#curtain brackets

[discoonthegrass]

A Private Little War: Peaceful, primitive peoples get caught up in the struggle between superpowers, with Kirk unhappily trying to restore the balance of power disrupted by the Klingons.

The Savage Curtain: Kirk, Spock, Abraham Lincoln and Vulcan legend Surak are pitted in battle against notorious villains from history for the purpose of helping a conscious rock creature's understanding of a concept he does not understand, "good vs. evil".

Feel free to reblog in order to help this poll reach the most people! Remember to vote on the other polls in this round, listed here!

[bunnyboy-juice]

i am the handiest femme in the world (i used a drill for the first time by myself)

[yuripoll]

season 5 preview

since i revealed curtain call, i'll drop this now. like i did w season 4, keeping a public list of what's confirmed for season 5 if anyone wants to preread <3 ive got (more than) 32 pre-picked, but i haven't read the majority so ive gotta trim the fat

progress: 9/32

hana to uso to makoto (tragedy about a girl and her zombified friend)

girls cocoon (short anthology of messy girlrelationships)

the witch and i (oneshot abt a bullied highschool girl)

im the only one for miyaji miyuki (highschool harem comedy)

roid (sci-fi abt a robot w a human mind)

tonari no robot (sci-fi about a robot learning to be human)

RAINBOW! (webcomic abt two girls bonding over bad family situations)

in the gardens of gehenna (dark thriller about child abuse. went back and forth for a while on whether the content was too much to accept it, but i landed on yes. huge cw for csa in particular.)

a curtain call for you (REALLY good highschool drama about theatre - currently at risk of cancellation!!! consider supporting the author if you have the funds)

[appri-dot]

You and your buddy will share pure human connection in the rp margins bro

Its escaped the narrative))

And I remind myself a human being is with me))

[j-esbian]

need to have A Fucking Talk with whoever put together this building because why the fuck is it taking me several days to hang a curtain rod

[overture-contest]

Round 1, Poll 13

Propaganda for Spies Are Forever:

None submitted.

Propaganda for Curtains:

None submitted.

Feel free to rb with any additional propaganda and I will rb it here

[rainbows-caught-on-film]

I miss California...

[beeseverywhen]

Can I use like...heavy duty command strips to hold up a curtain pole

[crudlynaturephotos]

[s4kura-tr3]

how about reader comforting gojo / mediating when their new baby doesn’t like him? maybe his cursed energy makes his presence too overwhelming for them or maybe they just don’t like his freaky blue eyes

Gojo x reader

Gojo Satoru had faced curses stronger than most sorcerers could even comprehend. He had been feared and revered in equal measure. But nothing — nothing — had prepared him for the heartbreak of his own child not liking him.

It had started the moment you brought the baby home. Swaddled in soft cotton, cheeks plump and rosy, their tiny fists would flail happily when you held them. But the second Gojo leaned over the crib, his heart swelling with love and nervous excitement — the baby would cry. Not a soft whimper, but a full-blown scream that shattered the peaceful quiet of the nursery.

“Maybe it’s my cursed energy,” Gojo muttered one night, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. His head was tipped back against the wall, hair messier than usual, the pale blue glow of his eyes dim beneath the weight of his exhaustion. “Maybe it’s too much for them.”

You sat cross-legged beside him, your hand rubbing circles on his back. “You’re suppressing it, though. You’re being careful.”

“Careful’s not enough, apparently,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. His long fingers tangled in white hair. “I’m supposed to be the strongest. But I can’t even get my own kid to stop crying when I look at them.”

“Or maybe,” you teased gently, “it’s those freaky eyes of yours.”

He shot you a glare, but you saw the sadness lingering beneath the usual mischief. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” you murmured. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “But maybe they don’t know that yet.”

Gojo let out a tired laugh. “Great. So my own child thinks I’m scary.”

“Or maybe they’re just overwhelmed,” you suggested. “You’re a lot to take in, Satoru.”

He huffed. “Gee, thanks.”

You shifted closer, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “They’re still figuring out the world. They don’t know yet that their dad is the safest place in it.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His gaze drifted toward the crib, where the baby was sleeping peacefully under the soft blue light of the moon filtering through the curtains. He hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air like he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace.

“Hey,” you whispered, scooting to sit behind him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. “Let’s try something.”

He turned his head slightly toward you. “What?”

“Come here.”

You rose to your feet and walked over to the crib, scooping up the baby with practiced ease. Their little mouth opened in a sleepy yawn, tiny fists curling against your chest. You settled back down on the floor, motioning for Gojo to sit behind you.

He hesitated before sliding in close, his long legs bracketing yours. His chest pressed to your back as you leaned the baby slightly toward him.

“Just let them get used to you,” you said softly. “No pressure. Just… be here.”

Gojo’s breath was warm against your neck as he leaned down. The baby stirred slightly, their sleepy eyes fluttering open. Gojo reached out with careful hands, brushing a knuckle along the soft curve of their cheek.

The baby’s gaze met his — wide, round, and unblinking. Gojo held his breath. Their tiny face wrinkled. His heart slammed against his ribs.

But this time, they didn’t cry.

“Hey,” Gojo whispered, his voice so soft it almost didn’t sound like him. His finger brushed along their tiny hand, and miraculously — miraculously — the baby’s hand curled around it.

Gojo’s eyes widened, breath hitching in his throat. His mouth parted like he couldn’t believe it was happening.

“They like you,” you whispered, smiling.

Gojo’s eyes softened, the usual teasing glint replaced by something far more fragile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned down, brushing the gentlest of kisses to the baby’s forehead. His breath shuddered when they didn’t pull away. His arms circled around you and the baby, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut.

“See?” you whispered, turning your head just enough to press your lips to his temple. “They just needed to know you were safe.”

Gojo’s smile was small and quiet. “Guess they’re smarter than they look.”

“Of course they are.” You laughed softly. “They take after me.”

Gojo chuckled, low and warm. His arms tightened around you both, and this time — when the baby stirred and opened their eyes — they didn’t cry. They just blinked up at Gojo with quiet curiosity, their tiny hand still wrapped around his finger.

[bad-sex-in-fiction-bracket]

Hello, all. (All none of you, that is.)

We (I) am still figuring this out, “this” being a bracket of the Bad Sex In Fiction award winners. Thus far, all I have to say is “why is the kissing all so bad” and “Holy Run On Sentences, Batman!”

Yeah, so. Weird new bracket coming (ha) in about a week. Other commentary around the same time.

See y’all soon.

[calebpups]

PAIRINGS. . . rafayel x reader

CW. . . assuming we’ve all seen rafayel’s bedroom—lovemaking under the stars.

the room glowed in that way only moonlight could make possible—silver spilling through the glass dome above you, stars glittering against the dark like they’d come just to watch. the soft rustle of the sheer curtains and the flicker of candlelight painted the whole place in a dream.

rafayel looked like something out of one too. shirt long gone, silk robe half slipped off his shoulders, hair loose and messy from your hands, body warm and firm between your thighs, and he was smiling like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“my beautiful girl,” he whispered, brushing your hair away from your face, lips pressing slow kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your neck.

you gasped as his hips rocked forward—deep and deliberate, so you felt every inch of him stretch and fill you.

“god,” he breathed, “you feel like heaven.”

the glass above you shimmered with starlight, like constellations were dripping across your skin, and you couldn’t help but look up—heavy-lidded, breathless. he noticed.

“you’re looking at the stars?” he murmured, nuzzling your temple, voice soft and a little amused.

you bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut as he rolled his hips again. he kissed your collarbone, then lower, over the curve of your breast, his hands never stopping their slow, possessive sweep over your waist, your thighs, your ribs.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered against your skin, grinning. “so sensitive. you’re taking me so well.”

he kissed you—deep and slow, tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to taste everything. his thrusts stayed steady, a little strained, like he was holding back just for you.

“look at me,” he said, voice low, breath hot against your lips. “i’ll make you see stars brighter than any starry-night.”

your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moaned—soft and desperate.

your hands were in his hair, your back arching off the bed, your body on fire under his. the stars blurred as your eyes filled with tears from how good it felt—how full, how loved, how completely overwhelmed you were by him.

“that’s it,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your shoulder.

that’s all it took for you to break, heart pounding, mouth falling open as your body clenched around him.

he came with a low groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, forehead pressed to yours. his forearms bracketing your head, his kiss slow and reverent.

and above you, the stars burned on—soft and endless and silent, watching as he loved you like you were the only thing in the world worth worshipping.

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[twilightharry]

mother’s day - harry styles ❁

hi!!! this is my first ever harry fic . i'm feeling inspired today as it's mothers day in the uk and i thought i'd try my luck and write a little blurb. please be kind and i'd really appreciate feedback . not proof read yet lol <3 thank you!

warnings: pregnancy, sfw overall!

contains: fluff, girl dad harry with full tache

word count: 1.7k

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

It was approaching 10:00 AM on Sunday morning when you finally rolled over to check your phone, noticing the curtains had been pulled and the much welcomed sunshine of the morning was spilling into the bedroom. 10:00 AM was a much later wake up than you'd usually get to have on a weekend - typically being woken up by your two little girls who would tiptoe into your room and climb into the bed next to you and your husband but…today was different. It was Mother's Day and the bed was empty.

On your phone, read a text from your husband from two hours earlier:

H 🥰: Morning! Happy Mother's Day. We've just nipped out for a bit but will be back when you're awake. Hope you slept well. I love you x

A little smile graced your lips as you locked your phone and lay back onto the pillows, basking in the soft hush of the empty room. Despite missing the warmth that usually lay beside you, something sweeter replaced it as it wasn't long until you heard soft hushed giggles just beyond the door.

A hurried whisper and an ''Oi! Be quiet you two,'' could be heard from your husband and in response, tiny voices giggled, trying but failing desperately to be quiet.

As funny as it was to listen to the bickering outside your bedroom, you thought you'd end the suffering of your two little girls. ''I'm awake!'' you shouted out and before long the door creaked open and the three people you loved most in the world came in.

Rosie, your eldest of five years old, ran in first, a beaming smile and what looked to be a handmade card in her hand.

''Mummy! You're awake!!'' she said before turning back to your husband, ''I told you she was awake!''

''Yeah, yeah, you were right.'' Your husband, Harry let out, him stepping out from the hall and into the room. Your three old, Lyla was balanced on his hip, a tired smile on her face and in his other hand was a bouquet of the prettiest blue and white flowers you'd ever seen.

He set Lyla down on the edge of the bed before strolling over to you and setting a small kiss on your lips. ''Morning.''

''Morning. You look nice.'' You smiled up at him, getting a good view of the outfit he'd thrown on that morning. A dark blue zip up with his infamous black glasses tucked into the top of it and a cap set on his head.

Laying the bouquet on the bedside table, he grinned back, hands scratching at his facial hair. ''You look nice too.'' which earned a snort from you, knowing there was nothing nice or endearing about whatever bedhead you had on display that morning.

''Mummy!'' Rosie says, pushing in front of her dad so she's stood just at the bedside, ''We made you a card, look! And daddy got you flowers but I picked them!''

''Oh wow! Thank you, my sweet girl.'' You say squeezing her cheeks before taking the card from her.

Opening it, you saw what looked like a moonpig card that you were sure Harry had probably ordered on next day delivery, filled with a collage of pictures of the four of you and some from when you were pregnant with your two babies. Inside the card was what could only be described as sticker vomit, with about twenty flower and heart stickers stuck to the two sides of the card, random lines of glitter pens and a few googly eyes paired together. The squiggly writing of your five year old adorned the page with a cute little message ''To Mummy. We love you lots and lots like jelly tots. Love from Rosie and Lyla and Daddy.'' and in small writing that you knew to be your husbands was in brackets at the bottom (And from baby number 3!). Knowing Harry had most likely held her write and spell out the words warmed your heart even more.

''Aw, that is so cute. Thank you.'' You said giving Rosie a kiss on the forehead before turning to your little one and giving her a kiss too, ''C'mere you.''

''Them bloody moonpig cards cost a fortune now, y'know?'' spoke your husband who was watching the scene of his three favourite girls with fond eyes.

''Poor you, how will your bank account survive that?'' You rolled your eyes joking back with him, ''I'm very thankful you paid the extortionate prices for a personalized card for me.''

''Bloody better be.'' He said with a grin before settling on the corner of the bed next to you, pulling Lyla onto his lap.

''Where'd you three end up going this morning?'' you asked.

''Rosie was desperate to go down to the flower market to pick these and then we just wandered round the park for a bit to make sure you got a lie in. Oh- and we picked up some coffee - there's a coconut flat white downstairs with your name on it.''

''Well aren't you thoughtful.'' You teased and as much as you did love to tease him your heart burst at the thought of him setting his alarm just that bit earlier to take your two girls out just so you had a bit of peace and quiet for once in the mornings.

''I do try.'' he said, poking your side gently before asking, ''Manage to sleep much? Baby three give you any trouble?''

His hand found your hair, brushing the strands of hair that had fallen out from you poorly put up a ponytail that you usually slept in.

''Tossed and turned for a bit but managed to get a good few hours of sleep.''

Lyla had since climbed off his lap and her and Rosie looked a bit fed up as they watched their parents. ''Daddy! Breakfast time.''

Harry looked over at the pair, their smiles reminding him fondly of their mother, ''Alright you two, go and put your aprons on and I'll be down in a second.''

''Ok.'' They screamed out before running out the door but not before shouting a high pitched, ''Bye Mummy!''

''Bye girls.'' You laughed before looking back at your husband with a smile. ''They cause you much grief this morning?''

''They were fine, angels as much as angels can be if they are your children.''

''Oi!'' you laughed swatting his arm, ''Did you dress them in the dark?'' you tease, thinking of Rosie's checkered rainbow jacket that had been paired with brown trousers and Lyla's orange little hat that looked a bit out of place with her outfit.

''Piss off, you. I let them pick their own outfits if you must know.''

''Yeah...looks like it.'' You joke, your eyes settled on his face. His eyes looked a little darkened from the early morning wake up and his mustache looked like it could use a trim but even then all you could think was that he looked unbelievably fit as he always did. Dad life suited him well.

''You're full of it this morning.'' Harry jokes, taking your hands in his own, rubbing his finger over your thumb like he always did whenever his hands would find yours.

''You can't be mean to be today. It's Mother's Day after all.''

''Yeah, yeah excuses.'' He says with a cheeky grin and you can see the excitement despite his exhaustion as he shoots you a knowing glance. ''Wont be long till I have three babies to dress in the morning. More possibility for creativity.''

''If this is your way of asking if we can dress the girls up as Easter bunnies on Easter Sunday then the answer's still no.''

''It wasn't but...now that you've brought it up, I picked up a few things this morning.''

''Bloody hell.'' You laughed with a huff, ''It's like I’m a mother of 3 already with you.''

''Oh shush you. You'll love them. Got some pink bunny ears and a little jumper that says 'Hopping about'... how can you not love that?''

''Quite easily actually.''

''Moody arse.'' He says squeezing your sides before placing a kiss on your mouth and then one on each sides of your face, your nose and then finally one on your forehead.

''Happy Mother's Day. Love you too bits for giving me those perfect girls and another one on the way. Best mummy out there, y'know.''

You clasp his hands in yours, feeling the gentle flutter in your heart for the two daughters you have together but also the new life growing, knowing one thing for sure, even though you didn't think it was possible, your heart was about to grow even fuller.

''Love you lots too.'' You smile up at him. ''You making breakfast?''

''Mmm.'' He says settling another kiss on your lips, his mustache tickling your upper lip slightly. ''Not gonna make itself is it?''

Another snort leaves you, ''What's on the breakfast menu?''

''Was thinking of doing a fry up, the usual stuff, no mushrooms for you obviously.''

''Obviously.''

''And then maybe after breakfast and when the girls go down for a nap, I can have my own Mother's Day breakfast.'' He says wiggling his eyebrows like a teenage boy.

You huff back another laugh, swatting his arm ''Right, out the door, before I get sick.''

''Oh, it wasn't that bad. Poor man only wanting to love on his wife.'' He throws his head back in a laugh as he gets up from the side of the bed, picking up the flowers on his way to put them in some water once he's in the kitchen.

''It was awful, H. Have a bit of decorum on Mother's Day.'' You laugh. ''But seriously, go, before those two start causing havoc in the kitchen. I'll be down in five.''

''Alright, alright, I'm going.'' He says as he turns back to you, ''C'mere one more time.''

He leans down and gives you another gentle kiss on the lips, ''Happy Mother's Day. I love you.'' and then he turns and is out the door before you can even reply.

Your cheeks are hurting from the permanent smile that has been etched on your face since your family clamored in the door not that long ago but you wouldn't have it any other way. And it isn't long before you hear what sounds like a few metal pots falling to the floor in the kitchen and a high pitched ''Silly daddy!'' coming from your eldest but again, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy Mother's Day to you, indeed.

[ak-vintage]

Stay Right Here

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel. A Secret Santa gift for my dear friend Britt @pedroswife69 <3

Word Count: 2.3K

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, post-season 1/game 1 established relationship, SMUT (groping, fingering, P in V sex, praise, heavy emphasis on Joel’s broad, sexy, manly hands, Joel’s filthy mouth)

Thank you to @shchristine for the beta read and to @pr3ttynpiink for organizing! Shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Read on AO3 | Main Masterlist

You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an early riser. Up before the sun most days, you’re showered, dressed, and fed before the sky can fade from inky black to rose gold to blue. It’s made you a great candidate for the breakfast shift at the dining hall and an eager volunteer in the barns and stables. You’ve become accustomed to tending to sheep and cattle or cracking eggs and frying bacon before most of the rest of Jackson have even blinked themselves awake, and really, it’s been no trouble. That was, of course, until you agreed to gather up your modest possessions and officially move across town.

Into Joel Miller’s house.

Now, as early-morning light filters through the thin curtains of his bedroom – your bedroom – you find yourself tucked snugly against his broad chest, his legs intertwined with yours, and one long, thick arm draped across your waist, keeping you close. He smells like sleep – warm and woodsy and painfully masculine, and though he holds you tightly, he shows no sign of waking. Even in his sleep, he can’t seem to get close enough to you. It would be inconvenient if you didn’t find it so endearing.

You twist in his arms, craning your neck awkwardly in an attempt to spot the little analog alarm clock Joel keeps on his bedside table. When you finally manage it, you balk at the time staring back at you in the dimness. You’re due in the kitchens in less than 30 minutes. If you rush, you’ll make it, but only just.

Your touch is delicate at first, gentle and soft as you try to extricate yourself from his grip without waking him. With a few wiggles and a scooch of your hips, you manage to work your legs free, but by the time you’re reaching for his arm to peel it off you, it has become like a clamp around your midsection, and you are being drawn back into him, back into his warm, bare chest as he grumbles, “Jus’ few more minutes, darlin’.”

With a shake of your head, you sigh, peering up at him through your lashes. His eyes are still closed, his weathered face relaxed, and you feel a pang of fondness tighten in your chest at the sight. He does this to you because he knows you can’t resist him when he’s like this – cozy and sweet and soft, every barrier collapsed and every façade shattered. You’re one of the few who gets to see the true face of Joel Miller, and the privilege is not lost on you.

Still, that does not change the fact that you have never once been late to a shift since arriving in Jackson, and you are not about to sacrifice your perfect record for a few extra minutes of cuddling. Moving quickly, you roll onto your other side and make for the edge of the bed.

But even wrapped in the warm cocoon of sleep, Joel is still faster and stronger than you. You make it only a handful of inches across the mattress before his vicelike grip is back, bracketing around your belly and hauling you – a bit less gently this time – back into his embrace once again. His face ends up buried in your hair, his front molded to the contours of your back, and you feel it along every nerve ending as he rasps, “Quit your squirmin’. M’sleepin’.”

Except Joel isn’t sleeping. Or, at least, there is one particular part of him that appears to be very much awake. You snort softly into your pillow. You should have known.

“Joel,” you hiss, wriggling against his grip. “I’m gonna be late!”

He does not dignify your protests with a response. Or, at least, not a verbal one. Instead, he simply shuffles so he is pressed even tighter against you as his broad-palmed, thick-fingered, heavy hand begins lazily stroking every inch of you he can reach.

He’s unhurried in his perusal of your body – from the dip of your waist to the flare of your hip, from the soft give of your stomach up to the plush fullness of your breasts. His caress is familiar, soothing and inflaming in equal measure, and your muscles melt so readily – eagerly even – under his attentions that it almost steals your breath away.

You are putty in his hands, and he knows it, so when he tucks his fingers under the neckline of your sleepshirt and tugs down the worn material, you make a fatal mistake, and Joel simply grins.

As his hot, dry palm skates over your rapidly-hardening nipples, as his grip swallows the pillowy softness of a breast and massages firmly, you let out the softest, breathiest sigh and arch into his touch. Your ribs surge forward, seeking more of that calloused, work-roughened hand, and in doing so, your hips curl back, and you unintentionally welcome the long, thick, throbbing press of his cock between the globes of your ass.

Joel groans into the back of your neck, the sound tripping down your spine in deep, rasping shivers as he noses your hair out of the way. The second enough skin is exposed, he latches on and drags the warm slickness of his tongue along it, drawing the vulnerable little patch of softness into his mouth and sucking. His rough fingers tighten around your nipple, plucking and teasing as he works your neck, and the sensation has your throat gasping, the arch of your spine deepening.

Low and ragged in your ear, Jackson’s top patrolman chuckles and grinds his hips into your ass. “That’s it, baby. You got a few minutes for this, don’tcha?”

“I – my breakfast shift, I have to – ” Your words are interrupted with a moan, the sound wrenched from your chest as the hand on your breast slips down to the apex of your thighs, pressing firmly and steadily against your mound through your cotton panties. His name is a whimper on the back of another deep, urgent breath, and you grit your teeth against the urge to wind your hips against the friction of his fingers.

“Shhh,” Joel soothes, mouthing at your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as it catches in the uneven whiskers of his beard. “Just relax, darlin’. The kitchen’ll keep for a bit. Lemme feel you a little.”

In the end, you find that you don’t have the strength to protest any more. His hands are everywhere – tucking under your neck from behind to settle across your throat, slipping into your panties, snaking under your shirt, tangling in your hair. You’re surrounded in him, swaddled in his thick, strong arms, trapped against his front, your body unable to choose between chasing the tease of his fingers against your slippery clit or grinding back against the enticing hardness of his cock.

He doesn’t let you choose, though. Instead, he strokes and plays and torments until you are ready to beg for mercy, and then he flips you onto your back and clambers on top of you. All finesse is gone as he shoves his pajama pants just far enough down to pull himself out, as he reaches down to tug the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, as he drags his soft, plush cockhead through your wetness. You can feel his desperation in the tension of his muscles, can see it in the deep frown tugging at his brow, can hear it in the curled-lip, gritted-teeth groan as he notches himself at your quivering entrance. It takes your breath away, makes you shudder and gasp as you stretch around the tip of him.

All the countless times you’ve taken him, and you’re not sure you will ever get used to that first breach of your body, that first trembling submission to the heft of him.

He fills you in one slow, inexorable thrust, and when your dripping pussy has swallowed every inch of him, when he finally seats his pubic bone against yours, firm and inescapable, he threads his fingers with yours and pins both of your hands above your head.

You can’t remember why you protested anymore, why you ever attempted to keep him at bay. He has driven every other thought from your mind and replaced it with himself. There is simply nothing else that matters.

He keeps you there as he takes you apart – thighs spread achingly wide, knees hitched up at his sides to take him deeper, ankles locked behind his back to keep him from retreating too far. Mouth on your neck, tongue on your tits. Teeth scraping across your jaw, tugging on your earlobe, sinking into the flesh cushioning your collarbone. Big, thick, rugged hands gripping yours, driving the backs of your fingers into the mattress. You are entirely at his mercy, and it makes your cunt drool for him.

“There ya go, baby, I know. Can feel how bad you need it,” Joel growls, making you shiver. “Gonna give you what you need. Just gotta take it.”

When he can feel that you are on the ragged edge of your climax, so close to soaring right over that edge you can almost taste it, he gathers both of your wrists in one hand and drops the other to your gaping, whining mouth. His thumb – huge, tasting of salt and musk and man – sinks between your lips and presses down on your tongue, and when you come, your cries are muffled in the suction of your mouth around the intrusion.

“There she is.” His words are syrupy-slow and sweet in your ear as you clench down around him, as you writhe and whimper as he fucks you through it. “That’s my good girl.”

Somehow, Joel manages to hold out for his own pleasure until you’ve come down from your high, until you’ve returned to your body and to the present moment. You are just lucid enough to watch him as he rears up on his haunches, withdraws his dripping cock from the clutch of your body, and uses one of those broad, heavy hands to jerk himself off over your belly. Your eyes can’t look away as he strokes himself, quick and firm, your gaze heavy-lidded and hungry as you watch.

“Come on,” you whisper. The words leave your mouth thoughtlessly, eyes glued to his flushed, angry cock as the tip weeps glistening pearls of precum. Fuck, he’s so breathtaking like this. “Come for me, Joel. Come all over me.”

It doesn’t take long with your encouragement. When he falls, it is with a ragged groan and a curse. You watch as thick, white ropes paint his scarred knuckles, and you can hardly stand to wait for him to stop before pulling that hand from his cock and dragging it to your waiting mouth. You clean his fingers with an eager tongue, lapping every drop from his skin as he catches his breath.

It isn’t until he collapses back onto the bed next to you, winded and sweating, that you happen to catch a glimpse of your bedside clock out of the corner of your eye. The sight is like a bucket of ice water in your veins.

“Shit,” you groan, rolling over to bury your face into your pillow in denial.

“S’matter?”

Your words come out muffled, smothered against the pillow as you hide from the accusing glare of the clockface. “I’m fucking late.”

Joel snorts a laugh. “Ah, well. Not the end of the world, darlin’.”

“I’m never late, Joel!”

You feel the mattress shift behind you as he rolls up onto his side, then the warm, heavy weight of his palm between your shoulder blades as he rubs your back comfortingly. “All the more reason why one time won’t hurt anything. Ain’t no reason you gotta be up at the ass-crack of dawn every damn day. Now…” He lands a quick swat to your butt, aiming for the bit of bare cheek left exposed by your twisted, dripping panties. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, and I’ll make you a cuppa coffee for the road. How’s that sound?”

At first, you say nothing, keeping your face pressed into the pillowcase and your eyes hidden from him. What you really want is to stay irritated. You want to hold onto your annoyance at the ease with which he distracts you, the speed with which your mind and body succumb to his advances. But at this point in your relationship, you know better than to try. Joel has a frustratingly boyish charm to him when he wants to, can be playful and impish when the mood strikes. And when he lets himself loosen up.

Today? With unplanned morning sex under his belt when the sun has barely risen? The man is downright giddy in this moment, and you know the second you see his face, any bitterness you may be attempting to cling onto will dissolve like sugar on your tongue, and you will be left with nothing but affection (and an absolutely spine-melting orgasm) in spite of your ruined schedule.

“Darlin’?” he murmurs, that soft, warm touch returning to your back. “You really mad at me?”

Releasing a sigh, you roll to face him, let him see the wry smile you can’t suppress as you take in his dark, earnest eyes. “No, Joel, I’m not mad. But – ” You jab a finger into his bare chest, the pointy blow landing right on his breastbone. “ – I want the good coffee. Not that instant crap. If I’m gonna be this late anyway, I can wait for the pour-over to brew.”

Joel’s weathered face splits into a grin, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as huffs a laugh. He chuffs you gently under your chin with the side of his knuckles, those beautiful hands ready to have you melting all over again, and you can already feel it – the warmth of it settling in your chest, softening your heart.

“Got yourself a deal.”

[httpsserene]

Hello!! I hope you have drank a lot of water today and I hope you are having a good day! I was wondering if you could do a Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen x reader where they just have a soft cuddle? Maybe it reads to smth more spicy? That part is completely up to you :)

cuddles — 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 & 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. missing u ash < 3 i wish i could go back in time and fulfill your requests when you were still active on tumblr. now, i'm borderline crying when i scroll through my inbox and see your name :( wherever you are irl, i hope you're sipping the crispiest, ice-cold arizona green tea to ever exist xxx

(don't ask about the pics i chose for the header, it's past my bedtime)

you’re roused awake by the sound of the shower shutting off, confusion sparking through your sleepy synapses at the feeling of pressure on your chest and the absence of warmth on your right side. you snuffle lowly, stretching your body underneath the comforter with a yawn, jostling the weight on your chest.

max’s groan rumbles through your skin, displeased by your sudden shifting. his arm tightens around your waist, stilling your movement and you languidly blink heavy eyelids open to see that the pressure is max’s head pillowed on your breasts, covered by the white duvet. silencing a snort, you slip a hand underneath the covers to rub along his bare back, his tense frame relaxing under your gentle caress as he settles back into his slumber. you were expecting the weight to be one of the cats huddling close for warmth; sassy being the most common culprit of forcing her owners awake by acting as a fourteen-pound paperweight.

the bathroom door clicks open and charles steps into the room clad in cream sweatpants. he towels off the last few droplets of water sliding down his hairline and the contours of his chest, sending you a quiet smile when your eyes meet. blowing him a kiss, you pat on his empty side of the bed, urging him to rejoin the two of you under the early morning haze filtering through the curtains. charles discards his towel on the dresser (later, you’ll chirp at him for not hanging it up to dry properly) and climbs into bed next to you, shimmying downward to lie by your side and pecks your lips, one, two, three, four times before pulling away.

he chuckles breathily, “you have morning breath, mon ange.”

you scrunch your nose, using your free hand to gesture at the puddle of max pinning you to the bed, “i guess i can leave you to deal with our prickly boyfriend when i wake him up by moving to brush my teeth.”

charles feigns terror, before giggling it away as he presses kisses along your jaw. he slides underneath the covers, adding his legs to the tangled mess of yours and max’s, one of his arms snaking under your form to tug you as close as possible. the readjustment causes a rough grunt to sound from the duvet; max rolls off you, pushing himself upwards on his forearm to peak out of the cocoon he’s built for himself, sending a glare that’s more like a sulky pout as it’s distorted by his sleep-swollen cheeks and eyes.

his voice is croaky, “be quiet and hug me.”

“of course, your majesty,” you tease.

“désolé, mon chat,” charles coos.

max huffs, thoroughly communicating his disdain at the overly sweet titles. you and charles know better than to comment on the red flush of his ears. kindly, he allows you to crawl out of bed to brush your teeth, snuggling into charles’s chest to keep warm in the meantime. 

you return, spooning his frame, consequently bracketing him in between you and charles, and max falls back to sleep in a handful of silent minutes. charles yawns midway into whispering about how his run went and you mimic the behavior subconsciously. the two of you decide to postpone breakfast for brunch, considering max’s desperation for a couple more hours of sleep. charles’s hand squeezes yours around max’s body, and the warmth of satisfaction blooming at the nape of your neck from the skin-to-skin contact tells you that all the plans for today will be pushed back, for the sake of a few more hours of cuddling.

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos used in header are from pinterest.

[sunshineyuyu]

chained, part 2 (c. jh)

★ summary: after finally confessing to each other, you and jongho enjoy the morning in bed together, until you’re rudely interrupted by his roommate. ★ pairing: jongho x f!reader ★ genre: fluff, smut (mdni!), college ★ word count: 2k ★ tags/warnings: vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), piv sex (with a condom!), reader calls jongho sir, jongho calls reader babygirl/baby, slight dom/sub undertones?, roommate!san ★ notes: i originally had a small epilogue scene written and scrapped it, but since i got some amazing feedback for part 1, i decided to rework it into a this small part 2 as a thank you to everyone!! hope you enjoy :3 ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | part 1

the next morning when you wake up, you’re cuddled into jongho’s side, wearing his old high school football shirt, in his bed. you nose the underside of his jaw. he groans a little and pushes you away from him.

“hey!” you say, a little disoriented by how he shoves you aside like a blanket and not a body.

“my arm is asleep,” he moans in response, massaging his bicep with his other hand. his voice is gruff and low, dripping with sleep, and you feel your pulse drop lower at the velvety sound.

“are you calling me fat?” you say, rolling over to bracket his hips with your knees, your hands pressed into his chest. your hair falls over one shoulder like a curtain.

“nah,” jongho says, smirking a little as his hands fall lower to palm your ass. “but your ass is kinda thick, though.”

you wrinkle your nose. “you don’t talk like that.”

jongho laughs, a deep rumble that’s even sexier with his morning voice.

“so are we doing this?” he says, fondly.

“doing what?” you say, as if you aren’t subtly grinding against his crotch.

his right hand stays on your ass, nudging it slightly to keep going, while the other one slides up your front until he settles it against your jaw, his thumb rubbing at your cheek.

“this,” he murmurs, bucking up suddenly against you. you bounce and shriek, losing your balance and falling forward enough so that he can meet your lips with his. it’s close-mouthed, all lips, probably for the sake of your respective morning breaths, but it’s intimate and sends shivers down your spine.

“i like you,” he mumbles, kissing the corner of your mouth, and then your cheek, your jaw, your neck.

“i like you, too,” you breathe back.

“just making sure last night wasn’t a dream,” jongho says, mouthing at your pulse point.

“no, it wasn’t,” you assure him.

“let’s eat breakfast,” jongho says, pulling back and meeting your gaze with his soft one.

“i thought we were about to have sweet sweet morning sex,” you say, pouting.

he hums. “who says you aren’t breakfast?”

you gape at him, just as he grabs your hips harshly and flips you both over. you thump against the mattress while giggling.

“i like you a lot,” you laugh while he nuzzles your neck.

“good.”

that one syllable word that plagued you for the past week sounds so sweet now when it’s being whispered into your skin.

jongho pushes your shirt up above your chest so that your breasts are exposed. your nipples pebble easily under his hooded gaze, and you arch your back when he fits his mouth around one of them. they’re still tender from last night, and jongho seems to know this, because he’s gentle as he nips and laps at the bud before moving over to the other one.

by the time jongho pulls back, you’re nearly panting with arousal. he sits on his hind legs to admire his handiwork. he’d wrecked you so thoroughly last night that you hadn’t washed off your makeup before falling asleep, so you assume you’re a debauched mess. but the way jongho looks down at you so reverently makes you feel beautiful.

hoping to move things along, you start to take off your—his—shirt, but then jongho growls, “no, keep it on.”

“oh?” you say.

“i’ve seen you wear san’s shirts long enough,” he says. “you’re only allowed to wear mine, now.” he’s being possessive, and you like it, but you can also hear the slight pout in his voice.

“yes, sir,” you say, and you mean it in a joking way, but then you see something flash in jongho’s eyes.

you grin. “you like that? sir?”

“yeah,” he says quietly. “yeah, i like that a lot, baby.”

“yeah? then—would you please hurry up, sir?” this time, you practically purr the word to him, fluttering your eyelashes and trailing your fingers along his forearms.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

he does hurry up, pushing you up the bed while he moves down it. you’d forgone underwear while sleeping since they’d been ruined, and jongho groans when he’s face to face with your cunt.

“so fucking pretty,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

he starts slow, lapping gently at your clit which is still a little sensitive. by the time he properly fits his mouth over you and fucks his tongue into your cunt, you’re a whining, squirming mess. soon, he trades his tongue for two fingers, and he moves back to your clit. while he sucks on it, he finger fucks you, curling them just right to hit the spot that makes you keen.

“nng—! fuck, feels so good, jongho!” you moan.

he pulls back abruptly, and you whimper.

“jongho?” he questions, low and slightly menacing.

you gasp as you remember. “—sir!” you correct.

“mmm.” he smiles as he hums against your pussy. “good girl.”

“pl- please, sir!” you beg as he returns to his ministrations, but all slow like how he started. you moan in frustration because you know that he’s doing it on purpose to tease you. “please, i was so close!”

“i know, babygirl, i know,” jongho coos at you, still working his fingers leisurely in and out of you. his thumb grazes your clit just barely, but it’s enough to make you jolt and whine. “just a little longer—okay? then i’ll make you cum.”

but jongho can’t actually make good on the promise, because you’re unceremoniously interrupted by a knock on the door from san. the sound you make in surprise must be loud, because the knocks pause, and then you hear,

“jongho? was that you?”

you and jongho make eye contact at the same time, both silently panicking. 

“what do we say?” you hiss.

“i don’t know!” jongho returns, curling his fingers in you unintentionally, and you let out a squeak as he brushes against that spot again. jongho claps a hand over your mouth.

“oh! are you—?”

“one second!” jongho calls, finally extracting his fingers from inside you. you scramble under the covers, pulling jongho’s comforter up above your head despite how hot you feel from having an impending orgasm ripped away from you and from the embarrassment of your best friend discovering you in bed with his roommate.

jongho opens the door, and you hear him say: “hey.” you stifle a laugh at his poor attempt at a casual tone.

“morning,” san says, drawing out the o. “you don’t- you don’t usually keep them around for the morning.” he whispers this, but the room is so silent you can hear him.

“shut up,” jongho says, and you hear the door close. you peek up above the covers and see that jongho must’ve stepped outside to continue the conversation. against your better judgement, you push aside the sheets and squat down next to the door so that you can eavesdrop.

you hear dull thud like jongho might’ve punched san in the arm.

“ow,” san says. “am i wrong? you usually always shoo them out at night.”

“this isn’t- this isn’t like those times,” jongho says sheepishly.

“what does that mean?” san says. “is this- is this someone you’re serious about? who is it? don’t you- um- don’t you have a thing for y/n?”

“i- it—” jongho’s at a loss for words. “it is y/n,” jongho finally sighs.

“it’s—!” there’s a pregnant pause, and then you hear loud slaps as san claps jongho on the back. “you motherfucker,” san says, a little amused and a little exasperated. “so that’s why we couldn’t find either of you last night!”

“yeah,” jongho mutters.

“y/n? omygosh–y/n, come out!” san calls. after slipping into a random pair of jongho’s sweats, you oblige by springing out of his room with a grin.

“fucking finally,” san says, as you bound up to hug him.

“right?” you say, laughing.

“why are you two celebrating?” jongho grumbles, but when you turn to look at him, you can tell he’s fighting a smile.

san claps his hands together. “okay! well then, i’m gonna pop down and get us some bagels!” he pulls out his phone to check the time and hums. “i will be back in approximately 30 minutes! that should be enough time for you two to finish, right?” 

“jesus christ,” jongho moans, dragging a hand over his face.

“thanks, san!” you sing, grabbing jongho’s wrist and pulling him towards his bedroom.

“he’s gonna be a menace to us, isn’t he?” jongho asks, as you lay back on the bed and drag him down with you.

“to you, yeah!” you say cheerfully, wiggling out of the sweats. “now, i think i’m owed an orgasm, and we only have 30 minutes!”

“oh, don’t worry, baby,” jongho smiles, his qualms with san forgotten as you spread your legs for him. he crouches down to resume his position between your thighs, hands massaging the meat there and hot breath fanning across your cunt. “that’s plenty of time.”

after that, he makes you cum in record time (“we still have 25 minutes,” he says coyly, making a show of checking the little clock on his nightstand while grabbing a condom). then, he flips you over, presses gently between your shoulder blades so that you arch perfectly for him, and finally finally slips his cock into you.

it’s the perfect size for you—a nice stretch without being painful—and hits all the right spots inside. his thick thighs come in use for maintaining deep and consistent strokes that have you whining and fisting the sheets. you’re glad that san has fully vacated the apartment, because there is nothing quiet about how jongho is fucking you.

“god, you’re perfect,” he says, each syllable punctuated with a toe-curling thrust. 

all you can do is whimper in reply.

“yeah? feel good, babygirl?”

“yes!” you gasp.

he smirks. “yes, what?”

“yes, sir,” you moan.

“good girl.”

eventually, jongho pulls out to turn you onto your back. you’re all limp limbs at this point, deliriously on the brink of another orgasm and so malleable to his touch. he rests your calves against his perfect, broad shoulders and leans down to give you a kiss. his silver chain falls forward with him, and you giggle when it catches in between your lips.

“oh, shit, sorry,” he says, but you chase after the thing with your teeth.

his breath hitches when he sees you grin up at him, still biting onto the chain. “dreamt about this,” you hum.

“oh, yeah?”

and then he pushes back into you. the chain falls out of your mouth as you moan, but it dangles deliciously above you as he finally brings you both to orgasm.

“fuck,” he grunts as he spills into the condom.

“i can’t feel my legs,” you say, chest heaving and body positively buzzing. in the past twelve hours, every orgasm with jongho has been nothing short of phenomenal, and the sheer quantity of them is catching up to you. “i don’t think i can move.”

meanwhile jongho is already standing up and moving around the room to dispose of the condom and clean up. he laughs. “you’re gonna give me an ego.”

“you deserve it,” you say. “sir,” you tack on. 

“oh my god,” jongho says. “don’t act like you’re not into it, too!”

he descends on your sides, poking and prodding you until you both fall into breathless giggles. you love how easy it is with jongho. how you can move from intense sex to joking around to murmuring softly with each other.

it makes everything it took to get to this point feel worth it.

“we should go on a proper date, later,” jongho says, as he helps you into a new clean set of his clothes. 

“okay,” you agree. “where would we go?”

“mm, maybe sushi?” he suggests.

you hear the jangle of keys at the front door, signaling san’s return.

“i’m home!” he calls out, entirely too loud. “i have returned! with food!”

jongho rolls his eyes and you laugh, as the two of you join san in the kitchen for breakfast.