#mine is that i suddenly can't read

[gilraina]

I posted 11,369 times in 2022

That's 2,830 more posts than 2021!

41 posts created (0%)

11,328 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wolfcat-hybrid

@stubbornasacat

@somethingintheforest

@phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess

@koito-yuu

I tagged 467 of my posts in 2022

#dracula - 68 posts

#eurovision - 58 posts

#earthspark - 38 posts

#podfic - 36 posts

#transformers - 18 posts

#megop week - 12 posts

#megop - 11 posts

#skystar - 10 posts

#macaddam - 10 posts

#starscream - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#i have to read something out loud in class or find some information in a book and the words are all gibberish and change constantly

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Author: stifledlaughter (@stifledlaughterao3​)

Fandom: Transformers: Prime

Rating: General

Relationship: Megatron/Optimus Prime

Length: 00:17:40

Summary:

Megatron's head lolled back worryingly. It was so cold, and he was fading so fast.

With nothing else to be had, Optimus fell back on who he was at his core. A lover of stories, memory-keeping, and someone who believed in the strength of tales.

"I'm going to tell you a story, and you're going to listen," he said firmly, grabbing Megatron's shoulders and shaking them. The disgruntled clanking echoed as Megatron grumbled, but didn't protest aloud, which alarmed Optimus more than if he had.

23 notes - Posted May 18, 2022

#4

Author: eternal_night_owl (@seeker-of-the-stars​)

Fandom: Transformers (G1)

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Starscream/Skyfire

Length: 00:28:56

Summary: Starscream hears that his former friend Skyfire is dating none other than Optimus Prime, and reacts about as well as you would expect

25 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

#3

Author: redseeker (@redseeker​)

Fandom: Transformers Animated

Rating: General

Relationship: Blitzwing/Bumblebee

Length: 00:16:40

Summary: Bumblebee rushes to Blitzwing's side after the triple-changer is damaged in battle. Carrying on a cross-faction relationship isn't easy, but Bumblebee has a knack for doing things the hard way.

27 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#2

I just finished reading The Magic of Cybertron and I know I'm super late but

See the full post

378 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

About AO3’s Related Works feature, how it works, and why the Approve button is really really important you guys pls I’m begging you to click it

If you post your works to AO3, there may come a day when someone creates something inspired by your work: a translation, podfic, fanart, remix, etc. If they post it to AO3 and mark it as inspired by your work, you should get an email* like this:

Notice the link: Approve relationship and link back to this work from your work. It will lead to your Related Works tab. You can also access it from your dashboard on AO3. There, you will find all the works marked as related to your works, and next to them, the Approve button. If you click it, it will create a link from your work to the related work - in the opening notes if it’s a translation, or below the end notes if it’s anything else, like so:

See the full post

964 notes - Posted January 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[iraqueer]

Herman Melville writing about a painting of a ship that gets destroyed by a whale that's is in a whale themed inn owned by a guy named coffin and having a preacher talk about a biblical whale eating a prophet as punishment during the funeral of a bunch of whalers

[gingerbreadmonsters]

literally idk how many times i have to say it - LOOK LIKE A BOT, GET BLOCKED LIKE A BOT

[mai-library]

After 3 hours of driving we realized that we were lost, yet Brian still refused to admit this fact to himself and everyone else in the car. The thing is, we had known it was a terrible idea to allow him behind the wheel as he refused to follow directions provided, but he was the only one who had remembered to renew his license, so really, he was the only option. Except he was obviously a terrible option in hindsight and we all came this realization as we drove past a group of houses that was nowhere near the university where Kara was graduating from. Yet, no one in the vehicle spoke up to correct Brian on the path he was taking, maybe because we knew he wouldn’t listen, or maybe because we simply didn’t want the drive to end. Not even Kara spoke up from the passenger seat, and she was most likely going to miss her graduation ceremony.

I understood where they were coming from in all honesty. If I could get this drive to last into eternity I would. I would bask in the windows being down and the music blasting through the speakers as we shuffled through Cassie’s carefully curated playlist, becasue by the end of the week, we would no longer have any of this. We would all be gone to different countries where car rides to celebrate each other’s achievements would no longer exist. A deep ache swells within my chest as I stare out the window, not wanting to look at people I will no longer know for as long as I wanted to. 

As I begin opening my mouth to beg Brian to keep driving and never stop, to allow the car to run out of gas, my surroundings become familiar. The library that is a block away from the university comes into view and my heart sinks. One step closer to becoming strangers again, and yet I can say nothing to request Brian to make a U-turn in the middle of the street and get us far away from an ending. Brian pulls into the university parking and Kara swiftly exits the vehicle and makes her way to sign in, not once looking back at the three of us still strapped into the car. And maybe that says more about the end of our era than this ceremony ever will.

[shebsart]

Im sick with flu so naturally I picked up my newly bought copy of Howl's Moving Castle which includes DWJ interviews in the back.

And im in love with the way she tells these stories feels like a part of her books.

And my favorite:

The magic in the mundane :)

edit: I'm copying the ID by @princess-of-purple-prose below, thank you!

[ID: Excerpts of printed text which read:

I suppose there's also a biographical element in that Sophie is the eldest of three sisters, and so am I. The idea for Sophie grew out of the time I discovered I had a very severe milk allergy. I almost lost the use of my legs and had to walk with the aid of a stick. I was moderately young, but because of this I suddenly became old.

I had to wait until I knew what Wizard Howl was like. I began to discover Howl about the time when one of my sons took to spending several hours in the bathroom every morning and I got really, really, really annoyed with him.

Where were you when you wrote it? I wrote the book the way I write everything, stretched out on the big sofa in my sitting room, in everyone's way. This often annoys my husband rather a lot.

which made me burst out laughing. I laughed and laughed at the seven league boot, and when I came to the bit where Sophie accidentally makes Howl's suit twenty times too big for him, I laughed so much that I fell off the sofa. My husband was really irritated by this time. He snapped, "You can't be making yourself laugh!" And I gasped, "But I am, I am!" and rolled about on the floor.

Are any of your relatives or friends included in the book? Yes, well the thing that started me off writing the book was a friend of mine who never does her laundry. She has it around the place in huge bags for often as much as a year. When she does tip it all out and try to wash it, she discovers all sorts of clothes that she has forgotten she had.

Which is your favourite part of the book and why? I like the book all over, but I suppose if I had to choose a bit, I'd choose the place where Howl gets a cold. It so happened that when I was writing this bit, my husband caught a bad cold. He is the world's most histrionic cold catcher. He moans, he coughs, he piles on the pathos, he makes strange noises, he blows his nose exactly like a bassoon in a tunnel, he demands bacon sandwiches at all hours, and he is liable to appear (usually wrapped in someone else's dressing gown) at any time, announcing that he is dying of neglect and boredom. So all I had to do was write it down. End ID]

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[chuluoyi]

i love your comedy and fluff! but my masochistic heart is itching for more angst to fluff for gojo🥲 and i have this brainrot ever since i read "baby", "protect" and "wife": childbirth gone wrong, that's why he is sooo concerned about your wellbeing during your maternity leave~

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 09:45 P.M 」

tw: childbirth. there are two very same ask for this now and so that's the cue for me to practice my crack/angst more :3 okay this is basically an extended version of protect's epilogue and oh, it's a happy ending! mini sequel -> 11.10 p.m

a part of gojo's love entries

“you’re always doing whatever you want! ow!”

“deep breaths, sweets. deep brea—”

“easy for you to say! you don't contribute anything other than shoving that damn stick into me! and now i’m left with the consequences!”

“i kindly remind you that you very much enjoyed my stick that night—”

“i hate you!”

satoru looked at your tear-streaked face and patted you in the head—his notable love language, erupting into laughter. “of course you do.”

lying on the hospital bed, tears welled up in your eyes as you roasted your husband and your contractions kept getting closer together. three hours after you woke up to your labor pains, all you could feel was that you were ready to burst.

gripping his hand tight, you purposefully dig your nails in just to spite him. “i’m serious. i hate you. you’re not putting me up for this again!”

“you say that now, but the moment we are home, those words are going to be null and void,” satoru snorted in an attempt to lighten the mood, ignoring the slight pain you inflicted on him, because what was this compared to what you were going through?

but his facade dropped as soon as breath was knocked out of you and you whimpered. he instantly gathered you in his arms.

“hey, hey... take deep breaths...” when you did, he planted a tender kiss on your damp forehead. “that's it, there you go... the baby's going to be here real soon, okay?”

you panted, limp in his hold as dull pain overwhelmed you. “yeah... your baby.”

“our baby, love. not just mine,” he corrected, smiling. he had one hand on your swollen belly, palming the subtle firmness, and gently rubbing it. “our munchkin.”

“i’m just the container though.”

“heh, no,” he chuckled softly. “you're everything.” his eyes crinkled affectionately, a hint of laughter still in his voice, and your heart actually melted when he whispered: “my everything.”

truthfully, despite your bravado, you were scared shitless. yet, as you nestled your head against your husband's strong chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his reassuring heartbeat, and when you gazed into his eyes, you were sure, because he exuded confidence as if he had no doubts that this was going to go perfectly fine.

and so holding onto him you did. he held your hand through it all, talked you through your pain, and you were so, so grateful to have him by your side.

the next hour was a blur, as excruciating pain blinded your senses. you were wailing when everyone told you to push, and you gave it your all. you kept it up even as you felt like being torn apart.

and before you knew it, cries unlike any other, ones you had only imagined until that moment, echoed through the room.

“he's here!” satoru's hitched voice reached your ears, and you went slack, falling back to the sheets.

you were completely spent and all you could register was that the cherished baby both you and satoru had been waiting for was here. you shivered, your mind tuning in and out—lightheaded, wondering why you felt so drenched down there.

“holy shit! i can't believe it! i can’t—” if you were awake enough, you would realize that it was one of the rarest times when satoru was choked with emotions. he turned to you. “i—”

and suddenly you felt strange. an eerie chill seemed to engulf your entire being. your hand slipped from satoru's grasp as your vision dimmed, the world growing darker.

“are you okay? hey—” his voice sounded distant, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. satoru finally realized that something was wrong, as his six eyes discerned the rapid dwindling of your cursed energy, and the room reeked of the tangy scent of blood.

you barely made out the nurse's shouting next. “blood pressure is dropping!”

"come on!" now he was utterly panicked and tried to get a hold of you, shaking you slightly. “hey, stay awake—look at me, i’m right here, please—”

but to his horror, your head lolled back as you lost your consciousness. soon, he was thrown out of the delivery room. just like that, in one sick twist, his world was crumbling down hard and fast.

a sense of helplessness washed over him as he stood outside the room, barred from being by your side. inside, you were bleeding out, and he was unable to do anything but wait.

didn't he say he would protect you with everything he had? once again, gojo satoru was humbled—not everything was in his grasp. he couldn't save those chosen by fate not to be saved.

suddenly, it felt like suguru all over again, except the stakes were higher. he shuddered—his fist clenched so hard that it drew blood, while his other hand clutched his chest, desperately willing the searing pain away.

would he really lose you this way? the sheer thought made his ears ring. no fucking way. even hell knows he'd go berserk. would fate really let him decimate anything in his path? surely, no... right?

he was unaware that he had been murmuring these silent prayers when the doors slid open, revealing the doctor who had been assisting with your delivery earlier with the news. it was a case of a postpartum hemorrhage, she said, an unfortunate incident.

all things considered, you were going to be okay. that knowledge alone was enough to make him breathe freely once more.

when he was allowed to see you, the moment your eyes blinked open, the first thing he did was burying his head in the crook of your neck.

and there you have it—the first time you had ever seen him really shaken to the point of shedding tears.

“you scared me,” he rasped, voice thick with emotion. “i—i can't stop thinking— if you really left me—”

“i’m fine now...” you were somewhat wonderstruck by the knowledge that you had this potent hold over him. oblivious to how your soft voice calmed the depths of his soul, you stroked his hair, and he breathed in your scent, grateful to every force imaginable for returning you back to him.

“sleep,” he gently pulled away, his eyes rimmed with red, his fingers caressing your cheek. “you need it. i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.”

“the baby—”

“they just cleaned him up. he's resting too,” satoru reassured with an impossibly tender smile, and his next words made your heart lurch.

“my strong girl, you did it. you're a mother now… thank you. thank you... for making me the father to our child.”

you felt like you might burst into tears. you felt so loved, so secure, even after you went through the most challenging ordeal in your life. and as you drifted to your rest, you could hear the love of your life whisper in your ear ever so lovingly—

“i know i have said it before, but i’ll say it again. with everything it is that i have, i swear to you, nothing will befall you and our baby, for i will spare nothing and give everything for both of you... even my own life.”

[moonlight1110]

Needy bf!Simon Coming Home from Deployment

Bf!Simon x Reader thoughts bc it's been a hot min since I last posted :')

Tags: afab!reader, smut, NSFW, far from canon Simon, not proofread, no reader dialogue, quick read

Notes: just thought I'd try to post something small, I can't for the life of me come up with a solid plot for a fic TT but I hope y'all enjoy these little drabbles

Bf!Simon is always rather quiet the first few days of being home from deployment. He needs his relaxation after a long few months of being away and needs that time to reacquaint himself with the home you two share.

He will eat dinner with you, chat and help with the chores but he goes straight to bed when he's done, quickly falling asleep even before you could get the chance to say goodnight or cuddle.

The first few days are always a bit of a rollercoaster, but you're used to it at this point, and he appreciates that even though he doesn't voice it out.

One night though, when you joined him in bed after a quick shower to freshen up, he wasn't asleep like he was the past few days after coming home, this was made evident when you had suddenly felt his strong arms wrap around your midsection, his chest pressed against your back as he held you close.

"Love..." He mumbled, his hot breath fanning over your nape as he began to press gentle kisses against your skin, his hands slowly roaming over your clothed body, splaying over your belly as he pressed himself closer.

"Missed you so much..." He mumbled, his voice low and gravelly all the while gently trailing his hand lower, caressing the soft skin of your thighs as his hand travelled beneath the silk fabric of your nightgown.

He was driven by the way you gasped and whimpered from his touch, his lips ever so gentle as his kisses trailed to your shoulders, taking the strap of your nightgown between his teeth as he gently pulled it down, leaving your skin exposed.

Simon wasted no time, not in any mood to tease. All he wanted to do was feel you against him, feel your skin against his own and claim you again. He was a man starved, though he didn't outwardly show it.

"M'sorry... That I haven't been loving you the way you deserve, pretty girl... Just needed some time to rest..." He explained, his words muffled slightly as he pressed kisses on your skin, whispering promises of pleasure and praise in your ear.

He gently cupped your mound beneath the nightgown, earning him a gasp from your lips which made him groan in satisfaction as he gently rubbed his fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling your heat even through the fabric.

His free hand trailed up until he reached the top of your nightgown, pulling it down to free your breasts. He wasted no time in cupping one in his hand, humming in satisfaction as he felt the weight of the plump breast in his palm.

"Beautiful..." He whispered, his breath against your ear as he gently rolled your sensitive nipple beneath his thumb, pinching it and caressing it with a gentleness he always had with you.

Meanwhile, his other hand lowered itself, sliding past the waistband of your underwear, his fingers immediately finding your clit and rolling it between his middle and ring finger, coating them with your slick.

"Can't fuck you the way y'need tonight, baby... But I promise I'll make it up to you..." He whispered against the shell of your ear, his hands working in tandem to bring you pleasure with slow and languid motions, his rough hands adding a layer of pleasurable texture against your sensitive clit.

The hand that was on your breast had moved lower, gently lifting your leg up to allow for more access as his fingers teased at your entrance, swirling around the throbbing muscles.

"Gonna take care of you, baby... You're so gorgeous like this... All mine..." He promised, his words quiet and rough against your skin as he slowly pushed two fingers inside your aching pussy. The feeling made you groan, toes curling at how unfamiliar they felt from being away from him for so long.

"That's it, pretty girl... Just relax and let me in... Missed this pretty pussy, baby... Missed being inside you..." He whispered, planting gentle kisses all across your skin as he began to stretch you open on his fingers, spreading your walls slowly to prepare you.

You could feel his growing bulge behind you, pressing against your ass as he fucked you on his fingers but you knew he'd be saving it for when he was ready enough to fuck you properly, for now, he was focused on using his fingers.

"Good girl... Taking my fingers so fucking good... Need to stretch you open before I fuck you tomorrow, baby... I promise I'll make you feel like I never left..."

[ddejavvu]

mean!logan noticing you’re obsessed with his biceps so he makes you use them to get off one day >:)))

Greed - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: mean!logan, degradation, arm/bicep fucking, strength/power imbalance, don't like don't read

thank you to @hanasnx for helping me workshop some possible positions, even if mine differs slightly from indy's 2 examples i had to consult the arm kink professional for guidance

"'Wish you'd speak up for yourself," Logan grunts one day, voice free of criticism but scrutinizing all the same, "Would be a hell of a lot easier to get you off."

"What?" You blink bewilderedly at him, watching as he slings a wife beater over his head, the white fabric barely stretching to cover his broad chest.

"Every time I flex my arms in front of you, you get all crazy. You never say it," Logan stands at the foot of the bed, watching as you squirm, "But I always smell it."

"Your arms are nice." You supply weakly, throat suddenly dry and hollow, "I like them."

"I know." Logan laughs, a huff that's not mean but might as well be for the way it mortifies you, "Like I said, I can tell. But you never say anything, honey. Why's that?"

You detest the way his attention is fixated solely on you. It makes you writhe in your seat, it makes an ache throb between your legs while your brain desperately grasps at straws to figure out what to say.

"I dunno," Is the brilliant response you land on, and his chest rocks with a silent scoff.

"I know why," He prods, crossing his arms. The arms that you can't stop thinking about. "You think talking about what you like is dirty, and you think you're oh-so-pure. But I can smell you- you smell filthy. You're no saint. I've had you choking on my cock before, you're not fooling me. So what do you want?"

Your eyes fall to his arms without any thought behind the motion. He notices, of course, because he's studying you for any miniscule reaction.

"That's not enough." Logan growls, frustration tinging his gruff voice, and you're sure he's smelling the growing arousal between your thighs, "I said tell me."

"I- I want..." You falter, the words on the tip of your tongue but more raunchy than you'd ever be brave enough to voice.

"If you can't ask for it, you're not getting it." Logan decides, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he tightens the way they're crossed against his chest.

You consider abandoning ship. Seceding into silence, and letting Logan down as well as yourself. Taking the safe route.

But you're throbbing. You're aching, Logan's scrutiny combined with the look of his flexed arms is sending you into overdrive, and there's a steady heartbeat between your thighs that's begging for attention. It works the same way booze does, emboldening you, and you blurt out with courage never-before-seen, "I want to ride your arms."

He looks half impressed that you'd said anything at all, and half stunned that you'd said that much, that plainly.

His brows raise, bushy and angled to create a perfect arch.

"Wow. Pretty nasty stuff." He muses, faux-considerate as if he hadn't demanded a voice from you. Still, he doesn't move- so why had he asked?

You shift gently in your seat, but his eyes track your every move like a hunter.

"Well," He lingers in place, arms still crossed, the perfect eye-candy for you, "You gonna say please, or what?"

"Please," You blurt with burning cheeks, and he snickers at your eagerness.

"See? You're not so sweet." He advances, arms coming uncrossed to brace his weight on the bed, meaning thick cords of muscle strain against the confines of his skin, showcased as he crawls towards you, "You couldn't even remember to say please, just demanded to get off on me like I'm some toy."

"Logan, that's not-"

"Inconsiderate." He decides, eyes on your body instead of your face as he scans over your thinly-clad chest, "You're only in it for the sex, aren't you, you little minx?"

"Stop." You plead, feeling as dirty as his words imply. You're not- Logan is the love of your life, but you won't pretend you hate sex with him. But he's making you feel so dirty, like a fiend who wants nothing but his dick.

His hand trails between your thighs but it's different this time, and his fingers toy with your clit only as a prerequisite. You let him open you up, you let his fingers ease your muscles looser as his mouth eases your own loose. His tongue dips inside and licks you into submission, your brain activity lowering the more he kisses you. He soon snakes his arm between your legs, offering you up your real prize: the thick, muscular width of his bicep.

It's an awkward angle, you won't lie. But squeezing your thighs around his arm presses delicious friction against your clit, and the rocking of your hips is an instinct more than it is a thought-out motion.

Logan rests on his stomach on the bed, his arm stretched out in front of him to provide your seat. It means he has to crane upwards to see you, and you thank his supernatural strength for the way that he doesn't break a sweat as you rub yourself wantonly on his arm. His face is not exactly at your own level, which means you can't kiss him silly like you want to. But craning his neck upwards means that his face lands between your tits, and you feel the rough burn of his scruff against your skin as he nestles into your warm skin.

Logan is, perhaps, the ideal individual to suit your cravings for arm muscles. Not only does he have the perfect build, but his increased strength means that he's able to bare his bicep for you to get off on, even lifting it off of the bed to offer you increased friction. Perhaps a normal man would tire in seconds, but Logan- Logan could hold on longer than you.

Grinding against the plentiful mass of muscle in his bicep means that you're rutting up against him, and you have to spread your legs as far apart as possible to ensure that your cunt is met with the already-slickened surface of Logan's bare arm. You're making a mess despite still being in your pajamas, because the shorts you'd been sleeping in offer very little fabric to defend Logan's skin from your copious arousal.

Logan nips at a spot on your left breast, humming gruffly into your chest as you gasp slightly at the intrusion. It breaks your concentration and you have to grip harder at the sheets to fall back into your laborious rhythm.

"Not easy, hm? You've gotta work for it," Logan grunts, mouth moving against your chest as he takes a nipple into his mouth, "Nasty girl, 's a real workout to fuck this dirty, isn't it?"

"Logan, I- I'm not dirty," You whimper, tears beading in your eyes at his gruff accusations, "I'm not."

His laugh is more of a bark than anything, and he ducks his head away from your chest to point with his chin at the mess you're making on his arm.

"That's not dirty? You're dripping- you're making a real mess'a my arm, sweetheart. Dirty little cunt's drooling all over me."

The image of your slick coating Logan's arm, glistening against his muscles throws your pleasure into overdrive. Your orgasm rapidly approaches, the memory of his fingers inside of you only minutes before making up completely for the lack of penetration you get from his bicep. You squeeze your thighs even tighter around Logan's arm, pinning it to your cunt with an almost painful force as you hump against it desperately.

"You're fucking filthy." Logan hisses against your tits, taking one in between his teeth and biting, hard, "Humping my arm like a damn dog. Feel good, honey? Feel how strong I am?"

He flexes harder, tenses his muscles just that much more, and you feel them stiffen impossibly harder beneath your pussy. It's that and the way he mouths at your tits, growling such indecent accusations into their flushed warmth that sends you over the edge, a feeble cry escaping your lips as your hips begin trembling, twitching as you grind against his arm impossibly faster to fulfil your orgasm.

You're sure the bedsheets have suffered your release as much as Logan's arm has, but he's never seriously chided you for making a mess, and you're sure he won't this time. He groans himself as you ride through your orgasm on his arm and you realize only now as you come down from your high that he's been rutting against the mattress, cock still trapped in the confines of his sweatpants. If he hasn't managed to get off on the mattress you'll help him now, granting him access to all the slick warmth that his arm provided.

Now the pressure of his bicep is overstimulating as it presses constantly against your cunt and you ease off of it, giving Logan a prime view of your ruined, sensitive cunt as you whine at the sensitivity.

"Impressive," He hums, "Never thought I'd have you rubbing all over my arm like that."

"It's really strong. You're- you're really strong, Logan, it's nice."

"Yeah?" He grins, more of a smirk perhaps, as something sharp invades his eyes, "All that muscle gets you going? Knowing I'm stronger than you?"

"You are," Your breath shudders as you let it out, and he pushes up on his arms, one still covered in your slick release. He seems suddenly intent on showcasing that strength difference, muscles bulging as he crawls across the mattress to slot himself on top of your fucked-out form.

"I am." He agrees, mouth pressing hungrily to yours as the same arm you'd just got off on curls around your back and cements you to him, his hips already rutting against your own, "Wanna find out how much stronger I am?"

"Yes. Logan, yes, I-" He seizes your mouth in another kiss, cutting off your desperate pleas.

"Fucking try to move." He grunts, almost a growl with how guttural and gruff it sounds against the hollow of your parted lips as his other hand holds your hip firmly, almost crushingly in place, "I'll pin you down 'n hold you still, greedy girl."

[boyfhee]

﹙𝓲ssue﹚ㅤ:ㅤ“is your girlfriend single?”ㅤ...ㅤ( 엔하이픈 )

ㅤㅤ﹙1214﹚ ㅤ장르 fluff, humour est. relㅤㅤwarnings light kissing, slight jealousyㅤㅤᐢᗜᐢ didn't turn out how i wanted these to be but hope you like them nonetheless >< happy reading and pls rb & leave feedback iNDEX

HEESEUNG

you were out with him and his friend group when the question suddenly pops up, asked by one of his friends who definitely meant it in a fun and joking way, however the frown on your boyfriend's face proves he didn't like it.

it takes him a good few seconds to comprehend the question before he hears you stifle a laugh. he looks at his friend, scoffing bitterly, raising his brows mockingly. “is my girl single?”

“dude it's a jo—”

he huffs before his hands cup your cheeks and make him look at you, pressing his lips against yours for a few seconds to get the point across. “no, she's not.” he speaks with a slight nod, trying to look modest even though there's a smug smile on his lips. “and don't ask stupid questions.”

JONGSEONG

he's confused, for the most part. his eyes refuse to leave the phone screen, going over and over the caption of your post— anniversary post, clearly written down below the pictures where you are sitting on his lap with a cake and he's kissing your cheeks.

‘happy three years to us. i love you, my love’

“are they stupid?” he asks bluntly, looking at you with his mouth agape. everything in that post makes it obvious that you are definitely not single.

“it's most likely a joke, baby,” you say, leaning against his arms with a pout, wishing he would just let it go and pay attention to you. “don't mind them,”

he nods at your words absentmindedly, brows still furrowed at the screen. you roll your eyes, pulling his arms to lay him back on the bed. he quickly sends a ‘no.’ for a reply before putting his phone aside and getting back to you, hovering over you while he has you pinned down, planting a soft kiss on your neck. “you're all mine, yeah?”

JAEYUN

brows furrows, head tilted slightly to the left, eyes wide open in half confusion half surprise. he doesn't understand why anyone would ask that question, because it sounds stupid as hell. “huh?”

“i asked if your girlfriend is single,” the person asks again and you laugh under your breath, knowing that they're probably just pulling their leg.

“she's my soulmate, the love of my life, my other half, anything— but single,” and he knows he's being a bit too much he jake wants to show you off and also make it clear that you're most definitely off the markets.

“jake, that's enough—”

“no? why are they asking if you're single when we're literally walking hand in hand?” continues to explain it to you why that was such a rhetorical question even after that person leaves, doesn't let go your hands until you get home. “should we take a few couple pics to post them, hm?”

SUNGHOON

mad as hell, gives them the most deadpan face ever. well, he introduced you as his dear girlfriend the minute you two walked in through the doors of the restaurant for the highschool reunion.

“she wouldn't date you even if she was,” says with his eyes looking at them up and down with displeasure written on his face clearly. he's not having any of it.

he has his hand on your thigh the whole time you two are at the reunion, giving it soft caresses and light squeezes, never missing a chance to compliment you or even flirt with you when you two have been dating for over a year now.

and when you try to remove his hand or something, he pulls you even closer, mostly because he's enjoying your flustered face. “it's so hard having a beautiful girlfriend,”

SUNOO

it's so serious for him, he's shooting daggers with his eyes, annoyance clearly written on his face. it doesn't escape his gaze how the guy in front of him is checking you out, even though while being subtle about it.

“of course, not. she's with me, can't you see?” it's a sharp reply that clearly shuts them off, and sunoo rolls his eyes, turning his attention back onto you.

you chuckle under your breath, but also composing yourself as you link your arms with him as you two walk away from them. “hey, don't you think that was too much?”

and he laughs softly, leaning his face down to plant a feathery kiss on your cheeks, looking at you with a slight grin. “well, they shouldn't have asked such a stupid question then,”

JUNGWON

he immediately goes silent when he sees that question in the comments of his vlog with you, shooting question marks to the screen with his stares, the embodiment of ‘does anyone else find this weird :/’

“ah, if yn is single?” words actually trail off as soon as they dance out of his mouth while tries to process the question. is it a joke? are they being serious? he doesn't know. “uh, i don't think she is since we're dating. . .?”

he's stuttering and you're next to him, hiding your face while suppressing your laughter because he's so adorable. “wonnie, i'm pretty sure they were just teasing you,”

“ah, okay,” he nods in realisation, chuckling awkwardly while looking at the screen in silence for a few seconds before adding. “we're not entertaining any more questions about yn,”

NI-KI

he shrugs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, giving them a blank look as if he doesn't know a thing. he cocks his head in your direction, asking cluelessly. “are you single?”

and you shoot him a confused look, blinking blankly as you point your index finger at yourself. “me?”

“who else?”

you continue to look at him in confusion, turning your gaze to your classmate before it lands back on your boyfriend. “i'm dating you, how would i be single?”

riki immediately turns his head to your poor classmate, the smug smile never leaving his face as he shakes his head. “she's not,” and then he simply puts his arms over your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and walks past them, without sparing another glance.

taglist

[yrieso]

tonight i am thinking about how it really pisses me off when i tell people my dads deaf and a lot of people's immediate response is "im sorry" like bitch i said he's deaf not DEAD why do you feel the need to say im sorry. like really, why do you think you should apologize for that? huh?

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader | dirty flirting | suggestive material | it’s not dubcon, it's just you and deadpool's dynamic.

Like a stray cat, a mercenary hangs around your neighborhood. At first he was cute, you'd leave some food out for him, he'd hit on you shamelessly and in a million different shades of dirty, and then you wouldn't see him for six months. It got old quick, especially because he didn't care that you weren't interested. As if flirting with you was a hobby, he didn't mind that he wasn't getting anything out of it besides your irritation.

It's late, but you might as well take your trash out. You didn't bother to cover up when it's hot and humid out. In a crop top and the littlest shorts you own, you step out, immediately greeted with the familiar tune of DEADPOOL's voice.

"Braless—brave." he notes, and you slump in place, turning to see how he lays precariously on the railing of the fire escape. He gestures to his own chest with a flourish of gloved fingers, "Me too. Burn 'em, I say. The 70's were good for something." He nods his head.

You sigh through your nose, dropping your bag to let it sag pathetically on the asphalt. "What do you want, Red? Blowing through my part of town coincidentally again?"

"Oh, no coincidence, sugar." he tsks, and wags a finger at you before gracefully swinging off the railing to flip to the ground. You roll your eyes at his showmanship, and retreat to the backdoor of your apartment building, followed leisurely by the Merc. "Can't a guy say he missed you? Visit suddenly without calling? Golly, a man can't partake in a little light stalking these days."

You round on him, pointing a warning finger in his mask when you catch him watching your tits swing under your shirt. "Nips are hard. Excited to see me?" he asks with enthusiasm, meeting your gaze and you guffaw at him, taken aback with a hand on your hip. "Turn around, lemme see the back again—"

"'Excited?' What part should I be looking forward to? Your outdated jokes or when you make passes at me until you get it all out of your system?" You lean forward, gesturing to your enunciating mouth. "Read my lips, Red, it's- not- happening." Unknowingly, you'd lowered your voice, that sultry tone lulling Deadpool into your direction like a pie on a windowsill.

"Oh, baby, if you could see my face, I'm grinning under this mask right now." he confesses, chuckling under his breath. "Love it when you play hard to get." He straightens to his full height, sighing with relief. "Your place or mine?"

"Red—"

"Seriously, you gotta give me a twirl or something, I'm getting blue balls over here. You take a little stroll in your little jammies and I've got a halfie, throw me a bone."

You scoff at his audacity, as fat and veiny as always, and back away. "I'll see you next time, Red."

"Hopefully you'll see this boner next time, it'll be waving to you like a flagpole flying my tighty-whities." he calls after you. He knows he's exhausted his welcome this time, there'll be another opportunity soon enough.

[harrysfolklore]

I’m cracking up at the thought of Oscar accidentally seeing a nude of his sister in Carlos’s phone

HELP I HAD TO ELABORATE ON THIS

read little bitch here

Hotel rooms are boring. There's nothing else to do other than lay in bed and shower.

You regret telling Carlos — because now he's your boyfriend, and you share hotel rooms with him, how wild — that you wanted to stay in bed all morning and not join him for practice sessions because now is nearly midday and he's not back yet. And you're bored.

Not finding anything else to do, you open your suitcase to put together your outfit for Quali tomorrow, you laugh when the first thing you see is a McLaren cap and a Ferrari one packed together. And to think that next year you'll be adding a Williams one to your suitcase for race weekends.

As you move a pair of jeans, you come into view with something you didn't even remember you packed — a red lacy set of lingerie.

You decide to put it on, after all, you don't have anything better to do.

Meanwhile at the Zandvoort Circuit, Oscar, Carlos, Lando and Max are lounging at a hospitality area. The sessions and meetings for the day were over, so they were just waiting for the call to head out.

"Lando, can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to check Lily's flight, it's supposed to land soon," Oscar says from his place on the couch.

"I can't mate, I'm sexting right now," Lando replies, making the group laugh and Oscar roll his eyes.

"Take mine, it's in the table," Carlos says, fixing himself a cup of coffee from the small station in the room.

"Thanks," Oscar grabs the device, failing when he tries to unlock it, "What's your pass code?"

"Your sister's birthday," Carlos says casually, stirring his coffee.

The room erupts in a chorus of groans and laughter.

"Oh my god, Carlos," Lando exclaims, barely containing his giggles. "That's so cheesy!"

"Seriously, mate?" Max joins in, "What are you, a teenager with his first crush?"

Oscar looks at Carlos with mock disgust on his face. "My sister's birthday? Really? I don't know whether to be touched or grossed out."

Carlos shrugs, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "What? It's easy to remember."

"Yeah, sure," Lando snorts. "I bet your wallpaper is a picture of you two as well."

Carlos doesn't respond, suddenly very interested in his coffee.

"Oh my god, it is!" Max howls with laughter. "You're such a sap, Sainz!"

Oscar shakes his head, chuckling. "I can't believe this. My sister's turned you into a lovesick puppy."

Just as Oscar is about to search for his girlfriend's flight information, a text notification pops up. Out of habit and muscle memory, he ends up tapping on it, opening the message.

Oscar's eyes widen, and he lets out a yelp, nearly dropping the phone. "Oh god, my eyes!" he exclaims, tossing the phone back to Carlos as if it were on fire.

The others look at him, confused and amused.

"What happened?" Lando asks, trying to peer at Carlos' phone.

Oscar covers his face with his hands, groaning. "I just saw something I really, really didn't need to see. Carlos, mate, you need to put a lock on those messages from my sister."

With a frown, Carlos opens his messages, tapping on your contact and finding what made Oscar scream in disgust.

A picture of you wearing the lacy red set, with the caption "we need to put these to good use before we throw all the ferrari red away"

Carlos glances at his phone, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly locks the screen. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Ah, I see. Sorry about that, Oscar."

Oscar is still covering his eyes dramatically. "I'm going to need therapy after this. Seriously, Carlos, password protect those messages or something!"

"Come on, what was it?" Lando tries to sneak a peek at Carlos' phone. "It can't be that bad!"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Oscar groans. "There are some things a brother should never see."

"Look on the bright side, at least you know your sister is happy?" Max pats Oscar on the back.

"Not helping, Verstappen!" Oscar throws a nearby cushion at Max, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

"Sorry, hermano. I'll be more careful next time," Carlos says, putting on an awkward smile.

"There better not be a next time," Oscar mumbles, still looking traumatized. "I'm going to need therapy after this."

Oscar makes a mental note to never, ever touch Carlos' phone again, and Carlos makes a mental note to lock his girlfriend's messages. And put those lacy red sets to good use later, too.

[happilyhertale]

Do not sleep - Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Summary: An evening with your husband can be exhausting – but Daemon has no interest in letting you sleep.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note:

I'm sorry it took so long for this story to come! But now, on the occasion of my 2k follower anniversary, a little Daemon Smut for you!

The story can be read as a stand-alone story or as a sequel to "Shared Future" English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.4 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your eyes slowly close, but the smile doesn't leave your lips. The blanket envelops your bare skin, which is covered in a light sweat. Daemon's deep laugh echoes lightly through the room, a reaction to you calling him silly.

He presses his face gently into the crook of your neck, wrapping both arms around you from behind. He holds you so tightly that for a brief moment you fear you will never be able to move again. The warmth of your body flowing through Daemon's slowly makes him close his eyes too. His head is swimming, but he struggles to stay awake. It's just too good to be in your arms, he doesn't want to lose it.

"Don't fall asleep," he whispers suddenly, "I can't let you go yet.... Don't let you drift off to sleep yet"

You smile as his voice rings out, your eyes flutter open for a brief moment, but you lose the battle.

"Why...?" you finally whisper. Daemon gently brushes his nose along your neck, "Because I enjoy holding you like this.... I don't want to stop," he whispers softly.

But you only answer him with a sleepy moan.

"Please... just ten more minutes... Then I'll let you sleep," he whispers, even he knows how ridiculous this request is, but he can't help himself.

You laugh softly now, but you give in, "Okay... ten more minutes," you say softly and turn around in his arms, your purple Targaryen eyes meeting.

"But you'll be the one who's grumpy in the morning if you didn't get enough sleep," you say softly.

Daemon smiles gently, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You feel his chest rise and fall as his breathing slows and he just smiles at you. His fingers glide gently down your neck, leaving a tingling trail on your soft skin. His caresses continue on your shoulder as he begins to hum. Your smile widens as his deep voice rings out.

"A song of ice and fire..." he whispers. "And blood..."

He continues, looking deep into your eyes.

"I think my father made the right decision when he announced that I had to marry you," you whisper, biting your lip lightly.

"We're going to have a wonderful Targaryen family..." you whisper, running your hands over his firm chest – you feel the scars, achievements of dragon fire and battles.

Daemon leans forward, cupping your lips with his. His hands reach for your hips and he begins to caress your body. Almost gently, his fingers wander over your curves, gripping your soft flesh.

As Daemon processes your words, his lips curl into a smile.

"And an incredible marriage..." he whispers, letting his fingers slide on, "We are the definition of Targaryen. We would make Aegon and his sisters proud"

Your lips almost touch as you bite your lip lightly. Then you lean up and Daemon growls, disappointed at first. But then you swing your leg over his hip and you sit astride him, your hands sliding naturally onto his chest as your hips move slightly.

"Do you really think Aegon the Conqueror would be proud?" you ask seductively and Daemon growls slightly again, but this time not out of disappointment.

"That I married my uncle? That we'll have pure Targaryen children..." you say softly. His hands slide along your thighs to your hips, gripping you as his grin widens.

"I think he'd be proud to know that our house is as close to the gods as humans can get," he says playfully, no longer as serious as he usually is, but you manage to rouse his playful nature. You can see him staring at your body in the light of the candles, your curves and the way your body moves.

"Do you think the gods would approve of what we're doing?" he asks in a teasing tone. There's a certain innocence in the way he wants to hear your answer, but that doesn't make it any less attractive.

You start to move your hips a little more, eliciting another growl from Daemon. "I don't care what the gods think.... I love you..." you finally say softly, "And I love the fact that we're going to have pure Targaryen children..." you say seductively.

"That your seed makes me swell with your baby..." you say softly, watching Daemon's grin widen.

He slowly loses control of himself as you sit astride him and your hips move slightly. His fingers glide over your soft skin, leaving a fiery trail behind them as they slide to your bum and grab you. The fact that your skin is not covered by any clothes only excites him more. Your words intensify this arousal. The pride in his Targaryen heritage, the love and respect he feels for you, and how both together arouse him. He stares at your body and whispers softly as you move your hips.

"Does it make you proud? To have the blood of Aegon the Conqueror in you?" His voice is hoarse and a little rougher due to fatigue. There is passion and lust in his tone.

You listen to these words, loving the deep vibration of his voice as you reach for his hand and slowly guide it from your bum to your womanhood. You press his fingertips against your sensitive pearl, pushing your hips forwards slightly and making a rumbling sound in his chest.

"Yes..." you finally breathe, "Does it turn you on to have your niece as your wife...?" you ask softly, your voice a little breathless.

"It does," he whispers without hesitation, his voice a little rougher than usual. His hand trembles slightly, but he keeps it firmly where it belongs.

He stares at you as he presses his fingers onto your bundle of nerves. With your mouth slightly open, you sit on him and savour the feeling. He moans slightly as his fingers leave circular motions. His lust has taken control of his usual calm. There's something about this moment that feels more real than most.

You close your eyes and moan slightly as your hips continue to move.

The movement of his fingers is deliberate, but he takes his time. This is different from your previous lovemaking. He wants to see you squirm, he wants to see you moan. He wants to watch you while your body feels this pleasure.

There is nothing else on his mind but your body at this moment.

His fingers move faster, he feels the slickness of your arousal, smearing the wetness along your folds. Your fingers dig into his chest as you lean forward slightly, and another grunt escapes Daemon. His arousal can no longer be denied, his hardness presses against you and he begins to move his hips. Slowly he pushes it through your folds, making you shudder and whimper slightly. He watches you closely, but then he bites his lip and his free hand moves to your hip and his fingers explore your body, caressing your skin and playing with your flesh.

His hand glides down your body, over your soft skin, until he reaches for your breast and you gasp. His thumb teases your nipple while his other hand doesn't stop moving.

"Gods..." you whimper.

His cock continues to slide through your folds, back and forth, as his growl gets louder.

"Say it..." he suddenly whispers breathlessly, "Say you want to keep enjoying this. Say you want me to keep doing this until you can't take it anymore..."

His touch is gentle but firm – you can feel the heat of his fingers.

"Make me... make me squirm... make me come..." you whimper softly as your hips move almost desperately against his fingers.

Daemon grins slightly as he hears your words, noticing how your hips push against his fingers. He grunts slightly, his other hand finding its way to your hip, holding you tight.

"I'm your eager niece..." you suddenly whisper as you moan out.

His grin widens at the sound of your words. His hardness slides through your folds with each of his movements, soaked with your wetness.

"You will be the mother of my children and they will have your beauty and my strength," he whispers softly. He notices your thighs begin to tremble and he grunts again.

"Say my name," he whispers suddenly, "Say my name while I give you pleasure"

But you only moan as your fingers dig deeper into his chest. The movements of his fingers bring you to climax. Your head falls back as you moan loudly. Daemon feels the spasms of your cunt on his fingertips and he grunts loudly.

"Daemon... Daemon..." you whimper as his fingers continue to move.

Daemon smiles, his breathing heavy – he knows what you like.

"Good girl," he whispers as his fingers move slower. His other hand releases your hip and leaves caresses on your body, "But did I say you could come?" he whispers teasingly.

You're breathing heavily, still sitting astride him. His fingers are still embracing your womanhood.

"Forgive me..." you say with a gasp and a slight blush adorns his cheeks.

"You don't have to ask for forgiveness..." he whispers, but the smug smile doesn't leave his lips. His fingers begin to move again, and he pays attention to every little movement you make. The way your body twitches slightly as his fingers caress your sensitive pearl – his own arousal not gone in the slightest.

But his other hand is still on your hip, holding you tight. "It's not like you have much control over your body right now..." His voice is soft again, but you can hear the teasing.

You whimper slightly as his fingers move faster.

"Don't..." you whimper, trying to escape his grip.

"I'm sensitive... Daemon" you whimper, leaning on his chest and trying to lift your hips to move your womanhood away from his fingers.

"But it feels good, doesn't it?" *he whispers in his deep voice, "I love seeing your face when your body betrays you."

He watches closely how you react, every feature of your face, how your lips are slightly parted. The almost desperate, yet aroused, look in your eyes. Your face is so beautiful as you feel this way, and he can see that you're so close again and he's in control. 

"Good girl," he grunts as he notices your hips starting to move again.

Your eyes roll into the back of my head and you moan as you suddenly come again and soak his fingers. Your moaning and whining echoes in your chambers, accompanied by his grunting.

"Good girl..." he repeats his words and he grins.

Your body is his, and he's enjoying it. But he's still not done with you.

"We're not done yet..." He whispers softly as his fingers slow down. His voice is hoarse; there's so much lust in it.

"I'm not done with you yet," he whispers softly.

Without hesitation, he grabs your hips and lifts you up a little. He positions you just right, guiding the tip of his throbbing member to your drenched entrance. The feeling of your wetness on his cock sends a wave of pleasure through him, making his desire burn even hotter.

You moan as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. He growls in response to your moans and his dominant nature takes over. The urge to claim you, his wife. The urge to feel your tightness consumes him completely. Without hesitation, he thrusts, slowly filling you inch by inch.

Your wetness surrounds him, your tightness grips his cock and he can't help but let out a deep, guttural growl. The feeling is overwhelming, the passion almost unbearable. He relishes the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

"You're so fucking tight... so wet..." he grunts as his hands rest on your hips, guiding you faster.

You slam yourself onto his cock over and over again. Daemon's eyes burn with desire as he watches him disappear into your tight cunt over and over again, as you ride him, soaking his cock.

"It hurts..." you whimper, but it turns him on even more and you can't stop as his cock teases your walls to the extreme.

"You like it when I take you like this, don't you?" he grunts.

"When I fill your pretty little cunt.... Feel every inch of me... take it," he grunts

You can only whimper and your cunt clenches around his cock again.

"Oh yes... I can feel you tightening... you love the way I fuck this cunt," he grunts.

His fingers dig into your hips as he matches your pace. Thrusting deep to meet your eager movements. The chambers are filled with the sounds of your lovemaking and your bodies slapping together.

His cock teases the rough spot deep inside you and you moan. Again and again he thrusts deep, making you squirm and whimper. The familiar pressure in your lower abdomen builds up again and your body trembles slightly. You bite your lip, your eyes closed.

"Daemon..." you can only whimper and then your walls clenches hard around his cock, milking it.

"Yes... Take my seed and let the baby grow," he hisses as he grunts loudly. His fingers dig deep into your soft flesh as he feels a twitch go through his balls and into his cock. You're still bouncing on his cock, your eyes closed, your mouth wide open as you moan, your cunt still clenching around his hard manhood. And that's enough for Daemon – he watches you, sees your breasts bouncing, he just grunts loudly, thrusts deep inside you once more and cums deep inside you.

He grunts and groans and closes his eyes. You're still moving your hips as the grip of his fingers loosens slightly. You breathe heavily and look at him while his eyes are closed and his heartbeat makes his whole chest tremble. For a moment it seems as if he's asleep – he just looks content. This brings a small smile to your lips and you lean down, your breathing still intermittent, but you can't resist. You kiss him gently. His lips curl into a smile as your lips meet. His eyes are still closed, his breathing is heavy, but his arms are now around you, holding you close.

"Now you may sleep...," he mumbles breathlessly and you respond with a giggle as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @bl4ckph0enix @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr

[julietsf1]

Post-Race Snuggles - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: After an intense Singapore GP, Franco’s idea of the perfect cool down is snuggling up in his girlfriend’s lap; very fluff <3

warnings: possibly incorrect Spanish?

AN - I can't keep lying to myself I think I am not just on here to read anymore lmao, this one is just 1k but I have another longer story coming tomorrow or so! enjoy my lovelies

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The sticky warmth of Singapore’s night air clung to me as I sat in Franco’s motorhome, waiting for him to return. I flicked through some post-race coverage on my phone, knowing how drained he must be after a race like that. The screen showed him smiling during the interviews, but I knew better—Franco’s green eyes gave away just how tired he was.

When the door creaked open, I glanced up and saw him there, looking utterly exhausted, his brown hair messy and damp from the heat. His race suit was unzipped, hanging loosely around his waist. Franco didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. He walked over with heavy steps, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face into my shoulder.

“Hi there.” I laughed softly, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. It was fluffier than usual, curling slightly from the sweat and humidity. “Tough day?”

He let out a low groan, not bothering to lift his head. “Si…” His voice was muffled, and I could feel the exhaustion in the way his body leaned into mine. “So tired.”

I smiled softly, running my hand down his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his suit. Suddenly, Franco shifted, pulling back just enough to take my hand in his. His eyes, though heavy with fatigue, met mine for a brief moment, and without a word, he gently tugged me down onto the couch beside him.

With a quiet sigh, he laid back, guiding my body to follow his until I was leaning into him. His head found its way into my lap as he settled in. I felt his hand resting on my waist first, a soft, grounding touch, before it slid down to rest comfortably on my thigh. His thumb moved lazily, tracing small circles, as if he needed to hold onto me even in his tired state.

“You want me to make you something? Mate, or a snack?” I asked quietly, brushing my fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin.

He shook his head slowly. “No, just this. Esto es todo lo que necesito.” His voice was soft, the Spanish slipping out naturally as his eyes fluttered closed. His arms loosened slightly around my legs, his thumb brushing lazily against my thigh, the lightest touch, as if even that small movement required too much effort.

I chuckled, running my hand through his hair again, smoothing it down where it stuck up in odd places. “You did amazing today. P11! I’m so proud of you.”

A faint smile curved his lips. His breathing started to slow, the tension melting away as I continued stroking his hair. This was my favorite version of Franco—the quiet, soft one who didn’t need to be witty or flirty. Just the one who wanted to be close.

Franco’s weight settled fully against me, his eyes were shut now, his messy curls resting in my lap. His thumb continued its slow, lazy patterns on my leg, the sweet small gesture sending warmth through me. His skin was warm from the heat of the race, his hair slightly damp, and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he looked, even when he was this tired. His lashes were long, his green eyes hidden behind them, and his lips, parted slightly as he breathed, were soft, with the faintest smile still playing there.

“You looked so good out there today,” I whispered, knowing he probably couldn’t hear me in his tired state. “Fast, confident… and you know, kind of cute with all that sweaty hair.”

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only nice to you when you’re too tired to remember.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but he didn’t respond, his breathing evening out even more. The motorhome was dimly lit, casting soft shadows, making everything feel even cozier. The sounds outside—people moving around the paddock, the distant hum of engines cooling down—faded away. It was just us, tangled up in the warmth of each other’s presence.

As I stroked his hair, I could feel him relax completely. His body was fully at ease, and I knew he was almost asleep. He looked so peaceful, his usual spark of energy tucked away for the night. I smiled down at him, my heart full. These moments, after the chaos of race days, were our little slice of quiet, where it felt like the world didn’t exist outside this motorhome.

Franco shifted slightly, nuzzling deeper into my lap. I thought he was fully asleep until his voice broke the silence, soft and raspy.

“Te amo,” he murmured, his eyes barely open, heavy with exhaustion.

My heart skipped a beat. He’d said it before, but hearing it now, with his defenses down, made it feel different. I glanced down, expecting to see him fully asleep, but instead, those green eyes peeked up at me through his lashes, tired but full of something deeper.

I felt a rush of warmth fill my chest. “I love you too,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead again, my fingers gently running through his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut at the kiss, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Más que a nada en el mundo…” he mumbled, his voice trailing off into sleep, the weight of his words lingering between us like a quiet promise.

I stayed like that, holding him close as he drifted off completely, my hand still in his hair, thinking about how easy it was to love him—especially in moments like this.

[gubsbuubs]

It’s Mutual

(Throphy Wife Pt.2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Smut; Creampie; Choking; Dirty talk.

Summary: This is Part 2. of my first post Trophy Wife: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. After a figth that proceeded the misson Spencer and (Y/N) give in to the temptation.

Preview: He looked at me and said, "Please, we're not even friends," and then he laughed. "We're just coworkers who despise each other... and normally I can't stand being around you, but right now, I just want to be inside you." He grabbed my face and locked his eyes into mine. "So please, shut up and just let me do my thing." He forcefully kissed me again as we walked through the room.

A/N: Hi, my loves! I´m so grateful for the love my first ever fic got. As I said, this is the second part, but you can read it as a standalone. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated.🍒

My requests are open!

Previously:

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I said. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit. Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I pointed it out. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now?”.

And then, suddenly, his lips were on mine, my back pressed to the door with a thud. I felt the heat of his passion and the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant. He kissed me with so much force and passion that I got breathless and had to pull away.

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"Since I kissed you in the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A small whimper escaped my lips as he opened the door behind me, crashing his lips into mine again. I groaned, "This is so wrong," the words hanging in the air, acknowledging the forbidden nature of our connection.

He chuckled. "Yeah, this is so wrong." Yet he didn't stop, continuing down a path that felt undeniably right in its wrongness.

I hesitated, breaking the kiss. "Reid, I think we shouldn't be doing this."

His voice came muffled as he kissed my collarbone. " Why?"

"This will ruin our friendship." That made him stop in his tracks.

He looked at me and said, "Please, we're not even friends," and then he laughed.

"We're just coworkers who despise each other... and normally I can't stand being around you, but right now, I just want to be inside you." He grabbed my face and locked his eyes into mine. "So please, shut up and just let me do my thing." He forcefully kissed me again as we walked through the room.

We landed on the bed behind me, where he gently bunched up my dress and removed it from my body, leaving me in my matching black lace set. "You look delicious" He sighed. "Cant wait to ruin you."

He pressed his body onto mine, eliciting a throaty moan from my lips as I felt the friction of his clothed erection against my throbbing clit. Each deliberate thrust of his hips intensified the heat between us, the fervent kiss we shared becoming increasingly heated and impassioned.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you sound so pretty like this,” he said while his teeth grazed my neck.

I was surprised Spencer could talk like this, swearing and praising. His words were completely at odds with the Reid I thought I knew. I was a moaning mess under him, and he had barely touched me.

Needing to gain the upper hand in the situation, I decided to playfully tease him, “Who knew you had this in you, Doctor?” I whispered between the kisses.

As his right hand traversed the space between us, his middle finger delicately traced the contours of my clothed core, sending tingles of anticipation through my body.

"It's Spencer,” he replied nonchalantly.

“What?” I asked, confused, barely able to concentrate while his skillful touch continued its sensual dance.

He grabbed my chin, making me lock eyes with his. "You always address me as 'Doctor' or 'Reid,'" his other hand pulled my panties aside, coming into contact with my folds. "Tonight, I want you to scream my name so it's 'Spencer,' understood?" His demanding and authoritarian tone made me want him even more.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my parted lips as Spencer's long finger gently breached the warmth of my entrance. Our eyes locked, and within his intense gaze, I could sense his growing desire that mirrored my own. It was a shared recognition of the escalating tension between us. An in that moment, he simply smiled, fuck, he was so pretty.

His eyes flickered with a mix of challenge and desire as he responded, "Can't you just take a simple order?"

He teased me relentlessly, pushing the boundaries of my patience, and in response, a desire to further provoke him ignited within me.

"Why do you always have to be so complicated, Reid? Just fuck me already."

A teasing grin played on my lips. "I don't do very well with taking orders, Doctor, let's see if you can make me." With a swift motion I shifted him on the bed, guiding him to lie down and straddling his body

"Do you believe you can tame me just by straddling me?" His voice was laced amusement as his hand found my neck, fingers wrapping tightly, restricting my breath. “I´m still in control Angel, so you better behave, or I won't fuck you.”

"You know you want this as much as I do." I unclasped my bra, offering him a perfect view of my breasts. His hand reached out to caress them, fingers capturing my nipple between his index and middle fingers.

“Be a good girl and grind on yourself on my dick; I want to watch that pretty face of yours." His words were so filthy, igniting a fervent heat within my core.

His dominant demeanor revealed a side of him I wasn't accustomed to, yet I found myself following his orders without hesitation. A symphony of moans escaped my lips, each note drawing his focused gaze. His hands skillfully guided my hips, directing them in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, as I ground against his bulge.

"I always knew you wanted this; just look at you, enjoying yourself as you grind on my cock."

“Are you always this chatty?" I asked breathlessly, my heart pounding in my chest.

"You know you like when I'm chatty." His words came with a confident tone, his voice resonating deep and firm as he held my gaze. A blush crept across my cheeks, a surge of embarrassment confirming his accuracy.

He reveled in the dominance he held over me, relishing the way he held the upper hand in our interaction. As much as I resisted, there was an undeniable thrill that coursed through me, a mix of resistance and a strange kind of pleasure in surrendering to his control.

His hands abruptly halted my movements, securing my hips firmly. His innocent gaze held a promise of something far more provocative as he whispered urgently, "I really want to taste your pussy, (Y/N)." The depth and urgency in his voice heightened the tension. I could only manage a nod in response.

In a swift motion, he flipped me over, his lips starting an exploration of every inch of my stomach. The deliberate pace added to the building anticipation. His skillful hands slid my lace panties off, revealing the vulnerability beneath.

As he undressed, exposing his naked form, it was a mesmerizing sight. His lean, slightly muscular frame glowed with a sheer layer of sweat, and the glistening skin accentuated the erotic ambiance between us.

As he lowered his boxers, a gasp involuntarily escaped my lips. “Oh Spencer, your cock is so pretty.” I bit my bottom lip as my hand traveled to my core, fingers dancing for the man in front of me. “I need it inside me, please.”

My legs instinctively parted a bit wider as he repositioned himself, his head now nestled between my legs.

“Oh Angel, you´re so wet for me,” he said, placing an open-mouth kiss inside my left thigh. “I´ve barely toutched you.”.

I inhaled sharply as he traced a long lick up my slit. "Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined," he murmured, locking eyes with me from between my legs.

I struggled to control my breathing as the room filled with the echoes of my moans and the sweet hums of Spencer's lips against me. He devoured me as if starved, his hands gripping my thighs with force. "Spencer, please; I need you," I pleaded, unable to contain my desire.

"Are you begging?" He questioned me in a teasing tone, his lips brushing against my inner thigh. As my head fell back, I quietly said, "Yes, please, Spencer." He chuckled, the warm breath sending shivers through me. "You'll have to do better than that, Angel. Convince me."

"Spence, I'll do anything. Just don't make me wait any longer," I pleaded

My gaze was fixed on him as he descended, aligning himself perfectly with my entrance.The sight of him sinking into me was utterly pornographic. As he slid completely inside, a shared exhale escaped both of us, releasing a tension we hadn't realized we held. The movement began, It wasn't slow; it wasn't patient.

It was a rapid, fervent rhythm, each thrust driving me to the edge, and with each thrust, my teeth sank into his shoulder to keep me from screaming.

“Fuck Spencer, keep going,” I moaned in his ear.

"See how you crave more even with me already deep inside," he remarked, planting open-mouthed kisses on my lips, capturing the moans that escaped. "Who would've imagined you to be such a beggar for it?""

I struggled to muffle my moans, but each deep thrust hitting my cervix caused my walls to clench around him, drawing delightful whimpers from Spencer..

His thrusts became less controlled as his forehead found solace on my shoulder, the intensity and erratic nature of his movements increasing. "Is that all you got, doc?" With a mischievous smirk, I contributed, determined to play with his mind.

"Shut up," he grumbled, momentarily losing focus. "You just feel so, so good," he confessed, "This pussy is so tight, so wet for me, it's driving me crazy." As his explicit words sank in, I could feel my climax approaching.

"Fuck, it’s like you were made for me." His pace quickened, thrusts becoming more fervent and urgent as the intensity between us escalated. Each movement seemed calculated to elicit a reaction, the force of his movements sending waves of pleasure through my entire body.

The bed creaked in protest beneath us, a symphony of our shared desire filling the room. “You take me so well, baby.” A deep, throaty groan escaped him as his hands sought the curve of my hips, drawing me nearer to him. He watching in admiration as my face contorted in pleasure.

I let out a soft whimper, so overwhelmed by the sensation that I couldn't stop myself from giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. "Spencer, I´m going to cum.”

A soft “yeah?” Was all he said to me as he kept ponding deep into my core. The room was filled with the sounds of our shared desires. Soft moans and whispered words escaped our lips, creating an echo that seemed to linger in the air. Every touch, every gasp, reverberated through the space, intertwining with the raw passion that enveloped us.

His forehead rested against mine, eyes alternately opening and closing with every forceful thrust, our hands tightly intertwined.

"Fuck Spencer, I can't hold it anymore," I confessed breathlessly.

"Cum on my cock baby" I came, my walls squeezing him in the most delicious way. He responded, swiftly pulling out and releasing himself onto my stomach. A mix of exhaustion and satisfaction enveloped both of us.

He collapsed by my side, and we lay there together in a momentary silence. Eventually, he got up and went to the bathroom. Returning with a wet towel, he used it to delicately clean us up.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we just did that," I gasped out, breathless from the intensity of the moment.

"Shhh, just relax," he cautioned, pulling me into his embrace, the lingering tension still palpable.

"But we hate each other, remember?" I teased with an amused tone, locking eyes with him.

His facial expression softened. "I don't hate you; I just find you extremely annoying sometimes," he chuckled.

"Well, the feeling's mutual." My laugh filled the room, causing a warm smile to form on his face, and he nodded in agreement.

Taglist: @translatemunson @unimportantweirdo @katscorner020 @queermaxwooo ❤️

—x—

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