#and now BEEKEEPING. WHAT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sh1-n0bu · 2 months ago

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imagine dating an older man this, imagine dating an older woman that COWARDS🗣️ imagine being an older woman and having a younger guy astronomically DOWN BAD (for all intents and purposes, this is a joke. i am not an older woman, nor am i shitting on ppl who love aforementioned relationship dynamics, this is just a horndogged thought)

imagine being an older woman, who never really saw the appeal in romantic or sexual relationships, only focusing on what was ahead of you. the job, adventures of life, education, academic achievements and your own personal hobbies, pastime enjoyments and relationships other than the romantic or sexual ones. there was more to world and life than just that after all, even though your friends’ nagging of when you will reveal the secret guy, or when you will find someone to settle down etc rang out during nearly every night outs, surely giving you a grey strand or few. really, you just… weren’t interested at all. there were rarely anyone who caught your attention and those who did were only appealing to the eyes rather than the heart

sure, there were some boys who would saunter up to you at the bar or cafe with their smug little faces and annoying attitudes, talking some shit about how they like their women like a silver fox, talking about how you were a beekeeping age, or even the stupid ‘i like my woman who are as old as my momma’. useless little things being said as a means to get a single night stand. you’d always tell them off with some backhanded insult, sharp words or how this wasn’t the predator franchise

one thing led to another and one of your closest and longest lasting friend had downloaded a dating app on your phone for you. something something about how you were in the perfect age to settle down now and if not, at least go out on a romantic date for once rather than taking yourself out on dates or with the ladies. you decided to humor them, keeping the app and adding very minimum information about yourself, work, hobbies and what not before kicking the acknowledgement of the app’s existence into the back of your mind

many DMs and snaps were sent to you of course, the usual beekeeping age bullshit. the rare few men who would be around your age range would end up being married, had a fiancée or in an odd form of relationship. you made sure to get their partners’ phone number and name before blocking them, calling them or texting them to notify them that their partner was a cheating bastard and had a dating app. “it’s their relationship, not yours!” most would say, but ladies gotta look out for one another in your opinion. made a pretty few sweet friends that way too

it was one of your slow and peaceful weekends when your phone dinged, another DM text in that accursed dating app. though instead of the usual annoying half-assed flirts or dick pics, it was a simple compliment. ‘good eve, ma’am. i just wanted to say that you look breathtaking. have a nice night, ma’am’ was all it said, a reply to one of the pictures you had added to the app for the introduction part. surprisingly straight to the point and respectful, so with a shrug and a ‘might as well give it a shot’ thought, you messaged back with some words of gratitude. something that quickly derailed into a nice normal conversation and getting to know each other texts. checking his profile, you found out that he was basically in the same position as you. forced by some of his friends to grow outside his shell, few pictures and simple descriptions, just a few years younger. safe to say, he was your first match in that damn app

life continued on, weekdays and weekends switching in their endless circle and you and your dating app friend had gotten close. it truly did felt like he was a nice mannered young man and when he asked if you would be willing to go out on a date, you agreed. nothing wrong with putting the dating app to its original intents and purposes. he was sweet, planned nearly everything with your added thoughts and preferences and had let you enjoy a nice dinner date, all freshened up and smelling of a sweet cologne with a decent suit. perhaps this whole dating app thing was a good idea after all, even as he stuttered sometimes and tripped over his words upon seeing how gorgeous you were, you thought of him as oddly cute

one dinner date turned into a few dates, then park, movie and hobby dates and before you two had known it, the whole thing had shifted smoothly into a relationship. things taken slowly at your own preferred pace, no use of rushing or getting down and dirty. it was a good relationship and possibly the best one you had so far, you'd wager. even your sweet boyfriend - as much as you both occasionally laugh and joke how it was unfitting and even a little bit young and childish for your age - had gotten used to this shift in life, comfortable with making you breakfast in bed on the days you have a work off or just sleeping in, making your coffee just the way you like, eggs cooked to fit your needs on a crispy toast, a pancake, with an adorably whipped cream drawn smiley face. it was just perfect

but of course, there were the occasional moments when your boyfriend nearly destroyed these perfect moments — at least, in his opinion. waking up in the morning before you, and seeing your sleeping face, all peaceful and calm with the grey streaks in your hair and the laugh lines on your face did things to him. you just looked so ethereal, basking in the glow of the morning sunlight, like the reincarnation of aphrodite. and before he knew it, he had a morning wood, quickly scuffling out of bed and towards to bathroom to take care of his problem before you woke up

or when you’re showing him the latest dress you bought, or any clothes really, just peacefully showing him what it looked like on you as you twirled in front of him and gods, you were so breathtaking. all he could do was just nod dumbly like the lovesick puppy he was as a weak ‘uh-huh’ escaped his lips. oh, the little pooch of your tummy, the rolls on your sides, the love handle, the hipdip — whatever these things were called, good god, he wanted nothing more than to just slink down from the couch onto his knees and politely ask to bury his face into them. let him touch them, the little fats on your body, the rolls, the pooch. he’ll lovingly caress them and your stretch marks and everything with reverence

or when you’re testing your new lipsticks on his face, applying the newly bought make up on your gorgeous, kissable lips before smooching him on the face, turning him more and more into a painting of your doing while he drunkenly sits there on the couch with a stupid fucking smile. oh no, this one wasn’t kiss proof either, better try all of them and see if they’re kiss proof too. oh he was covered in lipstick? don’t worry, nothing big. he’s just too busy admiring you and occasionally wondering how the color would look in its perfect kiss shape on his leaking dick while you mocked him for being a horny dog

maybe he slipped up one day, instead of thanking you usually with the sweet nickname after you had done fixing his tie for him, just idiotically smiling at you as a “thank you, mistress” dropped from his lips. an immediate freeze and after a moment, his face was turning red with an embarrassed apology after apology while he hid his face into the crook of your neck. not like you minded too much, just laughing and patting him on the back, reassuring him that it was fine, mistakes happened. though, you won’t lie, it was adorable in the sexy way on how he just let that slip out

ever since that little incident, your sweet boyfriend’s longing grew worse and worse. their hands started to wander more, squeezing, pinching and pawing hopelessly against the fat rolls of your tummy or gripping at your love handles with an eagerness of a puppy whenever they came to stand behind you while you made dinner. damn near sliding towards you on their knees to help you put on your shoes before you leave the house for work and have mercy on him if you choose to wear high heels that day, placing your heel between his thighs while his other hand gently guided your leg by the ankle to slip into the heel. he thought he was being slick but no, you caught it all. of course you would, he was damn near whimpering nowadays every time you come home all exhausted and collapse onto the couch, scrambling over and getting on his knees to massage your tired feet while his adam’s apple bobs while staring at your meaty thighs, mindlessly nodding and going “uh-huh” while you ramble about your day while your pretty boyfriend just wishes he was that goddamn stockings, snug around your legs

it was during one of these days that you decided to take pity on him — how could you not? his pathetic puppy eyes had you wrapped around his fingers — moving your leg out of his hands and instead hooking it over his shoulder. pulling him closer by your leg towards your thighs while you shift down more to place yourself closer to the edge of the couch. pretty eyes blinked up at you with a stuttered, “h-honey…?”, hands placed on his knees like the good boy he is while a pretty pink color bloomed on his cheeks. you just gave a roll of your hips on the couch, a sweet smile and a “my thighs feel exhausted too. help me out?” and he was immediately nodding his head vigorously, shaky hands grabbing and gently squeezing the fat while his breath grew shaky. god, he could see the lace edges of the stockings under your skirt now! and even more, he could see your panties. god help him, he was growing hard in his boxers like some stupid teenager seeing a woman’s boobs all over again

“a little bit up” you called out, watching his reactions with the same smile, lipstick covered lips spread wide on your face. your boyfriend whined instead of following through with your words, peering up at you through his pretty lashes. his hands pushed your skirt up, enough to take in your panties and stockings in full view as he gulped down his saliva, muttering out a weak “m-may i taste you, ma’am?”. the honorific instead of your name or the usual patnames just seem to fall from his lips so easily now, eyes constantly switching from your pretty face and colored lips and to your underwear and the fat of your thighs covered by the heavenly nylon

“you wanna taste me, pup?” you hum out, voice like a sweet honey or the finest red wine and have mercy on him, the idiot merely lost it right then and there, ready to lose any sense of dignity as he nods his head with an obedient “yes ma’am, i would like to taste you ma’am”. you simply cooed at his eager words, the leg thrown over his shoulder pulling him closer to the couch, closer to the heaven between your thighs as you balance your feet on his shoulder. he whined again at how you were teasing him, refusing to give him a solid answer and just toying with him like he was a canary trapped in the fangs of a cat. but he might as well be a willing canary that flew into the jaws of the feline with the way he cutely adds a final, “please allow me, ma’am…?” and damn near cheers a loud excited whoop when you nod at him, giving him the green lights

your boyfriend lets out a stuttered breath through his lips when he pulls down your panties, even folding them sweetly and placing them beside your legs on the couch like the sweet boy he is, when he sees your pussy, covered in the same color of bush as your hair. gulping again, he trails gentle kisses up your legs, from the lace ends of your stockings and up the bare skin of your legs, making sure to kiss the stretch marks he comes across before he finally nuzzles his face into your bushy mound. weakly, he licks at your folds, as if this was his first time eating out a woman and occasionally suckling at your clit. he was just so adorable with how he tenderly kisses and suckles and licks at you, like he had never felt the touch of a woman. so when your hands grasps at his hair, scratching at his scalp once before pulling him flush against your pussy, he downright moans against you before diving in like it was his final food. slurping at your wetness and eating you out like you were his last meal while his two fingers pushed your labia open, whimpering out words of “t-thank you, ma’am, thank yo-you for letting me touch you” and “you taste mmgh so sweet, ma’am.. i aamgh l-love your pussy juice s’much”

when you do cum into his mouth after his excited tongue and finger fucking you open, he opens his mouth eagerly to taste every single drop of your sweet pussy juice, already addicted to the taste and scent of it from just a single taste. his fingers continue to massage your soft walls, thumb swirling over your clit in gentle motions while his free hand pushed down on your lower tummy, pleading you to cum again and to get his face wet with your slick like he was some pathetic toy for you. only when you patted his head at last with a “good job, pretty boy” did he pull his fingers away — albeit with heavy disappointment — as he drawled out “th-thank you, missus. i’m glad to be-be of use to my missus” with his lips and jaws dripping with some of your cum. you laughed at seeing that look on his face, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed and his hair a mess with your slick all over his jaw. seems like your pretty boy was a messy eater

first time writing smut for my female readers, this was truly a shift in my writing ngl. as you can tell from the smuts on my blog, im more comfortable writing for a gender neutral reader, top reader and im sure most — or at least half — of my readers feel comfortable with that norm as well. but lately cough cough a bit of rp on c.ai with cod character bots with my older oc cough cough ive gotten addicted to the thought of being an older woman and having a younger man just whipped for you and decided to challenge myself with writing for a femdom reader. and by younger, i mean within a decade of years age gap, preferably within 5 years even. nothing too serious. hope you all liked this small brainrot and the dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 21 days ago

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Should have cleaned the pipes

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary While on a case, you nearly get hurt. Despite the fact that nothing happens, Dean is pissed - apparently he's the only one allowed to be a stupid hero. So you teach him a lesson about his actions having consequences. CWs Dean being kind of a dick and therefore getting blue balled. Dean eating ass and needy, desperate fucking. Good times all around. 18+. 8.7k words

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

As you come to, you groan, quickly followed by the sound of metal clanking. You distantly feel that your shoulders are hurting, the muscles in them burning and then you move your leg, hiss in pain.

“–your weight off your arms,” you hear a voice and you blink your eyes open, groan again. Your feet move under you, scratching over the ground, and finally you find purchase and some of the burning pain disappears from your shoulders.

It’s dark in the room you’re in. It looks like some sort of decrepit basement, including the dirt floor and - you see with a swallow of your dry throat - all types of horrifying tools straight out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre attached to the wall.

“You hear me?” the voice behind you asks, and now that you’re a little back to yourself, you immediately recognize it.

You shuffle your feet, making yourself slowly turn around and let out a deep sigh when you see him.

Dean’s equally hanging in chains from the ceiling. His body’s longer than yours, so he’s not dangling and swinging as much as you. You close your eyes at the slight dizziness the movement has caused in you, then open them again.

“What’s a handsome fella like you doing in a place like this?” you say in a flat tone, but it doesn’t have the desired effect of making him laugh.

“Not funny,” he says through clenched teeth, then his eyes reluctantly leave your face, wander up to the chains holding you, then back to your face. “He hurt you?”

You shake your head carefully, wary of adding nausea to the dizziness.

“No, he was a real gentleman,” you reply. Dean breathes out of his nose, then in again, and you know what’s coming.

“I told you to stay with Sam,” he says, nostrils flaring.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” you reply immediately, a little snappier than you mean to, but it’s just what that tone he has does to you. He’s allowed to rush into the fray and quip when he’s shackled up. Why aren’t you?

“And see where that got you!” he says, voice loud and determined, and you suppress an eyeroll, knowing it’s only gonna piss him off further.

“Well,” you reply, unable to help the slight tinge of smartassery your voice carries, “there was a good chance you were being tortured to death down here, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen. So deal with it.” Dean makes a sarcastic face.

“And now we both get to be tortured to death,” he snaps back. “Good times!”

Okay, you didn’t want to fight, seeing as there’s that whole imminent death thing going on, but he’s too good at getting under your skin.

“Oh, you know what, Dean?” you reply, tone mean. “You can kiss my ass!”

There’s a loud bang and both of you look towards where the sound came from.

It’s him. The vengeful spirit, dirty, greasy, ugly looking motherfucker who ritually sacrificed all his farm animals before moving on to his family. He’s mean enough to be able to take corporal form, which you had the pleasure of finding out when he pushed you down the stairs at the top of the basement, knocking you out.

“Uh, sorry, we’re kinda busy,” you say to him, raising your eyebrows. “Could you come back in 15?”

“Stop it,” Dean hisses through his teeth but you ignore him.

The spirit turns towards you. At least you’re pretty sure he does - he’s in a dirty, dusty beekeeping suit, because apparently his bees were the only thing he liked in life.

Just then, he takes a slow, halting step towards you, then another. You can’t see his face because of the mask, but the way your skin ripples lets you know he’s staring at you.

“Hey,” you hear Dean say, but you can’t take your eyes off the creature as he takes another step towards you, raises his arm.

“Hey, you freak asshole!” Dean calls out, his voice now carrying an edge of desperation. “Leave her alone!”

It’s not like the guy’s gonna listen, but you appreciate the attempt. Except of course that Dean would rip your head off if you tried to do the same thing. He’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself, to put himself in danger for the ones he loves. No one else gets to do it.

You start tugging at the chains, but it’s useless. They’re made of thick, old iron, so they would work to repel the spirit, but they’re up so high and, as you notice as you continue pulling on them, attached way too well. You pull again for good measure, but his hand is coming closer, is nearly touching your face…

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Dean shouts, voice cracking on the curse. “I will fucking rip you apart!”

For a second you think it’s actually Dean’s threats that stop him. His hand freezes in midair, and then he begins shaking, and a second later, flames start licking along his body. It takes only moments until he’s fully consumed and although it’s not real fire, at least not here in the room with you, you’re almost certain you can feel the heat of it on your face.

You let out a shaking breath when he’s been fully consumed, and before you have time to say fuck you and your bees, the door at the top of the basement stairs opens with a creak. You tense, but then you hear quick footsteps, and a second later, a worried-looking Sam appears.

You let your head drop back, let out a long sigh and you’re pretty sure Dean does something similar. Sam rushes over to his brother first, hand going to the inside of his jacket and coming back out with his lockpick.

“Man, am I happy to see you,” Dean says, looking up to where his brother is undoing the shackles. They open and Dean lowers his arms with a loud groan. He takes the lockpick from Sam’s hands without a moment’s hesitation and walks over to you while Sam looks around the room.

“Jesus, this must have been where he took his victims,” Sam says, studying the dark spots all over the walls and floor, the ones you assume are blood. Dean stands closely in front of you, not looking at your face, but beginning to work on your shackles.

“Yeah, but not today,” you say with a slightly self-satisfied tone. “Cause you kicked its ass. Hey, where’d you find the bones?”

You see Sam open his mouth to tell you, but Dean speaks first. He’s pissed, you notice in the next second.

“That was luck,” he says, still looking up at where his fingers are working. “Pure and dumb luck and you were reckless for no reason at all.” You pull your eyebrows together.

“Give Sam a little credit,” you reply. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it was him or me in your position.”

“That’s… that’s different,” Dean shoots back, making a face when the shackles won’t budge to his will.

“Riiight,” you reply, drawing out the word with sarcasm, “rules for thee, but not for me?”

“Goddamn it!” Dean grunts, letting his hands drop, the shackles still closed while he looks at your face, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “I should just leave you tied up here for running your mouth at a friggin’ spirit.”

You see it then - the slight tremor in his voice, in his hands. It’s not much that scares Dean Winchester and that spirit didn’t even come close, but he’s freaked out. Which is why you soften your tone when you speak again.

“I told you,” you say, just as Dean raises his hands again to use the lockpick. “No kinky talk in front of your brother.”

But Dean doesn’t react. He’s not meeting you halfway and when the shackles finally click open and you let your hands drop with a groan, he’s not meeting your gaze either. You look at Sam, who is pointedly looking away from you two, as if he can somehow teleport himself somewhere else.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, turns, and then he’s walking out of the basement. Sam throws you a sympathetic glance, and then the two of you follow him outside, but you absolutely know that this isn’t over.

The drive back is awkward. Dean’s bad mood makes the air in the car thick. He’s able to do that - almost make the air vibrate around him. Usually you call him out on it, but you have no interest to give him, first of all, the satisfaction to do it immediately, and secondly, to drag Sam into this.

But you don’t have to wait for long. Dean and you say goodnight to Sam in the parking lot and he goes to his room and the two of you to yours.

The door falls shut behind you, and you are stretching to get your jacket off, your eyes falling on Dean who is stalking into the room, face tensed, looking around, like he expects another spirit to show up.

“Dean,” you say, anticipating whatever he’s gonna say, “can we just drop it? I’m tired and I need a shower. I don’t wanna fight.”

Dean turns around to you, and he’s got that challenging expression he gets. The one that tells you he is very much not gonna drop it.

“You were safe,” he says, finger pointing at the ground to underline his point, “and you purposefully put yourself in danger. That’s not just bad for you, that’s bad for everyone involved.”

“I wasn’t in danger,” you reply, although you know it’s technically not true, seeing as you would probably be short an esophagus if Sam had found the remains only a few minutes later. Dean scoffs, shakes his head, and you raise your hands.

“Look, you were gone all of a sudden,” you point out, “because you decided you were gonna take the other side of the house on your own. What did you expect me to do?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, because there really isn’t anything to say. But rather than be reasonable and agree with you, he doubles down.

“You don’t get to play hero in this business,” he replies, eyes glaring at you. You pull your head back, drop your arms.

“Seriously?” you say. It’s a ridiculous thing to say - you haven’t been hunting for as long as Sam and Dean have, but you’re no spring chicken. And it’s a lot coming from the man who has more than once died for others.

“Yeah, seriously,” Dean repeats, not sensing that he’s hit a nerve. “And it’s a dumb idea to try.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you stare him down, lips pressed together. It’s what usually works - Dean gets himself worked up, but if you give him a moment to realize how brash he’s being, he gets embarrassed, pulls back. You can see the beginning of it now, the slight softening of his features when he understands that in his worry, he’s gone too far. But you’re not ready to hear his apology. You’re not there yet.

“I’m taking a shower,” you mumble, turn on the spot and walk towards the bathroom without looking back at Dean. You only slam the door a little.

This is not what you wanted for this evening, you think, as water washes over you. You wanted to finish the case, maybe get some food and beer, flirt with Dean across the table the same way he had been doing with you all day before the unfortunate spirit incident. He’d been on something, the way he sometimes gets, well, often, actually, and you’re sure not complaining.

His hand always finds you, on days like this. You were leaning over the blueprint of the farmhouse when he looked over your shoulder, snuck his hand up your back, under your shirt, his mouth close to your ear while he pretended he wasn’t doing anything. You turned to him, gave him a knowing smile, and he returned your gaze, so long that you had to shift your legs, stop yourself from pressing them together to alleviate some of the pressure building in you. Dean notices and grinned, that grin that let you know he was gonna tire you out tonight.

And now, instead, you’re under the shower alone, while he’s stewing in his frustration in the next room. It’s not where you want him at all - you’d much prefer it if he was here with you, under the warm spray of water, getting you open and ready and worked up for him. Then you’d climb into bed, skin still wet in places, and then…

You sigh. You shouldn’t torture yourself like this. Unless you can make up tonight. Which would be a good thing, just in general, but also because of the whole fucking thing.

You walk out of the bathroom with renewed vigor and the urge to talk about this like adults, healthy adults, not traumatized, terrified adults. But Dean’s already lying in bed, back turned to you.

“Dean?” you say, voice gentle to show him that you come in peace. But he doesn’t react, not even when you say his name again. So he must be asleep, even though he has the lightest sleep of anyone you know, but he has to be, because the alternative - the alternative is that he’s ignoring you.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly, try to get your frustration under control, because you’re not gonna be having a discussion with the man’s back. So instead, you step forward, get into the other side of the bed, back turned to Dean. You wait for another second, wondering if he’s gonna turn around, but when he doesn’t, you reach your hand out, turn off the bedside lamp.

You stare into the darkness, listen to his breathing, but soon sleep comes for you.

You wake up to the sound of water running in the bathroom. Soft daylight is falling in and the electric alarm clock on the bedside table says 9:17. You press yourself back into your pillow, wiggle your body, and close your eyes again.

You’re not fully back to sleep when you feel the mattress dip next to you. The next thing is the blanket lifting, and then something soft brushes over the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine.

When you turn your head a little, you see Dean’s freckled cheek, jaw moving as he’s landing gentle kisses up your hairline to your jaw. He reaches that spot under your ear and it makes you shiver and your lips part, and you feel him grin at that.

“Let’s make up, mmh?” he mumbles and then his hand begins snaking up your thigh. His soft but deep breathing is loud in your ear and you feel your nipples harden in response. Dean’s hand reaches your hip, and then it moves inwards as he gently squeezes the inside of your thigh.

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispers and you feel an unmistakable hardness press into your lower back. You push back against him almost involuntarily, searching him out and Dean uses the purchase on your thigh to pull you against him, grind against you. You roll your hips and he groans.

“That’s it,” he sighs, squeezing your flesh again. “Isn’t this much nicer than being all feisty?”

Your eyes fly open and you stop your movement. Dean doesn’t notice immediately, keeps pressing against you, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, and it would absolutely undo you if it wasn’t for the renewed fire of annoyance blazing inside of you.

So your hand shoots down, briefly fighting the blanket before finding Dean’s hand. You hear him make just the beginning of a chuckling sound, maybe thinking you’re gonna push his hand right between your legs, but then you grab it and pull it away from you. Once you’re done, your hand goes back up, under your cheek as you stare at the wall opposite you.

Dean has stopped moving behind you, so it seems to have at least gotten into his thick head that he just messed up.

“Babe?” he says, and there’s a carefulness in his voice that makes you almost grin.

“I’m not gonna forget what a scene you made yesterday,” you say, still not looking at him, “just cause you woke up with a boner.”

“I didn’t wake up with a boner,” Dean replies, voice slightly petulant, like that’s what this argument is really about. “I mean, I did, but this boner specifically is a you-boner.”

You scoff, shake your head against the pillow. Like you’re gonna melt and forgive everything just because Dean popped a tent because of you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… just specifically in this moment, it’s not gonna melt you.

“You have a very high opinion of your own dick if you think that’s enough to distract from all the shit you said yesterday,” you reply, voice clear.

And just like that, Dean moves in behind you again, hand landing on your waist as he scoots closer again. Maybe he thinks you’re just playing a little hard to get, which… yeah, you’ve definitely done that before.

“I think I remember you having a pretty high opinion of my dick, too,” he says, voice low and raunchy, as the tips of his fingers come close to your breast. “Seem to remember an occasion or two where you were practically begging for it, salivating.”

This motherfucker.

He’s not wrong. Of course, he’s not wrong. Dean has a magnificent dick, and he knows how to use it. But the way he’s saying it, like just because you want him most of the time you can’t not want him when he’s being a prick is so… well, he’s projecting, that’s for sure. Never mind the warmth that has already built in your core. Never mind that right now you’re really happy that your horniness doesn’t show up the way Dean’s does.

With a groan, you push yourself away from him and swing your legs over the side of the bed, sit up. You hear Dean move behind you, but you keep looking away from him. Not least of all because you tend to be a lot more forgiving when you see his face. But not today. For once, he’s not getting away with this macho, protector bullshit.

“Don’t be like this,” Dean complains, just as you’re brushing some hair out of your face, and your plan not to look at him goes right out the window, because you whip your upper body around, shoot him a glare that makes him actually recoil a little. You ignore how good he looks, his hair still slightly wet and dark from the shower, just a sheen of stubble on his face, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers, all things that would be very easy to pull off quickly to get to all the good stuff underneath.

“You can’t treat me like an idiot in the evening,” you snap at him, “and then dry-hump me in the morning. Not how it works, Dean.”

To his credit, Dean has the decency to look ashamed. You know what he’s doing isn’t just about him getting his dick wet - well, it’s not only about that. This is his way of apologizing, of getting close to you again. Dean’s shit at apologizing, worse than any adult you’ve ever met, but you understand where it comes from. Admitting fault and saying you’re sorry isn’t something he ever saw or learned growing up. So rather than just say the words, he is a man of gestures: flowers, a day trip to somewhere he couldn’t give two shits about but you love, long sessions of make up sex where he does everything you like, eats you out until his jaw cramps and you have the capacity to be angry literally fucked out of you.

And it’s fine, most of the time. You knew what you were signing up for when you decided to start dating Captain Handsome-Dysfunctional-Man. You meet him where he’s at, and he does the same with you. Your moods, your anxieties - it’s not like you’re perfect. But this time, it’s just rubbing you the wrong way.

Because even now, Dean doesn’t say anything. He could just say he’s sorry, say he gets it, admit that it’s a double standard because he would have done the exact same thing. But instead, he opts to stare at the mattress, brow slightly furrowed, looking so damn good that it’s almost painful.

You stand, smoothing down your shirt and Dean’s eyes shoot up, studying you. He’s leaned on one elbow, accentuating his strong arms. But you’re not letting that affect you today. Nuh uh, no way.

“So what am I supposed to do?” he asks, and there’s something distantly funny about the fact that he might be talking about his behavior in your relationship, or his hard dick. You shrug.

“Guess you should have cleaned the pipes while you were in the shower,” you say, and with that, you turn and walk towards the bathroom.

You pull the door closed behind you, stand over the sink and turn on the water, wait for it to get warm. You don’t want to be mad, and you don’t want to argue, not really, but not backing down now feels like a matter of principle. You want something very specific from Dean, and now your fight has become about that specific thing, rather than the larger issue. It’s annoying. It’s frustrating. It’s not how you want things to be.

The warm splash of water feels good on your face, and then you’re blindly reaching for a towel to dab away the wetness. When you’re done, you look at yourself in the mirror.

What you should do, and what any healthy, well-adjusted adult would be doing, is walk out there, and tell Dean exactly what you want: an apology, for him to acknowledge what he did wrong and in some way promise that he will try to not do it again. Unlearn that behavior, you once read somewhere. Sure, that. And then Dean would say it and then maybe you could still fuck. Ten minutes, only missionary, maybe a sheet in between. That’s what well-adjusted people do, right?

But you’re not that person. Because even if Dean did say those things then, it would just feel like he’s parroting what you just told him you wanted. You want him to understand what you want him to say without you having to fucking masticate it for him first. So, basically, you want him to read your mind.

Is that really too much to ask?

You sigh, your eyes wandering, and then you freeze when you see it. The thought forms in you so quickly it’d probably be worrying to one of those mythical well-adjusted adults. The grin that forms on your face is likely equally worrying. Whatever.

When you and Dean checked in two days ago, you did some quick laundry in the bathtub, just some small stuff that wasn’t worth running to the laundromat for. Two t-shirts, a pair of socks and some underwear.

Among your garments is a lacy, lavender thong that Dean loves. Could be because it looks so damn good on you, could be because, once, on a long drive, Sam asleep and gently snoring in the backseat, Dean begged you silently to blow him or jerk him off and you refused, preferred teasing him, so instead you took off said thong, pulled it off your naked legs under the dress you were wearing, then scooted close to him and shoved it in his face. Dean huffed that thing like it was glue and when you finally made it to the motel a couple hours later, he went to town on you in a way that had you walking sideways the next day - but not before wrapping the thin lace around his hard as steel cock and letting you blow him for a bit, all while fingering your asshole.

Yeah, talking is one option. Telling him what you want, what you need, to move on from this. But what your mischievous brain is coming up with in that second is way more fun.

When you walk back into the bedroom a few minutes later, Dean is pointedly reading what you think is the room service menu. The man must be starving at this point - no real dinner and he usually gets as grumpy as a child if he hasn’t had any grease or sugar by eleven in the morning. But you’re pretty sure he’s just doing it to look busy.

Luckily for you, he must still see that something is different in his periphery. Or he’s secretly watching you as you move around the room. Because when you look back at him, his eyes are glued to your ass cheeks. The ones that are very visible with only the little lacy scrap of nothing you’re wearing.

You see his eyes wander up, over the slightly cropped, vintage t-shirt you put on, the one that is, as evident by your hardened nipples which you pinched just before walking out, not accompanied by a bra, before finally slowing at your neck, bare because of your lazily pinned up hair - blowjob hair, as you and Dean affectionately call it - and then stopping on your face. You wear a mask of slight challenge, with a pinch of cluelessness. What could possibly be the cause of Dean studying you like you’re a piece of red meat, gasp, pearl clutch?

“What?” you ask, voice not too mean, but just soft enough to not break him out of his staring, especially not because just then his tongue darts out of his mouth, licking a long stripe over his bottom lip before the tongue disappears and he sucks the lip into his mouth, top row of teeth biting down on it. He blinks.

“N-nothing,” he says, and his eyes quickly go back to the riveting reading material that is the menu. You gotta love this side of Dean, and joy at his reaction is thick in your chest. You only just walked out. And he’s already stuttering.

You give a small, content sigh, then turn back to your duffle, which is what you stopped in front of. You open the zipper, peek in, move a shirt or two around just for show.

“Where is it?” you mutter to yourself. It’s a stage whisper, almost. Loud enough for Dean to hear, but low enough that you can pretend you’re talking to yourself. You lean over a little, dig your hands deeper into the duffle. Cock your hip to get one arm really in there.

You hear the slight shuffle from the bed but you don’t turn around to look at what's happening. It sounds like Dean shifting, maybe to alleviate some discomfort, but you’re absolutely not gonna acknowledge that.

“Did you see my jeans? The dark blue ones?” you ask, not turning around, digging deeper into the bag, your ass sticking out like a personal invitation.

“Uh–” is all you can hear Dean say, and it’s a good thing you’re facing away from him, because you don’t think you’d be able to hide the grin spreading over your face.

You let out a slow, high sigh and then turn your upper body, ass still on display and finally look at him. For good measure, you catch the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth and let it slip out slowly, like you were just thinking.

Dean’s a sight to behold. His mouth is open, his chest is rising and falling. The menu has found its way to his crotch, stretched over there, one tensed fist on each side holding it down. It doesn’t hide what’s underneath, his bulge proudly saluting you even through his boxers and the menu.

“What was that?” you say, but Dean’s eyes have wandered back to your ass, and he’s staring at it like someone would stare at a magician’s pocket watch.

“Over, uhm,” he stutters, and you keep holding his gaze, and he blinks his way up back to your face. “Over the, the, uhm, fucking over the back of the chair.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn and look. Right next to where you're standing, your dark blue jeans are slung over the back of a chair.

“Thanks,” you say, then drag your hands out of the duffel and walk over to the couch, very much not having put on the jeans.

You grab the remote, then plop down on the couch, on your back, swing your legs over the backrest, putting them on full display for Dean.

“Hey, why don't you order us some breakfast?” you say as you turn on the TV, wiggle into place. “I'm starving.”

Dean goes all out, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s Dean or because he’s trying to overcompensate for satisfying some other hunger. He’s already sitting at the table, concentrated on chewing a forkful of eggs when you turn the TV off and slowly walk over to him.

“Yum,” you say as you sit down, eyeing the spread before you. It looks like he didn’t leave out a single food group.

You reach for a decorative strawberry that’s resting on top of a picture perfect stack of pancakes, take it between your teeth and bite off a small piece. It’s fresh and surprisingly juicy. Preservatives, you think, then wrap your lips around the rest of it, suck on it a little before fluttering your eyelids up at Dean again.

He’s looking at you, still chewing, fork in one hand, knife in the other, like some kind of hungry man caricature. Just then, a drop of the syrup that the strawberries and pancakes are smothered in drops off your lip, runs halfway down your chin before you catch it with your finger and then lick it off the digit. Not planned, just fate being your girl.

Dean tosses the cutlery onto the table with a clang, looks to the side, finishes chewing, and then swallows.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, turning back to you, narrowing his eyes at you. You cock your head to the side a little.

“What am I doing?” you ask, voice all innocence. Dean scoffs.

“Walking around half naked, getting me all horned up,” he replies, raising his hand to point at you, “suckin’ off that strawberry. You’re punishing me for being an ass last night.” You raise your eyebrows.

“ Were you an ass last night?” you ask and Dean lets out a low sigh.

“I get it, okay?” he says, voice frustrated. “You’re the boss and I need to watch what I’m saying. Now can you… I don’t know, put something on or maybe, you know?” He sort of nods down at his crotch.

“It’s starting to hurt,” he adds with a pained expression. “Don’t be cruel.”

You’ve been listening, studying Dean intently, running your finger along your lip.

“So let me just make sure I get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re not apologizing, but you do think I should blow you cause you’re getting a little too excited?”

Dean shifts around, his expression slightly changing.

“Well,” he says, blinking a lot, “I wasn’t saying, you know, that, I was just making suggestions. Anything you wanna do.” And then he corrects his expression, almost makes it back to that perfect charmingness, but he’s just a little too off kilter to fully manage.

“We could do that thing you wanted to try,” he says, voice an attractive drawl and he raises his eyebrows in a clear attempt to flirt. “The thing with the thing?”

But you just keep looking at Dean.

“I’m not cruel, Dean,” you finally say, voice clear. “If I were cruel, I’d do something like this.”

With that, you lean back in your chair, bring one foot up and set it on the seat. You take a slow breath, your chest rising and falling, Dean’s eyes shooting to your breasts.

Then you move one hand, bring it to between your thighs, where the lacy thong is just barely covering you. You run your fingers along that part of yourself, fingertips gently glazing the fabric and your skin underneath.

You’re sitting about 90 degrees around the table from Dean, and his eyes widen when he sees what you’re doing. Some words form on his lips, but he doesn’t say anything. You run your other hand up your thigh, beginning to get yourself in the mood.

“Babe,” Dean half whispers, half breathes, his eyes pinned to your fingers moving between your legs, but he doesn’t continue. You elect to ignore him.

The hand running up your thigh goes to your torso, further up, squeezing your breast through your shirt as you let your head drop back, focus on the feeling your other hand is igniting in you. You hum a little, begin slightly rolling your hips.

You close your eyes. It’s Dean you imagine, of course, Dean’s hands you wish were touching you, finding your nipple, gently circling your clit.

Dean moves, you hear, his chair being pushed back, and your eyes fly open. He’s standing, and you look up at him through your lashes. As he slowly takes a few steps to cross the distance to you, you let your eyes roam over him, from his chest rising and falling to the bulge in his boxers. He’s slightly shaking his head at the sight of you, and then he gets to his knees in front of you.

His eyes are on your lace covered pussy and he leans in. For a second, you almost let him. But the lesson hasn’t been learned yet. So you move the foot you raised on the seat of the chair and push it against his shoulder as he comes close, stopping him from moving in.

“Sweetheart, come on,” he says, voice sounding desperate. “ Anything. ” But you shake your head.

“No,” you say, continuing your touching. “This pussy is only for boyfriends who don’t act like this is the 50’s, and who don’t make me feel bad for wanting to look after them.” Dean clenches his jaw.

“Don’t do this to me,” he replies, voice barely under control.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” you reply, pausing for a small, only half-theatrical moan. “Sucks when someone tells you what to do. Or what you can’t do.”

Dean’s hands go out and he grabs two of the legs of the chair you’re on, drags it and you forwards a few inches. You gasp, your hand movements stopping, Dean’s face suddenly much closer to you, between your legs but still looking up at you.

“I don’t give a shit, okay?” he says, but strangely, he doesn’t sound angry. He’s imploring you. His face is tense but his eyes are soft. You look at him intently.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean continues, when he sees you’re listening to him. “I get it’s fucked up. I get it’s unfair. I still don’t give a shit.”

“Dean–” you say, voice placating, but Dean is faster.

“I can’t lose you,” he says, and there’s a sudden rush of emotion in his voice, a slight mistiness in his eyes at his own words. “And I don’t care if I’m not reasonable, and I don’t care if that means I’m sometimes not nice. Nice doesn’t protect you. Nice gets you killed.”

He swallows heavily, not dropping his gaze and you feel a painful twinge in your heart.

“And that’s not an option,” he finishes. You feel your brows pulling together.

“Baby,” you say, feeling your resolve soften, “nothing bad’s gonna happen just cause I go after some asshole ghost.” But Dean’s already shaking his head.

“You don’t understand,” he continues, voice urgent, and you can hardly believe that’s true, but you let him continue.

“If I let my guard down, bad things will happen,” he says, now slightly raising his chin, maybe in an attempt to starve off his own emotions. “You think a guy like me finds a girl like you and bad shit isn’t just waiting around the next corner? You think I don’t get tha–”

“Stop it,” you say, voice soft but clear. You reach the hand that was between your legs out, cup Dean’s cheek in the hope you can ground him in the moment.

Dean’s eyes fall shut immediately. Now that you’ve allowed him to breach the distance, he leans in, presses his face against your still raised leg while a shuddering exhale leaves him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter. “I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” you mumble, pull him in a little. Dean follows your movement like you have the strength of a truck. He moves closer, lets his lips graze along the inside of your leg, then leans further in and presses his head against the space under your breasts, deep, heavy breaths leaving him.

“It’s okay,” you say, running both hands through his hair now, soothing him. “It’s okay.”

Dean starts kissing you the next moment. He blindly starts pressing his lips against you there, your skin still separated from him by your t-shirt, but then he wanders lower. His lips find their way closer to your core, with him landing kisses everywhere he can reach.

He can’t reach your pussy with the way you and him are positioned, not comfortably at least, but he gets his face as close as possible, kisses the lace and skin all over, groaning when he must pick up the smell of your arousal.

“Fucking love you so much,” he mutters, his hands going to your legs, fingers pressing into the skin of your thighs.

“Dean, look at me,” you say, still stroking his head, and he looks up at you, lids low, face soft. You look at him for a moment, love so violent it’s gonna crash and burn you flaring up in your heart. “Let’s go to bed.”

You stand, drag Dean up by the arm. He follows you, half stumbles, and even though the bed is right there, he’s unable to keep his hands off you even in that short interval. He grabs your hips, pulls you back against him, kisses your shoulder, hands pawing at you.

You reach the bed and Dean urges you onto it. You crawl on top of it and Dean follows, but then he grabs your hips again, makes you stop. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him settle low on his knees and the next moment, his mouth goes to your ass cheek.

He kisses the skin there, open-mouthed, needily and you stop moving, let your eyes fall shut, let Dean do his thing like only he can do his thing. He tongues and laps and then bites at your ass, making a pornographic gasp come out of you and your entire body respond to him. Dean shifts, and then one hand pulls down your thong, pulls it down to where it rests suspended between your knees, before one of his arms slings around you. His thick fingers find your pussy and he starts rubbing your clit.

For a moment, there’s no air in your lungs, nothing there to carry any of the sounds you want to make out of you. Dean’s touch is precise and just a tad too much for a second, but your lower body bucks once and then you settle into it.

He has three fingers rubbing away at you, finding the nerves that seem to be directly connected to the ones in your brain, while he kisses the skin of your ass again. A long moan leaves you a second later, air finally flooding back into you.

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” you moan, rocking back against him, Dean going along with your movement like a rodeo cowboy trying not to be thrown off, except you’re not trying to throw him off, you’re just trying to feel more of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dean pants, “tell me how it feels.”

You’re trying to come up with the appropriate adjectives through the headrush the intense, perfect stimulation is giving you when Dean kisses you again, and then again, and you realize, with a thrill of deep, erotic anticipation, that he is working his way closer to your asshole.

“Yes, keep going, baby,” you sigh and Dean swirls his tongue closer to his goal. “That’s perfect.”

Another gasp leaves you as Dean’s tongue finds your tightest hole, followed by a deep, uncontrolled groan as he starts stimulating you from both ends.

Within seconds, you’re moaning so loudly you’re pretty sure it could wake the dead. You reach one hand behind you to find the back of Dean’s head, push it closer against you. His tongue prods at you, setting deep, intense pleasure free.

“That’s so good, baby,” you pant and Dean starts pressing his tongue deeper, starts circling his fingers quicker, the two fists of pleasure building from these points becoming bigger and bigger until it feels like they’re meeting in the middle.

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll up when your orgasm hits you, and you’re also pretty sure, or would be, if your brain was still capable of any higher functions, that someone walking past the room would probably think you’re in the process of being murdered. Your entire body shakes, but you are so perfectly caught between Dean’s arm wrapped around you and his face. It’s intense and it feels like it’s lighting up every part of your body and like it goes on for much longer than should be physically possible.

When your body finally slumps down in exhaustion, Dean gently drops you and you just barely manage to roll onto your back. Your chest is heaving and it feels like you’re vibrating. Your eyes are closed, and you’re pretty sure you have the biggest fucked-out grin in the world on your face.

Dean moves and you blink your eyes open. He’s running his mouth over the shoulder of his t-shirt, and then looks down at you.

“Darlin’--” he starts, but you shake your head.

“Shut up,” you say, still a little breathless. “Take off your clothes and fuck me.”

To be fair, the taking off his clothes part, to you, is completely optional. Dean could go and put on a bunny suit right now and you wouldn’t care as long as you can feel his cock inside you as soon as possible. But clever guy that he is, he gets the gist.

Dean’s hands fly to the back of his head and half a second later, he’s pulling his t-shirt off. He’s already climbing over you while he’s pushing down his boxers.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last with how worked up you got me,” he says, using one hand to pull the thong the rest of the way off you, but you shake your head, move your hands to pull your own shirt off yourself. Then you angle one of your legs up high against your body.

“Don’t care,” you say, hands reaching out to him. “I just need to feel you.”

Dean’s body is covering yours a blink of an eye later. He kisses you deeply immediately, and his closeness makes you buzz. He’s so warm and soft everywhere he’s touching you. That surprised you, when you first got to touch him - how soft Dean is. His skin, his hair, the way he looks into your eyes when he’s balls deep inside of you. Who’d have thought.

Dean needs to break the kiss a second later to look down between your bodies. You angle your leg up, higher, so that it’s held up by his shoulder, while the other you sling around him. His arm moves while he finds himself, and you land a kiss on his cheek.

“Fucking put it in me, baby,” you breathe in his ear and Dean groans before he shifts once more, and then you can feel his hard thickness press against your entrance.

He starts pressing into you with a deep groan and you can feel him twitch in response to your wet heat. He gives you the first couple of inches, then pulls out a little, pushes further in.

“That’s fucking it,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut. He leans down again, presses his forehead to yours and you hold him close. “Needed that.”

Dean ruts himself into you until he’s fully seated, then sighs deeply. When he’s as deep in you as he can be, he opens his eyes, looks into yours. You bite your lip, look up at him, and Dean starts moving, slowly, diligently.

He pulls out only a little, pushes in again, rolling his hips but his movement almost stutters from how much he’s holding himself back. You get that - scratching an itch is only really satisfying if you can fully go at it, rake your fingernails over the offending spot. If someone softly blows on it that only makes it worse. So you let your hand wander to the back of his neck, make him focus on you.

“Fuck me, baby, really fuck me,” you breathe. “Like you wanted to in that basement yesterday. When you wanted to put me in my place for being such a meddling bitch. Show me how you take care of me.”

Dean blinks, slows. Looks into your eyes, like he wants to make sure you’re being totally serious. He must see that you are.

He pushes himself up. One hand goes to the back of your thigh, pressing you open, the slight burn of the position titillating, making you feel like you can’t escape him, not that you’d want to. His other hand goes to your waist, palm flat against you so his weight pushes you down into the mattress. He pulls out slowly, lets you feel every inch of perfect drag and then slams right back home.

“That’s what you want?” he pants, but you barely hear him over the loud moan that leaves you at that first captivating thrust. “Want me to fucking show you who’s boss?”

Dean pistons his hips, pumping into you hard and deep, and your hands go flying out, looking for purchase as half horny chuckle, half whine leaves you. One grabs the bedding below you, the other finds his lower arm, fingernails digging in.

“Yes!” you gasp, the stimulation nearly making you go dumb. “Yes, yes, Dean, like that!”

By leaning mostly on you, Dean can drive into you fast and hard. Your head drops back as you flip between moaning and whimpering, unable to say anything else. You’re held perfectly in place by his weight, can only lie there and take what he’s giving.

“Fucking mouthing off to me,” Dean pants, upper lip pulled up in a snarl as his eyes go from where his cock is opening you up to your bouncing tits to your face, screwed up in brutal pleasure. “Being smart. I’ll show you.”

Dean’s balls are slapping against your ass, loud in your ears and your mouth is ripped open as he ignites you. He groans on each exhale, a purely animalistic sound, as his length and girth drive you higher with a precision that is deadly.

He moves the hand that is holding up your leg, which is now only held up by his torso, and brings it to your pussy, presses his thumb against your clit, rubs the pad of his finger over your nub of nerves until you're twitching and moaning.

“Come on, I know you wanna come again,” he pants, not letting up. “Want to come on my cock, don't you? That's what you wanted the whole time?”

You squeal and pull your legs in as you come again, nearly keening as your body is rocked back and forth my Dean's rough fucking. Your eyes squeeze shut, warmth and overwhelming pressure and pleasure exploding outward from where Dean is taking such thorough care of you. You nearly go cross-eyed.

Dean moans loudly at you gripping him, and then, his dead giveaway that he's about to come, he leans in again, kisses you, his soft lips desperately latching onto yours.

“Love you, fucking love you,” he almost whispers, and then his thrusts become uncoordinated and a long whimpering sounds leaves him as he presses his face against your neck and spills inside of you.

Dean grinds into you a few more times, still moaning, and you bring your hands up to run them over his back, fingertips pressed into his skin, up to his neck which makes him shudder. Then, you just hold him, listen to the small noises he still makes. He gets so vocal. It's one of your favorite things about him.

He moves much too early, shifts, and you make a complaining noise.

“Just gotta pull out, darlin’,” he drawls, the way he always drawls when he just came hard. You consider that a sign of a job well done. You made me nut so hard I lost all my g’s, he once said to you early in your relationship. You dropped your head back and laughed.

Dean pushes himself up, just enough that he can slip out of you, then immediately lies back down on you again. You grunt at his weight, but it's all worth it for how close he presses himself to you, arms wrapped around you, soft lips pressed against the spot behind your ear, warm breath fanning down your neck.

“You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?” he mutters, and you grin to yourself, run your hand over the back of his head.

Dean's come has mostly dripped out of you and adding your own juices to that, you start getting shifty.

“Let me clean up,” you say and Dean reluctantly untangles himself from you.

To your surprise, he follows you to the bathroom. As you sit to pee, he grabs a towel, cleans himself, then tosses it over the side of the tub. You don't even bother raising your eyebrows at him - you're all love hormones right now.

Dean grabs his boxers and you take his t-shirt, and then the two of you congregate in bed again, but not before Dean grabs a selection of some of the breakfast food you still have out on the table. Most of it is cold, but the two of you pick at it out of sheer hunger, talking about what tastes best, what you like, feeding each other little morsels and sucking any leftovers off the other one's fingers. It's light and easy. But there's one more thing you have to say.

“You know,” you say after a while, looking at Dean, “I don’t crash headfirst into hepatitis infected basements cause I think it’s fun.”

Dean gives a careful chuckle, but lets you talk.

“I do it,” you continue, “because I feel the exact same way you do. So don’t you dare pretend for even a second that I don’t understand what you go through.”

Dean is still chewing on something, but he studies you while he does. He reaches for a napkin, runs it over his mouth.

“I know,” he finally says. “I get that, I do. And I know I can't expect you to act differently than I do.” You nod, wait for him to continue, thinking there's a but coming.

But there's not. He simply reaches his hand out, takes yours. Then he looks up, into your eyes, holds your gaze.

“I love you,” he says, like he hasn't said it a thousand times, like he really wants you to hear him.

“I love you too, baby,” you say and he nods, still looking at you. Then he leans in, kisses you on the lips and a second later, his arm is around you and he's dragging you down onto the bed.

You giggle, then shuffle around until you're comfortable, both of Dean's arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to the top of your head. With a sigh, you close your eyes.

Maybe this is the price. Maybe the payment for loving someone is to be worried shitless for them.

And maybe that's a lesson even Dean Winchester has to learn someday.

#sorry's fics #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural

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starkwlkr · 10 months ago

Note

No smut! But could you please write about Hugh’s wife bein asked about his exquisite physique in Deadpool and Wolverine?😜

fine indeed | hugh jackman

an: anon, thank you for this request you made me go on titkok and save almost every logan edit 😭

“I feel like I’m obligated to ask you, especially after a certain scene,” Jimmy Fallon chuckled. “Have you’ve seen Deadpool and Wolverine?”

That was the big question lately. You didn’t mind at all, you were proud of Hugh and always supported him. After the movie’s release, all anyone talked about was the ending where Hugh was shirtless.

“Yes, I have. I was at the premiere with Hugh,” you had an idea on where this interview was going. “Can I just say that I’ve gotten so many messages from friends and family about how jacked Hugh looks. One of my friends texted after she saw the movie and she’s like ‘since when was Hugh built like that? i can’t look at him the same now’.”

Then Jimmy took out a picture of Hugh posing without his top part of the suit. “I mean look at this! That’s your man!”

“That’s my man!” You smirked. The audience laughed.

“Were you on set for that scene? I know Hugh said that was one of the last scenes he filmed.” Jimmy said, putting the photo down.

“I wasn’t,” you frowned. “He actually wanted me to be on set that day so bad, but he didn’t tell me why.” You explained.

“Now you know!”

“Yup, but I think the day the filmed that scene i was with our daughter in New York and he was in LA.” You explained.

“And have you seen all the memes about it? Because it’s all over social media. You can’t escape Hugh Jackman.” Jimmy pulled out pictures of some tweets.

This is not funny anymore, he can’t keep getting away with this

that scene changed me as a woman

y/n is your husband single?

“Girl, it changed me too and I am married to him,” you blushed as the fact that you were the only one that could say you were married to Hugh. “But he spent so many months training and it payed off. Definitely makes you forget he’s 55.”

“You know there’s multiple tweets saying he’s beekeeping age. What do you have to say about that?” Jimmy asked.

“I can’t . . . say it on tv.”

@kellyxo1 @barnes70stark @ru-kru @evasmlp

#hugh jackman blurb #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman one shot #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman imagine #marvel actress!reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman #actress!reader

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taasgirl · 1 year ago

Text

summer samba - oscar piastri

summary: jenson button's daughter, y/n, is very well known around the paddock, and when her dad loses a bet, she finds herself spending more time in the mclaren garage

a/n: no face claim, imagine y/n as you wish. also i know jenson is only 44, but imagine he's older for the sake of this fic - and that y/n is 22

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly, and 43, 218 others ynbutton fernando pls win this weekend, i have a bet with my dad

fernandoalo_oficial I will try just for you liked by ynbutton

user50 y/n is so inconic

landonorris Okayyyyyy fit

ynbutton okurrrrr

danielricciardo No bet on me winning?

ynbutton i'll bet on u next week i promise

user82 Her dad is Jenson Button and she gets to be best friends with the drivers Y/N I WANT YOUR LIFEEE

liked by oscarpiastri, ynbutton, and 153, 982 others jackdoohan FP1 in Canada LFGGGGG tagged: alpinef1team & ynbutton

ynbutton LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

jackdoohan WOOOOOO

user66 are they dating?

user82 Nah just friends I think

danielricciardo My son 👨‍🍼 liked by jackdoohan

user92 You're so fine jack pls i need u

user42 jack and y/n would be such a cute couple

user90 ya'll say this about every driver y/n interacts with

liked by ynbutton, astonmartinf1, and 2, 822, 397 others f1 HE'S DONE IT! FERNANDO ALONSO WINS HIS FIRST GRAND PRIX SINCE 2013! tagged: fernandoalo_oficial & astonmartinf1

user63 THE ROOKIE HAS DONE IT AGAINNNNN

user98 best rookie oat ngl

ynbutton YES YES YES EAT SHIT @ jensonbutton

user82 Y/n really loves her bets huh

jensonbutton @ user82 She does unfortunately.

astonmartinf1 💚🤍

user98 alonso dominance could bore fans

liked by f1, ynbutton, and 128, 985 others jensonbutton So happy for you @ fernandoalo_oficial, I never once doubted you for a second.

ynbutton yes you did. u called me ridiculous for betting on him p1

jensonbutton Don't expose me

user98 So what do you owe Y/N?

jensonbutton $300 and Mclaren Paddock passes apparently

fernandoalo_oficial Y/N told me about the bet, extra motivation 🤣 liked by jensonbutton

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 1, 288, 763 others oscarpiastri Disappointed that I couldn't get more points for the team, but there's plenty to learn and grow from. Congratulations @ fernandoalo_oficial, proud of you brother 👊

mclaren We keep pushing 🧡

ynbutton head up osc! i'll be cheering you on next race

oscarpiastri Thanks y/n 🩷

user77 @ oscarpiastri okay why are we lowkey robbed on y/n x op81 content

fernandoalo_oficial ♥️

view ynbutton's story...

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and 47, 229 others ynbutton Montreal I love uuuuuu #eatshitdad tagged: georgerussell63, jensonbutton & roscoelovescoco

lewishamilton I think you spend more time with Roscoe than with me...

ynbutton what can i say 🤷 roscoe's cuter than u

user69 Y/N AND GEORGE YES I HAVENT SEEN THEM IN SO LONG!!

user92 ur dad is beekeeping age

jensonbutton What does this mean?

oscarpiastri Looking good y/n

user98 wait lowkey i want them together

view ynbutton's story...

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 62, 879 others ynbutton thanks for the passes @ jensonbutton tagged: mclaren

mclaren Let's get you in some papaya liked by ynbutton

oscarpiastri Modelling in front of the right garage 👌👌

ynbutton i'll be cheering you on!!

landonorris Hmmmm

user93 someone decode this rn

user33 AHHH UR SO PRETTYYY

user25 wyd if i say that y/n and oscar SHOULD be a couple??

landonorris Throwing up I think

liked by mclaren, ynbutton, and 2, 365, 873 others landonorris Stuck in third all week (P3 in quali, the race and now I'm a third wheel) tagged: mclaren, oscarpiastri, ynbutton

mclaren Yeah but you're our favourite third 🧡

user03 admin this could mean MANY things

oscarpiastri You've been with me all week??

landonorris Uh huh, and the girl you won't shut up about

user59 why u so fine

user83 Not lando exposing oscar 😭

user97 OH MY GOD YNOSCAR TRUTHERS RISEEE

user34 Who are you third wheeling?

liked by user55, user87, and 23, 877 others user49 any else noticed that ever since the montreal gp, oscar has like really made an effort to befriend fernando, jack, and liam... who all coincidentally are VERY close with y/n button. just saying 😏

landonorris oscar u ain't slick

user65 OH MY GOD LANDO WHATTATTATA

user44 lando commenting is all the proof i need

user59 somebody sedate me i need a ynoscar interaction

user98 Lando pls play matchmaker xx

user87 OSCAR JUST ASK HER OUT OMD

liked by jackdoohan, landonorris, and 54, 120 others ynbutton oh yeah babyyyy

jensonbutton Who is that Y/N?

ynbutton don't worry about it dad 🤫

user87 woah normal y/n post BOOM SOFT LAUNCH

liamlawson30 Another photo dump I don't make smh

ynbutton shushhhh

user11 oscar perhaps

landonorris Who is that sexy man

ynbutton that's a daniel ricciardo plush toy. landonorris ynbutton Oh shut up

user64 y/n is such vibes i love her

liked by jackdoohan, ynbutton, and 1, 473, 861 others oscarpiastri YEAH BABYYYYY P22222

landonorris Wettt

user92 excuse me

mclaren Proud of you Oscar 🫂

user48 PRETTY MUCH THE SAME CAPTION AS Y/N AHHH

ynbutton p22222 out of 20 cars is rlly bad sorry babes x

oscarpiastri No you're lying nooooo

user81 oh he's defos posted this as a thirst trap for y/n liked by oscarpiastri

view ynbutton's story...

caption: ya'll do i keep him

view oscarpiastri's story...

caption: I think she likes them 💐

liked by landonorris, liamlawson30, and 1, 290, 822 others oscarpiastri She said that I lose aura points if I admit that I had a crush on her for over four years??? tagged: ynbutton

landonorris FOUR YEARS? it's worse than I thought

ynbutton he willingly bought that shirt btw!

oscarpiastri Would you rather I take it off? ynbutton oscarpiastri you know what i rather 😉

jackdoohan And to think that you actually wanted to be my friend liked by oscarpiastri

jensonbutton I knew it @ fernandoalo_oficial pay up

ynbutton YOU BETTED ON THIS??? fernandoalo_oficial ynbutton We bet on everything

liked by jackdoohan, oscarpiastri, and 81, 844 others ynbutton do i lose aura points if i admit that the only reason i wanted mclaren paddock passes was to see my crush of five years 😢

landonorris FIVE YEARS?? IT DOES GET WORSE

oscarpiastri Yes you do

ynbutton shut up

user93 YNOSCAR GIRLES WE UPPP

liamlawson30 SO YOU FINALLY ADMIT THAT YOU LIKED HIM FOR THAT LONG I FUCKING KNEW IT

ynbutton i WILL attack you liam

oscarpiastri She also bought this shirt willingly

user22 i just want what they have

hey guys!! let me know if you liked this hehe. WHO'S EXCITED FOR THE EUROS EEEE?? anyways thank you all so much for your support, my reqs are open so feel free to drop anything in there :)

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systlin · 9 months ago

Note

I've got a question about beekeeping that I think is probably dumb, but I couldn't really find a definite answer anywhere online. And you keep bees, so I figured you might know. Some background:

A friend of mine recently told me she doesn't eat honey because she was told beekeepers kill their bees at the start of winter because it's more lucrative to start the new year with a fresh hive, apparently because the one they used that year is supposedly to exhausted from being overworked or something.

now from what I know about bees, that is probably bullshit. I think someone somewhere might have confused the thing about all the drones getting chased out at the start of winter maybe? But the point was made that maybe hobby beekeepers don't, but industrial beekeepers do. I can't find anything anywhere about how industrial beekeeping works and if it's any different from hobby beekeeping apart from in scale. And I do always think it's weird how cheap honey in stores can be if I look at the work that goes in honey and the fact that I think you can harvest honey from a hive 2 times a year or so?

basically, I think she's very wrong about this and want to be able to convince her otherwise. (or be very very surprised and learn she was right but I doubt it) I don't want to be a bitch about it to her because you can't really fact check everything you hear all the time. but this is just. such a weird idea to me.

(this may have turned into more than one question and I'm now interested in bees a lot, so if you wanted to infodump about a ton of bee related info I didn't ask for too I certainly wouldn't mind)

It is 100% prime bullshit

Bees are fuckin expensive. A package of 3 pounds of bees is $160+. A nuc is $200+. New hives usually don't even produce honey the first year. The first year is letting them settle in and build up. Hives that have wintered over at least once are the ones you can actually harvest honey and wax from.

No beekeeper is going to kill their bees. Even if they're utterly amoral profit driven weirdos, that's simply not how it works. It would be absolutely absurdly expensive.

Most beekeepers who do it professionally don't make money from honey. They make their REAL money from pollination services and from selling bees. AKA, swarms. AKA, those things you only get from overwintered hives. See prices of a new colony above.

The older a colony is, the more valuable it is!

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oh-great-authoress · 22 days ago

Text

This also applies to those with Seb icons and (like others mentioned in the tags) those with Senna icons…

THEY WERE ALL WAR CRIMINALS

when ppl with schumi icons yell about max's crimes... i have to laugh

#BESTIES THEY’RE SANITIZING YOU #don’t let the beekeeping fool you—sebastian vettel was an absolute terror AND a menace #spa ‘98’s schumi vs. coulthard would’ve been a knock-down drag-out fight if it’d been allowed to happen #i haven’t even gotten that much into vintage f1—#but i know enough that schumi and senna would be eaten alive if they did now what they did then #my dutch red bull golden boy menace #max my brother in Christ #michael schumacher #sebastian vettel #ayrton senna #max verstappen #formula one #formula 1 #f1

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joelsmochi · 1 year ago

Text

honey ♡ joel miller

rating: E 18+ only pairing: beekeeper!joel x f!reader summary: joel is obviously beekeeping age warnings: not proofread, no outbreak, best friends dad!joel, soft!joel, unspecified 30+ year age gap, a hint unrealistic in the sense that sarah doesn’t care, lots of bee science, mentions of bees/bee stings (ouch), honey play (i had to), fingering, f receiving oral, kitchen sex, pet names, plenty of dirty talk (mhm yes yum) a/n: i totally didn’t google bee sex for like an hour just to be accurate… nope… no i didn’t. lol enjoy & happy valentines day ;)

series masterlist | main masterlist

“Which eyeshadow should I use?”

You looked at the small, black palette and its array of choices before telling Sarah, “Purple, it goes great with green dresses.”

Sarah began to brush the product onto her eyelids while she talked about her plans for tonight with her boyfriend, Alex; her voice became white noise as you caught a glimpse of her father in the backyard working on something.

“Your dad’s a beekeeper, right?” You asked without realizing you interrupted her.

“Uh… Yeah?”

“Cool… How’d he get into that? Doesn’t seem like the type to… Save bees?”

“What do you mean?” She mumbled beneath her working hand.

Shrugging, you tried to keep your expression and tone neutral. “Aren’t beekeepers usually a bit dorky?”

“My dad is a dork.”

“I mean, not really,” you chuckled, watching the man pull out the different trays and examine them. “It’s cute, your dad keeping bees… How old is he again?”

Sarah only rolled her eyes.

“He’s definitely beekeeping age,” you continued. “Kinda sweet. Him caring for a colony of bees in your backyard.”

Your best friend was now looking at you look at her father—correction: you were ogling him. Your attempts at seeming unbothered by his looks failed. Sarah always said you wore your heart on your forehead sometimes.

You just couldn’t help it; Joel was tall and big and broad and… Older. He wore a tough exterior, one that always intimidated you, but now you see him tending to bees. The man was a softie at heart, not to mention insanely hot.

His skin tanned even deeper from the long hours of being in the sun, and his forehead littered with droplets of sweat. Was it so wrong to think about Joel f—

“Sarah, I wanna fuck your d—“

“Oh, really?”

You shrugged and sat down on her bed. “Can you blame me?! He’s like… Twenty times hotter than the guys our age.”

“He’s also twenty times your age,” she spat.

“Doesn’t he have a brother?” You shamelessly asked.

She scoffed and looked at you in disbelief. “Yeah, who’s married and has three kids.”

You groaned softly. “Bummer.”

“You have a fucking insane sex drive, you know?”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you whined, “It’s making me masturbate more than I’d like.”

“You know what, if you wanna make the bold attempt to fuck my fifty year old dad then you have my blessing,” she sarcastically told you.

You simply raised an eyebrow and stared at her shit-eating grin, waiting for her to tell you she was joking. “Don’t bullshit me, Sarah, ‘cause you know I will.”

“Ah—la la la la la! I am not—I am not listening to it anymore. Get it out of your system before I take it back.”

You pretended to lock your lips and throw the key away as she got back on her boyfriend, but all you could think about was her dad.

♡

You waited for Sarah’s boyfriend’s car to leave the driveway before shakily fixing your hair and lip gloss, then you walked into the backyard with eyes set on the man and his work.

“Mr. Miller,” you called once you were a few feet away from him.

He looked up for a split second and motioned his head as a greeting, saying your name in response.

“Bees?”

“Yes, ma’am. Somethin’ I can help you with?”

Shrugging, you walked a little closer but kept your distance fearing a bee sting. “Maybe.”

He lifted a panel up and briefly examined it until he noticed the lingering silence. His dark eyes locked with yours and he sensed your hesitation. “You allergic?”

You only shook your head.

“They’re calm if you are.”

I am so not fucking calm right now, you thought.

“C’mere darlin’. I’ll show ya.”

He used his index and middle finger to beckon you, and you instantly fixated on why you were there in the first place.

You made the daring move to take a few more steps, ears coaxed by the hum of the colony.

“They usually only sting if you annoy them, or smell like a flower.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t spray floral perfume on my shirt this morning,” you joked.

He almost laughed as the bees didn’t seem to care for you so far. “Honeybees really don’t want to sting you.”

“‘Cause it kills ‘em, right?”

Nodding, Joel says, “Exactly. Their number one goal is to protect the queen. Second is to survive whatever threats they face.”

“How’d you get into this kinda stuff?” You asked.

You were trying to find some way to bring up your question without being sudden or rude, though beekeeping didn’t seem like a helpful topic.

“When Sarah was little she used to get a lot of rashes and she had some bad allergies. That over the counter medicine didn’t help, but honey helped. The natural shit— stuff they sell at the store… Well, it gets expensive. And I didn’t have as good a job as I do now... So I figured I’d give it a go and make my own honey.“

“That’s sweet of you. My dad always had me tough it out,” you chuckled.

“I have plenty stashed away in the kitchen. You’re welcome to take some,” he offered. “Hey, what was it you needed?”

“Oh, uh.” You pursed your lips unsure of whether or not you should lie. “Well, I have this sort of… Itch.”

“Itch? It’s not an STD is it, ‘cause I don’t think honey can help with that.”

You knew it was a deadpan joke but the tension had your face stuck in a scrunch.

“No. Not an STD,” you answered. “I just, uh… I really like you, I guess.”

“I hope so, you’ve been eating up half my groceries for the past twenty somethin’ years.”

Idiot.

“No, I mean…” You realized you wouldn’t be able to ask him. “Never mind, uh. Just forget it.”

He watched you turn and begin walking away before it dawned on him. “Oh!”

You faced him again, scratching your head and giving him a nervous look. “Yeah, like I said: forget it. We can just pretend I never asked—“

“Come here,” he said, adjusting his jeans and walking to the other side of the apiary. “Wanna show ya somethin’.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting your stress response of fleeing the scene and standing beside him again.

“Do you know why bees are so loyal to their queen?” He asked after pulling a panel out to show you.

“Mnh-mnh.”

“The queen is the only bee in the entire hive that can produce more bees. Again, a bee’s second main goal is to preserve the life of their species. The queen produces pheromones that calm the bees down and keep the structure within the colony. Drone bees are male bees that really only exist to mate with the queen when she’s a virgin and out of the hive. Worker bees are females that aren’t the queen, but they’re very nurturing. Especially to the queen because she’s the one in charge.”

“Ahh, a matriarchy. Count me in,” you giggled.

Joel chuckled and pulled a switchblade out of his pocket before forcing the blade to whip out. “Do you know how bees mate?”

His voice sounded a little more quiet, and his eyes met yours with curiosity. You shook your head and waited for him to explain.

“When a new queen is selected, she goes out just one time to find a group of drones who will essentially take her virginity. And drones have an endophallus so after they ejaculate into her, their insides are ripped out and the drone dies. When a new drone comes up to mate with the queen, he removes the last guy’s endophallus and does the same thing. Mate with her… And die. She can mate with about ten or twenty different drones before flying back to the hive and laying eggs.”

“So the drones’ only purpose is to mate with a queen?” You asked.

He began cutting away a small piece of the wax, and the honey trickled down slowly.

“It’s the only reason he lives,” Joel muttered. You watched his thick fingers scoop up the liquid gold and he raised them to your lips. “He waits… And waits… And waits… For the right queen to come along.”

He smirked at your amused expression.

“Are you trying to seduce me by telling me the sexual nature of bees?”

He softly shook his head and glanced at your shiny lips. “Not trying to seduce you. Just tellin’ you what most men really want.”

Exhaling, you tried to ignore his fingers lingering in front of your face. The sickly sweet smell of honey filled your nostrils as his words echoed inside of your head.

“Go on,” he whispered, “have a taste.”

It took you a few extra seconds to build up the confidence in order to take him on his dare, but you made sure you did it as slowly as possible.

Your lips parted and he immediately felt your warm breath flow over his fingers; instinctively, your tongue darted out to catch a drop of the honey before it fell to the ground. Then you wrapped your lips around his digits, softly moaning at the sweet tasting nectar that coated his wood scented fingers.

WIth steady eyes you watch his brown orbs darken with lust, hearing him let out a huff and seeing the muscles in his face relax as if your slick tongue gave him the satisfaction he’d been seeking for a long time.

You swirled your tongue around, persisted to taste every last drop. The thickness coated your throat while you desperately wanted it to be something other than honey.

Your lips left his hand with a wet pop that prompted him to lick whatever saliva and honey remained on his fingers.

“Tastes good.”

“Just good?”

“Tastes delicious,” you corrected.

He let out a soft chuckle and put the wood panel back in its place.

“Sarah know you’re out here?”

After rolling your eyes and smirking you said, “She doesn’t need to know. Actually quite sure she wouldn’t want to know. Besides, Alex just picked her up, so.”

“So we’re all alone,” he finished.

“I’m gonna go get some of that honey you were talking about. Though I might need your help finding the right cabinet.”

He watched you walk back into the house before following you; once inside he saw you reaching into a cabinet in the corner, but a big red bruise on your arm caught his attention.

Joel walked over to you and grabbed your arm. Confused, you tried to see what he was looking at to no avail.

“You got stung right here,” he said as if he read your mind. He started walking over to the correct cabinet.

Frowning, you lifted your arm before spotting the bump. “Weird. Didn’t even feel it.”

“S’normal,” he muttered.

He stepped in front you to lift you up underneath your arms and sit you on top of the kitchen island.

You carefully watched as he opened up a sealed mason jar and stood between your legs.

“Mmkay. Lift your arm up.”

You did as he told and tried not to grimace while he scraped the stinger out. Honestly you didn’t have to try too hard; he looked so good like this, taking good care of you. Focused and confident like he’d done this a million times. You were certain he had.

He dipped a finger into the jar and swiped a little honey over the bump, carefully rubbing it in and drifting his gaze to your eyes.

“Helps the itch,” he spoke. “You said you had one, right?”

“Think I’ve got a bigger itch,” you replied.

“Hmm. Where at?”

Biting your bottom lip you trailed a finger over your neck, finding your sweet spot and rubbing a small circle over it. “Here.”

Joel rubbed a some honey on your neck and lapped it up like a thirsty dog. He held back on sucking the skin, mindful that you might not be fond of hickeys.

“I get it?” His voice strained.

You hummed. “No… No it’s went down a little bit. Tryyy… Here.”

Your clavicle.

More honey. More licking.

“How ‘bout now?”

You took your shirt off revealing your breasts. “Try here, and here.”

Your breath shook when the cold liquid was smeared over your hardened nipples. Once he took the first one into his mouth you let a desperate breath and held the curve of his head in your palm, letting him have his way with your tits.

“Nope, still there,” you spoke once he pulled away.

His fingers found the button on your shorts, then the zipper.

“Damn itches,” he said, “they’re always so damn stubborn. Ain’t that right? S’okay. Think I have a remedy for that.”

Just like that your shorts and panties were off and his fingers scooped up some more honey—more than what was necessary for anything.

He bent down to your glistening pussy and lazily rubbed the honey all over. You’d be lying if you said that alone didn’t make that knot inside of you twist harder.

Joel’s tongue eagerly met your clit, and he didn’t bother wasting anymore time with teasing you. A gurgling moan left his mouth once he tasted your juices mixing with the honey, creating the perfect elixir for his tastebuds.

Your legs clamped around his head reactively but he was strong enough to force them apart and keep them open.

Whilst he sucked and pulled and lapped around your clit, your hands were reaching, searching for anything to grasp. As a result you ended up knocking over the jar and spilling its contents, but you were too dazed to give a fuck.

Somewhat annoyed with you flailing around like you’d never been eaten out before, Joel smacked the back of your thigh. You shuddered and calmed your body down, settling with pulling on his hair relentlessly since the force of his smack stung a little.

He preferred it that way; take your tension out on him. Make him hurt if it meant you felt good. It only stroked his ego.

His tongue slipped between your pussy lips and slurped up whatever it could, the vibrations making you cry out his name. He did it again and again and again and again and a-fucking-gain until he was certain you were screaming from an orgasm.

Joel moaned at your thick cum pouring out of your cunt and down his sticky chin, drinking up anything he wasn’t missing.

He only stopped when he figured you’d had enough and stood eye level with you while fumbling with his belt buckle.

“I think that itch got a little deeper now,” he cockily said, “wouldn’t you say?”

Your eyes were wide, pupils nearly blown, mouth agape, and chest heaving. “I think you can reach it just fine, Joel.”

Holding back a boastful laugh, he lined his erection up with your soft entrance and slid inside carefully.

“So pretty,” he whispered, “you look so fucking pretty like this, baby.”

You pulled his face in for a sloppy kiss, happily tasting the mixture of you and his honey. He noticed your hand was tacky from the spill and stuck a few fingers into his mouth, spreading the stickiness anywhere he could get it.

“Your cock,” you moaned into his chin. “So big.”

“It’s all yours, princess,” he moaned.

His hips pulled back and then snapped back into yours; his tip pressing into the deepest part of your pussy.

“Fuck. You get so fucking deep,” he praised. “S’it feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you said against your will. “Oh my God, just like tha—fuck!”

Joel fucked you just the way you liked: fast, but not sloppily or too hard. He watched his cock disappear into you a dozen times, and he grew harder than he ever had before.

“You look so pretty with my cock inside. Such a dirty fucking girl,” he shouted over your moans. “You take it so well, baby.”

Joel felt the his orgasm begin to arrive so he pulled out and took a step back; you whined a bit and reached for him but you were already so sore.

Meanwhile he just undressed himself and laid you down on the marble countertop, climbing on top of you not long after.

“I hear you, baby,” he cooed. “You don’t need to beg… I’m gon’ take real good care a’you.”

You lazily smiled and wrapped your legs around his broad waist.

“There you go,” he whispered against your lips as he slid back into you, hearing your whines turn into moans. “There you go, sweetheart. I got you.”

He returned back to his original pace, only his hips thrusted harder into you. You felt every curve and vein along his cock, every inch he gave to you.

Your nails clawed at his back and feet dug into his hips. You reached for him in any way you could. His lips danced with yours as you drank each other’s honey-coated moans.

“Joel, fuck. Oh, Joel I’m gonna cum,” you admitted.

He felt your back arch off of the counter as if your tone was indicating enough.

“I know, baby, I know. You’re doing so well. I got you, I got you. Need you to look at me, darlin’, can you do that? Can ya look at me with those pretty eyes when you cum?”

You struggled to open your eyes, wanting to wilt up at the intensity building inside of you. But once you saw his eyes again you were hooked.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, wearing the proudest grin imaginable. “Doing such a good job, let it out sweetie. You can cum.”

“I’m cu—oh!”

“I know, babygirl. I can feel it. Let it out for me. Let it out for daddy.”

He watched and held you as you writhed from your orgasm; your skin was on fire, stomach fluttering with elation.

Joel loved the sound of your voice calling his name, so precious and shameless. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want to. He wanted to make you his own, even if it had to be temporarily.

“Cum inside me,” you breathed out, feeling overstimulated and overstretched. “Need you to—ah.“

He leaned down for another kiss just when he began to cum inside, a feeling so raw and deep he hadn’t felt in years. He forgot how fucking good it felt, and savored it by pushing through every painful bit of the overstimulation.

Joel gave you a few more soft kisses and slowly got off of the island. He ran a hand over your thighs and watched you come down from your high.

“My hair is covered in honey,” you giggled.

“Let’s go wash you up. Maybe we can find a few more itches to scratch.”

#SORRY THIS IS KINDA RUSHED UMMM #pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou smut

1K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 1 year ago

Text

if you need me, let me know, gonna be around [mamma mia part seven] | formula one social media au

drivers: sebastian vettel, fernando alonso & fernando alonso

flo has finally given y/n the experience of motherhood, but she’ll never forget about her overgrown kids

MAMMA MIA MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, sebastianvettel and 1,934,033 others

tagged: jensonbutton

yourusername: venturing out from christmas hibernation and adding to the already overflowing collection of teddies. oh, and getting pics like that of jens while he's out "having a job"

view all comments

user1: i am a simple woman, i see dilf jenson, i lose all sense of reality

user2: gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

jensonbutton: oh wow who is that handsome specimen on the last slide?

sebastianvettel: the man who carelessly abandoned his family !!!

fernandoalo_oficial: a man who couldn't handle that i was the best driver in the family

jensonbutton: what ???

sebastianvettel: i'm sorry... is that the ghost of the man we once knew

jensonbutton: i'm not dead

fernandoalo_oficial: to me you are

yourusername: okay guys ... the bit is up !! we do miss you jense but we're happy you're happy :)

sebastianvettel: sure.... well at least you won't try and worm your way into the crochet club

fernandoalo_oficial: as long as you still come to some of my races :)

user3: glad to see parenthood has not changed these fools

charles_leclerc: why do my selfies never make the instagram :(

yourusername: charlie, if i posted every time you sent me a picture of you crying that's all my instagram would be

charles_leclerc: but ........ i thought i was your favourite

yourusername: you know i don't have a favourite

charles_leclerc: sure if that's what you want to tell yourself

maxverstappen1: we all know you say that to not hurt charlie's feelings because i'm your favourite

fernandoalo_oficial: you people are so dramatic

maxverstappen1: says you old man, i can scroll up you know

sebastianvettel: well you're all second to flo

charles_leclerc: she's disqualified from this competition, she's your actual child you have to say she's your favourite

jensonbutton: it's more who annoys us the least

user4: 2024 and nothing has changed here

sebastianvettel

liked by yourusername, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,045,388 others

sebastianvettel: love being miles away, missing my baby and getting a running commentary of how my "grid kids" are terrorising y/n

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user7: seb is on a mission to pick up every dad hobby ever. first beekeeping and now sailing

user8: don't forget the gardening and the crochet

user9: he's collecting the infinity stones of dilfism

yourusername: a full eight hours of sleep looks so good on you

sebastianvettel: so i don't look good all the time 🤨

yourusername: of course you do handsome. me and flo miss you :((

sebastianvettel: don't say that i miss you all so much

fernandoalo_oficial: maybe that's your sign to come home?

jensonbutton: yeah i think you should listen to the universe seb, you like all that crystal and salt of the earth stuff

yourusername: sebbbbbbbbb :(((((

sebastianvettel: STOP

user10: they are so precious to me

yourusername: no but seriously if i have to teach another grid kid how to iron i might lose my mind

charles_leclerc: ummmmm stop blasting me on main?

yourusername: learn to iron then

sebastianvettel: you still don't know how to iron? i thought i taught you in 2019?

charles_leclerc: clearly not well enough !! and y/n please name and shame the others so i'm not alone

yourusername: @landonorris @logansargeant sorry

landonorris: WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU Y/N? I CALLED YOU IN CONFIDENCE

logansargeant: i don't have any excuse, thank you for the lesson y/n :)

jensonbutton: at least one of our kids is well mannered

charles_leclerc: i am well mannered, sorry i love my grid mum and her kid. i do semi-know how to iron but needed an excuse to see flo :(

user11: free my girl from these incompetent men

mickschumacher

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoao_oficial and 921,743 others

tagged: yourusername

mickschumacher: thanks nurse y/n and nurse flo for helping me - sorry about your mug

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user12: the plaster :((((((((

jensonbutton: IT WAS YOU WHO BROKE MY I <3 NASCAR DILFS MUG

mickschumacher: sorry !

jensonbutton: nuh uh mister @sebastianvettel sort your kid out

sebastianvettel: mick said he was sorry jenson, leave him be

jensonbutton: but when lando put the rubbish in the wrong recycling he had to go litter picking with you I WANT A NEW MUG

yourusername: you guys know they aren't actually your kids, you can't put them in time out

yourusername: you can barely put your own child in time out

fernandoalo_oficial: she's too cute i don't want to make her cry

landonorris: but it's fine to make me cry?

fernandoalo_oficial: yes. in fact, it's quite fun

landonorris: Y/N!!!!

yourusername: okay, babies let's all put the phones down for this evening.

user13: nooooo y/n please i could watch these idiots argue all day

yourusername: the main thing is that your finger is all okay and that you got a cute plaster out of it

mickschumacher: i very much love my lil cat finger

yourusername: so does flo, i think you might be stuck doing puppet shows for the forseeable future

mickschumacher: anything for miss flo

user14: mamma mia family dynamics you are everything to me

fernandoalo_oficial: why did mick get a kitty plaster and i got told to do it myself :(

yourusername: because you're a grown man and you injured yourself by tripping with darts in your hands

fernandoalo_oficial: mick is a grown man - HE CAN VOTE just because he needs seb's help with the paperwork does not change that

mickschumacher: you said yourself they are confusing !!

sebastianvettel: ignore him mick

fernandoalo_oficial: booooooooo

user15: i know these men provide the best entertainment for flo even if she doesn't understand a word they're saying

yourusername: she finds them very entertaining which then starts a competition to who can make her laugh the most

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,447,734

tagged: alexalbon, lilymunhe

yourusername: sometimes even my most competent grid kid needs some help, happy anniversary alex and lily x

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user16: UGH this is so cute

alexalbon: grid mum or emotional support retail assistant?

lilymunhe: so how much of the heartfelt gift was really you

alexalbon: 90% !!! i swear

yourusername: it was all alex he just needed the support (idk he said that jewellery shops are stressful)

alexalbon: they are !! i don't know how big fingers are :(

lilymunhe: thank you y/n wouldn't want the 27 year old man to get lost at the mall

yourusername: no worries, i somehow gained at least 15 extra children along with flo, i just go with it. he's less hassle than charles and max

charles_leclerc: rude.

maxverstappen1: gasp!

user17: i love how much y/n has really embraced the grid mum life

user18: i don't think she had much choice 😭

user19: the way she's like "oh i'll help you all with anything you need" and takes flo on all of these side missions and the guys just leave them to die 😭

user20: they're such dad's who don't want the cat but end up attached but don't want to show it

jensonbutton: wait which one of us claim alex? is it me? why was i not invited?

alexalbon: ur my williams dad :) and i think this trip needed a woman's touch (and flo's touch obvs)

jensonbutton: rude i give great gifts

fernandoalo_oficial: considering he's one of the least feral and has lily, i want to claim alex

sebastianvettel: i have too many kids you guys can have alex

alexalbon: sebastian! did our gardening afternoons mean nothing ?

lilymunhe: we'll take it nando

sebastianvettel: did you or did you not just make it a competition with george to see who could plant potatoes the fastest and then make a mess of my vegetable garden

georgerussell63: GUILTY

yourusername: soz but you all have to claim all of them, my rules now

user21: y/n and flo going to rule that house with an iron fist

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yourusername, jensonbutton and 1,309,244 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

fernandoalo_oficial: glad to be back on the podium, but even more proud to call you my grid kid. we all love you, especially flo :)

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user24: THEY HAVE MATCHING MIFFY PLUSHIES

user25: miffy is dutch so that might be why max got them matching ones :)

yourusername: and flo is surgically attached to her miffy (she has named her maxi, even if she can barely say it)

maxverstappen1: you are one of my heroes and it was a pleasure to share the podium with you. there's no one else in the world i'd love to dedicate my podium to than lil mia x

fernandoalo_oficial: you've got me crying again

maxverstappen1: get it all out old man

fernandoalo_oficial: already back to the old man 🤨 i guess i'll take the nice messages while i can

user26: nando getting all mushy is so cute i can't believe this is where we are

charles_leclerc: let it be known that if i had a car fast enough i would also dedicate a win to flo, but for now she'll have to settle for a song

fernandoalo_oficial: is silvia going to kill you? because seb and y/n might kill me if they get your ass over this

charles_leclerc: but it's true, no?

fernandoalo_oficial: you will not trick me into slandering my old team charlie

maxverstappen1: LOL YOU SNOOZE YOU LOSE

charles_leclerc: YOU KNEW THAT WAS MY IDEA THIEF

sebastianvettel: charles why am i getting a call from silvia?

maxverstappen1: LOL

charles_leclerc: brb just going to lourdes

jensonbutton: lol way to get outshined by your kid

fernandoalo_oficial: at least i was in the position to be outshined by my kid

jensonbutton: ERGH you know you can't bring that up

fernandoalo_oficial: you said that you couldn't wait to get away from us

jensonbutton: oop.

yourusername: my wonderful boys!

maxverstappen1: :D

fernandoalo_oficial: i love you both :)

maxverstappen1: awww thanks nando

fernandoalo_oficial: i meant y/n and flo but sure love you too buddy

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton and 1,610,449 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: maxy, this means more than you could know, flo very much enjoyed watching 'blu' go fast :)

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user27: is this family going to make me cry? maybe.

user28: side note, how many animal onesies does flo have they're so cute

user29: she's like a lil teddy bear

maxverstappen1: glad to have officially won the title of flo's favourite brother

charles_leclerc: NOT SO FAST MISTER

maxverstappen1: maybe if you were faster you would've dedicated a win to flo :P

charles_leclerc: LOW BLOW

danielricciardo: don't even get me started on the daniel ricciardo erasure

maxverstappen1: shush daniel let the problem children talk

charles_leclerc: yeah daniel, problem children only

sebastianvettel: should we intervene?

yourusername: no, i'm intrigued as to where this is going to go

jensonbutton: i for one love watching these dummies fight

fernandoalo_oficial: let me get my popcorn

maxverstappen1: are we just entertainment to you?

jensonbutton: yes!

charles_leclerc: the minute flo can talk ASK HER WHO IS HER FAVOURITE

sebastianvettel: sure?

user30: they can never ask that question, one of them might never recover

maxverstappen1: for real though, i love you guys and i love flo. i'll send nando home with the trophy as well :)

yourusername: awwww thank you maxy :) @sebastianvettel @fernandoalo_oficial @jensonbutton new shelf needed please

jensonbutton: i'll leave this one to "the woodwork king"

sebastianvettel: am i the only one who does anything in this house?

fernandoalo_oficial: you can't be called the woodwork king and not do the work

yourusername: you don't even let them help seb

sebastianvettel: UGH.

jensonbutton

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 912,774 others

tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo

jensonbutton: day 4,000+ of losing our actual girlfriend to our overgrown kids

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user31: PICTURE OF DANNY WITH FLO ALERT ALERT

yourusername: not my fault you guys picked up so many stray cats while in the sport

jensonbutton: i only claim lando and alex, the rest are the others' faults

yourusername: i know you love it really

jensonbutton: not when the little tornadoes hit our house, eat all of our food and steal my baby

danielricciardo: whoops

jensonbutton: and terrorise my pets DANIEL

danielricciardo: they terrorise each other jenson, maybe they aren't as well trained as you thought

yourusername: oh god...

jensonbutton: HOW DARE YOU !!!! BECKETT, SALMON AND CREAM CHEESE ARE VERY WELL TRAINED AND WELL BEHAVED

user32: old men are going crazy we love to see it

sebastianvettel: are we a bed and breakfast?

yourusername: i fear so. you need to run back from whatever ocean you are in we are low on staff now jenson is back racing. flo might be cute but she's a liability in the kitchen

fernandoalo_oficial: maybe we should just kick them out

yourusername: noooo :( not my babies

fernandoalo_oficial: can we at least charge them?

maxverstappen1: you people are the most stingy millionaires i have ever met

charles_leclerc: i pay you in piano sorry

yourusername: don't listen to them boys, flo and i love having you over

user33: so like is there any way we could open the mamma mia bed and breakfast to the public

fernandoalo_oficial: why do the grid kids see our family more than us?

yourusername: come home more often then :(

fernandoalo_oficial: i'm working on it the plane is delayed :(

jensonbutton: personally i would just run home but that's just me

sebastianvettel: i would simply just walk on water

fernandoalo_oficial: shut up. see you later

yourusername: yay !!!!

fin.

note: writer's block has really been beating my ass so there's always mamma mia to get it flowing again. i'm still working on requests, hopefully they'll come along a little faster now! also - i started an instagram for my small business i am opening it's @badlydrawnf1cats, feel free to follow x

edit: mamma mia will return

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