#i'm high up in the mountains so if it doesn't it's the lack of oxygen

[iamthecomet]

comet today i am thinking about the first time dew gets choked after losing his gills

Ok and now I'M thinking about it too. Head tipped back, neck exposed. Silvery scars where his gills are supposed to be. They're sensitive to the touch. The drag of a claw over them makes him shiver. His instincts haven't quite caught on to the changes--touches near them still feel dangerous. Body tensing until he has to force himself to relax because it's Aether, or Mountain, or Rain and they would never hurt him. He's let them touch before, dip their fingers into the delicate folds just to watch him squirm. But the first time someone chokes him and they aren't there? Fingers curling around his throat, pressing against his pulse. Slotted between those scars with will practiced instinct.

You know Dew freezes up.

He reacts the same way he usually would. Flexing muscles that don't do anything anymore, expecting a different rush of air. He's never been cut off from it like this. There's nothing. No safety net to fall back on. He has never had to trust someone else this much. I think he taps out the first time. Yellows. Gasps for air and rubs at the spot his gills used to be and tries to quell some of his rising panic. It doesn't feel the same--it isn't bad. But it takes him by surprise, the absolutely lack of control. The way he really has to trust the person above him with his life. And so, he tries again. He fits their palm over his throat and tells them to squeeze. And it's better. Every time he does it after it's better, until he craves it. Demands it in certain headspaces. Needs to float, to feel like he has given up everything to his partner. And the oxygen high--something he's never been able to truly experience because he always cheated a little--fucks him up in the best way. Leaves him shuddering, eyes rolling back. Cock twitching and spitting.

And oh shit that's why everyone else likes it so much. That's why Cumulus always drags his hand to her throat, begs him to squeeze. That's why Mountain clenches down so hard on his cock when he does it while they're fucking. Dew gets it now.

[heyclickadee]

Okay, so, here's part one of however many of these "Tech's Alive" posts I’m going to write, but, before I get into it, I wanted to be really clear about my intentions: I'm not trying to get anyone's hope's up. Please take everything with a grain of salt. And I'm absolutely not trying to police the way that anyone feels about what happened. Everyone who was really attached to this character or who saw themselves in this character is dealing with this in their own way because, hey, potentially losing a character that you identified with or made you feel better about yourself sucks. For some people, that means ripping the bandaid off and assuming the worst, and that's valid. And I know that there are a lot of us out there who are feeling like Tech's character development this season happened only to twist the knife when they killed him, and feeling either betrayed or emotionally manipulated because of it. I could change my mind, but I'm personally choosing to disagree pretty strongly with that interpretation of the writers' intentions, but I do understand why people are feeling that way, and those feelings are valid, too. All I'm trying to do here is lay out my personal interpretations of the writers' intentions, and to make my case for why I believe with my whole heart that Tech's alive and on his way back. So.

Tech's Alive, Part One: The Terrain May Actually Be In Tech's Favor (content warning for death, injury, and frank but not graphic discussions of why extreme falls are often deadly):

Emphasis on "may" here, since we can't actually see much of it, and this is the weakest and least important piece of evidence. But, here goes.

Now that I've actually been able to feel my feelings about this whole thing, I have gone back and rewatched most of Plan 99, and something that struck me on rewatch was that the rail car doesn't appear to just be above a valley. We do see bits that are a long way down through some breaks in the clouds, and you have some main mountain peaks that are sticking up over the clouds, like the one connected to the main cable car station and the other with Tarkin's evil lair, but there are actually a number of smaller peaks just barely poking out above the clouds, including some fairly close to where Tech fell. This means that the terrain beneath the cloud cover, and into which Tech is falling the last time we see him, probably looks less like this:

(Apologies for the crappy drawings.)

And more like this:

This is a good thing.

There's a common misconception that someone who falls from an extreme height will be dead before they hit the ground. Now, people who fall can and sometimes do die during the fall, but it's not the falling itself that kills them. It's the panic. Or, rather, the potential heart attack that results from the panic, especially if they have a pre-existing heart condition. Or, if they're falling from high enough, asphyxiation due to the lack of oxygen at extreme (we're talking peak of Everest and above extreme) altitudes, but this is fairly rare. The "terminal" in terminal velocity doesn't refer to the speed at which falling becomes deadly; it refers to the point at which a falling object can no longer accelerate and will, if it doesn't experience an increase or decrease in friction or run into another object, maintain that speed through rest of the descent. No, it's not the fall that kills you--it's the landing.

Terminal velocity of a human body in a belly down, horizonal position is around 120 mph. With a human body in a more vertical position, it's closer to 150-180 mph. The sudden transition upon impact from either of those speeds to 0 mph ruptures pretty much everything necessary for, well, life almost instantly. So, what a person in freefall needs to survive the landing is something to slow their descent to survivable speeds before impact.

This is why Alan Magee, a WWII airman who survived a 22,000 foot fall, was able to survive. He crashed through the glass ceiling of a rail station, which slowed his descent enough that he was able to survive hitting the ground a second or two later. This is also, incidentally, why Hunter was able to survive his fall on Daros. The height from which he fell would be unsurvivable if he fell unimpeded, but we're shown that his fall is broken multiple times, by sliding down the cliff, hitting trees, etc, on the way down, meaning that he was never able to reach a speed at which the impact of the landing would have killed him and making his survival more plausible (even if his complete lack of serious injury isn't as much.)

Bringing this back around to Tech: Tech is falling and he needs to slow down. And, just before the camera cuts away from him, he does appear to be trying to do that; we see him throw his shoulders back and start to flip onto his stomach, which will slow him down, if not enough to survive. He’s willing to die to save his family, but he’s also trying to give himself the best chance. But if the terrain he's falling into really is dotted with mountains rather than being a straight fall into a flat valley, Tech’s got a good chance of not hitting the ground with a sudden, deadly impact. If Tech can fall into a slope, especially an extreme slope, that means his fall won't stop immediately.  He'll continue to fall, but it'll break his fall, and he'll have a much better chance of slowing his descent before final impact, or even of stopping gradually, all of which makes the fall more survivable. Furthermore, he's maybe still attached to that rail car, meaning:

1. The rail car could hit the same slope as Tech, but a little afterwads, meaning Tech would have already started to slide down and out of the way of the car. The car also has a better chance of hitting harder (being heavier) and gradually snagging on rocks or trees, providing Tech with a more gradual stop. Potentially. This is all potentially.

2. Tech could have climbed onto or into the railcar during the fall which, if it hits a slope, would either slide or roll to a stop rather than just stopping immediately, and could provide some protection against, again, rocks and trees.

3. Tech could fall into a crevasse and the rail car could get gradually wedged between the walls of the crevasse, slowing Tech's descent and giving him a chance to either climb up or cut himself free and fall a much smaller, more controlled, more survivable distance once he's stopped.

4. The trees at these altitudes are generally fairly thin--think lodgepole pines and krummholz and such. Meaning that the rail car could get snagged by one, but gradually, or that Tech's own fall would be repeatedly broken by branches.

5. Probably fifteen other scenarios I haven't thought of.

(This is all better than Tech maybe falling into water. We don't want him to fall into water, not unless he's slowed down a lot beforehand. Water doesn't compress--it moves out of the way, and it doesn't move fast enough to mitigate impact as much as you'd need to survive. The impact might not kill you, but it will probably knock you unconscious, so you'll drown anyway.)

Of course, you're probably wondering what the point of all of this is. I've been talking about how the terrain might affect the survivability of Tech's fall as though he's an actual flesh-and-blood human person and not a set of pixels in a Star War. So you're probably thinking hey! It's Star Wars! It doesn't matter how plausible survival is! And you would be absolutely right! I'm laying out why Tech surviving the fall from a practical point of view is, in fact, very plausible given what the terrain beneath the rail like might look like, but it's. It's Star Wars. Star Wars usually tries to give a semi-sorta-maybe-could-be-plausible explanation for why a character survives an unsurvivable situation--at least, one that kinda sorta maybe works in the confines of its own fictional universe, like, you know, Maul keeping himself alive with the force through the sheer power of his hatred (which is ridiculous but I accept it because it's star wars and there's magic just roll with it)--but not always. Deeefinitely not always. Maybe not even the majority of the time. Heck, Anakin used the force to literally bring Ahsoka back to life that one time, it’s all a free for all in there.

But, anyway, whether a character lives through a potentially unsurvivable situation has less to do with any handwaved plausibility and more to do with whether the storytellers want the character to survive. So while I do think there is an intentional measure of at least nodded-at plausibility to Tech's possible survival, it's not going to be as important as what J. Corbett and crew want to do with him. But, I'll admit, any potential plausibility does make me feel better.

Next up: The thing that everyone's already talked about so it's kind of moot, but I'm going to get into it anyway, because why not AKA The Goggles

[revnah1406]

Hey Rev! "Ghosts" and "Heartbreak" for Sparrow for the OC ask game!

Hey Khushiii!! 💞

Let's start!

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

What really hunts Sparrow is the K2 accident in 2020. She got dragged by an avalanche trying to save her brother Nathan, she sacrificed herself and got hit by a huge mountain of snow, the rocks, the shard ice, the fall, it caused several and serious injuries. The cold, the bleed, the lack of oxygen the fractures and broken bones. She stayed for several days in one the biggest and most dangerous mountains in the world, almost half dead. Due to the huge lack of oxygen, she started to suffer what it's called high altitude cerebral edema, she suffered hallucinations, dizziness, she even fell unconscious a couple of times. She had to force herself to drag herself down hill with a broken leg, searching lower altitudes. She stayed there, suffering the cold and snowstorms for three whole days, until finally a rescue team could find her miraculously.

The accident haunts her on her worst nights, she has nightmares, hallucinations, sometimes she even feels the cold and that lack of oxygen.

She of course went to therapy and managed to control those emotions and panic attacks. She still has those nightmares, but with time she managed to handle them better.

She doesn't like to talk about it. She tries to hide it as best as possible. She almost loses her life and her brother in that mountain, and it affects her a lot.

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

Mmmhh maybe when she was a teenager, not a relationship, maybe it was one thing for one night. She had a huge crush on a girl from the same class, and one day during a party Sparrow managed to steal a kiss from her and spent the night with that girl. She was super happy and excited. She finally could have something with the girl she liked. But the next day she woke up alone in that bed. She tried to text her or call her but nothing. She got ghosted. With time she found out that that girl just wanted to sleep with her just to know how it feels to sleep with another girl. Sparrow was used for just pure curiosity. Like a toy, used and thrown away.

It hurt her, it was the first time she fell in love and she got kicked in the stomach. That humiliation and embarrassment, made her close her heart in romantic aspects. She never had a serious relationship until she met Amara.

She still had drama with Amara, and she broke her heart a little bit, but Sparrow kinda deserved it, because she did something that was wrong (DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA), but in the end everything went well. Amara and Sparrow are together and they are a happy couple hehehehe.

I'm writing a fic, about Sparrow and Amara, how they met and how they felt in love, there's a lot of drama hehehehehe. I hope I can post it soon!!

I think that's all! Thank you so much for the ask love!!

[javier-pena]

take

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (that means 18+/no minors!!)

Summary: Javi and you are enjoying breakfast on his yacht until things take an unexpected turn.

Warnings: mentions of food | thigh riding | dirty talk | orgasm delay/denial | public sex (I’m sure what they’re doing is actually illegal) | daddy kink | implied sugar daddy Javi Gutierrez | Javi is a Tease (capital T to show how serious his crimes are) | Javi in that orange shirt

Notes: I saw a picture of Javi and all I could think was, “I wanna feed him berries”. So that’s the reason I wrote this fic. That’s the only excuse I have. Oh and also that I want Javi to call me a bad girl but whatever, we don’t need to talk about that. Anyway, as always, I owe most of this to Dani @javierpcna​, literally everything I write should come with Dani’s name listed as co-author, her support knows no bounds, she literally drops everything when I send her a fic to proofread, and this was no different. And she also lets me use her brilliant lines from time to time, for which I can never repay her.

Notes II: I have neither seen the movie nor have I read the script, so if there are any spoilers in there (I doubt it) I didn’t put them in intentionally.

Notes III: Artwork by @honestly-shite​ | Moodboard by @frankiemorales​

***

One.

He lets you feed him one berry, but only after you tell him how good they taste, how they melt on your tongue, how they fill your mouth with a soft sweetness. He raises an eyebrow at that, and you know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he takes the small blueberry from your outstretched fingers, leaning on the laden breakfast table to make it easier for you to reach him. The berry is so small it’s impossible for him to pull it in between his lips without the tip of your finger vanishing, too. You shudder at the sensation, shudder despite the heat, despite the hotness of his tongue brushing against your sensitive skin.

Javi hates breakfast. He hates dedicating time during his busy day, during the mornings when he feels most productive, to eating when it can be done en passant. You keep telling him it’s not healthy to eat while he’s distracted, and you’ve been trying to convince him to have breakfast with you for a few weeks now.

Why, babe? You said distraction is bad for me when I eat.

He still doesn’t eat during the mornings, only drinks his heavy, smoky, black coffee, but he keeps you company now whenever he can. He reads to you from the morning paper, he tells you about his plans for the day, or he listens to you talking about a dream you had last night or about things you would like to do with him one day. And today … today he even made time to take you out on his yacht, to anchor it in a secluded bay where there’s no noise except the lapping of the waves against the bright white hull of the ship and the cries of the seagulls circling above, hoping to snatch a crumb of the croissant on your plate. Today, he’s made time to be with you.

Two.

You try it again, another berry, another taste of sweetness, another burst of flavor and color and sugary juices. This time it becomes clear he’s chasing something else, craving something else, as he sucks on your finger, just for a brief moment, just under the pretense of getting the sticky juice off your skin, but he also isn’t shy about it, he also doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. Your skin prickles when he releases the digit, and you pull your hand back across the table too quickly, too hastily. He notices and leans back on his expensive outdoor couch with a satisfied sigh.

You dry your finger against the hot skin of your leg, already burning up with the heat of the approaching day, even though you keep to the shadows. Only your feet rest on an empty chair in direct sunlight, while you keep the rest of your body safe under a wide canopy. Javi is doing the complete opposite. He’s lounging in direct sunlight, and you’ll never understand how he can stand it. Your skin always starts to tickle and itch from the heat, while he looks like he was made to live in a Mediterranean country and spend his days in the sun.

The bright, orange shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned to expose half his chest. His bronze skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot tear your eyes away from it, imagining what it would feel like to run your fingers over it, how hot it would feel under your hands, how he would sigh and relax into your touch. His chest is your favorite place in the entire world. You feel safe when you rest your hand on it, when he softly runs his fingers along your arm, tells you how beautiful you look, how he will always take care of you, no matter what, how you’ll never need to worry about anything ever again because you’re his and he’s yours. And you feel oh so secure when you’re trapped under it, when you feel its weight pressing down on you, when your sharp nails leave angry, red scratches on his soft skin as he whispers into your ear – encouraging, soothing, filthy.

Three.

You want to see it move, see the muscles flex and strain as he leans forward again to accept a third berry from you. And this time he’s not shy about it anymore. This time, he does suck your finger in between his lips, the berry forgotten, and you see his eyes widen behind his dark sunglasses. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight. He releases your finger with a wet pop and suddenly this isn’t enough. Suddenly you need more, more of him, but you lower your gaze to your plate instead to hide your shining eyes. There is a time and place for these things and the deck of his yacht in broad daylight isn’t it.

But you cannot deny what your body wants, even though your mind tells the aching between your legs to shut up. You push yourself out of your chair fast and within a few steps you’re leaning against the railing, hoping to catch a breeze to soothe your flushed face. But there is none, only unbearable heat.

When you turn around again, you feel a different kind of heat; Javi’s gaze is on you as he takes you in. You know he loves to do this, especially when you’re wearing something he bought you, like you’re doing this morning – an expensive black bikini that leaves little to the imagination, one you found on your bed one morning with a small note that made you shudder, so you decided to save it for a special occasion. And you were right to do so because he’s unable to tear his eyes away from you.

You walk back to the table as slowly as possible, determined to finish breakfast, but something pulls you toward him, like an invisible rope slung around your waist, like his gaze is enough to make you lose all sense of control. And before you know it, you’re straddling his thigh, while he pulls you into a kiss, one that lasts forever yet not long enough, one that sets you on fire more than the sun on your back yet makes you want to expose more skin so more of you will get burned.  

The second his teeth release your lip his hands fly up to rest against your hips, his grip firm but easy to get out of if you wanted to. “Is there something you wanted, baby?” he asks you, innocence written all over his face, as if he truly is completely unaware of the effect he has on you, of the things he makes you want to do when his eyes follow you around like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You bite your lip, bite the spot that still feels raw from where he sucked on it moments earlier, and then you start rolling your hips, start chasing the friction to relieve some of the hot, searing pressure that’s been building between your legs since he sucked your finger into his mouth. You see his eyes lower dangerously when he realizes what it is you want from him, and everything shifts, shifts as if the yacht is hit by a strong wave. You’re all too familiar with this change and you know exactly what it means, and what it entails.

One of your hands lands on the collar of his shirt out of its own free will, your fingers clawing at the material in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. The palm of your other hand presses against his warm, sun-kissed chest, your nails eager to leave marks on his skin. But instead of pressing into your touch, he leans back and watches you with mild interest.

This is all the permission you need. You grind your hips with a sense of purpose now, and when you feel the muscles of his leg tense between yours, a small whimper escapes your lips.

He smirks at you, and you know his eyes are sparkling, even though you can’t really see them. “Come on,” he urges you, pressing up into you, “make yourself feel good.”

With a desperate moan, your head falls onto his shoulder, your forehead scraping against his shirt, and you bite your lip because it’s the only thing stopping you from biting the exposed skin of his neck. You know he’d like that, he likes it when you are rough with him, but it also unleashes something in him you want to keep locked away today. You know it’s selfish and greedy, but all you want to do this morning is take, and not think about him.

He makes that resolve very difficult to keep.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks you, a hand at the back of your neck, trying to get you to lift your head.

You don’t answer him, you can’t, but you indulge him and lift your head again. You pick up the pace, determined to show him how much you like it, how good it makes you feel, but he only smirks at you again, like he doesn’t need an answer anyway, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And suddenly, suddenly that selfish streak is gone, and you want him closer to you, all over you, inside of you. You don’t care that you have to give up the last bit of control you cling to, and give yourself over completely to him, you don’t care that it’s broad daylight and that another boat could sail into your tiny bay any second now, you don’t care about being discovered or about this being, strictly speaking, illegal. You just care about him fucking you like he does when he has you to himself, sprawled out under him, trapping you with his broad chest and toned arms, forcing you to take whatever he gives you.

But before you can tell him any of that, the hand at the back of your neck is gone and he lifts up his sunglasses and tosses them aside, so you can look right into his eyes, so you can see that you’re not the only one who’s affected by all of this. His gaze roams all over you, from your eyes shining with hazy lust to your legs squeezing around his thigh and your hips rolling with an urgency, pushing you steadily closer to finding the release you’re chasing. But this isn’t enough, you both know that; it’s enough to keep the fire going, but not enough to push you over the edge.

His free hand brushes against the exposed skin of your belly, his fingers run along the seam of your bikini top, and you push yourself forward, willing him to cup your breasts, pinch your nipples, anything, anything to relieve the ache and burning, the feverish craving you feel for his touch, his lips, his words that leave no doubt about who is in control. But he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, his hand moves to your back to steady you, to hold you in place, and all he does is toy with the strap of your top holding everything in place at the back of your neck.

You don’t know what makes you look down to where your bodies are connected, but you do, and he follows your gaze. You both watch as a dark patch forms on the light fabric of his slacks, as it spreads more and more with each thrust of your hips.

“You’re making a mess,” Javi breathes quietly, so quietly you almost don’t catch it over the sound of the water against the yacht’s hull. His gaze is transfixed, his attention is on the evidence of your arousal as he watches with great interest. You feel heat spread from your chest along your arms and up your neck to your face, but you don’t stop.

“Look at you, princess,” he goes on, his left hand gripping your side tighter to slow you down until you drag yourself along his leg painfully slowly. “Look at how you’re getting daddy’s trousers all wet, they’re probably ruined now.” He pauses at your sharp intake of breath. There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he speaks next. “You’re a bad girl.”

You’re pretty sure the sound you make isn’t human. He lets go of your side and rests his hand on your thigh, letting you set the pace again.

“Please,” you whine, and you don’t quite know why you say it, what you want him to do, you just know he needs to do something, or you’ll go crazy. “Please, Javi,” you repeat. “Please, just … touch me,” you finish, and it’s stupid, he is touching you, just not in the way you mean, but you cannot come up with anything else to say.

“You’re always so greedy,” he observes, not making any move to fulfil your request. “I’m already giving you what you want and still you want more. Don’t you want to be daddy’s good girl?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You wouldn’t know your own name if he asked you right now. Not because of the things he’s saying but because he raises his leg ever so slightly to push up against your clit and every coherent thought you might have had is drowned out by incoherent sounds leaving your mouth. You press down against him, grinding down with so much force he’s bound to lower his leg. Only … he doesn’t.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” he says, a picture of calmness and poise. “Can you repeat that for me?”

You absolutely cannot because you can’t remember what you said in the first place, but you give it another try. “Javi, please, give me something,” you swallow, “anything. Touch me, please.”

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds strained now, like uttering that two-letter word takes a lot of effort. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you say again, knowing it won’t be enough. “Please, I can’t …”

“Why not?” he wants to know.

“It’s not enough, I ...,” you swallow again, your throat completely dry, “why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even trying to get yourself off,” Javi chuckles. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you tell him, but it’s nothing more than a desperate whine.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asks you.

And he’s right, it is, it was ten minutes ago when you thought all you had to do was look pretty and he’d fuck you, but now that he’s seen right through you, now that he has decided he doesn’t want to give you anything more than he has to, it isn’t anymore. You want so much more than this, and you know there’s just one way to get it.

With a small movement you change your position slightly until you roll your hips against where he’s straining against the fabric of his slacks, and a low hiss is your reward, followed by a sharp slap to your ass that makes your hips stutter, and you lose your steady rhythm. Both his hands are on your hips again and he pushes you down hard against the firm muscles of his thigh.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he tells you. “I’m gonna give you what you came here for, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Javi,” you groan.

His hands move your hips, his arms straining with the effort of keeping you in place, and you let him, even though all you can think about is his hard cock only inches away from you. You think about him pushing into you, about the filthy, wet sounds it would make, about how he’s the only one who can reach so deep inside of you he makes you see stars with every thrust.

“All right,” Javi says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You can have it.”

You’re sure you misheard. You’re sure he didn’t just say that. After all he’s put you through, he won’t give in that easily. But you clench around nothing nevertheless, clench around thin air at the thought of him inside of you.

“Later,” he adds, and your heart almost stops. “I’m gonna fill your pretty mouth, but only if you’re good for me.”

You want to, you’re trying to, but you cannot do this anymore. If he’s not going to touch you, if he won’t fuck you, you have to do it yourself.

One of your hands leaves his strong shoulders and you frantically push the fabric of your swimsuit aside, pressing a finger against your aching clit. You moan in relief, but it only lasts a moment, because his left hand closes tightly around your wrist without any warning, and he twists your arm until he has it in a firm grip pressed against your back. The ring he wears on his little finger digs painfully into your soft skin.

“You were doing so well,” he says with a disappointed sigh.

“It’s not –,” you start, but you’re not allowed to finish the sentence.

“No, it is enough,” he tells you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

But he does reach up, he does pull the string of your top until it comes loose and your tits spill out. He lets go of your arm but before you can decide what to do with your newfound freedom, his fingers close around your throat at the same time as his mouth closes around one of your nipples.

That’s all it takes.

You arch your back with a scream and come right there on his thigh in broad daylight, while he holds you in place with hands and mouth. It goes on forever, or at least it feels like that, and he’s unrelenting, first sucking one nipple into his mouth, then biting down hard on the other. When it becomes clear he’s not planning on stopping, you grab a fistful of his soft curls and pull him away from your chest with a sharp tug.

“Had enough?” he asks, his lips shiny and slightly swollen.

You nod slowly because you don’t trust your voice right now.

“Well, I haven’t,” he growls. “And I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”

taglist: @badbatches​, @darksber​, @doin-stuff​, @filthybookworm​, @for-my-satisfaction​, @frannyzooey​, @javigutierrez​, @karkii​, @pann-malii​, @raspberrymama​, @silksaddle​, @skeletonstwins​, @skyshipper​, @sunnydunnydays​