#how to make a mojito

[dzozef]

ive decided that my newest hobby is mixology this is who i am now

[seoafin]

not my boss not wanting me to bartend today because he thinks I forgot everything in the 2 months I was gone 💀

[naisaa]

okay i. didnt expect you are so not invited to my bat mitzvah to actually make me cry real tears. ???? the adam sandler teen comedy movie??? was good???? and genuinely funny??? and made me so emotional?????

idk maybe im surprised bc the last time i watched an adam sandler movie was in like 2012 and i never rly liked any of them. and with this one Some of the humor and over-the-topness was a toned down version of the same type of not rly my thing... but i liked and felt for the characters and the overall tone was so. charming?

i feel like if i was a teen i'd've haaated this movie bc of how it portrays teens. like i assumed the 'ha ha look at the silly slang and behaviors of Kids These Days amiright' would start to annoy me v quickly at the start of the movie... and i do think there were a FEW moments of it being like that. but overall i was so surprised that it just felt very loving, more like lighthearted teasing. i'm sure it'll grate on actual teens anyways (and fair enough) but as an adult the more remarkable thing was rly the palpable empathy.

'look i dont understand all of this and think a lot of it is silly or even worrying and i will make fun of it a little bit, but i can see you're struggling and i care and feel for you regardless.' like. im not even a parent but that was the vibe of the whole movie and it was. genuinely rly touching. and i did not EXPECT THAT

[lemoneychicken]

something i think abt sometimes is how i do wanna talk about heavier headcanons for stuff and actually delve into a characters mental illness and how it effects them or treatment recieved bc of it, but im not keen on making anyone uncomfortable so i keep it to myself

[half-man-half-lime]

Yeah I have to give myself some kind of moratorium on assigning myself too many cooking tasks in one day. Was that eight or nine hours? More? Plus errands? This is actual hell and I do it to myself.

[grotesquevi]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ GONNA TAKE MY TIME. I HAVE ALL THE TIME ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ IN THE WORLD, ‎‎‎‎‎TO MAKE YOU MINE. ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎

cw  # 18+ minors and cis-men do not interact, filth based on two nonnie requests that had me combusting, dom!camgirl-reader + sub!ellie, mutual masturbation, spit, fucking machine, reader is kinda rough and mean, mocking, degradation, slight spanks, finger fucking, use of toys (duh) tons of dirty talk, i may be forgetting things but nothing extremely weird. mutuals look away.

side note  # first of all, i'm sorry. depeche mode's ultra cd makes me do stuff. crazy nonnies you have done it- i don't know if you guys are the same person, but you both fought this war with a sword and no shield, so this 3.3k word-nasty-piece of work? all yours. i must say i changed a few things like, there's no stream in the end but home-made porn? i've fallen for the sub!ellie propaganda and i'm rotting in the pits of hell with your ideas, do i care? no, i'm living for it, hope you enjoy too x // check out the fic directory!!

"i think you're doing it wrong," cocky bitch. you're mocking at her, teasing her choices while looking at her comfortably seated on the other side of the kitchen island — "there's also sugar and lemon in a mojito, baby. not just rum, mint and sparkling water."

baby.

the word sticks with ellie for a while as her cheeks gain a subtle shade of pink in response and she has to look at the drink she's re-making for the fourth time already trying to somehow make a half-decent mojito for you: it's never too late to know about her awful bartending skills.

"that's why it's not working out, love" you say again, holding the laugh in—. "you're missing the main ingredients."

"oh that makes sense," man. it's adorable. you find it adorable when you're invading her space as you stand behind her: are you drunk? is that it? ellie's been making you try drink after drink even when you scrunch your nose in disgust and laugh it out trying to be nice about the bad taste: it's neither too strong, too sweet or too minty "should i do it again?"

"yeah, you should" you breathe out making her feel your warm breath against her naked shoulder, and for a moment, ellie struggles to concentrate when your hand finds her waist, cold-silver rings that makes her shiver for a moment, "i'll be here to help you out with your poor sense of proportions."

"so you're a professional now huh?" she's been standing down the barrel of a gun for a while. playing this game she's sure is going to get her burnt without any control of it. "okay then. help me out."

it's almost an invitation. a dare cause you've been acting up like nothing happened already a week ago, like she didn't saw you on a live stream, like you didn't asked her to come over after being friends online for like a month or two cause you live in the same city she does.

friends is an understatement surely — but how do you call the girl ellie's been masturbating to the last six months? how do you explain the insane amount of tokens she had to spend because she needed to get your attention to herself at least for a breach of seconds? that's not how you treat a friend.

things got messy when you begged her for a video call. and now that she's looking back at it while her hands work on auto-pilot, ellie should've know that the thin line of just talking was going to be fuzzy as ever.

what was she thinking about when she talked to you for the first time? that she would have it under control? it seems inevitable when ellie's sliding in your dm's like she already belonged in your life from the beginning. flirty texts, some deep conversations and all suddenly? you're giving her your personal number, video-chatting almost every day until last week when your face's popping up on her phone after a rough session of exercise, and it's all the combination to be a massive disaster.

the adrenaline rush hits hard, cause you got ellie staring at the sweat that comes down your neck, clearing her throat like she just smoked the whole pack of cigs still guarded on her black jacket — she's saying something about your hair looking good, you're blatantly flirting back, showing her your cute attire for working out before a comment about your tits fucking slips from her mouth and that's all it fucking takes. all. it. fucking. takes.

"masturbate with me on a live stream," you're the first one to surrender when things got heated, pouting for her delight as you stare at your phone screen — "don't show your face if it makes you uncomfortable, it's just- god. such a good fucking view everybody needs to see what i'm claiming f'me, ells."

so her words stumble upon each other in search of an answer, twisted fantasies since she's damn weak at this point, begging to get all of you as she's changing her video-call to her laptop, making sure you're watching when she's unbuckling the belt around her blue jeans, letting it hang between her legs as own hand slides under the white tank top — "c'mon quick before i regret it, don't be greedy. let your horny fans know who you're touching yourself to."

no. ellie's not used to it. maybe that's why she's face red when you're live streaming the whole thing, when you're putting up a show for her and suddenly she's feeling no damn shame in touching herself from over her already wet underwear, rough voice as she encourages you to masturbate too, she don't care if she's being seen by what? 12k? 15k people? let the fucking tips keep coming.

"the lemon, ellie" you're biting on her shoulder as she lets out a moan in response, dragged again back to reality. fuck — did she just got hit by a sex memory? "what was that huh? you zoomed out."

"just thinking," she replies already embarrassed. being this close to you, having your teeth biting on her skin and leaving a damn mark: she brought this upon herself.

"what are you thinking of?" you curiously ask, chin resting against her shoulder before your hand find hers, directing her to take the lemon from the fruit basket "something nice?"

"yeah" something she forgets about it seems when her ass is pressing against your front and now she gets why ghost was such a big deal in the 90's "yeah it was nice."

now, to say the truth, ellie's been out in the blue for a while cause no, she never met you in real life before. yes, you live in her city, yes, you video-chat every day or so, but when you disappear after that until damn saturday night she doesn't really know what to do exactly.

"i miss you" you texted hours before the encounter — "you live too far from my place?"

it does not matter that in reality, it's a 45-minute-drive. ellie's there anyway. the sound of the vinyl constantly spinning on the turntable spiraling like she does when you're dictating her movements, and fuck's sake it's so damn hot it should be a crime cause there's nothing sexual about it, but your hand covers her when you're using the knife to cut the lemon in a half, and your fingers blend with hers as they squeeze the lemon right over the mojito, making the juice coat your fingers, go down ellie's arm and before she can think about it, she's looking at you from over her shoulder with glassy eyes, half-lidded and that smile that just screams fucking-shatter-me.

"i'm gonna kiss you now" you reply like a fair warning, falling for the erotic sight of her needy state "can i kiss you?"

so it's an sloppy kiss when ellie's able to nod, saliva blends on itself, teeth, desperation and need, makes the girl want it all to herself. you hold her jaw tightly, making her stay in the same spot, contorted and kissing you back like it's a religious experience that gets her closer to a divine force.

your fingers smell like lemon and the mojito seems long forgotten when your hand slide down the tank top she's wearing and ellie's letting you take control — shit. she fucking wants you to take control. she knew you would do her no good when she first talked to you already, know that you're dangerous and a hazard to her well-being when you're pushing the door of your bedroom among an explosion of words that make her blood boil.

"do you have any idea of much i've been thinking about you?" you ask, but ellie's already chaotic when her top's already falling to the floor "how much i missed you the last days i've been without you? fucking hell, i tried so hard to avoid it, ellie. it's simply not fair."

"no it isn't" she agrees with you, cause it's not. cause she cannot possibly be silent about it when you're touching her, impossible to have a little self-respect when she's letting you have it, a need that goes beyond from what your hands are able to grab and feel, "god- it fucking isn't."

it's better than any fantasy ellie had before, and the greater power in the universe knows how much she's been craving this, how long she's been acting up like a damn freak: avoiding her friends cause she wants to hear your voice, entire days with the damn sounds of your moans etched on her skin, marked like a tattoo among the moth in her arm — it's better than whatever dream she's been having lately when your mouth closes on the valley of her chest, making her skin shiver cause she can physically see the traces of saliva in her skin like a trophy, the tug on her underwear when you're biting on the fabric since it only getting in the damn way. annoying you.

it goes through her soul much like the devastating shred of the guitar who's capable of trespassing her entirely. you're so in control. so damn aware of yourself when ellie's already lost in this hazy cloud of lust, always in control and pulling her back to reality.

"shit you're so needy," you breathe out as she's blushing, the speckled freckles coming in contrast with the red that pops on her face — "i'm gonna take my time with you until you have no idea on where you end, and i begin to exist."

how does simple words can turn her on to this point of no return? the tone you use to admit, out loud, how willing you are to devastate her? must have know it when the most slutty moans escape from her parted lips: fucking tease. that's what you are when your fingers slide from under her classic jeans, when you notice how her underwear sticks sinfully to the outlines of her pussy just by touching, drenched, sticky, it already covers your hand by the slightest stroke.

"can i record this?" she can tell you're wrecked too, impatient by the unevenness of your voice. "for us. don't care about the site-"

"yes-" she's gonna turn fucking purple at some point when she's repeating it multiple times, already shaking her head in approval "yes please, record it- send me a copy- just fucking do it."

"you're such a whore" you pant, and before ellie can say anything, you're taking her phone to open up the camera icon and point the lenses back to her face "what was that? say it again."

"please" it makes ellie's cunt clench in response while your lips curve in a smile, pleased as you're using just a slight amount of force to push her right over the edge of your mattress — "please record it, send me a copy m'am. please."

"begging so quick already huh?" placing yourself between her parted legs, ellie's hand roam against your sides before you're making her look up, pulling on her hair to oblige her to stare at your eyes "beg so beautiful i might have to make you do it again."

your thumb trace the confines of her lips, cold skin before ellie's biting on the finger playfully — "please- i can't deal with any more teasing."

"okay then greedy. all fours then. i want you in all fours" you reply as the camera points at her, giving you the perfect look of ellie's face, how she seemed, for the first time, pleased to follow orders without putting up a fight. "leave the panties on."

and in the camera it looks so fucking hot you forget to keep her in the frame for a second, distracted cause your eyes scan the exposed skin; cause her body's like a halo that holds some sort of holiness when she's doing what you demanded: her cheek rests against your wrinkled duvet as her backside is up like a present ready to let you take whatever you want from her.

so you're grabbing her ass, squeezing the flesh in one hand as the other seemed to remember it's job while recording, giving a good image of your viewer's body as the lenses catch every detail you're missing out as a victim of the adrenaline.

"you're always this good at submitting? or is it me who's having the pleasure of seeing this?" you question, but at this point ellie cannot find the words to say something about how she's not submitting, even when in reality the spank you gave her makes her body go stiff for a moment, an involuntary gasp leaving her parted mouth in response. she has no face to lie to you. "talk to me, dummy. or have you forgotten how to speak properly?"

"uh please," she whines "don't do this to me."

"poor baby," you pout for a moment before a smirk pulls the corners of your lips back up — "can't handle a little teasing? really are an impatient little slut."

ellie's hand grip the covers beneath her when you're finally taking care of the ache she's so bad to control in between her legs, when you mumble something about her underwear sticking to her folds like glue, the white cotton already dampened as it reveals the pink color you're quick to stare at as your fingers slide right in the middle: sticky, coats your hand like its meant to land on it, makes you follow like the moth is drawn to the fire.

"breathe," you instruct when the camera points to ellie's cunt. grimy and so good as the video catches on the transparent strands of her arousal connected to your palm, how ellie's hips move ever so slightly in search for more friction, anything at all when your fingers perpetuate the torture in keeping her hanging on a thread "you'll thank me for this. i need you loose for the fucking machine."

she would like to investigate further, ask what-the-fuck you're talking about, but the only thing that comes out of her mouth when your fingers slide filling her drenched cunt, is a loud whine that puts her damn right under your control. roughly biting on her lips to somehow stiffen the sounds of how pathetic she already is under your hands, how her hips unbuckle on her own to follow the length of your digits splitting her open.

"oh fuck-" you moan slowly falling to pieces, sounds so damn inviting at this point—. "fuck you're so tight- so warm."

"more," there's a lewd sound that your fingers make when there're sinking in deeper inside her pussy and withdrawal almost entirely before slamming back in, in her moans and incoherent words to make you go faster, take more from what ellie's already presenting to you. "more, more- more."

it makes you laugh, and ellie's face already too red to keep on blushing as you mock her words — "more, more more. is it the only word you fucking know?"

she asked for it now that she's seeing the video back in your phone with you already invading her space. soft, lazy kisses against the crook of her neck. takes it like a champ when ellie can hear the mechanic sounds filling the air, irrupting the silence and her needy moans as you position the machine right next your waist, roughly moving her where you needed her to be.

"you look so fucking hot," ellie hears as she stares at the screen, blushing again like she's not already embarrassed from her previous behavior recorded on camera "do me a favor and spread yourself out, need to see your pretty hole."

she's quick to spread her ass-cheeks for you without a second thought, making you gather a good quantity of spit on your mouth to toss against her already abused opening, lubricating the entrance.

her moans drive you crazy, how could they not? ellie tries to muffle them but failing miserably before the tip of the silicone dildo kisses her entrance, using your free hand to guide her movements and push her against the fucking machine as the toy's already moving at a constant pace.

"make room for my cock," your hand slides down her spine, following the bones of ellie's column. the phone still points to her cunt greedily swallowing the blue color until it disappears inside. makes you dizzy at the sight—. "such a good girl taking my cock."

"s'too big, ah-too much" ellie whines, pressing her cheek against the mattress as you keep the pace of the machine in the slower level, making her gasp when you're the one with enough force to move her hips against the machine for her. "mff-good fuck."

"yeah baby, that's right keep talking to me" you encourage her as your fingers slowly make the machine go faster than before — "keep telling me how good my cock's making you feel. i'm all ears."

"stretching me out s'good" she's able to say as her brain's already combusting by itself. the mechanic sounds mixing already with her drenched cunt as the phone keeps recording right against ellie's entrance, giving you a hella good view when you're able to see the white-creamy-traces of her cunt already coating the dildo "ah-you're making me feel so full."

so as she rewatches the video recorded on her own phone, she's aware of the debased stated you reduced her. how saliva's coming down her parted lips to coat the bed you sleep in every day, glassy eyes already in the verge of tears cause the pleasure's so intense ellie could cry from the stimulation she has never felt before.

it's a bomb ticking her way back to zero. your fingers play with all the levels of the machine and ellie can see that you're enjoying it too, the red imprint of your hand on her ass, the way you're pushing her face against the mattress to have her arching her back in a better angle, to allow the dildo in reaching deeper levels even when her legs shake struggling to hold her own weight.

"shh, don't whine" you say on top of her when your fingers thread against ellie's hair, pulling it roughly. "don't whine, you asked for more remember? be a good fucking slut and take it good. you're there already."

damn right she is. she wants to be good for you. please you even when the machine's so fucking loud she cannot hear her own thoughts, when her brain's malfunctioning and its fucking leaking through her ear into your sheets — you're pushing her against the dildo, impaling her balls-deep in the silicone you keep calling your cock, and suddenly her vision's fading to black, blinded momentarily since she dissolves into lust and becomes one with the pleasure, you fucking win.

it's not a competition, it's not a game anymore. not when you're switching your attitude so fast got her confused for a second when all the roughness dissipates and you're pressing soft kisses against her back as she's coming down from her high — "you okay there, beautiful? was i too rough on you?"

"fuck- i think i need a moment to breathe- hold up a second."

the video comes to an end seconds after, but its there on ellie's memory like a poor movie with bad camera anglings. you're helping to lay in bed after, praising how she's basking under the glimmer of sex, placing soft kisses in the red marks you leave on her skin like a permanent reminder.

so ellie stays that night, cause you were right when you said it before.

you took your time with her until she has no damn idea anymore. until you make her torn cause even when she's looking at the video with you sleeping on her side all over again, she still have no idea on where you ended, and she begins to exist.

man. ellie knew it was no good.

[jagadishbirajdar]

Alcohol-Free Frozen Mojito

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Men at Work!

Just a note, I know I mix phonetic and Cyrillic spellings of Russian in this. Mostly it's so that people can easily translate the more complex words directly.

Content: Masturbation, very mild protective/possessive behavior

It’s becoming a problem.

You think this from the overstuffed daybed recently purchased for the explicit purpose of feeding into aforementioned problem. Not that the porch is the problem, heavens no. If so much as a nail came loose, there’s a trio of men across the street all too eager to lend their hammers and bulging, glistening muscles to fix it.

Which, conveniently, is the problem.

Their muscles, that is. And how magnanimous they are with them.

Your house is nice. New. It took them three days to fix all the issues you’d been putting off for a day you were non-reclusive enough to schedule a handyman.

Your house is too nice and too new.

You’re feeding a Vegas buffet’s worth of appetites raised on old world sensibilities with no outlet for them to be expressed. There aren’t enough squeaky hinges, crooked cabinets, stuck windows, or leaky faucets in your two-bedroom for all that… chivalry. (Or whatever Krueger has that passes for chivalry’s surly cousin.)

They’ve taken to invading earlier in the evening for busy work before dinner. Cutting vegetables, tenderizing meat, cleaning dishes, setting the goddamn table.

Like, sirs, you’re a single woman with three cats and a sham of a personal life – the last time you saw a centerpiece on a domestic dining table was Christmas at your nana’s.

Until Konig shuffled in with a fistful of sunflowers and zinnias, promising that he double-checked that they’re non-toxic to cats. You didn’t have a vase, so you had to make do with an empty mason jar you were keeping for ostensible aesthetic reasons.

Now you’ve got an ongoing bouquet, kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like lemons that no one ever uses (as if your seasoning decisions are as good as god) and are contemplating cloth napkins like some kind of… of…

“Socialite?” you muse aloud. You glance at Rasputin. He blinks slowly. “Hostess? Woman of the night?”

You’re pretty sure Agatha didn’t mean that as a compliment when you overheard her gossiping to Margot yesterday. (She should really remember that if she can eavesdrop on you from her backyard, the same is true the other way around.)

You’re toying with an idea for a new series with your last one wrapping up and your solo-novel due for release come fall. Something about a rich young woman with a wild streak and her fantastically wealthy gentlemen callers…

“Scarlet woman,” you murmur aloud, eyes on the reason for your recent porch décor purchase.

Krueger is on the roof, cloth around his head to stave off the summer heat. Doing… something with shingles and a nail gun. Your face flushes with each flex of hard muscle, jump of thick tendons. The grip he has on that thing…

As inspiring as your neighbors are, they are also a huge (in many, many ways) distraction. Hence, they are a Problem.

And not just for you. On your right, you catch the flutter of curtains from your peripheral. Lisa taking another peek – to be properly scandalized, probably. (You’re not really sure what the neighborhood biddies tell themselves when they decide something is Simply Not Proper.)

“We’ll have to start charging admission,” you muse, sipping a strawberry mojito.

Curled up far too close for the weather, Little Guy chuffs and stretches. You smooth a fingertip up his little nose, between his eyes, and over the crest of his empty head.

“Jezebel,” you mumble. He yawns, tongue curling and pearly fangs gleaming. “Trollop.”

An annoyed grunt pulls your eyes forward again. Nikto is standing halfway up the porch, one foot planted on the last step like a sexy Russian Captain Morgan. His thighs stretch his workpants oh-so-nicely. There’s a smear of white paste across the material – caulking, maybe?

(You could do with a caulking too.)

“Has someone called you these?” he asks. “Who?”

You laugh. What would he even do if someone had?

“No – well, not to my face, anyway.”

He snorts, shoots a withering scowl at Agatha’s property anyway. You spin your pen around your fingers and try not to bite your lip at the way his shirt is clinging from sweat.

“Aren’t you hot?” you fuss. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Nyet, we have been in worse,” he replies, finishing the short journey up the porch. He pauses in front of you, taking in the sight of you and your cats. What does he think, seeing you lounging about all day while he and his friends(?) are working so hard? If it’s something negative, he’s never let on.

“Still,” you insist, “have you been hydrating?”

“Da, the water runs.”

You blink, put together pieces to assume he and the others are chugging tap water (probably right from the faucet) when necessary. Well, that just won’t do now, will it?

“No, no. Hold on. Rasputin, hold him hostage.”

And like the little angel he is, Ras gets up, stretches out, and begins rubbing his face all over Nikto’s pants. With him distracted, you hop to your feet and scurry inside. The house is almost uncomfortably cool after most of your morning spent outside, but you’ll only be a moment.

There’s a large ruby pitcher waiting in the fridge from last night, complete with various berries floating at the top. You use two hands to heft it out, set it on the counter, then flit to your cabinets for the travel cups you invested in for on-the-go wine sipping. Nice and insulated.

You pour a cup for each of them, stow the pitcher away again, and carry all three in triangle-formation back outside. (Maybe you should get a tray? The antique store in town probably has something pretty and lemon-themed to match the salt and pepper shakers…)

Nikto hurries to help as soon as he sees you, plucking the extra cup from your hands.

“I saw this recipe and wanted to try it since it’s been getting hotter.”

He blinks at you, then the juice.

“You don’t have to try it now, I just thought—”

Your voice abandons you as Nikto tugs his filtration mask down. The skin beneath is warped and scarred, discolored in some places. When he raises the edge of the cup to his mouth, the skin of one cheek stretches distressingly thin. You can see the individual indents of his back molars pressing against the flesh as he drinks.

You understand why he’s been hesitant to show you; it’s not easy to look at. Which makes you all the more determined to flick your eyes back to his and ask, eagerly, “What do you think? Too sweet?”

As he swallows, throat clicking, you think you hear him grunt something.

“Hm?”

“Nyet. Not too sweet. Is good, пчела.”

You grin even though you’re not sure what it means. All three of them have some nickname in their mother tongue that you can only hope is complimentary and not because they forgot your actual name.

“Good, then I can bring some to K and K while you help me with lunch. That’s why you came by, right?”

He nods. “Nearly noon.”

“That late already!” you say. Wow, staring at hot, sweaty men really makes time fly. “Alright, I was going to make chicken wraps and latkes. Could you start peeling potatoes? You know where everything is, da?”

“Da.” He clicks his tongue, luring Rasputin in and stirring Guy awake. “Come, малышу, before we leave you out here for vultures.”

“Nikto!” you scold. “Don’t threaten him.”

“I do not threaten. It is what will happen.”

You swat at his arm, but at least Little Guy has been lured into Nikto’s reach – if by nothing else than a hand has been offered and cats are helpless to resist a good sniff. Nikto scoops him up while you turn to flounce down the stairs.

“Make sure Susan doesn’t get out!” you call over your shoulder.

She was roused by your quick turnaround to get the juice cups and will certainly be stalking the door now.

Sure enough, you faintly hear him cursing in Russian as you reach the end of the yard. Luckily, you see him closing the door with all three of your demons inside, so you continue across the street.

Krueger hasn’t noticed your approach, his back to you, so you stop at the edge of the property to watch for a moment. Yep, just as good this close, too.

“Krueger!” you call. He doesn’t turn. You huff and try again. Nothing. Christ, you’re starting to think he’s ignoring you on purpose. “Sebastian!”

His head whips around alarmingly fast and finds you right there on the ground. No need to look around at all – sometimes they remind you of their profession in the oddest ways.

“Ja, ja, no need to shout,” he replies.

You open your mouth to do just that, but he’s already scaling down from the roof. You’re stunned into silence as he slides down to the edge of the roof, catches the edge, and swings down to the ground. Lands with barely more noise than one of your footsteps. It’s quick yet so graceful.

You stare (gawk, more accurately) as he saunters up, pants sinfully low on his narrow hips.

“What did you need, bienchen?” he asks. “It is too early for lunch.”

You stutter for a second before your brain reboots.

“What was that?!” you demand, a little shriller than necessary. If you don’t shriek about this, you’re going to shriek about that gorgeous chest and the tattoos and the everything else, and you absolutely cannot do that. “That was so dangerous! You’re going to break a leg!”

“You worry,” he scoffs. He shakes his head, but there’s a wicked, knowing grin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are far too bright. “That was a little jump.”

“It was not!”

“It only seemed big because you are so little, but it was nothing for me.”

“You’re not that much taller!”

“It is sweet to worry,” he coos, “but it is too hot for it, yes?”

You scrunch your nose at him, not sure if you’re annoyed or turned on or both. (Probably both. It’s annoying how hot he is. And how hot he knows he is.)

“If it’s so hot, then here.”

You all but shove the cup at him. He takes it with a flicker of genuine surprise, sniffs at the liquid, then takes a sip. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest, raises the temperature another few degrees.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he muses, expression softening. You blink, lean in automatically for a peck to your cheek. “Danke schön.”

“Bitte,” you mumble, mouth drier than Reggie’s garden.

His eyes crinkle, mouth hidden by the edge of the cup as he proceeds to chug the rest of it. A droplet slips down his jaw and skips down to his collarbone. You force your eyes away before you’re driven to do something irreparable by thirst.

“Is Konig inside?” you ask. “I have a cup for him, too.”

He grunts confirmation, tongue curling around a blueberry to coax it into his mouth.

Yep, alright, that’s about as much as you can take.

“Scooch, before the punch goes warm.”

“Punch?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what it’s called in English. Punch.”

“That seems like it would cause misunderstanding.” Except he’s grinning as he says it, like he cherishes the idea of someone confusing the two words and starting a fight. Considering how often you catch him and Konig smacking at each other, that’s probably not a stretch.

“Just please don’t swing on anyone, yeah?”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he croons.

You click your tongue at him. “Wipe off before going in, I don’t want Shithead to stink after crawling on you.”

He barks out his usual sharp laugh and tugs the cloth – his own t-shirt – off his head to mop up his sweat. You make a mental note to tease him about sunburn later as you slip past him.

You can hear Konig singing off-key upstairs when you open the door. The house is sweltering, only mildly cooler than outside with none of the fresh air. You grimace as you pause at the bottom of the stairs; the boys have warned you that it’s dangerous up there and it’s best not to go wandering.

Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he’s using power tools at the moment.

“Konig!” you call.

“Is that you, biene?” he calls back.

You grin. “Who else would it be, huh?”

You hear his footsteps right over your head, track his gait until the first heavy boot on the stairs. He meets you at the bottom with his usual ventilator on, but he tugs it down when he sees the cup in your hand.

“Is this for me?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep! Tell me what you think!”

With none of Nikto or Kreuger’s hesitation, he knocks back a big mouthful. Licks his full lips as he lowers it, eyes bright as they land on yours.

“This is perfect,” he chirps, “so refreshing! Thank you, biene!”

You beam right back, flushed with pride that all three of them liked the recipe you “happened to find” when you saw the temperature projections for today.

“There’s more back home,” you offer, “come out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I will wipe off first.”

You hum agreeably, watching him slip back upstairs with great enthusiasm. Konig in a tank top and those tight cargos… summer really is delivering this year.

That evening, you sigh as you recline across your huge bed, naked and cooling off with the night breeze rolling through your window. Ras and Shithead are happily distracted wrestling each other in your forgotten towel, and Little Guy is snoozing on his personal pillow.

You stretch out, feeling a bit decadent and indulgent with moonlight spilling over your body, and let your hands wander. It’s not the high-efficiency sleep-oriented wank you usually rush through, not this time.

You unspool memories of the day with each brush of your fingertips over moisturized skin. You hum as your skin tingles, imagining Konig’s calloused palms in place of yours. He’d be so surprisingly gentle, you’re sure. Big, strong hands but he’d play with you like a precious toy. Plucking your nipples and scratching his blunt nails over the plush of your hips.

As your breathing picks up, you see Krueger’s broad shoulders flexing behind your eyelids. Imagine them bullying between your thighs, hooking your knees over. That bright glint in his eye as he smirks against your cunt. Can practically feel the curl of his tongue around your clit, eating you out messy and mean.

You’re already halfway there when you curl two fingers into your pussy. You’re so wet that your fingers slip and slide, squelch lewdly as you rock your hips, trying to find just the right angle.

You imagine Nikto clicking his tongue at your struggle. Almost hear his low, hoarse voice chiding you for doing his job while he takes over. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, you have to press a third in just to maintain the fantasy.

You want to lean back against his broad chest while he strokes your walls, listen to him and Krueger and Konig talk about you like you’re not even there, debating if you should come. Ignore you as you beg and whimper, big hands pinning you down while they draw it out.

Please, please, please…

You clap a hand over your mouth just in time, hips jerking so hard that it makes your wrist ache.

Whoops.

Well, you doubt anyone heard. It’s pretty late, and you’re on the second story anyway.

Already sleepy, you’re too lazy to close the window after a pre-bed stop in the restroom. It’s such a nice night, after all.

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Masterlist

[cxvii666]

my man's a dirty talker

more burnout college student bf! hanta sero x reader

mdni 😴

“did you want me to leave these in the fridge? or d’you wanna eat ’em now?”

hanta’s already in the kitchen, arms elbow-deep in a tote bag crammed with leftovers from that bbq. someone denki knew, or maybe someone’s friend’s housemate’s cousin. didn’t matter. denki had screamed free booze through hanta’s phone until he caved, dragging you along while you were still trying to fix your eyeliner.

you’d had fun. more than you expected, honestly. one of those long, stupid chill nights where the speakers are duct-taped to a lawn chair, the firepit’s too hot, the beer’s warm, and it somehow still feels like the best night of the semester. the kind of vibe where everyone’s skin smells like smoke and coconut sunscreen, and hanta had his hand on your back the whole time, always. even when you weren’t standing close.

the crowd was decent. familiar faces from lecture halls and group chats, people whose names you knew in context only. hanta had talked to most of them, the way he always does, easy and effortless and a little too charming for his own good. and still, every time you caught his eye from across the backyard, he smiled like he only cared if you were having a good time.

you dropped denki off an hour ago, the car still stinking of watermelon vape and the awful soundcloud mix he insists on playing when he’s high. hanta didn’t even argue tonight. he just gave you the aux and told denki to shut up and crawl in the back.

he always does small shit like that.

quiet, subtle things that make your chest ache a little. stuff like making his boys jump in the backseat if you're also in the car, always walking street side, always passing you your drink first, giving you a hoodie before you can even say you're cold. a lighter before you’ve even touched your pocket.

he surprised you in the car. pulled out the tupperware with the leftover lamb skewers—the ones you liked. two cans of that weird canned mojito that everyone hated except you. it was dumb. it made your throat feel tight.

now you’re just standing in the doorway, watching him move around your half-clean kitchen, all slow and loose. he’s got one hand in the fridge, the other holding two drinks, and his shirt’s all wrinkled and tugged up at the back. bare feet on tile. hair flopping over his eyes, still smelling like firewood and cheap weed.

“baby?”

his voice drags you out of your staring, low and soft and a little hoarse. you blink. your eyes had been fixed on his hands—how they held the bottle, the easy grip, the carefulness.

his hands. those fucking hands.

hands that have held your face while you cried. hands that rubbed your back through the worst hangover of your life. hands that carried your tote bag all day like it was nothing.

his knuckles tap against the counter, sharp, and you flinch.

“you feeling okay, sweets?”

he turns to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded, bloodshot and lazy from the tail end of a blunt you’d both shared in someone’s weird-ass hammock earlier. his hair’s a mess. his mouth is pink and soft, a little chapped. he looks tired—in that warm, sunburnt, overstimulated way—but still so stupidly pretty it hurts.

you take the water when he offers it. your fingers brush. he watches you closely.

then he smirks. not big. not loud. just enough to twist something inside your ribs.

you don’t answer.

and he knows.

“oh… i see,” he hums, and it’s so smug, so unbearably cocky, like he just caught your hand in your pants.

your back hits the wall as he steps in. still not touching. his arms hang low, sleeves bunched at his elbows, the shape of his body all angles and slouch and sleepy menace. head tilted. that knowing look in his eyes like he already knows what you’re about to say, and he’s just waiting for you to beg it out.

he doesn’t move.

you’re about to combust.

“are we gonna stand here all night?” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper. “thought you wanted to watch that new episode of—”

you cut him off with your mouth. drag him down by the front of his shirt and kiss him like you’ve got something to prove.

he laughs into it, all low and breathless, one of his hands dragging lazy up your spine. the other finds your waist, then your thighs. he palms the soft curve of them like he’s holding something precious. like it’s not the hundredth time. like it’s still a thrill.

you bite his neck and he makes this sound, this soft, breathy groan that makes your stomach drop.

“what, no words, sweet thing?” he teases into your ear. “that party wore you out that bad?”

you shake your head, breath hitching as his thumb grazes under your shirt, warm and calloused and maddeningly slow.

“y’know,” he mumbles, lips brushing your jaw, “i’m not really into the choking thing.”

“s'fine,” you gasp, pressing your hips up into his. “just want your—your—”

he raises a brow, his grin going sharp.

“my hands?” he says, like he’s mocking you. his other hand’s trailing slow, pointless circles above your collarbone. “that what you want, baby?”

you nod fast, swallow thick. he pouts, faux-sweet, teasing.

“you gonna ask nicely?”

“hanta,” you whimper.

“hanta,” he repeats in a high-pitched voice that doesn’t even sound like yours, laughing as you twist his ear between your teeth.

and then—

his finger brushes your bottom lip.

you freeze.

his eyes narrow. you part your mouth. he slides two fingers in—pointer and middle—without saying anything else, and you take them. immediately. like instinct.

his breath catches. his pupils blow wide.

“fuck,” he mutters. “my girl’s so nasty. look at you. fuckin’—fuck.”

his fingers play with your tongue. your lips wrap around them, slow, messy. he watches like he’s trying to memorize it. you grind your hips against him, desperate now, soaked through your underwear and buzzing from the way he’s just looking at you like this.

his other hand finally slips beneath your waistband, slow and smooth and deliberate.

you whine when his knuckles brush against your heat, when he swears under his breath like he’s not expecting you to be this wet.

“jesus,” he mutters. “you been like this all night?”

you nod around his fingers.

“for me?” he breathes.

you nod harder.

“goddamn,” he grins, curling those thick fingers inside you, slow at first, then meaner when you shudder against the wall. “so fuckin’ perfect. my girl’s so pretty when she’s needy like this.”

you try to talk, try to do something, but he hushes you with his fingers still in your mouth.

“nah. don’t speak. just feel me, yeah?”

and he’s knuckle-deep now, his thumb working soft circles over your clit, his fingers dragging against that spot that makes your knees shake.

your back arches. your jaw goes slack. spit leaks past the corners of your mouth and he moans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“so good for me, always,” he mutters, thumb pressing down harder. “can’t even wait ‘til the bed, huh? gotta fuck you right here. in the kitchen. s’that what you wanted?”

you let out a broken noise, a half-nod, half-plea.

his fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop. you barely get a breath in before he’s lifting you onto the counter, dragging your shorts off like they offended him.

he kneels.

and then he says, all sweet and cocky, looking up at you with that smug grin:

“be a good girl and hold on, yeah? lemme show you how much i missed you tonight.”

you barely register the sound of your shorts hitting the floor before he’s kissing the inside of your thigh, all slow and unhurried, his palms keeping your legs spread like it’s nothing. like he owns this. like you’ve always been his to touch like this.

his nose brushes the soft skin right next to where you want him most, and you twitch. his breath is hot. steady.

he grins into your thigh.

“sweet girl’s already shaking,” he murmurs, lazy and fond, his voice way too soft for what he’s doing. “can’t even wait, can you?”

you whine, your fingers already in his hair, tugging like you’re begging without saying a word.

“shhh,” he coos, kissing up, up, almost—and then not. “i got you, baby. i got you. just lemme take care of you.”

and fuck, when his tongue finally hits you, you actually whimper. legs instinctively try to close, but his grip gets firmer, thumbs digging into your skin in that perfect way that says he’s not going anywhere. not until he’s had his fill. not until you’re twitching around his mouth, begging him to stop even though you don’t mean it.

he eats you like he’s missed it. like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all day. licking long, slow, teasing stripes at first, then flattening his tongue and dragging it through you like he’s savoring it.

and the sounds—god, the fucking sounds he makes.

soft, greedy little moans against your pussy. gasping against you when you tug his hair. groaning when you grind your hips against his mouth like you’re losing your mind a little.

he pulls back just long enough to look up at you, his mouth shiny, lips wet, eyes dark and hooded.

“fuckin’ love this pussy,” he breathes, like he’s overwhelmed. “so soft. so sweet. fuck, you taste so sweet, baby. always do.”

your breath stutters. you’re trying to respond, trying to say something, but all that comes out is a gasp when he spits on your cunt and licks it back up with a groan like it’s divine.

“so pretty like this,” he mumbles, right against your clit now, tongue moving faster. “my pretty girl. always so fuckin’ good for me.”

you’re getting close. already. embarrassingly fast. you try to tell him, but your voice breaks and your fingers just tug harder on his hair.

he knows. of course he knows.

“mm, yeah? that close already, baby?” he purrs, tongue flicking faster. “go on, then. come for me. wanna taste you. wanna feel you fall apart just for me.”

and you do.

it crashes over you, sharp and warm and dizzying, your whole body trembling as he moans into your cunt, licking you through it like he’s starved. you try to pull away, too sensitive, but he keeps going until you’re gasping, thighs twitching, mumbling his name like a prayer.

“hanta, hanta, please—fuck, please—”

he finally pulls back, face flushed, lips wet and curved into the filthiest grin.

he kisses your thigh once more, then stands—towering over you again, hair a mess, mouth swollen, breath uneven.

“you okay, baby?” he asks, voice gentler now, his hand brushing your cheek like you didn’t just come all over his face two seconds ago.

you nod, a little dazed.

he kisses you soft, open-mouthed and slow. you taste yourself on his tongue and groan into it.

“still want more?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to search your eyes.

you nod again, this time quicker. more desperate.

“words, baby.”

“want you,” you gasp. “need you inside. right now.”

his eyes go dark again.

he cups your jaw with one hand, the other already sliding his sweats down enough to free himself, and god—he’s hard and flushed, already leaking, already twitching against your thigh. he grinds against you, slow and teasing, dragging the tip through your slick folds until you shudder and nearly sob.

“fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he mutters. “s’like you’re made for me, baby. every time. every single fuckin’ time.”

you try to roll your hips, but his hands pin you down.

“ah, ah—lemme in first,” he teases, voice wrecked. “i’ll give it to you, don’t worry. just gotta feel you clench around me first.”

and when he pushes in—

fuck.

it’s slow, deliberate, filling. you stretch around him in that perfect, aching way that makes your eyes roll back. he curses under his breath, head falling forward to press into your shoulder.

“shit, baby,” he gasps. “so fuckin’ tight. always so tight for me. how do you do that?”

you can’t answer. not with the way he’s fucking you now—deep and slow and so goddamn good it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“love this,” he mutters into your skin. “love this pussy. love this body. love you.”

his words are spilling now, soft and filthy and so real it makes your heart clench.

“my girl. my sweet, dirty girl. always so good to me. always let me have you like this.”

you’re shaking again. you’re close again.

“you gonna give me another one?” he whispers, biting at your neck. “hmm? can you do that for me, pretty?”

“yes—fuck, yes, hanta—”

his hips snap harder, fingers digging into your waist.

“yeah, that’s it,” he groans. “c’mon, baby. give it to me. wanna feel you fall apart again. wanna feel you cum around my cock, yeah?”

you do.

you break apart on him, mouth open in a silent cry, and he fucks you through it, gasping your name like it’s sacred.

and when he comes—it’s messy. drawn out. his hips stuttering, his voice rough, his body curling around yours as he spills into you.

you both just sit there, clinging. panting. wrecked.

and then he leans in and kisses your forehead like he’s trying to reset your heartbeat.

“jesus,” he whispers. “you’re gonna kill me one day, baby.”

you laugh, breathless and dazed.

he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.

“worth it,” he adds, smiling like a man absolutely down bad.

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ abby buys you a drink

you’ve been so stressed lately that when your friends suggested going out, you barely hesitated before saying yes. at the bar, you’re not drunk, just warm in the face and life seems good now.

your friends are scattered—two in the bathroom, one batting her eyelashes at a man to get free drinks, the rest at your table giggling and dancing. one of them said something like, “we should go together,” but you were already halfway to the bar, so you just waved her off.

you weren’t trying to make a scene. you were only trying to get another drink, but you didn’t see her until it was too late, you turned a little too fast, stumbled a step, and—thud.

you collide, chest to chest, with someone. if it were a guy, you’d roll your eyes, maybe mumble "sorry," and move on. but it’s not. it’s a girl. a tall, broad-shouldered girl, clawed in a black t-shirt that clings to her muscles and a jacket atop, her dirty-blonde hair pulled back. she’s beautiful in a way that makes your brain shut off for a moment as her strong hands catch your arms to steady you.

you pull back fast. "shit, i’m sorry—i’m so sorry," you stammer, trying to recoil from the embarrassment. 

but her hands stay firm on your arms. “hey,” she says, kind and patient, like she’s used to dealing with idiots. “you okay?”

her voice goes right through you. you blink up at her, mortified. “yeah, i’m okay—sorry,” again, you try to take a step back but trip a little over your own feet—dignity thoroughly obliterated.

she moves without hesitation, steadying you like you're hers to catch. “slow down, there’s no rush,” she says, almost amused, “i got you.”

you can smell her cologne. her hands are still on your arms. you’re practically sober now, and yet somehow your brain is even more useless. you want to melt. you want to scream. you want to time-travel five minutes into the past to save you from this. but you’re here, held in the hands of the hottest woman you’ve ever seen—who is looking at you with curious eyes.

she guides you gently toward the bar. “you sure you don’t need to sit down?” she asks, a hint of an amused grin tugging at her mouth. you shake your head—but she raises a hand, gesturing to the bartender with confidence. “a whiskey, on the rocks. please,” she says, glancing down at you. “and whatever pretty wants.”

whatever pretty wants. as in—you. you’re pretty. she said it like a name.

“a strawberry mojito, please,” you manage to mumble. it was something safe and familiar.

the bartender nods and starts on both drinks. when you look back at her, she’s already watching you. openly. leaning on the bar like she has all the time in the world. like she enjoys how stupidly flustered you are.

“my name’s abby,” she says, and it sounds so good in her voice—but maybe better in yours. she holds your gaze. “you got one, or should i keep calling you pretty?”

you forget how to breathe. you’re sure your friends are watching. you’re sure your soul just left your body. “i—” you try, and fail, and try again, finally mumbling out your name. you cover your face with both hands. “sorry—”

she chuckles, leaning in enough that her shoulder brushes yours. “relax,” she murmurs, clearly enjoying this. “you already fell for me once tonight.”

abby slides your drink in front of you and leans in just a little closer, you feel your heart race all over again. 

her voice is softer now, more sincere somehow, and it sends a shiver straight down your spine. “so, pretty—i’m going to be forward,” she says, the nickname rolling off her tongue easily. “how about you give me your number, hm?”

your breath catches, and your mind is a scrambled mess of thoughts, none of them helpful. but she’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. you fumble as you grab your phone, your hands shaking a little, but she’s quick to help you, guiding your hand with an ease that makes your heart flutter. 

before you can even open your contacts, she’s already offering you her jacket—thinking you were cold. “it’s cold, right?” she says, voice unhurried. her hands are gentle as she drapes it over your shoulders. “take this.”

you blink at her, as you give her your phone. you fix the jacket over your body as she types. she rings her phone from yours, the little jingle of her now added contact lighting up your screen.

“there,” she says, giving you your phone back. “now we both have it, see? easy.”

you can’t stop staring at her. at how she holds herself with such quiet confidence. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

abby gives you a small, knowing smile, like she’s pleased with how easily you let her in. she takes a step back, her gaze sweeping over you as you grab your drink from the counter, taking a big sip.

“i’ll buy you the next one,” you say, your voice a little firmer now. “for being such a mess earlier.”

abby raises an eyebrow, she mimics you by taking a slow sip of her whiskey, like she’s savoring the moment, or you. she shakes her head, her hand reaching out to touch your wrist.

“no,” she mutters. “it’s my pleasure, pretty. you’ve already given me your time, and it’s not often i get the chance to do something nice for someone like you.”

and just like that, she’s completely disarmed you. you want to protest, want to say something in return, but the way she looks at you makes you too charmed to argue. 

“okay,” you whisper, a little breathless. “next time, it’s on me.”

abby nods. “next time,” she repeats.

[l0vergirlwrites]

i think about you & nothin’ else ; spencer reid

synopsis: after a casual night out, you & spencer let your hearts & hands take control in more ways than one.

warnings: making out & heavy petting??, allusions to sex, fade to black smut, mentions of reader drinking alcohol & wearing makeup, softdom!spence & fem!reader, yearning, fluff, a few swears, spencer & reader just wanna get freaky in a cute way!!

note: this is so self indulgent, i couldn’t resist—can y’all tell i’m down bad for this man or what

minors dni with this post!

“ow, i knew i should’ve worn a different pair”

you groaned as you undid the laces of your doc marten heeled boots, revealing the black polka dotted socks spencer had gotten for you weeks ago when you pulled the bottoms of your jeans higher. spencer’s heart ached with happiness when he saw you wearing them, but he brushed it off, leaning down to help you when the right boot refused to come off.

“let me help” he murmured as he got down on one knee, his tongue poking out a little between his lips as his hands expertly pulled the boot off, adjusting the position of your sock.

as you leaned against the wall & peered down at spencer, you couldn’t help but get that sticky feeling brewing in your stomach, especially when his hand slipped up to caress your calf.

“thank you” you smiled when his eyes met yours, noticing a strand of hair curled in front of his eyes. it made him look like prince charming. “you look extra handsome like this…” you breathed, unable to hide the grin spreading on your face.

spencer squeezed your calf. “is that because i took off your shoe or because i’m on my knees?” he casually asked, smirking when he saw your slightly shocked reaction at his words. he’s not usually forward like that.

“hmmmm…” you dragged out, playing his game. “is ‘both’ an acceptable answer?”

licking his lips, spencer stood up & moved closer into your space, letting his hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing against the hem of the lace shirt you wore. “i’ll allow it just this once” he whispered, leaning down to give you the kiss you had begged him for in the taxi ride home.

slow & calculated, spencer’s lips moved against yours with purpose, thumbs pressing harder into your skin when you’d whine into his mouth. “you taste like that mojito you had” he whispered against your lips, diving back in for another kiss when your hands pawed against his chest, playing with the buttons of his white dress shirt.

you lightly laughed, moving to press kisses to his cheeks & jaw, feeling almost proud when you could see slight remnants of your lipstick marking his soft skin. “& you taste sweet” you said closer to his ear, causing spencer’s stomach to flip a thousand times, only making him lift a hand to your chin, pulling you back to his lips like a desperate man.

you weren’t sure how many minutes had passed by now, but you were content against the wall, arching into spencer’s chest with his hands anchoring your body to his own.

“couch?” he pulled away to ask, his hands sliding down to the plush of your thighs when you nodded eagerly, jumping up & wrapping your arms around his neck.

you both erupted into a fit of giggles when the back of his legs met the couch cushions abruptly, causing spencer to pull you down with him a little too fast, his head slightly knocking into your shoulder when his body fell back onto the cushions.

“shit—i’m sorry” he quickly apologized with a smile, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. but you didn’t retreat, only shaking your head as you pressed a quick kiss to his nose.

“it’s okay—just kiss me again” you smiled, tugging gently on his tie to pull him closer, as if you weren’t already perched on his lap with your legs staddling him.

so spencer kissed you again, eagerly falling back into the rhythm of what had been previously building, letting his hands run circles on your jean clad thighs as you settled onto him. your hands worked on undoing his tie to toss it onto the floor, like you’ve done so many times with your eyes closed, nudging your nose against his when he tugged on your bottom lip.

“is this okay?” you asked with a panting breath, fingers nimble as they rested in place at the top of his shirt, waiting for the go ahead to unbutton it.

“yeah, baby. go ahead” he answered, moving to kiss your jaw & neck as your fingers unbuttoned each button, one by one.

“fuck” you murmured when spencer sucked on that one spot you liked, involuntarily causing your hips to shift in his lap.

he hummed gratefully like he planned it, proud of your reaction. “you like that, hmm?” he asked teasingly, voice all low & sultry with yearning.

“gonna let me make a few marks?”.

you nodded your head & let your hips move against his again, your hands raking up & down his chest once all the buttons were freed. you swore you could feel every muscle, every rib & dent in chest, sending a tingling feeling across spencer’s skin. “yes, please”.

spencer hummed into your neck at your politeness, pressing his lips down closer to your collarbone before creating a love bite. he was smart enough to do it in places where they’d hide under your clothes so others couldn’t see, keeping them a little secret shared between the two of you.

scraping your nails across his chest, one hand moved up to his hair, tugging in the soft brown locks appreciatively at the sensations he was sending through your skin. you felt like you were on fire in the best of ways. so you continued building the friction between you two, smiling devilishly when his hands cupped your tits, thumbs massaging your nipples through the lacey fabric until they peaked.

“wanna make you feel good” you panted into his ear, earning a suppressed moan from him in return, your name sounding somehow sweeter when it escaped his mouth.

“you always do, sweetheart” he assured as he pulled back to look at you, the way you arched yourself closer to his touch. spencer could see your smudged eyeliner clearer now, & he liked it.

he liked—no, loved—everything about you. especially when you sat on top of him like this; messy hair, smudged makeup, the soft pinch of your eyebrows when he did something you liked... it made him feel eternally lucky.

“spence” you said, bringing him out of the haze he fell into when he processed your thumb brushing against his bottom lip.

“i’m here” he responded with vigour, taking ahold of your wrist so he could press a kiss into the heel of your hand. “i just can’t get over how beautiful you look right now—it’s driving me insane” he explained, desperation & love present in his tone.

it made you melt, brain going fuzzy with the need to go further than you both have gone before.

“i could say the same about you—can’t believe that you’re all mine” you bit your lip & squeezed his bare shoulders, eyes scanning his messy hair & twinkling eyes, all the way down to his toned chest, how his happy trial peeked out below his navel.

spencer hoped his neck wasn’t turning pink under your gaze.

“god, i’m so lucky” he pulled your lips to his for the millionth time, but neither of you were tired of it.

“you could get even more lucky tonight if you want to…” you proposed, pulling away & batting your eyelashes in a way that drives him wild.

you know he knows what you’re implying by the way his hands slip to your ass, squeezing the fat there, wishing your jeans were already off.

“oh yeah? what do you have in mind?”.

ugh. what a tease.

you took a deep breath, sitting up before pulling his hands to rest in front of you, nudging his fingers to brush against the button of your jeans. “take them off & find out” you said, more so commanded with a nervous breath, & spencer was more than happy to comply.

letting your fingers play with his hair again, spencer’s fingers popped your button & slowly undid the zipper of your jeans, his eyes not leaving yours. when the zipper stopped, one of his hands moved to your hip, pushing your shirt higher on your stomach, massaging your skin.

“look down, baby. you missed it”.

your words caused spencer’s eyes to dart to the opening of your jeans, his sight locking onto the small piece of red fabric with white stitching that read “lucky you” in cursive lettering. he let a surprised scoff escape his lips, only feeling more turned on. his eyes also landed on the lacy black pair of underwear you were wearing.

spencer was about to lose it.

“lucky me, indeed”.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Look Ma, I Made It | Liam Lawson x O'Ward! Reader

Summary: For years, you've been known as the younger sister of Indy driver, Pato O'Ward. Now you're going viral for a very different reason, all thanks to a small feature on F1 Wags.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, suggestive comment, being a liam lawson apologist 

Requested: yes by anon. i know you changed the fc to claudia cook gomez but i already had this planned and i couldn't find enough pics for her so i’m really sorry 

Faceclaim: Shira Klein 

F1 Masterlist

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yn_oward just posted

liked by kimi.antonelli, lilyzneimer and others 

yn_oward what do you mean this doofus got to drive an f1 car on our home turf??? he’s going to be unbearable after this 

22,590 comments 

patriciooward photographic evidence as to why i am the favourite child 

→ yn_oward “oo i can drive cars fast. i can pull off the colour orange” yeah, well, i can down a pitcher of mojitos in 6 seconds

→ elbaoward pride and joy of the family 

olliebearman only you could turn a post about your brother into a shameless selfie share

→ yn_oward but how hot am i 

→ olliebearman i fear there’s no safe way to answer this 

→ user1 every day ollie wonders why he chose to befriend y/n liked by olliebearman

liamlawson30 what do you mean you were in the paddock and didn’t come and say hello? 

→ user2 why would she?

→ user3 because they were friends growing up

→ yn_oward i couldn't get away from my fans (pato)

→ patriciooward nurse, she got out again 

liamlawson30 just posted

liked by logansargeant, patriciooward and others 

liamlawson30 mexican madness

67,048 comments 

user4 excuse me, mr lawson, sir. is that a woman?? 

yukitsunoda0511 that angle does me dirty. why do i look so small?

→ visacashapprb i think there’s something we need to tell you… 

user5 i’m confused. did anyone else know he was in a relationship?

user6 is this what gen z call a soft launch? 

yn_oward you’re strong enough to carry a woman? those noodle arms look like they’d snap 

→ liamlawson30 i’m going to pretend like that didn’t hurt my feelings

→ user7 this feels flirtatious to me 

→ user8 and pato liked this post?? 

olliebearman another victim of the ‘my legs are tired’ club,  i see 

→ user9 you know this woman?

→ user10 quick, someone make a list of potential people 

jackdoohan oh it’s finally happening 

→ user11 what do you know

→ user12 let us in 

yn_oward just posted

liked by jackdoohan, oscarpiastri and others 

yn_oward autumn dump 🍂🍁

26,993 comments 

patriciooward i have a reputation to maintain. take this down. i am a serious athlete 

→ arrowmclaren we’ve already passed this on to your trainer

user1 why is no one else commenting on the hoodie photo 

→ patriciooward because we are disgusted and trying to ignore it 

→ user2 i think it’s hot 

user3 so her brother only gets one pic, her bestie only gets one pic but her soft launch gets two!! 

→ user4 y/n’s man, reveal yourself! 

liamlawson30 it looks like you’re trying to smother that man 

→ yn_oward i can assure you, he enjoyed it

→ patriciooward ewwwww

olliebearman the pinata deserved it!

→ yn_oward if i remember correctly, you didn’t end up breaking it

→ olliebearman you’re next 🏌🏻

→ patriciooward get her ass

→ yn_oward why does your social media never get taken away from you. @/arrowmclaren do better 

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f1wags just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, patriciooward and others

f1wags breaking news! y/n o’ward was caught coming out of liam lawson’s garage during the mexican grand prix. the newest f1 driver was snapped pulling her back for a kiss goodbye 

19,009 comments 

user5 he pulled her???

user6 i think liam should release a manual on how to convince a girl wayyyy out of your league to date you 

user7 not charles liking this. he’s such a gossip girl 

→ user8 i bet he sent it to pierre

user9 so this is why they were soft launching around the same time

→ user10 i just thought it was coincidental 

→ user11 that’s because no one thought the cars maniac could pull y/n o’ward 

user12 pato liked this 😂

user13 why is everyone acting like liam lawson ain’t fine??

→ user14 what i’m saying! y/n o’ward is panty dropping but liam is hella fine as well

→ user15 i think if he had a different haircut, it would be over for the rest of the grid 

yn_oward hey look ma, i made it 

yn_oward and everyone thought pato was the famous sibling 

→ olliebearman this is your only reaction to this? 

patriciooward just posted

liked by landonorris, arrowmclaren and others 

patriciooward yes, they are disgustingly sweet together. i have suffered for the past 3 years so now you lot can too 

71,305 comments 

elbaoward i hope you had permission to post these, pato

→ patriciooward why? it’s not like they haven’t been caught already. everyone knows. she’s a pinned post on f1 wags 

→ yn_oward i’m a famous lady 

olliebearman these are the nice photos btw, guys. i have ones of them fighting each other

→ user1 we need to see these as well

→ yn_oward i am a lady. i am polite and docile

→ liamlawson30 baby, they’ve all seen photos that indicate otherwise

visacashapprb it’s nice to see pictures that don’t include y/n trying to climb liam like a tree 

→ patriciooward that is not a comment i want to see ever again 

yn_oward i knew you secretly liked us because these candids are so cute. wtf pato. i didn’t know you were capable of niceness 

→ patriciooward why have you misinterpreted the point of this point. i’m trying to embarras you 

→ yn_oward you love me, and my boyfriend 

→ liamlawson30 i’m really feeling the love bro. a whole post dedicated to us 

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Bonus

yn_oward just posted

liked by francolapinto, kellypiquet and others

yn_oward usually when your man gets a haircut without telling you, it ruins your sex drive. that was not the case today

22,994 comments

olliebearman i don’t think we should be friends if you’re going to continue this way 

→ jackdoohan i second that because bleurgh 

kimi.antonelli i miss when i couldn't read

→ yn_oward i didn’t know you were old enough to know how to 

patriciooward ew. ew. ew. ew. ew

→ patriciooward just ew

→ patriciooward blocked, deleted, removed

→ patriciooward i’m going to go and pluck out my own eyeballs

→ arrowmclaren no. you need them to race 

redbullracing we’re going to need to have a chat about pr 

→ yn_oward crap. @/liamlawson30 either you quit or we break up 

→ liamlawson30 nice try, babe. based on the way you threw yourself at me when i walked through the door, i don’t think you’ll let me go 

→ redbullracing we’re going to need to have a chat about pr 

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requests open

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx

[lizaintheduster]

Oh my god, the idea that God keeps bringing Cas back because he thinks Dean moping around the bunker is boring is so funny. Like the first two times God brings him back, he does it right away cause he's like, "This freaky lil Angel is pretty interesting to have around. Let's throw him back into the mix." But then when he betrays Dean and dies in season 6/7, at first Chuck is just sipping Mojitos and luxuriating in the man pain, but then the man pain just. doesn't. stop. And fuck that's boring, Dean just won't stop moping.

So fuck it, let's give Cas amnesia and some weird wife, he won't have to be plot relevant anyway cause obviously he'll take on Sam's hell trauma, boom two birds, one stone. Now we can get back to the brothers brothering. Except fuck, somehow Cas has wound up going to purgatory with Dean, ugh lame. Well, let's just give Cas a few nightmares that really play into his self-loathing, that should be enough to get him to stay behind, the self-deprecating sad sack. But shit, didn't think this through, Dean's out and he's already looking pretty mopy.

No worries, just gotta push Naomi in the right direction, just a little nudge, there we go. Cas is back, but with a tasty little twist of Heaven mind control to keep him out of the narrative. Excellent. Screw it. Maybe Naomi could even get him to turn on Dean? Dean could kill him, that would be awesome. Wait, why the hell isn't Dean fighting back? Get off your knees! Cas can't kill Dean, that's lame, I'll have to think of some way to bring him back... wait, wait what? Did he just snap out of Angel programmed mind control? Oh for fuck sake, this is gonna be such a pain in the ass.

Blah blah, several more seasons of trying to keep Dean and Cas apart including having Gadreel fall near the hospital, retconing how Reapers work so one can try to take out Cas, pointing that weird pink Goo Angel in a Cas shaped direction, having it so that stolen grace is a thing that drains away, but nothing is God Damn Taking. The Angel is still up and kicking, and for some reason, Dean seems hung up on the broken little thing.

Right, time for mental warfare. If just the right digs are made at just the right times, maybe, maybe the Angels self esteem will drop low enough to... that's it. There it is. Say yes to Lucifer. Another betrayal, right, Dean? Right, Dean? Dean? Oh for crying out loud he's not even dead! Dean get over it, he said yes to Lucifer, he sucks Dean, why do you care? Ugh fine, let's say Amara's juice blasts Lucifer out of Cas, happy now? Fuck he's so boring when he's worried about what? A defective Angel?

Whatever, let's just throw some random side quests at them for a while. Surely, Dean will just lose interest eventually. Oh! Idea! Trap Dean and Sam in a government facility and then sabotage every attempt the Angel makes to save them. Again, two birds, one stone. Cas will feel useless and pathetic for failing to save Dean, and Dean will surely realise what a useless waste of celestial intent Cas is.

Okay, at this point, I should have seen this coming. Oh, thank me, Lucifer kebabed him. Light show, big burnt out wings for dramatic effect. This time, let's just wait it out. Dean can't stay single minded, drunk and hung up on Cas forever. Eventually, he'll realise he needs to step up to the plate and start parenting the Angel kid, I have some amazing Abraham and Issac stuff lined up, so we need to get moving with the bonding. Any minute now. Any minute now. Come on Dean, he's not even that strong anymore, why do you care? Jesus Christ Dean, you know your mom is also dead, right?

Screw it. Let's say Jack's powers can reach the empty. Shit does this mean I need to figure out how the empty works? I never got round to writing any of that. Okay, wow that was a choice, maybe I'll retcon the accent later... let's just focus on getting Cas back to earth, so Dean... aaaaand Dean has it wearing a fucking cowboy hat. How, out of all my universes did this glitch wind up infecting the original. Should have let the Angel just stay dead that first time, would have made my life so much easier.

Well, it's the final hour, might as well get one last hit in. Let's kill off the alternate universe people first, that should be just the right push to... perfect, yep, Dean blames death, and of course, Cas will follow. Hook line and sinker. I'll just let Death kill Cas, and then I'll have Death's weird poison thing wipe her out at the last second so Dean's still around for the end game. Oh? Oh, no way? You have got to be kidding me. This is priceless. He's actually saying it? That's the money shot right there. Wow. I need a margarita. Oh, but wait. Idea! Wouldn't it be perfect, just perfect, if Dean's childhood selective mutism were to make the briefest reappearance. Just for a second. Ahhh. You have outdone yourself, Chuck. No more revivals, Dean. I'm already bored.

[writingmeraki]

cherry flavoured lips, blueberry stained tongue — a m.m drabble.

★ pairing : moon minho x sorta!enemy!reader, enemies to ?? ★ genre : fluff, sillieness, new!! unresolved feelings. ★ warnings : cussing, alcohol consumption,being drunk. ★ w.c : 2.4k | a/n at the end.

The artificially blueberry flavoured mojito was truly full of hidden surprises. It had a tangy taste but it was also sweet. Almost obnoxiously sweet but somehow it was the right amount. And oh, it also dyed your tongue a ridiculous electric blue. Pretty sure your lips also looked the same. 

It was a regular party. As regular as it could be with the group of people around you. All talented, beautiful, rich and young people gathered around to celebrate the occasion of ‘finally the long ass exhausting week is over.’ Truly an event. You fit only in the latter definition of said group. Perhaps on the best days,you might fit into the first.

You’re not even sure how you were able to persuade yourself to come here but your very convincing lab partner had a pretty manipulative tactic. 

 Q claimed it was the best way to make amends with him and also for putting up as his lab partner,knowing how exhausting it likely was. 

To be fair, he was right. And also like mentioned, his persuasion tactics were seriously another weapon of destruction. You didn’t even last fifteen seconds before you said yes. How unfair. 

Him being  Q’s best friend,Minho,the same guy you made an enemy out of. Enemy might be a far stretch but from the way he glared at you the moment you entered through the door, you are sure his thoughts were not too far off from that. 

[ a mini flashback ]

It was the same guy you’d bumped into. Quite literally. Twice. On two separate occasions and in both of them…it was your fault. The first time, you spilled coffee all over his white shirt. It was not even your coffee! But he didn’t know that.

All he knew was a stupidly clumsy person ruined his expensive white shirt and dashed. You dashed cause you were horribly late, only offering a few apologies and in response you most likely got cusses. Not that you’d know cause you didn’t even get a chance to fully see him other than how hauntingly handsome he looked. 

Pretty eyes, perfectly styled hair with loose strands, pretty lips. And ruined white shirt with a brown stain. You actually got scared to think if you’d ever see him and how you’d answer. 

It was truly the scenario of all your worst fears coming true during the second time you bumped into him. This one though was not anyone’s fault. You were exiting the university when you turned the corner and just ran into someone. 

“Fucking hell!” You heard him yell out and actually had to pause from how familiar it sounded. Last time you heard it, it was also cussing. Your eyes widened when you realised it was the pretty brown eyed guy you ran into a while ago. 

“You!” Seems like he realized too. And he was definitely not happy about it if his glare and jaw clenched was not evident enough. 

“Urm- I’m very-”

“Y/N! Hey!” You were very grateful for the intervention but furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as Q walked up beside the guy. 

“Hey,Q?” You said skeptically as your eyes darted between the two. 

“Ah I see you’ve met  Minho,  Minho this is Y/N, my lab partner and Y/N this is  Minho, my best friend.” He grinned widely as he said, not exactly picking up on the tension between you two.  Q frowned, his expression completely going down as if the aspect of his best friend knowing you made him feel worse. It probably did.

“I-uh-well.” Just as you were about to say something, you didn’t even know where to begin, apologize? Twice? Tell Q you knew him? You got interrupted as your familiar ringtone rang loudly. 

Your brother could not have better timing. 

Pulling out your phone, you did your best apologetic expression you could. You knew it was not enough but you also really did have to dash. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go now, I’ll see you next time?” 

“Oh yeah sure sure.”  Q was oblivious, but  Minho rolled his eyes and looked away, scoffing. 

You knew for sure he’d probably tell Q everything. How you were the one who ruined a perfectly good shirt and how you don’t even have the basic decency to apologize. 

On your part, you did try finding him. You even lingered around that same place and cafe to find him but of course your luck, it did seem he was closer than you thought and were looking for him in the wrong places. 

So now that you'd gotten the perfect way to apologize, you figured you should. And in came in being more than just a lab partner to Q and becoming his friend. 

You knew it the next time you saw Q, Minho had told him everything from the mischievous glint in his eyes and the smug teasing smirk. 

“So, you’re the coffee spiller huh?” You groaned into your hands, hiding your embarrassed face as you sighed out. 

“I swear I didn’t mean it- I tried to apologize but I was running really late and- it was not even my coffee in the first place!” 

He chuckled at your rambling, shaking his head, “Honestly I found it hilarious. It was funny to see him so worked up over it. But the apology should not be towards me.” 

You nodded knowingly, “Yeah I know, I know. I feel terrible about it. I was thinking of- well I thought of it a while ago but say do you happen to have the exact same brand name and his size details?” 

Luckily or more so, obviously he did. The price of it did make you realize this was going to cut down plenty of your own self-treatment weekends but you think it was the least you could do and in no time, did you have the exact same shirt, in the same shade of white ( there were more than one to your surprise ), and the perfect fitting ( courtesy to Q ). It was hard to find the place to buy it due to your lack of knowledge in this department but again, courtesy to Q and the impromptu shopping spree (on his end), you were able to find it. 

Now the opportunity to give it to the owner was left. 

After a debate with Q about how you were overthinking just simply calling him to meet you and giving it to him then, he came up with the simplest idea. His words, not yours.

“Come to this small get-together on Saturday then.”

“A party is not exactly my scene. Not right now at least.”

“Oh come on! If you’re not wanting to meet him personally then come there, he’ll be there.” 

That was all it took. 

(you will not admit it to him but his pleading eyes played a huge part)

[ end of mini flashback ]

Here you are now,deciding to drink blueberry mojito instead of the alcohol offered to you, so you could at least stay sober and apologise like you mean it. With the apology gift but not a gift more like what you owed him, sitting in your car. 

You regretted not being drunk enough to be able to get out of your stiffness. You were way too sober for the conversations that were happening. It did not help that you could feel Minho practically eyeing you in a condescending way that made you feel more guilty. 

 Minho Moon did not even really care about the ruined shirt. He had plenty. The main reason he was pissed at you was because how…not pissed at you he was. 

He really should be, you ran into him twice, you did not even apologize to him even when you already know him now personally. He should be but he finds himself exactly the opposite.

He heard about you through Q. How you were pretty much the only one who’d even take studying seriously but how you had a sneaking sense of humor and an actual personality hidden beneath your whole persona. He wanted to know you more, and it was frustrating to him that he had no idea on how to do so. It was not like him to be so confused on how to make the first move and that confusion was the reason he was so annoyed.

It was one hilarious scene actually. 

“Let’s play spin the bottle!”  Q announced way too loudly, a sign he had had a little too much to drink. You almost flinched because you were not even paying attention to him as you tried to come up with how to approach  Minho without seeming too desperate.

You were sitting on a single chair couch, holding your drink in one hand with your legs crossed as you looked at him. 

“Y/N come on, you're joining!” Q spoke up as he held his hand out for you to take to join them at the dining table to which your eyes widened and shook your head.

“What are you doing?!”

“You look so miserable here, just have some fun come on!”

You were screaming on the inside, once again regretting drinking only a damn mojito and not having enough alcohol to get through this. 

“Fine, but first get me some beer.”

And that was how you found yourself, with seven people in a circle around a table playing spin the bottle like a bunch of teenagers. It was likely the alcohol that everyone consumed way over their age limit that caused the effect of bringing out their inner teens. 

“So why don't we switch up the game a little? Whoever it lands on, has to do a dare collectively given by the group?”

Alisa, a girl from your Physics class you remember, said. She was the definition of elegant yet simple. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect symmetrical face. Totally the type of any guy.

You wonder why your eyes drifted to the one on her right, sitting with his head in his hand, looking almost bored but you could definitely tell he was sorta tipsy.

And you were feeling the same too, as suddenly you began to wonder how his pretty pink lips would taste like. Usually, pink lips means pink flavours, your favourite was cherry.

 Minho did look like the type to taste like cherries on a warm summer afternoon.  

Yeah, you were a fucking lightweight. 

“Wooo! It landed on you, Y/N!” Suddenly came a voice and with it, a shove to your back as you were brought back from your cherry flavour lips and spilled coffee daydreams.

The  enthusiastic boy was more out of it than you for sure, his flushed cheeks, warm brown eyes looking at you like you held the mood for him quite literally and his overly enthusiastic nature being tenfold pretty much all a tell tale sign.

“-didn’t get that, can you repeat?” You asked slowly as you blinked at him beside you. 

“The bottle see- it means it's your turn to do a dare.” He pointed at the green glass bottle used as a spinner that was now pointing in your general direction—indicating your turn. 

“Oh.”

“Now let's see.” You didn't think you needed to be sober to know the look on Q’s face was surely not innocent. In fact, he might as well come up with something as weird as—

“You have to kiss—no wait—you have to kiss the person you find most attractive here!” 

And there it was. 

“I'm sorry what?”

You could hear some people giggling about, mostly in amusement, and some hushed whispers. You could also hear your heart rate slowly pick up.

“It's simple Y/N, whoever you find the most attractive in between this circle, you go up to them and kiss them. It's all up to you.”

No it was not up to you. It really wasn't. You really didn't want to do this. But it was your turn, some people were looking at you too expectantly and your thoughts didn't exactly connect with your brain properly. It all seemed mushy. And blurry. But the good kind. 

And so you stood up and looked back at Q with narrow eyes. His smirk only widened as he wiggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and looked away.  

“Go on,” You wondered if this was truly where all your life decisions led you to. But also, the alcohol was now getting to your head and before you could even think about it, you moved around and stood in front of him. 

Sitting down in front of him atop the mini table, you tilted your head, eyes narrowing.

Gulping, your voice came out gently, “Can I?”

Minho was frozen. The moment you moved towards his general direction after that stupid dare, he simply couldn’t think. He wasn’t even intoxicated yet he felt like it as he stared into your eyes. 

Sighing out slowly, he blinked twice before nodding. He could feel his own heartbeat picking up pace. 

He never felt more unsure in one moment and so sure in the next the moment your lips touched his. 

You leaned closer, placing both your hands on his shoulders to stabilise yourself, knees touching as he rose up and moved closer to you, placing his own hands on your waist. 

It was an awkward position but it felt weirdly right. 

The kiss was subtle yet felt like so much, for one all you could think about was the softness of them, the way they tasted exactly like a mix of cherries with a hint of blueberry. Cherries under the sun. It was beginning to feel warmer.

His scent was intoxicating as well. 

Pulling away, you leaned your forehead on his for a moment, not even paying attention to the loud obnoxious cheering in the background. 

All you could think about was,

Oh my fucking God. I just kissed him. I was supposed to apologise but I kissed him?!

Minho couldn’t breathe, he felt if he did all of this would fade away and it would simply be another dream. But it was as real as the way your eyes widened in disbelief, as real as the way his own mouth was stained slightly blue now, as real as his own heart feeling like it might explode. 

Abruptly standing up, you pushed him away as you stepped aside. 

“I-I’m so so sorry. I have to- I have to go.” 

And before Minho could even understand, you grabbed your purse and phone, walked–rushed out the door, heart racing fast as you descended down the stairs, shirt sitting forgotten in your car, apology left on the tip of your tongue as you rang your brother up.

“Hey? Can you please pick me up?”

★ a/n : here we goooo first minho work of the year hehe and ofc in true pri fashion a cliffhanger???? y'all probs hate me for it but it was all i could think of rn so pls forgvie me? i did not want it to be too half assed further because this was written at very different times and infact for a whole diff fandom, but there's more to come that is if you liked this lol and also overall first work of the year too?!? lmk what you think !!!! more minho and even possibly dae works to come!!

also confession im yet to finish season 2.....haha forgive me, i'll finish it soon enough :"D but let me know what you thought of it tooo!!

to h&c pt 2 waiters that is they exist....well idk much about what i'll be doing of it cause honestly pt 1 is just...yikes haha. but let's see. do you still want one? be honest plk <3

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌 ! more minho works ? check out misc masterlist ! other works ? check out main masterlist ! other information ? check out info !

[wyvernest]

hands on you

pairing: miguel o'hara xf!reader

warnings: perv!miguel, miguel being extra handsy, smut, groping (consensual), established relationship, teasing, pda, public teasing, alcoholic beverages?

summary: miguel can't take his hands off of you in the club

Miguel knew you liked him being overly affectionate in public, just to show everyone how deeply in love with him you are. So deeply, that you couldn't gather one single fuck to give about what others thought.

Sure, there were lines neither of you would ever cross. But there was something so delicious about taking risks that had you more intoxicated than 5 mojitos.

This is why you now find yourself rummaging through your closet, looking for something downright obscene. Something so inviting that would make it hard for Miguel to keep his hands to himself for the whole night.

The two of you had arranged to go clubbing for the first time in what felt like a century. Since both of you preferred 1 on 1 alone time, it was a rarity that one would voice the desire to break out of the usual, intimate, comforting routine.

But this time, you want something filthy. Not soft or private. Something that would bring him to the very brink of despair for being so close, yet so far from it.

"¿Estas lista?" (Are you ready?) You hear the bathroom door open as Miguel steps out into the doorway, a towel around his hips and another in his hands as he aggressively attempts to partially dry his dripping wet hair.

You almost start drooling looking at him in the closet door mirror. This is gonna be fun.

"I'm still thinking." You replied, absentmindedly. Oh how you wish you could just ditch the plans, forget about going out and spend the rest of the evening on his dick. To just give him a familiar shove and watch him lay down on the soft bed, hands roaming your body as you climbed on top of him-

No. You have to stick with the plan. Just for once.

As he blow-dries his hair, you snatch the top and skirt you picked and run downstairs, not wanting him to see you before you get to your destination.

But how you wish you could stay in the bedroom and watch his back muscles flex as he pulls that black shirt over his head, how he looks in the mirror as he fixes his hair. His mere presence made you wet.

You snap out of your reverie, swiftly changing and covering yourself with a nice beige coat. Just as you were done with the last touches in the hallway mirror, Miguel stepped down the stairs.

The black shirt slightly stretches over his muscles, giving you a clear view of his pecs and the outlines of his hard abs. He's sporting beige pants, and you wonder just for a second how obvious a boner would be underneath the thin, creamy material.

The drive to the club is flooded with knowing looks and flirty comments, which again make it hard for you not to abandon ship and fuck him in the driver's seat, pulled over on a nice, dark alley.

"I know what you're doing."

"What?" You inquire, faking innocent shock.

He gestures towards your coat, his eyes darting from yours to the clothing item and back to the road.

"I just want to surprise you." You defend yourself, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, brushing a few hair strands behind his ear. You lean into him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek.

You arrive at the club, discarding the coat to leave it in the car. He almost forgets to lock the doors the moment he sees you. Plushy breasts pushed together and nearly spilling out of a skin tight top, ass peeking out from underneath a skirt too short.

"Carajo." (Fuck.) He rasps, before sprinting over to you, wanting to shield you from wandering eyes. Any doubts that it might've been too much are washed away the second you're hit with the realisation that Miguel's hands are going to be on you for the whole night. Either protectively or for other reasons, you couldn't bring yourself to care that much.

As you walk in, you remain glued to him. body to body. Even as you dance, you move against him, soft tits squished on his chest, hands wandering over his shoulders and his neck.

His own hands are anchored on your waist, his fingers digging into your delicate skin.

Glazed over eyes, pretty mouth agape, lips painted in gloss; they're too much for him. He leans into your touch, kissing you messily. It's all tongue and hot puffs of heaved breaths, desperate and painfully needy.

Seizing the opportunity, you inhaled softly and slowly, feeling the scent of him, cologne mixed with his distinctive musk that has your brain melting into nothing but the thought of irrevocably being his.

Suddenly, a straying hand travels down your body, from the dip of your waist and over your hip, settling on the tender flesh of your ass, his fingertips skin to skin on you, thanks to the shortness of the flimsy skirt.

He pulls you against him, trapping you with the other hand splayed out on your back. You feel your heart rate pick up speed.

His one-day stubble scratches your silky cheeks, almost an invasion. Almost disrespectful to the extensive skin care routine you have and religiously stick to, but that's what you like most about it. No matter how much time you spend on yourself, he always ruins you. Your makeup, your clothes, covering your freshly-carefully-lotioned body in hickies and marks. Simply because you're his.

The palm on your ass squeezes and kneads over the feverish skin, the skirt hiking up in the process as he exposes your thin, lace thongs.

You moan in faux protest, looking up at him and breaking away from the suffocating kiss.

"¿Que pasó, muñeca?" (What happened, doll?). He continues to squeeze, the feeling of his big, rough hand rubbing the plumpness of your ass starts to pool raw need between your legs.

"You don't like me touching you like this?" He speaks into your ear, eyes half lidded and predatory. "Isn't that what you dressed up like this for, hm?"

The bastard.

You take one fraction of a second to look around, taking note that nobody was watching, apart from a few guys who either enjoy the show or are patiently waiting for Miguel to leave you alone for just a minute.

Not gonna happen.

"Dime." (Tell me.) He steals your attention, his embrace almost lifting you off the ground just to hold you whole against him.

You mouth 'Yes', knowing you can't trust your shaky voice to speak louder for him to hear over the music.

The dancing area is getting increasingly crowded as the night seeps deeper into the city, so you two move towards the bar. He sits on one of the chairs, patting his leg for you. You place yourself on his thigh as he manspreads to give you more space, curling a strong arm around your waist.

You feel the fabric of his beige pants come into contact with your panties, your skirt too short to cover your ass, let alone allow you to sit without having it slide up. You close your legs tightly, seeking a bit more privacy from the public eye.

Trying not to slip from your seat, you attempt to brace yourself on your palms; one hand on his knee, pushing your back into him, and one on-

Fuck.

Your other palm accidentally lands on his crotch, your fingers grazing his half hard cock. Before you can take your hand away and hide your flushed face, he grabs your wrist and keeps it there.

The bartender is making cocktails at the opposite end of the counter, so no one can see what's actually going on. He starts guiding your hand to rub him up and down, a content sigh leaving him. You could swear your own face is very telling by now.

You cup him through the material, feeling the familiar girth of his cock fatten at your attention. He's getting warmer, and so are you.

Before he can start drifting into pleasure, the bartender runs to him, waiting for the order. Miguel asks for a beer, frustrated at the loss of contact, your hands now on the marble counter.

More people gather around the bar, and as his request gets temporarily forgotten amidst the others, he relishes in the re-obtained semi privacy.

"¿Estás bien, muñequita?" He asks, a hint of concern plastered on his face at the sight of your flushed face.

"Don't worry. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable." You reassure, feeling bolder.

He smirks, looking around, checking. He feels like a horny teen-ager who has no other choice but to try to explore and test the waters in public. But in reality, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He turns to you, placing a kiss dangerously close to the top of your right breast, teasing. Before you can look down through your hazy vision, he glides a warm palm between your legs, past your skirt, two fingers fitting in the valley of your soft pussy.

You restrain yourself from gasping, instead seeking to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He moves his hand over the mound, flicking your clit through your panties. He can undoubtedly feel how wet you are as he so obscenely cups your cunt. You feel the heat of his palm on you, so comforting in such a filthy way; like that's where it belongs.

Looking down, you're met with the sight of his veined burly arm, muscles flexing as he plays with you, his wrist barely visible underneath your skirt. You clench around nothing, and his motions quicken with expert ease, a clear sign he felt you.

You're left infuriatingly needy for more when he retracts his hand as if nothing happened, the bartender bringing him his beer. You give him a pissed look, and he smiles as he brings the bottle to his mouth.

Smiling, like, what's wrong?

You move to threateningly leave from your seat on his lap, but he follows as expected. He can't lose sight of you.

Walking just a bit further into the crowd, you take his hand behind you. Swaying your hips and undulating your body to the music, you feel the beat through your veins, in your chest, in your head. He comes up behind you, his rhythm in sync with your movements.

Brushing your hair out of the way from behind, he slowly bends down to lick and kiss at the sensitive skin on the side of your neck, raising goosebumps over your skin. You don't know how much longer you'll stay here, seeing how clingy and needy Miguel has gotten.

You feel your pulse throbbing in your neck and through your lust-hazed mind at the stimulation.

"Feel how fast my heart's beating." You take his hand, placing it where your heart would be. He brings the beer bottle to his mouth, drinking nonchalantly as his palm instantly dips into your cleavage, cupping your left breast. You stiffen, once again surprised.

"Yeah." He confirms, as if he didn't just start groping you to feel your heartbeat. "Pretty fast."

He is well aware of how worked up you get simply because of this attitude. He leaves the bottle on a nearby glass table, now both his hands on your boobs, nearly taking them out of your top to play with them. He looks wrecked, absolutely drunk on need.

One of his arms soon curls around your waist and back, pulling you close into him, the other hand still fondling your chest. You arch your back, pushing yourself impossibly closer into his touch, seeking the warmth of his palm.

Wanting to drive him completely mad, you turn around, your back to him, and start grinding your plushy ass over his groin. He grips your hips, guiding you, not hesitating to let his hands wonder back to your tits, squeezing them under the elastic material of your shirt while you're rubbing yourself on his painful erection.

You can now see people staring, especially at the way he touches you. Arching backwards, you curl your arms around his neck, your chest pushed forward and so much more accessible. His palms are now hot on your soft breasts, craving more. Fondling with fervent need.

The music and the people are drowned out, muffled into the very back of your headspace. He leans down, his mouth to your ear.

"Let's get out of here."

divider by @cafekitsune

a/n: tried to make it as non problematic and as filthy as possible at the same time goddamn

[wonderjanga]

Cap Being A Dad

Just some more dad Marvel because why not. I love writing it.

Marvel: *catches KD trying to shave his face* “What are you doing?”

Kid Flash: *has entirely too much shaving cream on his face* “Uh… nothing?”

Marvel: “Are you… trying to shave your face?”

Kid Flash: “…Yes.”

Marvel: *stares* “Is there even anything to shave?”

Kid Flash: “Wha- WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

Marvel: “Nothing! My bad. I meant no offense. Do you need help, by the way? You have like five cuts on your face.”

Kid Flash: “No!” *looks to the mirror and sees the cuts* “Well, maybe. Also, how can you tell? I have all this shit on my face.”

Marvel: “Some of the shit- I mean, stuff is pink. Anyways, do you like want some pointers?”

Kid Flash: “I…” *just gives up at this point* “Sure.”

Marvel: “Great! Put that down.” *wipes off some of the shaving cream from Wally’s face*

Kid Flash: “The razor?”

Marvel: “Yes, that. We’re going to be using this.” *puts hand into pocket dimension and whips out this shit*

That’s how, with Solomon’s help and a bit of Billy’s own memory of seeing his dad, Marvel successfully taught Kid Flash how to shave. Fun fact: after this, Wally wasn’t able to shave with a modern day razor ever again. He’ll cut his face 5 million times but for some reason, with the version Marvel gave him, he’s absolutely perfect.

or

Marvel: “Alright, so driving is pretty simple.”

Robin!Tim: “You sure?”

Marvel: “Yup! Now hit the gas pedal.”

Robin!Tim: *floors it* “Aren’t I supposed to buckle my seatbelt first?”

Marvel: “What? Don’t you know those are just for show? Anyways, you’re doing great! Now make sure not to hit anything.”

After a couple minutes…

Robin!Tim: “This actually reminds me a lot of driving the Batmobile.” *swerves out of the way of a honking truck*

Marvel: “In what way?”

Robin!Tim: “This is exactly how Batman drives in it! I honestly thought driving as a civilian would make it so that you’d have to be more cautious but wow!”

They got pulled over like five minutes later. They were then sent to jail, full costumes mind you. They even got mug shots. Marvel pulled the Ken mugshot pose while Tim did the “Blue Steel” Dean Winchester one. Batman had to bail them both out. Also, yes, this is connected to my Who Let Him Drive?! post.

or

JL and YJ: *at the beach*

Marvel: “I’m good guys.” *sits down, letting out a little oof*

YJ: We’re literally at the beach. Don’t tell us you’re just gonna sit there.

Marvel: “I, in fact, am.” *pulls out newspaper and starts reading*

Him and Batman were content to just sit in beach chairs, sipping virgin Mojitos together while Marvel read the paper and Batman did something on a tablet. Also, I know this isn’t necessarily dad Marvel, but my father, whenever it came to water, would just be like “Go on ahead, I’ll join you eventually” he would say as he got out the paper, lying straight to my face because he would never join.