aren't we both so lucky to be here?" he hums, still smiling.

lucky?

you stand before him filthy and aching from the mission you'd just returned from, and with a night's worth of your students' assignments in hand you still need to grade by tomorrow morning. you're tired, and sore, and covered in curse guts and god only knows what else—and this smiling, obnoxious man hovering over you is calling you lucky.

you wish his blindfold was elasticated. if it was, you'd take hold of it, pull it back as far as you could, and let it snap it back over his eyes just to spite him.

"what do you want, gojo?" you don't even have the energy to sound annoyed anymore, the question leaving your lips in a lifeless monotone.

he pauses.

"you look terrible."

your head whips over to look at him again, and you immediately wince—a hand flying up to your neck. you think you must have strained it taking care of that last second grade curse. it hasn't been bothering you as much as the pain in your side, so you've mostly been ignoring it until now.

"gojo, if y—"

"gojo, gojo, gojo," he interrupts you before you can even manage to get the insult you'd been trying to say out. his tone is petulant, a little pout on his lips. "i've told you to call me satoru."

he enunciates each syllable of his name pointedly—like a reprimand.

"and why would I call you that?" you huff, tired of dealing with him. you grab your bag off the desktop, shove the stack of papers you'd come to your classroom to retrieve inside, and turn towards the door.

"because it's my name?" his tone lifts at the end like he's asking a question. "besides, you call sukuna by his name."

he's following along behind you. of course he's following behind you—you don't know why you expected to get away so easily.

"i call sukuna by his name because there's two itadoris now," you reply back, not that you owe him any kind of explanation. your steps are quick in spite of the stabbing pain in your side—literal, not figurative—but unfortunately it takes no effort at all for gojo to match your stride.

gojo groans a little. "how'd a guy that awful end up with such a cute little brother?" he whines, tipping his head back like he's lodging the complaint with a higher power. "my sweet yuuji and him have nothing in common beyond their family name."

you don't bother replying, stepping out from the main school building into the courtyard that leads towards the student dorms and teachers' residences. gojo is still close behind.

you find it ironic that gojo takes such issue with sukuna, a fellow sorcerer and jujutsu tech instructor, when there's no offence sukuna could be accused of that gojo himself is not equally guilty of committing. at least sukuna has the decency to not claim to be, well, decent.

there's something to be said for self-awareness.

"are you planning on following me the entire way home?" you ask him, irritation heavy in your voice.

"hey, i live there too, y'know," gojo counters.

barely, you can't help but think. gojo very rarely stays in his residence on campus. you're not sure where he spends all his time, whether it be a place off campus or even the gojo family compound, but you know it isn't here.

not that you particularly care.

"are geto and shoko busy tonight or something?" you ask again.

"suguru's away for a mission," gojo answers, seemingly not put off at all by the hostility in your tone. "shoko should be in her office, though."

you roll your eyes at his obvious evasion of your implication.

you freeze when you feel a hand touch your waist. the hand holding your bag goes limp at your side.

satoru is standing right behind you.

"your rib's broken."

it's quiet for a moment, but when you turn around, he's not smiling anymore and he's got his blindfold tugged down by one crooked finger. his eyes—the ones you so rarely see, the ones that make you feel equal parts awestruck and reviled—are on you.

"since shoko's in her office, you should go see her about it."

in one smooth motion, he covers his eyes again.

your teeth clench, your jaw tensing.

the next words you speak are barely audible through the barrier of your bite.

"what was that?" he asks, leaning forward in your space again.

you consider not repeating yourself, but all at once your resolve abandons you. you sigh, hanging your head and then you purse your lips in defeat.

"i c... i can't walk any further."

gojo laughs.

"i'm surprised you made it this far," he says, that bright smile of his back in place.

and so, a few minutes later, you find yourself with your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist as gojo carries you towards shoko's office in the infirmary.

"you're lucky i found you when i did, you know."

lucky. there he goes with that again.

you snort mirthlessly.

"and all you have to do to repay me is say 'thank you satoru!'" he exclaims, his voice rising an octave in what you can only assume is an offensive imitation of what you sound like to him.

"i'm not saying that," you mutter dourly, your grip on his neck tightening—though not enough to actually satisfy your desire to wring his neck.

"so stubborn," he tuts, but there's no real admonishment in his tone.

"i wouldn't call sukuna by his name if i didn't have to. but there's two itadoris, it just makes sense." you say after a while, the infirmary nearly in sight. you're grateful you're so close to relief, because the ache in your rib is so acute now that you're starting to feel lightheaded. you lean in closer to gojo's back as he carries you, letting him bear your weight a bit more. "there's only one gojo."

a breathy chuckle slips from his lips—so gentle it sounds almost involuntary. "only one gojo, huh?" he repeats your words, almost like he's mulling them over.

you hum affirmatively, letting your chin hook over his shoulder as he turns the final corner towards shoko's office. your eyes flutter closed. "yeah, lucky for me."

[makehydrafictionagain]

Thin Walls - Part One (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: You're used to having the floor to yourself. Your new neighbor doesn't appreciate that.

Word count: 1.4k

Note: Definitely planning to expand on this one.

🎶 “Come right on me, I mean camaraderie-

Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be-

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?” 🎶

The words left your lips without a thought, breathy and soft under the very loud beat pumping through your living room. This song had been on repeat for no particular reason, just easy to move to- something flirty, fun. Something to feel cute to. You meant to change it after the second playthrough, but now you were three and a half listens deep and almost a quarter of the way through folding a mountain of laundry.

You grabbed a towel from the couch and flipped it with a haphazard snap, hips swaying to the music like you were enjoying it and not rushing straight through it just to call it done. You weren’t even really dancing- just restless, antsy. The kind of Sunday afternoon where the orange sunlight poured in like a reminder that your weekend was nearly over, but, strangely, everything felt fresh and hopeful. You didn’t question it. You just moved with it.

Your hair was half-down, slipping out of the elastic you’d thrown in hours ago; a little wild, but not in the cute on-purpose way- more like a manic ‘I have to get shit done’ way. Your socks didn’t match- one with stripes and the other plain white, but that hadn’t mattered when you pulled them on. They were both clean and had the same feel as the other, which is the only thing that really mattered. Your shorts and t-shirt, though, were the only things left in the drawer this morning. Laundry day wasn’t just a vibe. It was a necessity.

🎶 “And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time-

And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine-

And I bet it's even better than in my head,” 🎶

You sang it without shame this time, your voice soft and sensual in a way no one had heard before- not even you, over the sound of the speakers. 

No one ever came up to this floor. After almost a year of living in this unit, you’ve never once had a neighbor. The unit across the hall had stayed dark and sealed since the day you moved in- some kind of long-term renovation or financial standstill, you weren’t sure which. Didn’t matter. 

It made the space feel like yours. No need to keep quiet. No one to annoy.

🎶 “How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things-

That's bed chem,” 🎶

You were halfway through your last shirt when the first knock came. You didn’t hear it.

The bass was too thick, Sabrina’s voice tuning out anything other than the tapping of your toes on the floor as you walked your pile of shirts to the basket for transport.

The second knock, though, landed like a gut-punch. Hard and sharp and deliberate. Like a police baton or baseball bat.

You stood perfectly still; hands still hovering over the neatly stacked, folded shirts that had just dropped into the laundry basket- sultry, sexy vocals bouncing off the walls of your old duplex walls.

Another knock didn’t come. That felt worse, somehow.

You blinked, turning your head slightly- like that might help you echolocate the source of the knock- sure that it couldn’t have been a person. Then you moved quickly, snatching your phone from atop the pile of clean clothes and turning the volume down from the ‘warning red’ 10 to an acceptable, if not hollow-sounding 3.

The silence that followed was incredibly too quiet. You could hear your pulse in your ears. In the several moments between the sound you heard and the new void in your space, the song had restarted at a much quieter level- but you didn’t hear another knock.

You shifted on your feet; not stepping toward the door, but recalibrating in your position. If it were the police, they’d surely knock again- announce themselves or something. Your landlord never visits without warning, and she’d know you were there, what with the music. Construction? Could it have been downstairs? No, it sounded targeted.

You make your way to the door, unconsciously raising to your tippies, and peek out of the peephole; immediately flinching when you realize that the sound was a knock on the door and the source of the sound was still standing there.

He was standing close enough to your door that his shoulders took up most of the view; you could only see part of him, arms crossed tight over his chest and a tensed jaw. That was more than enough to set the tone for what was to come. He was waiting. For you.

Shit.

You stepped back, no longer stealthily creeping. The gig is certainly up, and there is a man at your door, undoubtedly pissed about the loud music coming from your apartment. Classic, single girl, sex-positive, loud music that is easy to play on repeat and is only enjoyable to the person enjoying it.

Shit, shit, shit.

After way too long, your hand trembles to the door knob. Then you open the door- halfway- and blink up at him. Much, much bigger not through the lens of a marble. He’s sturdy, you can tell. His arms are… large. One looks like it’s either heavily tatted or may be a prosthetic, though, you intentionally keep your eyes on his- as painful as it feels. They’re sharp, but the lines under them tell you he’s also tired. Very blue- almost clear, like ice. 

You seem to catch him off guard just as much as he did you, as he does a quick, observing flick up and down, immediately reminding you of how unprepared you are for confrontation. Or the strained silence that followed. 

You realize you should have greeted him first, but all the options seemed to fall short; ‘can I help you?’ you already knew the answer to that. ‘Hi, I’m _____,’ he clearly wasn’t here to make friends. 

Well, shit.

“Your music’s been rattling my cabinets for the last half hour,” he starts, because you clearly aren’t. A flush instantly raises from your chest to your cheeks at the confirmation of what you already knew. 

“Oh- my god,” you grimace and reflexively close yourself into the door like a crutch as if to hold up what’s left of your pride, “I didn’t- sorry, I didn’t know anyone lived up here- I thought it was still vacant.”

You swallow hard, a nervous smile twitching at your cheeks as you stand up straighter and lean against your door frame. He’s clearly reassessing his approach- the miniscule shift back and brief eye dart away say clear enough that he didn’t expect it to go this way.

His eyes snap back to yours like he’s chosen to assert himself again, but when he speaks his voice is dimmer. Less adrenaline behind the words. “Yeah. Not vacant anymore.” That makes your brow raise. 

“Right, I get it. I’ll keep it down,” you restate your acknowledgement, omitting the apology this time. He doesn’t leave immediately, instead you see his eyes wander up into your less-than-half-opened door, presumably landing on the pile of clothes on your sofa.

Your eyes narrow up on his and you squeeze your door closed as much as you can while also standing your ground. You’re just about to ask what his deal is when he, still peering into your door- not moving a muscle, speaks again. “Yeah, it was loud, but I’m more caught up on the six-nine.”

You scoff at that, an incredulous smile pulling your lips into a curve despite yourself. Your brows raise and you look away to even your expression before clearing your throat. “Not a Sabrina Carpenter fan, then?” You hadn’t been prepared for the pointed call-out, but it was clear this was a challenge, and you’d be damned if you lost a challenge to this newcomer. 

It’s his turn to laugh, a short exhale from his nose that sounds equal parts contemptuous and teasing, before looking from you to the ground with a slow step back. “Didn’t catch the name. Just the camaraderie.” 

Your mouth opens like you want to throw something back at him, but by the time you’ve even processed the jab, he’s closing his door; leaving you standing in yours with a warm face and very confused nervous system.

After a moment of silence, you slowly reenter your living room and close the door behind you. You turn the music up a few ticks; a middle ground between ‘reasonable’ and ‘fuck you.’ You keep Bed Chem on for a few more plays.

Smartass.

-

Tagging my bestie @kiba-uwuzuka bc it looks cool to have a tag list.

[thatonefandomchick]

chilled

matt sturniolo x reader

a/n: 3.3k words of fluff, cockwarming, my own fantasies, idk what possessed me to write about cold weather in the middle of summer, but i’m kinda here for it.

please reblog!

—————

it wasn’t matt’s fault that you looked so cozy.

the room was bathed in a dim violet light. new girl reruns were playing on the tv, but he stopped paying attention hours ago. the chilly boston weather frosted the windows in the room, and matt could almost see his warm exhales in the air — a clear indicator of just how fucking cold it was. the heater had broken down earlier that day, and every single repair company they called was unavailable to come fix it that evening. the earliest they had was tomorrow afternoon because of course everyone in boston had a broken heater today.

the two of you had headed to his bed early that night in hopes of using body heat to warm each other up. nick and chris whined and complained that it wasn’t fair for matt to have his own personal heater,

“fuck off and cuddle with each other!” he yelled over his shoulder to the boys wrapped in two blankets each, hands on your shoulders leading you to his bedroom as you laughed at their grumbles down the hall.

reaching the door, matt snorted behind you, shutting the door with a soft click, and pulling open his closet doors to grab a couple of hoodies and about a dozen blankets, per your request, to hold you guys through the night.

“you cold, baby?” he murmured.

“we’re about two degrees from this water turning into ice, matty. ” you remarked, taking a sip from the plastic bottle on his desk before turning to face him. “of course i’m fucking cold.”

his head peeked above the comically high mound of blankets in his arms, winking at you before turning to drop them on his bed and beginning to neatly stack them on top of his comforter.

red creeped up your neck and cheeks. you rolled your eyes affectionately and turned to his wardrobe in search of some sweatpants, humming mindlessly.

“look at how cozy it looks, babe.” matt exclaimed behind you, grinning at the blanket pile before reaching over to slide a sweatshirt over his long sleeve t-shirt.

you looked over your shoulder and you could only let out a small ‘mhm’ because your eyes darted straight down to the trail of hair on his lower abdomen that continued down and into his sweatpants. he pulled the sweatshirt down his torso and ran a hand through his hair, lashes fluttering and nose pink from the cold, utterly oblivious to your ogling.

your lip came up to move in between your teeth, but you peeled your gaze from the boy in front of you and focused on finding the first pair of pants you could in order to get into the cozy bed and pair of arms that awaited.

shuffling out of your tight leggings, your hands came around to fix the waistband of your underwear, nails hooking on the elastic and tugging them back into place; but the skin at the nape of your neck tingled as you felt a gaze upon your back. smirking, your eyes lifted to peek at the small mirror atop the dresser. there was matt, eyes locked on your backside, staring unabashedly. your teeth glinted in the light, his eyes met yours through the mirror. a red flush creeped over his face all the way to the tips of his ears. your eyes crinkled in delight and you threw your head back, laughing at his shyness. turning your gaze back to the mirror, you grinned when his reflection flipped you off, huffing a laugh, hair tickling his forehead as he shook his head and moved to turn the tv on.

still smiling gently, you quickly slid the pair of sweats up before reaching for the blue hoodie matt left out for you, tugging it up and over the black turtleneck you already had on. you patted down the stray hairs on your head, fingers stiff from the cold, and padded over to the bed which beheld your boyfriend looking extra snug amidst the pile of blankets and pillows.

a cheeky smile took over his face, and his hand reached out from under the covers to pat the open space next to him. one, two, three steps forward had the front of your thighs grazing the edge of the mattress. you paused for a moment, gazing into his pretty blue eyes wondering what the fuck you could have possibly done to deserve any of this.

of course, matt ruined the moment by abruptly sneezing and you reeled back, nose and brows and scrunching in disgust.

“oh god, i think i’m getting a cold,” he moaned, sneezing again, “i can feel it coming.”

you shoved his chest back with a delicate hand as you climbed into the makeshift nest, preventing him from sneezing in your face again, but keeping him close enough that his warmth seeped into your skin and warmed your body down to your bones. you pressed your back against his chest, bringing his arms over and around your torso, settling them under the swell of your breasts. his hands splayed over your abdomen, spreading the warmth and your face relaxed, releasing a sigh of comfort. matt settled the blankets on top of you, making sure the was adequate coverage throughout your bodies, then set his chin over your head, breathing in your lavender shampoo and enjoying the pressure of your backside on his groin.

the alarm clock on his nightstand read 9:34 pm, so he nestled into your body and warmth even further and relaxed to the sound of your soft breaths and schmidt’s on screen jokes.

—————————

the hours passed in a timeless haze — there was no telling if it was 11:00 pm, or 3:00 am. the windows were still tinted with a sheen of ice, the tv still ran, and you were still pressed against him, sleeping now, with your mouth parted open, breathing softly into his arm. matt didn’t really recall falling asleep, but the show was on a different season and the clock read 1:34 am. blinking away the sleep, he reached to rearrange the blankets on your entwined bodies, settling his hand under your shirt on the bare dip of your waist. his fingers squeezed lightly, thumb rubbing in a back and forth motion. his eyelashes fluttered as your loose hair feathered his nose, watching as you shifted slightly in his arm and exhaled deeply.

no, it indeed was not his fault you looked so cozy.

his tiredness did not aid his growing erection. the opposite, actually. being drunk on sleep hazed his mind, and you felt so damn good. blood rushed to his cock as the cold air nipped at his exposed skin. he tugged you closer to him, manhandling your resting body to arrange you closer to him. eyes twitching in your sleep, matt leaned over to lightly kiss the corner of your lash line. his grip on your waist tightened as he continued to press feather light kisses along the side of your face.

one on the freckle atop your cheekbone, one where your ear meets your jaw, one on the dimple near the corner of your mouth. his hips twitched as your ass lightly grinded on his half-hard cock. holding back a groan, he moved the trail of his kisses down the length of your spine. one kiss per vertebrae until he was met with your hoodie. a light sound escaped your mouth, enjoying the warm press of his lips against your chilled body even in your slumber. despite the blankets, the layers, the fuzzy socks, matt was still so cold. it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch — an ache he couldn’t relieve.

his brows scrunched as a thought crossed his mind. it was like a little lightbulb that lit up because of course he had a solution. why didn’t he think of it sooner?

you had mentioned it just last week while the two of you were waiting for the car to heat up. you had gone to a hockey game and though the sun was gleaming and warming your bodies when you walked in, the temperature had dropped and the deep chill that swept through had your teeth chattering as you exited the arena. while cranking up the heat, matt remembered he said something about being so cold he thought his dick was gonna freeze off.

you looked at him with a wicked grin despite your body shivering and told him, “i can help with that.”

his eyes went wide, his pupils dilated, and you couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from the cold or because he was trying to come up with what exactly you could have possibly meant by that (he knew very well what you meant).

it took him a few seconds to recover from the shock, and it only happened because he saw you biting your lip in an attempt to contain your laughter. matt turned back to look at the emptying parking lot in front of him and scoffed in fake annoyance. your head tilted up in laughter, plaid scarf shifting as the movement bared your neck to him.

he looked over and he couldn’t help but smile at your antics. of course he knew what you meant, but you hadn’t really moved past the clumsy and somewhat awkward stage of your sex life. it felt good, sure — really good, but maybe it was the fact that the two of you haven’t been able to simply feel. he was too caught up making sure you were okay, and you were too busy making sure it felt good for him that it always ended in a strange eye contact moment followed by a weird mixture of giggles and moans that made the whole experience a little off-putting. still, that didn’t deter you as you continued telling him, “i’m serious, matt.”

he didn’t say anything as he checked his mirrors and put the car in reverse, sneaking a curious look at your layer-clad body, eyes crinkled as you smiled up at him. “i mean,” you started. “i dunno, how hard can it really be?”

he snorted at that, adjusting in his seat because the thought of you talking about this so casually was making him kinda hard. you turned back to face the road now, gloved hands clasped in your lap. you liked like you were in a meeting, proposing a new business strategy that would knock all other strategies out of the park. somehow, he knew you could convince him to jump off a bridge if you wanted to him to.

“all you have to do is, like, stick it in.” you wondered, mindlessly. “right?”

he choked.

“i mean, it’s so easy we can do it in our sleep.” you chirped, sounding way more enthusiastic about the idea than he did. the light ahead of him turned yellow, and he pressed the brake, slowing to a stop. matt turned to look at you then, eyebrows raised and ready to say something along the lines of ‘sign me up, i’m all in’, but you interrupted him before he could tell you how embarrassingly hot he found the idea.

“maybe we’re overthinking this.” you admitted, for once looking sheepish as you stared ahead and avoided his eyes.

“overthinking what, kid?” matt asked, honestly.

“the whole — y’know, sex thing.”

the light turned green and the car was silent except for the hum of the engine.

“all i’m saying is,” you told him after a few more seconds of thick silence. “maybe we should trust each other a little more.”

“i trust you.” he said quickly, without hesitance.

“no — i know you do, baby, and i trust you too. but that’s not what i’m saying.” you shifted in your seat to look at him better.

“what are you saying then?”

you pressed your lips together and tilted your head at him. “i’m saying —.“ you paused then, biting your lip.

matt turned to look at you, and something in his face must’ve urged you to tell him what was on your mind because, “i’m saying we should trust each other with, our bodies?”

his brows scrunched and you must’ve seen the confusion on his face because you continued. “like, go with the flow type thing instead of trying to think about what we do.”

he was starting to get it now — maybe. “so like, doing what we want to make us feel good?”

your face lit up. “yes!”

“okay, does that,” another shift of his hips. “what does that actually mean?”

your lips tilted downwards, and you looked at him again, this time a little crestfallen. “i dunno.” you admitted, looking away from him and towards the snow covered road ahead. “maybe just, trusting each other to do what they think will feel good. just doing instead of thinking, y’know?”

he risked another look at you. your beanie had slipped sideways, but you paid it no mind.

eyes back on the road, it took everything in him not to turn around and look at the surprise on your face when he said with a voice as straight as he could muster, “like cockwarming.”

your head snapped and your eyes burned holes into the side of his face. he could tell your mouth was slightly parted, and for a second he thought maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. this is what he got for trying to dirty talk. until you straighted your gaze forward again and confirmed, “yes, like cockwarming.”

it didn’t come up for the rest of the ride home, or for the next week.

you didn’t have the chance to try it out that night, or the next, or the next. but the thought crossed matt’s mind every time he felt an especially deep chill rack his body. especially now, with his cock nestled perfectly between your ass, growing harder by the second.

his hand on your waist dared to dip lower, pinky reaching the band of his sweatpants. you continued to sleep and melt into the lips pressed on your neck, blissfully unaware of matt’s dilemma behind you.

trust, right?

whether it was the quiet laughter that came from the tv, or the feeling of matt’s fingers now tugging on the waistband of your underwear, or his lips that pressed little kisses on your jawline, you woke up.

it wasn’t sudden. it was more of a glide into reality from the dream you were having of ice blue eyes and snowy streets. you felt the cool air of the room nip at your nose. you felt the warmth of your boyfriend pressed up against your back. and you felt his wandering hands at your hips, fingertips under your sweatpants and dancing around your hipbone. you felt his thick erection digging at your backside, moving in small up and down motions.

a deep sigh left your mouth as you cracked open one eye, attempting to differentiate between physical feelings and made up feelings. matt’s other arm under you shifted and moved lower, his hand reaching the other hip and toying with the waistband there.

slowly, you felt his hands push down. the sweatpants slipped lower and lower until they fell to your knees. it wasn’t cold, per say, the dozen blankets probably helped in keeping your body heat trapped, but it was a shiver that racked your body as his lips made his way to the shell of your ear. you could feel his hair on your cheek and hear his deep sighs as he kissed behind and below your ear.

the other eye opened and you shifted in his arms this time, legs maneuvering the sweatpants down and off your legs. you kicked them off the side of the bed with little struggle, but you could hear matt’s chuckle as you resumed your position against his chest again.

he knew you were fully awake when you shook your hips against his cock in order to get comfortable again. your cheeks burned despite the cold, and you moaned when matt reached his hand to the warmth at the apex of your thighs and pressed. fingertips over the fabric, he rubbed just firmly enough for you to turn into his arm and move your hips to the rhythm of his hand.

your hands clutched his arm, fingernails digging deep into the hoodie. a small whine crawled up your throat as matt continued the trail of his lips along your neck.

“so cold, baby,” he mumbled into your ear. “just wanna stay inside you.”

your breath hitched and your movements stopped. he could feel your heartbeat thrumming and maybe you weren’t ready —

“then do it.”

it was his turn for his breath to hitch because you didn’t even give him a warning as your hands reached behind you and tugged his boxers and sweatpants down in one go. the rough feeling of the sheets against his cock had matt keening over, mouth open against your neck. he helped you in pulling his clothes all the way down, then took his middle finger and swiped a line from your clit and into your wet entrance. you bucked against him, moaning as he pumped his finger one, two times along your inner walls.

you reached back once more, feeling blindly for his cock.

“fuck.” matt groaned out when you grasped him tightly, thumb rubbing up against his tip, covered in sticky precum. you gently tugged, savoring the way matt was at your utter mercy, guiding him towards your entrance. he got the message, and fully turned to be pressed snug against your ass. his hand covered your lower abdomen, holding you in place as he slid his cock in, and in, and in.

mouth open and face twisted, you were frozen in pleasure. a soft moan left your mouth when he settled fully to the hilt. you could feel the press of his balls, and you dared to press further back, groaning when you felt him slide deeper.

breathing heavy in you your ear, his hand pressed around your lower tummy, feeling himself there.

there was nothing better than this. the blankets were messy around his hips, but matt didn’t even care because he had never been warmer. it took everything in him not to buck his hips over and over and pound into you from this angle, knowing he would be able to feel himself. the urge to bask in this warmth overcame his urge to fuck your brains out, so he pulled the sheets back up and settled once more against your body.

“feels so nice, matty.” you mumbled sleepily against his arm.

“yeah, baby?” he whispered. you had clenched slightly around him, and the movement made his cock twitch. he moved his hand up your undershirt and held your breast, massaging the bud of your nipple and releasing it to cup it instead. you whimpered and it was enough for him to drop his hand and move it back to your bare waist because the noise made him want to pump his come deep in you.

that was the horny side of him talking. the logical side of him wanted to breathe you in and focus on the way you felt wrapped around him, warming him up in a way a million blankets or heaters never could.

despite the unnerving urge you had to come so hard you saw stars, you took a few deep breaths and made yourself relax to the feeling of matt’s cock pressed against your cervix. you were so sensitive that the smallest movement had your eyes clenched and tummy tightening.

it felt good — a little too good as it took everything in you not to keep impaling yourself on his cock till you came. but his arms around you tightened and you realized you’ve never felt cozier.

your breath still puffed out in chill breaths, the tv still played reruns, the snow still fell outside, the clock only read 1:43. everything was happening the way it was meant to. so matt kissed the corner of your lips once more and settled into your warmth.

“sleep, pretty girl,” he murmured. “i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

[freshstitches]

In my previous post, I talked about the stacked stitch technique and said the idea came from warp knit textiles. I promised to tell you more about these knits so here's some info.

The terms warp and weft come from weaving where they are used to describe vertical and horizontal threads respectively (image 2). As hand knitters, we don't generally use these words in relation to our craft, but they correspond to the 2 primary methods of knit fabric production. In hand knitting and on home machines, yarns travel back and forth across each row horizontally (image 3). This is also called weft knitting.

Warp knitting is a process where yarn travels vertically as the fabric is created (image 4). We, as hobbyists, rarely use this term because it is very tedious to do by hand requiring a knitting loom or a lot of patience. Each needle has its own spool of thread and the width of the fabric is essentially determined by the number of bobbins/spools used. Imagine intarsia, but each color is just one stitch wide. Each thread must constantly zigzag from needle to needle in order to create a sheet of fabric and not a series of disconnected crochet chains. This lateral movement is referred to as "shogging." Threads swing to the front of the needle (overlap) and move one unit to the side then swing behind each needle (underlap) and and move to the side one or more spaces.

Warp knits are known for being sturdier with less elasticity and than weft knits. They can be very dense like stranded colorwork or contain extremely large holes. They do not run or ladder, if a yarn breaks, the fabric will slowly unravel and only a small hole will form. 

As in weft knitting, many different textures and colorwork effects can be created using only a few, basic stitches. Tulle, athletic mesh, and flame stitch (image 1) textiles are all manufactured using warp knitting machines.

The cover photo belongs to the @vamuseum and shows a silk shawl from c.1850. I made the illustrations from scratch and I'm very proud of them, please share them so lots of people see them.

[minhphong306]

[Learning notes] Elastic Stack – Relevance of search; fine tune precision or recall

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCTgroOcyfM&list=LL&index=1 https://github.com/LisaHJung/Part-2-Understanding-the-relevance-of-your-search-with-Elasticsearch-and-Kibana- Một số khái niệm True positives: các document LIÊN QUAN và ĐƯỢC trả về cho user. False positives: các document KHÔNG LIÊN QUAN và ĐƯỢC trả về cho user. True negative: các document KHÔNG LIÊN QUAN và KHÔNG ĐƯỢC trả về cho…

[badbtssmut]

10. Strictly business | Kinktober

Your boyfriend Taehyung might be a tough and important guy at the office but at home he's just a subby boy who needs your arms around him and your nipple popped into his mouth.

Contains: handjob, sucking on mc’ titties, subby tae, tiny bit of praising

—

“I’m sorry sir, I thought—”

“Last time I checked, I hired you to do your fucking job, not to stand around thinking, didn’t I?” He grabbed hold of the stack of papers the young employee held, yanking them out of his hands and sending several pages fluttering to the floor. He glared at the young man, daring him to make another move.

If you had told people at his job what he was like at home, they would’ve bursted into laughter. The Mr Kim? The man that terrorized the office and made people tremble with his voice only?

But reality was that you had him wrapped around your finger.

“Good boy.” You cooed, your fingers running through his soft locks as he suckled on your breast. Taehyung let out a low moan in response, his hum vibrating against your skin, creating butterflies in your lower tummy.

Your left hand slipped underneath the elastic band of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his hardend cock. Your thumb rubbed at the pre-cum dripping from the tip. Taehyung grunted softly, his lips coming loose from your nipple, leaving a trail of saliva on your tit. His eyes glanced down at his waistc watching as you stroked his errection— a flush of red coloring his cheeks.

“So hard all for me already?”

“Hm, for you. It’s easy when it’s you.” He replied, leaning in closer again to suck onto your nipple. You now placed your other hand onto his cock, massaging his cock with two hands now. At which he moaned more, his fingers digging into your thighs.

“Are you going to be my good boy and cum for me?”

“Yes.” He breathed out, moving his hips along with your strokes, his cock feeling slippery in your hands thanks to the precum coating his shaft. It didn’t take long for him to come undone.

“Such a good boy.”

[sosasturns]

late night studyin - m. sturniolo

perfect competition.

profit maximization.

competition in… fuck.

you’d been staring at the same page for what felt like hours, your eyes grazing over the words without absorbing a single thing. jeffery m. perloff could wait.

the library was quiet, save for the faint rustle of pages being turned and the occasional creak of a chair as another student packed up for the night. a quarter past midnight. the kind of hour where most people had already given up or fallen asleep on their textbooks. not you, though. you were still here. still trying to convince yourself you were studying for that microeconomics exam.

but, if you were honest, the reason you hadn’t left yet had nothing to do with your coursework.

he was sitting no more than thirty feet away, head bowed, glasses slipping down his nose as he flipped through a book. matt, as his name tag read. the late-night librarian.

you didn’t know much about him—not his last name, not his major (if he even had one), not why he always worked this shift. but you knew enough. you knew that the soft fall of his brown hair brushed just above his glasses when he tilted his head forward. you knew he had this habit of chewing on his lower lip when he was focused, like he was doing right now. you knew that he sat in that stupid button-up shirt that looked just a little too big for him, the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms as he rested one hand on the desk.

what you didn’t know was how you were supposed to concentrate when he was right there.

the ache between your thighs had started almost an hour ago, dull and ignorable at first. but the longer you sat there, pretending to read, the harder it was to ignore. you shifted in your seat, squeezing your thighs together as if that would do anything to alleviate the growing heat. it didn’t. your underwear was soaked, clinging to you uncomfortably, and you were certain that if you stood up, there’d be a faint damp spot on the fabric of the chair.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. not with him so close.

you were practically squirming in your seat at this point, the book in front of you nothing more than a forgotten prop. you hadn’t flipped the page in over twenty minutes, and the words were just a blur, lost in the fog of your thoughts. the ache between your legs was unbearable now, pulsing with every subtle glance at matt.

you had half a mind to just pack up and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but then he stood up.

your eyes snapped to him immediately, your breath hitching as he grabbed a small stack of books from the desk and walked toward the shelves. his footsteps were soft against the library’s old wooden floors, the quiet shuffle of his shoes barely breaking the silence. he moved with a sort of ease, his long fingers gripping the books firmly as he scanned the spines of the shelves, searching for their place.

your heart raced. this was your chance.

you grabbed the textbook in front of you—an afterthought, really, since you weren’t even sure it belonged to this library—and stood up. your knees felt weak, whether from sitting too long or from the way matt’s shirt stretched across his back as he reached up to slide a book into place, you weren’t sure.

you wandered toward the same section, feigning a purpose you didn’t have. the air between the rows of shelves felt warmer somehow, like the quiet intimacy of the space amplified the pounding of your heart.

and then you saw it.

he was reaching for the top shelf, one hand gripping the edge for balance as he stretched upward. his button-up shirt shifted with the motion, the fabric lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach. soft, pale skin, a faint trail of hair leading down beneath the waistband of his pants. the elastic band of his briefs peeked out—black, simple, but enough to send your mind spiraling.

he let out a quiet grunt as he slid the book into place, the sound low and unintentional, but it hit you like a freight train.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, the ache worsening as you tried to keep your breathing steady. god, you were a mess.

you were too busy staring at the soft stretch of matt’s shirt as he reached for another book to realize you’d been clutching your textbook so tightly that your knuckles had gone white. it wasn’t until you shifted your grip that it slipped from your hands, hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.

you froze, heat flooding your face as matt turned his head toward the sound. his blue eyes met yours, curious but calm, and you were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“need help?”

his voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was an underlying firmness to it. an odd mix that paired surprisingly well with the low, scruffy east coast accent that laced his words. it sounded so good—too good—to come out of his mouth.

you blinked, realizing too late that he was waiting for a response. “oh, um…” you bent down to pick up the book, fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to steady yourself. “no, no, i’m good. i was just, uh…” you paused, cringing at the way your words were already tumbling out of your mouth. “i’m just swapping out books. i have a microeconomics exam coming up for my micro 101 class in a few days, and i thought—”

you stopped mid-sentence when you noticed the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of matt’s lips.

“well,” he said, his voice low and playful, “you won’t find anything economical in the fiction section.”

his tone was so casual, but there was a faint smirk on his face that sent a shiver down your spine. it wasn’t overt, just enough to make you question if you imagined it.

you let out a breath of amusement, though it felt more like a flustered cry for help. his ability to joke around—however small—was almost worse than his quiet demeanor. you quickly crossed one leg over the other, your head ducking down for a moment as you tried to collect yourself.

“right…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

when you didn’t say anything else, matt tilted his head slightly, studying you before speaking again. “you want me to show you where the right section is?”

you looked up at him, nodding quickly before you could embarrass yourself further. “yeah, that’d be great. thanks.”

he gestured for you to follow, and you trailed after him as he led you down a few rows. the silence between you was heavy, broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your steps.

“here,” matt said, stopping in front of a shelf and motioning to the books.

“thanks,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the spines as you read off the titles.

he started to walk away, but then he hesitated, turning back around. “you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “there’s this theory in microeconomics about diminishing marginal returns. it’s pretty interesting.”

you looked up at him, blinking. “what?”

he scratched at the back of his head, his hand running through the short hairs there. the gesture was so casual, but it felt like a habit—a small, nervous quirk during social interactions. “diminishing marginal returns,” he repeated. “basically, it’s the idea that the more you add something, the less you get out of it. like studying.”

the corner of his mouth quirked up again—just a fraction—as if he found himself amusing.

“oh,” you said softly, suddenly very aware of how dry your mouth had gone.

you couldn’t help but notice the way his blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, giving you the faintest once-over. it wasn’t intense or deliberate, more like a quick assessment—like he was taking you in without even realizing he was doing it.

then, almost as if he caught himself, matt shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, the movement a little awkward, a little unsure. the action should’ve felt insignificant, but there was something about the way he did it—the slight shrug of his shoulders, the way his fingers fidgeted inside the fabric—that made your heart race.

god, why was that so attractive?

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as you turned your attention back to the spines of the books in front of you, pretending to read them like your life depended on it.

“so, uh…” matt’s voice broke the silence, soft and careful, like he wasn’t used to filling quiet spaces. “micro 101, huh?”

you nodded, trying to focus on the titles in front of you, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. “yeah. it’s… a lot,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, rocking back slightly on his heels. “it’s a tough class. i remember taking it my freshman year.”

you glanced at him, surprised. “you’re into econ?”

he shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips again. “i wouldn’t say into. it was more of a requirement. but…” he trailed off, his eyes flickering to the row of books in front of you. “it’s not so bad once you get past the graphs. and the endless supply and demand curves.”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, though it sounded more like a nervous giggle. “yeah, those are the worst.”

matt’s gaze flicked back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. for a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension.

"you're distracting," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

matt blinked, his lips parting slightly as a faint flush crept up his neck. "distracting?" he echoed, his tone low, almost teasing, but there was an underlying nervousness there—like he wasn't entirely sure if you were serious.

you nodded, your gaze locked on his. "yeah. like... how am i supposed to focus on anything with you right there, looking like that?"

his brows lifted, and for a split second, you thought you might've gone too far. but then he let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "you're kidding, right?"

"do i look like i'm kidding?" you countered, your voice steady even as your pulse raced.

matt stared at you, his blue eyes searching yours like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. when he didn't respond, you took a half step closer, the tips of your shoes brushing against his.

"if you're free," you murmured, your voice dropping to a near whisper, "you could help me... relax. just for a little bit."

his breath hitched, and you swore you saw his hand twitch where it still gripped the edge of the shelf. "relax?" he repeated, his voice softer now, almost uncertain.

you nodded, tilting your head slightly as you let your gaze drop to his lips for just a moment before meeting his eyes again. "yeah. unless you don't want to."

there was a beat of silence, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. and then, as if something inside him snapped, matt surged forward, his lips crashing against yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

the kiss was hungry, unrestrained, a sharp contrast to the quiet and reserved demeanor he'd shown just moments ago. his hands found your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pressed you back against the shelf.

"you're... impossible," he muttered against your lips, his voice low and strained, like he was struggling to catch his breath.

you let out a soft laugh, your hands sliding up his chest to the collar of his button-up shirt. "so i've been told."

his lips curved into a faint smile against yours before he kissed you again, slower this time, but just as intense.

one of your hands slipped down to his belt, fingers brushing against the leather as you tugged him closer. he let out a quiet groan, the sound sending a rush of heat through your body as his grip on your waist tightened.

"here?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he spoke.

"why not?" you replied, your voice breathless as you tilted your head back, giving him more access.

he hesitated for a fraction of a second before. nodding, his lips returning to yours as his hands began to roam, his touch tentative at first but growing bolder with each passing second.

you were halfway through pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants when matt broke the kiss, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"wait-hold on," he stammered, his voice a low rasp as his hands hovered uncertainly at your hips. "here? like right here?"

you paused, your lips brushing his jaw as you gave him a look. "you don't want to?"

"no! i mean-yes. i do. it's just..." he trailed off, his blue eyes darting around the dimly lit aisle, as if he expected someone to walk in at any second.

"then stop overthinking," you murmured, your fingers deftly undoing the first button of his pants.

his breath hitched as he looked down at your hands, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "you're-uh-really forward, huh?"

you smirked, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"you're the one who kissed me first."

his lips parted like he wanted to respond, but before he could, you sank to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. his entire body went rigid, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the shelf for balance.

"oh-oh, god," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

you looked up at him, your eyes catching the way his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he stared at you in wide-eyed disbelief. "you okay up there?" you teased, your voice soft but laced with amusement.

"uh-yeah. totally. fine," he said quickly, though the way his voice cracked on the last word betrayed him.

his hands fumbled at his belt, fingers shaking slightly as he tried to undo the buckle. but he was taking his sweet time, and the growing ache between your thighs was making it impossible to be patient.

"jesus christ, matt," you muttered, pushing his hands away. "let me."

before he could protest, you pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to free him, the cool air of the library brushing against his skin. his head tipped back against the shelf with a quiet thud as you took him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip.

"oh, my god," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

you leaned forward, letting your tongue flick over him before taking him into your mouth. his entire body tensed, a shaky gasp escaping his lips as his hand shot out, gripping the edge of the shelf even tighter.

"oh-fuck," he muttered, his voice low and strained.

"this is—holy shit, this is happening."

you couldn't help but smile at his reaction, the sound muffled as you took him deeper. his hips jerked forward slightly, and he let out a quiet groan, his free hand moving to tangle in your hair.

"you're... god, you're really good at that," he rambled, his words coming out in a rushed, breathless stream. "like, wow. i didn't-fuck—I didn't think—"

you pulled back slightly, your tongue swirling around him as you glanced up at him through your lashes.

"matt," you murmured, your voice teasing as your hand replaced your mouth for a moment. "you're not exactly being quiet."

his face turned bright red, his lips parting as he let out a shaky breath. "right. yeah. quiet. got it."

but the moment you took him into your mouth again, all of his resolve seemed to crumble. his fingers tightened in your hair as a low, guttural sound escaped his throat, his hips twitching forward despite himself.

"shit-shit, sorry," he whispered, his voice frantic as he forced himself to stay still. "i didn't mean to-fuck, you're just-"

he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his head tipping back as his breathing grew more ragged. you could tell he was trying his best to keep it together, but the way his thighs trembled under your hands told you he was close to unraveling.

"this-oh, god, this doesn't happen often," he admitted suddenly, his words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "i mean-it's been a while. like, a long while. like, years. and-fuck-you probably don't care about that, huh?"

you pulled back just enough to respond, your voice low and teasing. "what do you think?"

his breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening as he let out a soft, almost whimper-like sound. "no," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

his breath hitched, body tensing as he leaned forward, bracing one arm against the shelf above you while his other hand tightened in your hair. his glasses had slid down his nose again, fogged slightly from the heat radiating off his flushed face.

"i'm-fuck," he muttered, voice shaky as he pressed his forehead to his arm. the tendons in his neck strained as he fought the urge to speak louder, to make any noise beyond the soft whimpers and ragged breaths slipping past his lips.

you could feel him trembling beneath your touch, and just as his hips jerked forward slightly, a clear sign he was about to let go, you pulled away.

his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide and glassy as he looked down at you in utter disbelief. "wha-why did you stop?"

a sly smile tugged at your lips as you sat back on your heels, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"because," you said softly, your voice laced with teasing, "i'd rather feel you finish inside me than in my mouth."

his jaw went slack, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red as his hand fell from the shelf to his side. "oh," he managed to say after a beat, his voice barely audible.

you rose to your feet, your hands sliding up his chest as you pressed your body against his. his breath hitched again, his lips parting as you tilted your head slightly, your mouth brushing against his ear.

"but only if you can last," you whispered, your tone playful yet challenging.

that seemed to light a fire under him because within moments, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him as he guided you back against the shelf.

"don't say i didn't warn you," he muttered, his voice low and slightly shaky as he fumbled to position himself.

the first thrust was slow, almost tentative, as if he were testing his own limits. you let out a soft gasp, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he filled you completely.

"fuck," he muttered under his breath, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck as he gripped your waist tighter.

the second thrust was rougher, his hips snapping forward with a bit more force, and you couldn't stop the soft moan that slipped past your lips. his breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as he fought to keep control.

by the third thrust, his resolve crumbled completely. his hips stuttered, and a low, guttural groan escaped him as he buried himself deep inside you, his entire body tensing as he reached his release.

you clung to him, your legs feeling like jelly as you struggled to catch your breath. but before you could even process what had just happened, he pulled back slightly, his head resting against the shelf as he let out a shaky laugh.

"you know," he said, his voice still breathless as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "if you think about it, the law of diminishing returns would technically apply here. you know, in a, uh, metaphorical sense."

you blinked up at him, your mind still hazy as you tried to make sense of his words. "what?" you asked dumbly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks still flushed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "never mind," he muttered, clearly regretting bringing it up.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back against the shelf. “you’re such a nerd.”

© sosasturns

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Master An "Effortlessly Elegant" & Put-Together Look

Table of Contents:

Treat your skin like royalty

Take ample care of your natural hair

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape

Choose your accessories wisely

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple

Regarding your signature scent(s)

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously

Treat your skin like royalty:

Use high-quality skincare twice a day

Wear sunscreen every day

Remove your makeup every night before bed no matter what

Use makeup that doesn't clog your pores/irritate your skin

Change your pillowcases weekly

Eat plenty of produce & drink lots of water

Prioritize sleep

Limit or eliminate alcohol, cigarettes, caffeine, and processed foods/sugary drinks

Keep your skin exfoliated/derma-planed

Take ample care of your natural hair:

Use high-quality shampoo/conditioner combos that suit your hair type & don't cause build-up

Hydrate with a scalp mask 1-4 times a month

Use cold or lukewarm water to wash your hair

Apply shampoo to the roots/hair covering your scalp and conditioner only on the "ponytail" section of your hair

Use a specialty hair towel after getting out of the shower

Always comb wet hair and brush 1-3 times a day when dry

Limit heat on your hair when possible & always use a heat protectant every time you do

Use non-elastic or silk hair ties

Get regular trims at least 3-4 times per year (get your hair layered if it's very thick)

Try to limit how much you dye or, especially bleach, your hair and do elaborate styles with tons of heat & harsh products

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape:

Embrace minimalist basics (tees, tanks, blouses, sweaters, jeans, trousers, blazers, leather jackets, coats, etc.) in high-quality fabrics (Pima cotton, Merino wool, Tencel, mulberry silk, etc.)

Choose options in black, white, grey, charcoal beige, navy, burgundy, or cream depending on your skin tone and preferences

Invest in a collection of sleek footwear options (black boots, loafers, black pumps, white sneakers, etc.) in minimalist, timeless styles that suit the color palette, hemlines & proportions of your go-to outfits

Ensure your shoes and accessories feel proportional to the weight/silhouette of your outfit, color-coordinate with the rest of your look, and have streamlined hardware from head-to-toe (all silver, all gold, or one piece that mixes silver/gold and another gold & silver piece each to balance out the color palette)

Keep all of your clothes steam and lint-rolled, so they look crisp & fresh all-day

Befriend your tailor to take in or let out clothes as needed when purchased off the rack

Choose clothes/styles that flatter your body shape and proportions

Utilize belts and bra tape to adjust the waist, keep shirts tucked in, and keep straps from falling down or create an impromptu cuff/hem on your pants

When in doubt, select a neutral head-to-toe monochrome outfit

If on a budget, consider choosing black, grey, camel beige items to hide fabric imperfections that could cheapen your look

Choose your accessories wisely:

Select sleek, simple neutral (& almost exclusively) monochrome shoes made with smooth (recycled/vegan) leather with

Pair almost any outfit with a shoe featuring a slight platform, block heel, kitten heel, and/or a sharply pointed toe to elongate your silhouette

Complement your outfit with structured, pared-back handbags with no logos (Focus on quality and construction, not the brand name) in a neutral shade and timeless silhouette

For jewelry, choose at most one statement piece and all others should be focused on different areas of the body (e.g. don't mix statement earrings with layered/bold necklaces or stacked rings * bracelets). When in doubt, choose simple diamond chains or earrings, sleek bangles or chainlink necklaces & bracelets, simple pendant necklaces, and minimalist rings in hardware that all go together

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup:

Cover up any dark circles, blemishes, or hyperpigmentation with a color-matched concealer

Lightly contour with a bronzer that complements your skin tone

Fill in your brows for a naturally full look (or get them professionally tinted)

Apply a light wash of rose, coral, or mauve blush

Use black mascara with a little bit of eyeliner and/or a subtle wash of brown eyeshadow on the lids

Apply a "your lips but better" nude shade or "just kissed' berry lipstick or pigmented lip balm for a subtle wash of color

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple:

Maintain cut, cleaned, and filed short nails

Opt for a square or almond nail shape

Choose a timeless nail shade (pink, nude, red, beige, dark cherry, navy, dark purple, black) with no nail art

Hydrate your hands and scrub under your nails daily

Regarding your signature scent(s):

Ensure your body wash/lotion and perfume scents don't clash

Test perfumes for a trial day to ensure they smell divine with your unique pheromones

Choose a fragrance appropriate for the seasonal/occasion

Apply a dab on each wrist and on your neck/behind the ears. If the scent doesn't project well on you, try applying these small dabs on the cuffs and shoulders of your jacket/walk into it to get it on your hair (if it would stain your clothes)

Don't layer more than one heady perfume at a time or scents that don't have complementary and/or shared notes

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously:

Floss every day (after each meal if possible)

Brush your teeth with an electric toothbrush twice a day

Have mints on hand if you're a garlic, spice, or coffee lover

Keep your lips & hands well-moisturized and protected with SPF

Shower your body daily and be extra diligent in scrubbing your privates, everything behind, and under your arms

Don't use very hot water in the shower (it burns/dries out your skin)

Exfoliate 2-3 times a week with a sugar scrub

Moisturize daily or anytime you get out of the shower

Apply SPF on any exposed sun (especially in the summer or when the UV index is high in your area)

[evnseokz]

anton riize smut during exam week?

pairing: bf! anton x reader

contents: stressed anton, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, cum swallowing

a.n: tysm for the request! sorry it took so long, i hope you enjoy!! w.c. 753

finals week had anton in a chokehold. the stress was eating him alive — notebooks stacked like towers on his desk, his highlighter caps long gone, and barely a second to breathe between papers and panic. he was buried in deadlines, worn thin by sleepless nights and caffeine-fueled cramming. and it showed — tension coiled through his shoulders, his jaw tight, posture slouched under the weight of it all.

you watched from the doorway for a moment, taking in the mess of his desk and the way his fingers were digging into his temple. he looked like he might snap.

quietly, you walked over, slipping behind him and gently placing your hands on his shoulders. he flinched at first, then melted into your touch with a soft sigh as your thumbs began kneading into the tight muscle under his hoodie.

“why don’t you take a break, toni?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

he shook his head without turning around. “i can’t, baby. this is too important.”

you pouted, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you leaned down. “just a tiny one? five minutes,” you whispered, “for me?”

he finally turned to look at you — your hands clasped together, lashes fluttering just a little dramatically. he sighed, somewhere between fond and defeated.

“…five minutes.”

you beamed, already pulling the elastic from your wrist and tying your hair back into a ponytail. before anton could process what was happening, you were on your knees between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs in slow, deliberate circles.

his eyes widened, a flush blooming across his cheeks. “baby—what’s this?”

“i told you,” you smiled, kissing the inside of his thigh. “i’m giving you the best five-minute study break of your life.”

his breath hitched as your fingers found the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. his cock was already thickening in anticipation, and the sight made your mouth water.

you looked up at him through your lashes, licking your lips slowly before wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. he was hot and heavy in your palm, and as you pumped him a few times, you felt him twitch under your touch.

anton groaned low in his throat as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the flushed tip before slowly taking him into your mouth. his hips jerked slightly at the warmth of your tongue, a stuttered “f-fuck” escaping as his head tipped back against the chair.

you worked him with your mouth and hand, taking him as deep as you could, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t fit. he was already falling apart — breathing hard, his thighs trembling under your grip. one hand tangled in your ponytail, not to push, but to guide — a quiet, desperate plea for more.

“taking me so well,” he murmured, voice thick with praise. “god, your mouth…”

you hollowed your cheeks around him, pulling back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, drawing a whimper from his throat. then you leaned in again, licking a slow stripe from the base to the tip before taking him fully back into your mouth.

his grip in your hair tightened.

you could feel it in the way he began to roll his hips — gently at first, then a little more urgently, fucking into your mouth in slow, shaky thrusts. he was getting close.

“s-so close,” he gasped, his voice nearly breaking. “baby, fuck—doing so good…”

his cock throbbed in your mouth as his hips stuttered, and you let him chase his release, eyes fluttering shut as he moaned deep and loud, spilling down your throat. his whole body trembled through it, panting hard, fingers still buried in your hair as you swallowed every drop.

you pulled back slowly, lips red and wet, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at him with a satisfied little smile.

anton opened his eyes, dazed and pink-cheeked. “fuck,” he whispered, still catching his breath.

his hands reached down to tug you up into his lap, pulling you in for a kiss that was messy and needy and full of something more than just lust.

“studying can wait,” he muttered against your lips. “i need to be inside you.”

.

..

…

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

[girlsdads]

https://www.tumblr.com/girlsdads/762007245755170816

It looks like daniel is peeing

em!!! you put this in my brain and i promptly had a crisis, so of course i had to give Max that same crisis, and somehow this became 1.3k 🫡

cw: (consensual?) voyeurism, romanticized peeing

Practice gets red-flagged early on. Max doesn’t see who is in the barrier as he slowly passes, just knows it isn’t Daniel. He’d been assured of that down his radio almost instantly, though he hadn’t asked. He thinks it must be team protocol to tell him this, that it’s not his teammate in the totaled car. Still, Max flushes bone-deep, feeling too exposed, too obvious. Feeling like they know, everyone must know, his brain turns to goop around Daniel and he never catches himself in time.

He trails Daniel to his driver’s room anyway, knowing how it looks. Daniel grins over his shoulder at Max, starts skipping ahead, makes Max chase him. Warmth blooms in Max’s belly. He may be always following behind Daniel, but Daniel is always looking back.

Daniel shrugs his race suit off his shoulders, lets it hang open around his trim waist. The humidity has stamped dark patches on his white fireproofs where he’s started to sweat through. Max closes the door behind himself and stands there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say that will make Daniel laugh, trying not to make direct eye contact with Daniel’s sweaty armpits, lest he shove Daniel against the wall and stick his nose there.

What happens instead is much, much worse.

Daniel is making a beeline to the bathroom, thumbs hooking into the elastic over his flat pelvis. Max’s vision tunnels, the air in the room seeming to close in around him with a swoosh.

“What are you doing?” He hears himself ask, stupidly.

It’s obvious what Daniel is doing. He’s shimmying his hips side to side as he nears the toilet, wiggling the Nomex down. He’s left the door wide open. He stops and smiles at Max, blinding. “Gotta drain the snake, as they say.”

Who is saying this other than you, Max wants to shoot back, knows he should match Daniel’s cheeky tone, rib him a little then leave the fucking room like a normal person. He hears the wet pop of his own bottom lip dropping open, feels the weight of the words against his larynx, but is struck completely dumb watching Daniel pull out his flushed, soft cock.

Max has of course seen Daniel’s dick before, it would probably be more weird if he hadn’t, like he was purposely trying not to. But the handful of other times have only been glimpses in his periphery, nothing like this. Like this, close range and staring openly because Daniel knows Max is there and still he didn’t close the door, Max can see everything.

The double-stacked waistband of his briefs and fireproofs is tucked up snug under his balls. Max can see where the dark, stubbly hairs are starting to grow back, on his sac and around the base of his cock. Daniel has joked before, about manscaping, but to see the evidence of it like this is dizzying. Max wants to go to his knees and pull each ingrown hair free with his teeth.

Daniel holds himself loosely in his left hand, the ruddiness of his shaft clearly visible through the gaps between knucklebones. The head is peeking out past the circle of his index finger and thumb, fat and flushed a little darker than the rest of him. Even soft, his cock looks heavy and full. Max’s mouth floods with saliva and he sucks it back with his cheeks pinched in, hoping Daniel won’t hear the wet slurp.

His skin feels hot. He’s stuck like an ant under a magnifying glass in the sun, his insides incinerating as he watches an arc of piss flow from the gorgeous tip of Daniel’s cock, noisily splashing into the bowl.

Daniel groans, his chin bobbing down toward his chest like someone cut the string that was holding his head upright. Piss hisses out of him, harder now, like he’s pushing it. It is so loud and the walls are thin—anyone lingering nearby must be able to hear, to know. Max wishes he could put up a forcefield, shelter them both inside where only Max can hear the sounds Daniel’s body makes.

It is all over so quickly. The stream trickles to a stop and then Daniel is shaking off the last little dribbles before he’s tucking himself away. Max feels a pang in his chest like grief—he hadn’t finished mentally cataloguing every angle of this moment, needs the image 3D printed into his brain so he can remember forever. Daniel will probably never speak to him again after this, will certainly not let Max anywhere near his bare cock once he turns and sees—Max is hard.

Daniel is shrugging back into the shoulders of his race suit and Max is standing there tenting his own, mortifyingly obvious. Max braces for whatever awkward joke Daniel will try to make to mask his disgust, as he faces Max finally.

He watches Daniel notice. He watches his eyes go slightly bigger and rounder, watches his jaw tick like he’s going to drop it. His gaze feels like a physical weight. Max’s dick throbs once, twice. There is no way Daniel cannot see.

Daniel says nothing, in the end. He smiles at Max, easy as anything, as if Max isn’t a complete freak of nature with a boner from watching his teammate take a piss. He even claps Max on the shoulder as he passes on his way out the door, doesn’t seem to catch how Max sways, knees wobbly, under his touch.

And then Max is alone in Daniel’s driver’s room. Alone and hard and—fuck, a realization burns through him—Daniel didn’t flush.

Max lurches forward before he can stop himself. His foot catches on some part of the floor and he stumbles, nearly going to his knees right there in front of the toilet.

It should be mostly clear, with how they are supposed to be staying hydrated, but apparently Daniel is not doing a very good job. Max has to steady himself with one hand on the wall as he stares down into the bowl, dazed. The water is tinged an unmistakable yellow. It hits Max viscerally, that Daniel has bodily functions and that he did one of those right in front of Max, was comfortable enough to not care if he saw. It’s unbearably intimate in a way that Max can’t think too hard about or he’ll forget how to drive his car, probably. He thinks, wildly, that he wishes he could live inside Daniel’s body, surrounded by all the microscopic things that make him him. He wants to kiss every single one of Daniel’s cells and thank them for keeping him alive.

Even more wildly—he wants to massage his bladder from the inside, tell it he’s sorry it had to get so full, that Daniel should never have to hold it for too long, that he could always if he cannot wait tell Max to go to his knees, and Max would, anywhere, tip his head back and open up for everything Daniel has to give—

Max rips his layers off, feeling frenzied. Elastic stretches around his thighs as he squats lower, his cock now leaking bare over the bowl full of Daniel’s pee. He had foregone underwear earlier, the crotch of his fireproofs now absolutely soaked through with precome. It will be cold and sticky around his cock and balls when he gets back in the car, he will have to drive again and feel it and he will think about Daniel and his dehydrated piss and the sound he made when he let go—

Max comes, shaking, aiming his cock so that it splatters into the bowl, milky white swirling with yellow. Max and Daniel together, like it should be always.