#the entire exchange is just so delicious

[izzymarksthespot]

Excuse me, how was I NOT supposed to become obsessed with them when their first meeting went like that.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

oh right, technically i sell t-shirts

i forgot about that

[sugarless5]

“You need to accept that hell is going to try to keep one of us,” he said. “It will be me, Stern. I was never meant to leave.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected: Laughter? Tears? A heroic demand that she take his place in hell? He had lost track of who was Dante, Virgil, Beatrice. Was he Orpheus or Eurydice?

But all Alex did was lean back in her chair and cast him a skeptical glance. “So after we fought and bled to drag you out of hell, you think we’re just going to bring you back like a foster dog who shit on the carpet?”

“I wouldn't put it-”

Alex rose and tossed back his glass of his expensive Armagnac like it was a dollar shot on ladies’ night at Toad’s. “Fuck off, Darlington.”

-Leigh Bardugo, Hell Bent

[tfshouldidohere]

HAPPPY HAPPY HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY STAYS 🎉🎉

[urbanfiltered]

i cannot stop talking huh

[f1byjessie]

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 45,918 others

yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

view all 813 comments

user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, beatricejackson, and 71,074 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername arrivederci 💛

view all 1,397 comments

fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, astonmartinf1, and 187,813 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartinf1

lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

view all 4,964 comments

fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, lance_stroll, and 298,513 others

tagged: yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

view all 1,165 comments

yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 97,141 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

view all 3,731 comments

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

[xanaxspritz]

【"ＧＡＭＥ　ＳＥＴ　ＭＡＴＣＨ!"】

an: i've been cooking up this for a while. this is 100% inspired by challengers and i took my time with it. i hope y'all enjoy!!! :D

cw: porn without plot, m/m/f threesome, afab!reader, spitroasting, cum swallowing, creampies, throatfucking, cunniligus, gojo talking you through it, satosugo, slight overstimulation, college athletes!au

word count: 1.2k

"'toru, this is a dumb idea."

"first one to get her number gets to keep her."

"that's if she even comes."

the boys lay in their beds. satoru laying upside down scrolling through his phone, and suguru lounging, cigarette in hand. asking the hottest girl in D1 tennis to come to their hotel room was a delusional, but bold move. you didn't seem impressed by the invitation, or the obvious flirting that the two were laying heavy on you. but satoru insisted on asking away and here they are, staying up late, an hour past the time that was agreed upon.

"satoru, i'm getting tired," suguru complains.

"you're free to go to sleep. i didn't want to share anyways," he smirks.

a soft knock, rapping three times rings throughout the room. the two exchange glances, and then rush to open the door.

suguru greets you first, smooth and suave, asking about your day and brings you inside the room. satoru follows, hurriedly tossing the scattered clothes on the floor into the closet. you sit on one of the beds, satoru and suguru standing awkwardly above you.

"well," you began. "you invited me over for a reason."

they stare at you intensely for a beat, then immediately sit themselves on either side of you.

"is this a thing you guys do often?" you ask with amusement.

"no," they both say in unison.

satoru cleared his throat., "we just thought..."

"that you were really cute" suguru finished.

you smiled. having two hot guys begging to fuck you was not on your bucket list. but here you were, sandwiched between the top two male players in D1 tennis.

the sexual tension was thick and slightly awkward. they were clearly waiting for you to make a move first.

you start with suguru, placing a small peck on his soft lips, tasting a hint of tobacco. he kisses back, but with more force. satoru watches before nibbling on your neck, leaving kisses up and down your collarbone. you turned your attention to satoru to kiss him. he meets your lips passionately, hungrily swirling his tongue around yours. backing into suguru's arms you the stiff bulge forming in his pants, hands roaming underneath your shirt.

you pulled away, leaving the two to look at you as if you were a piece of delicious cake waiting to be eaten. you stared back.

"kiss," you say.

they hesitate for a moment, before their lips crash into one other's. it was evident enough from the kissed that they really liked each other. you sat back and enjoyed the view for a moment before joining in.

things got hot and heavy quick. not even 5 minutes later you were on your back, panties off, with suguru between your legs and satoru making love to your tits.

"I've been waiting so long for this," suguru whispered into your thighs, before diving into your slick arousal, his finger lazily circling your clit, sending a shiver down your entire body. gojo nibbled and licked on each on of your erect nubs, pulling off of each tit with a loud audible pop.

"ah-god! that feels so good," you cried.

"just like that, baby girl," breathed satoru. "he''s good at that isn't?" nudging his heads towards suguru. "but I've been dying to eat that sweet little pussy, my turn."

suguru looked up in annoyance, reluctancy switching places with satoru. you pawed at suguru's boxers impatiently, eager to get his cock out.

it was big (no surprise there) with a slight curve to the left. you spat on your hand before working his shaft that was hanging above your face, suckling on each testicle hovering over you. suguru moaned, putting his cock into your warm plush mouth, groaning at the way his your lips wrapped around his cock.

while suguru was much more sensual, satoru lapped at your pussy like he was dying of thirst. his tongue flicked your now swollen and used clit, his long, slender fingers pumping in and out of your walls.

you whimpered around suguru's dick which in turn made him fuck your face harder. "she has an amazing mouth, 'toru," said suguru.

"oh? well these lips are really good too," replied satoru muffled in your pussy. you start to squirm from overstimulation of your tired-out clit, but satoru firmly held down your thighs "ah ah don't runaway from me now baby girl. " eyes rolled back in complete bliss, you wondered if it was possible to die of too many orgasms within 24 hours.

"I think she's dying to get fucked," smirked surguru.

"I call dibs. i texted her first."

"no, i definitely wanted her first. you just like to bandwagon."

"not true!"

you giggled and fought to roll your eyes. how typical for them to bicker while you were getting ravaged during a threesome. you flipped yourself over from your back, sliding suguru's cock out of your mouth. you looked up at him with wide doe eyes.

"fuck me please?" you asked. "I kissed you first, its only fair."

suguru chuckled, kissing your forehead, "don't worry 'toru, you'll get turn soon."

satoru pouted between your legs, but eased you over to your knees in doggy position, your pussy prepped and primed for a good fucking. taking suguru's place, he stroked his hard length before holding your head down to take him full.

you couldn't see what was happening behind you. all you could feel was suguru's tip rubbing against your hole, and then letting out a cry you didn't know you were holding in when he pushed in. it felt like he was ripping you wide open with his thick cock, but you eventually found a good rhythm- deep full slow strokes going in and out of your wet cunt.

your moans were muffled by satoru's cock, and with every hard thrust from surguru you took satoru's dick even deeper down your throat, gagging leaving you gasping for air.

"so hot," murmured satoru, pulling your up in a ponytail "she feel good?" he asked suguru.

"mhmm, just divine," he groaned. "so fucking tight. fuck, i don't wanna to pull out."

"then don't," satoru egged him on. "cream inside that pussy, fill her up."

suguru's thrusts became quicker, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. from hazy eyes you watched satoru stroke himself, a trail of spittle connecting your lips to his cockhead.

"that's right, I bet you'd love that huh baby girl? you want his hot cum deep inside you hmm? maybe i should fuck his cum out you..."

"y-yes! I want it inside m-me..."

"give it to her suguru, cum inside her."

"I-im cumming 'toru!" suguru grips your hips as his white hot load fills you up deep inside, at the same time you see sprouts of white liquid dripping down satoru's fist. he rubs the remaining cum on his cocked on your lips, letting you lick his cum-covered fingers clean.

you feel suguru pull out of you, pulling back on his boxers. satoru spreads out on the bed, his softening cock out proudly. and then there was you. what were you suppose to do after a threesome anyway?

"come cuddle with us suguru," satoru smiled, motioning you to come closer next to him. he threw an arm behind your head, while suguru laid on your other side, pulling an arm around your waist. you felt warm and fuzzy.

you don't know how you guys managed, but the three of you slept peacefully and snug on the single queen bed. you may have won the women's championship, but the real award was this night spent together.

[sunkissed-zegras]

🌱 meeting jack's entire family and realizing you're the one! They can tell that this time is different as it's so clear jack is in love w you

𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 465

♡ ─ warnings | nothing but sweet fluff!!!

♡ ─ ev's notes | aaaaaaa, i love lovesick jack

"Do you like the dinner?" Ellen's voice was soft as she watched you eat the dinner slowly. She sounded slightly concerned as she watched you but the truth was, it was delicious - you were just nervous. No one would blame you though, this was the first time meeting Jack's family and anxious was an understatement. You knew they had high expectations for their son, you just hoped they liked you.

"It's so good, thank you." You answered nervously as she smiled back warmly. She was not as intimidating as you thought she'd be. You felt Jack's hand on your thigh as he squeezed it, to let you know that he was still there with you. He knew you were nervous and you were grateful he was being sweet.

"So uh, Jack tells us you're studying at UPenn, is that right?" Jim, Jack's dad's voice was friendly, trying to engage you in conversation and ease some of the tension that hung in the air.

"Yeah, it's my last year." You replied warmly as you put down your spoon.

"UPenn is really hard to get into, you must be very smart." Jim's voice sounded impressed as he spoke.

Jack looked back at you with a smile. "Yeah, she is very smart, like I told you before. She reads a lot, too."

"That doesn't mean I'm smart," you couldn't help but blush at his compliments as you heard his parents chuckle. "I read occasionally, when I have time."

"She's just being humble." Jack rolled his eyes playfully as he continued to eat, watching his parents. His eyes lingered on you warmly as you let out a laugh, his heart swelling. Jim and Ellen exchanged glances as they watched you interact.

"So, how did you two decide to start dating?" Ellen asked, her voice carrying genuine curiosity as she leaned back in her chair.

Jack grinned, his playful demeanor shifting into a more affectionate one as he looked at you. "Well, it all started after one of my games and we started talking at the bar. We just clicked. The more we got to know each other, the more it felt like we were meant to be together."

You couldn't help but smile at Jack's words, feeling a warmth spreading through you. "It was a bit unexpected, to be honest. I never thought I'd be dating a hockey player, but here I am."

Ellen let out a laugh. "That's just adorable." Her eyes were filled with admiration as she watched you two. "You make a cute couple."

Jack's hand found yours under the table, his fingers intertwining with yours as you squeezed his hand gently. Jack's grin widened at his mother's words, a proud glint in his eyes as he looked at you. "Thanks, Mom. I think so too."

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

in the vast expanse of time, the tiniest moments shine the brightest.

✦ info: “jing yuan kissy kissy mwah mwah smooch” — mika, 2023.

✦ featuring: jing yuan.

✦ warnings: kisses galore, tooth-rotting fluff., not proofread.

✦ notes: hi hello please have this medium low effort drabble written because i wanted to kiss jing yuan in the middle of the night

the starchess game lays forgotten on the table. 

instead, jing yuan is all that has your rapt attention. 

he tastes of bitter, bitter tea and sweet, sweet honey, plush lips soft and oh-so-deliciously warm against yours. the scent that clings to his clothes is fragrant jasmine, and you send a thousand thanks to your past self for purchasing that specific perfume. 

you like that smell on him, you think. it suits him. you know it will linger about your own person for hours to come, and you don’t mind at all. 

and as your lips move to his forehead, to the space under his eyes, to the bridge of his nose, down to the very tip, he laughs, the sound coming from somewhere deep within his chest. it travels throughout your entire body, from your ears to your heart, and all the way down to the tips of your toes, a pleasant warmth spreading through your soul. 

“oh?” he hums, nuzzling his nose with yours. “someone’s very, very affectionate today,” 

“are you complaining?” you quip, never bothering to stop, littering pecks all over his jawline, on his chin, up to the little mole underneath his eye, trailing featherlight touches in the wake of your kisses. your fingertips trace his sharp features, taking in every curve, every angle, every bump, tenderly drawing shapes into pale skin.

“not at all. on the contrary, i’m rather enjoying it.”

“oh, i know you are.” you smile against his cheek, giggling when his fingers brush your side. “hey,” you chide playfully. “watch the hands, general. you know i’m ticklish.”

“my apologies,” he grins, not a trace of remorse in golden eyes. without warning, he tugs you closer until you rest on his lap, arms finding their way around his neck, returning your affections tenfold. his kisses grace every inch of skin he can find, mirroring the path you followed on his own face. 

his eyes flit to yours to make the briefest of contacts with your own, adoration evident in amber, before closing to savor the feel of your cheeks under his lips. subtle whispers of affection for you fall freely and unrestrainedly. 

goosebumps rise along the lengths of your limbs, electricity running down your spine. your previous thoughts are but a distant memory; how can you think of anything, when you have jing yuan lavishing you with all the affection in his being?

after what seems like both an eternity and almost no time at all, he pulls away slowly and slightly, eyes lidded, breath shallow. white hair cascades down broad shoulders, ponytail unraveling somewhere in the middle of your exchange, ribbon fallen to the floor. he says nothing for a moment, simply choosing to play with your clothing as his gaze remains fixed on your figure.

“staring is rude, my love,” you tap his nose mischievously. 

a slow smile stretches across his face as he moves closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “but admiring a work of art isn’t, my love,” he murmurs against your lips. his voice is gentle, quiet, appreciative; his words cradled by a soft whisper the same way he cradles your face in his warm, calloused hands. “you look wonderful like this. so mesmerizing, i can’t take my eyes off of you.” 

the words of admiration that roll off his tongue are sincere, heartfelt, and you know exactly how much he means that. he’s made sure that no matter the circumstance, no matter the situation, you never doubt what he feels for you.

you send a shy smile his way. “you’re beautiful too,” you tell him, just as sincerely, twirling a lock of his hair.

he nudges his shoulder against yours. “then i suppose we make a dazzling pair, don’t we? perhaps we should invest in eye protection for those around us?” 

you snort. “i know your pockets are deep, but truly, that’d be a waste of money.”

he throws his head back in laughter. “ah, you’re right.” he says, pretending to consider. “i’m sure they’ll be able to handle our radiance just fine.”

oh, how you wish every moment could be like this one. 

taglist: @ilyuu @ineshapanda @supernova25 @kissedbysilk @vixianne

(bold = unable to be tagged!) please fill in the form in my profile to be added, and send an ask to be removed!

[tigertales9]

Hard Reset

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: The first game of the 2023 season didn't go well. This fic covers the aftermath with a quick flashback to the game.

Time/Place: Monday, Sep. 11, 2023 (the day after the week 1 loss to Cleveland) / Cincinnati, Ohio

Edit: Explanation is here

Here's the follow-up - Hard Reset II

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You wake up slowly, stretching and yawning before turning your head to look at Joe; he's still asleep, his lips slightly parted and his messy hair fanned out against his pillow. You ease out of bed -- careful not to wake him -- and walk into the bathroom, quickly peeing and washing your face before heading downstairs to make coffee.

You roll your shoulders and stretch a bit while you wait for the coffee to be done. Your entire body feels a little sore from literally tensing most of your muscles throughout yesterday's game in Cleveland. Between the awful weather, the lackluster offense, and Joe looking like he was one wrong move away from getting hurt, the game had been a miserable experience.

You pour a cup of coffee and add a splash of salted caramel creamer before taking a seat at the kitchen island, your mind rewinding back to yesterday.

~ ~ ~

You'd been anxious well before kick-off, worried that the team was rushing Joe back before his calf injury was fully healed. The steady rain had kicked your anxiety into overdrive, you and Joe's mom exchanging worried looks while his dad tried to remain stoic. It became obvious fairly quickly that Joe was hampered by the calf, not really rolling out or scrambling as well as usual. Every hit he took, every time he slipped on the wet turf, your heart jumped into your throat. The fact that he got out of Cleveland without getting anything but his ego hurt seemed like a damn miracle.

And his ego was definitely hurt, you think to yourself, remembering the look on his face when he got home late Sunday night after the game. You'd been home long enough to shower and change clothes before he came in; you hurried to hug him as soon as he walked through the door, pressing your face against his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

"You okay?" you asked. "I'm fine," he grumbled, "and I really don't wanna talk about it," he continued, dropping a kiss on your forehead to soften his words. You leaned back and looked up into his face. "You hungry?" you asked, biting your lip when he shook his head no. "Can we just go to bed?" he asked, giving you a tired smile as you took his hand and led him toward the stairs.

~ ~ ~

The sound of Joe ambling down the stairs snaps you back to the present (Monday morning); you spin your barstool toward him and give him a smile, taking in his wild hair and grumpy expression.

"Good morning, sunshine," you chuckle. "Morning," he mutters, dropping a quick kiss on your lips before heading to the fridge to grab the orange juice. You zero in on his gait, trying hard to decide if he's limping or just doing his usual long-legged, loose-hipped stride.

"Calf feels fine, babe," he states, throwing you a knowing look over his shoulder.

"How did you know I was looking at your calf?" you scoff. "Your back was to me."

He takes a sip of his juice before answering. "Were you looking at my calf?"

"Maybe," you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully when he gives you a smug grin. "So it feels good?"

"It feels … fine," he answers, giving you a 'don't go there' look.

You really want to 'go there' but decide not to. "You want some breakfast?"

"Yeah, I'm starving," he groans, sitting beside you at the island while you list possible breakfast items.

"How does an omelet sound? And maybe some avocado toast?"

"Yes and yes," he chirps, his demeanor perking up at the thought of yummy food.

About forty minutes later you watch him finish the last bite on his plate. "That was delicious," he moans, giving you a smile while rubbing his stomach. "Wish I could go straight back to bed for a nap," he sighs. "I didn't sleep worth a shit last night, but I need to get to the facility."

"Too bad you have to go on your day off," you mumble, cutting the last bite of your avocado toast in half and handing him a portion.

"Yeah." He pops the tasty morsel in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before giving you a shrug. "But you know how it is. Gotta get treatment -- maybe watch a little film while I'm there -- then I can come home and take a nap."

You nod your head before responding. "Anybody coming over to watch the Bills & Jets game tonight?"

"No. I don't feel like having anybody over." He stands up and grabs both of your plates. "Guess it'll just be you and me," he continues, quickly rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

He walks to the stove to grab the skillet and you shoo him away. "I'll take care of that," you state, standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss before he turns and heads for the stairs; you watch him carefully as he walks away from you, giving him a bland smile when he shoots you a look over his shoulder. "I was looking at your ass not your calf," you lie, smiling at the sound of his laughter as he disappears upstairs.

~ ~ ~

Several hours later after a shared nap and a 'cheat day' pizza dinner, y'all are snuggled on the sofa watching the lead-up to Monday Night Football.

"Think it's gonna be a good game," you ask, smiling at his inelegant snort. "Who knows," he sighs. "I just hope both teams put on a better show than we did yesterday. We sucked ass, especially me."

"You were playing in shitty weather after missing damn near all of training camp," you grumble. "Give yourself a break, okay?"

He turns his head and locks eyes with you. "I just signed a 275 million dollar contract. There are no 'breaks' when that kind of money has been handed to you."

"You earned every penny of that and then some," you retort. "This franchise has gone from being an absolute joke to a top contender because of you." You take a deep breath before plowing ahead. "What you've accomplished in just two full seasons is mind-blowing and …"

"Babe?" he interrupts.

"What?"

"None of that changes the fact that I sucked ass yesterday."

"But you weren't 100%."

"Tough shit. I've never made excuses and I refuse to start now."

You stare at each other for several heartbeats before you break the silence. "You're right. Sorry."

"No need to apologize."

You give him a smile. "Didn't mean to get my panties in a wad over it."

"Need some help with that?" he chuckles, sliding a hand up your thigh, laughing even harder when you playfully slap it away. "Easy there, horndog. You're about to miss Mr. Rodgers running out waving the flag." You point at the TV and Joe turns his head to watch. "This is some high-octane drama," he murmurs, shaking his head as y'all watch the remainder of the pre-game festivities in silence.

A little while later you head to the kitchen to grab some water. "That pizza was salty as hell," you mutter, guzzling most of your glass before refilling it, almost dropping it when you hear Joe holler.

"Oh shit!"

"What is it?" you chirp, setting your glass on the kitchen counter and hurrying back to Joe, your gaze locking on the TV as the replay rolls.

"Aaron went down really awkward," Joe mutters, standing up off the sofa to walk closer to the TV. "Looked like his cleat got stuck in the turf." You walk up beside him and watch the replay again, now in super slow-mo. "Jesus, it's his fucking Achilles," Joe whispers, running a hand through his hair in agitation as he watches the trainers help Aaron off the field.

"He's putting some weight on it," you offer hopefully. "Maybe it's not that bad."

"It's bad," he mumbles, pulling his phone out and doing a quick search. "Fuck," he breathes, shaking his head as he watches something, rewinding it a few times.

"What are you watching?"

"A man's Achilles tendon snap like a brittle rubber band."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Don't look too close at that replay or you'll see it too." His eyebrows slowly creep up when his phone starts blowing up with texts. He bites his lip while looking at the display.

"Who's texting you?"

"Just some teammates … and my parents."

"You're not gonna answer them?"

"No, because I know exactly what they're gonna say."

"What?"

He takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling for a minute before locking eyes with you. "Aaron had a calf strain like mine back during OTAs. Folks are gonna say that his Achilles injury is proof I shouldn't be playing until my calf is 100% healed."

"Was his calf strain on the same leg as the Achilles injury?"

"No, but overcompensating and favoring one leg over the other can result in an injury to the good leg."

"So it sounds like you shouldn't be playing until your calf is fully healed, right? Or you risk either making the calf injury worse or sustaining an overcompensation injury."

"No," he shakes his head in annoyance. "Aaron is older than me and has had calf issues his entire career. Plus, his cleat got stuck in the fucking turf. It's bad luck not an overcompensation injury."

His phone rings and he stares at it for a second before ignoring it.

"Who's that?"

"Mom." He makes a 'don't go there' face when you open your mouth to say something; you glare at him for several heartbeats before you're startled by your own phone ringing. You quickly check the display as Joe speaks up. "If that's my mom don't answer it."

"Hey Robin," you say, turning your back on Joe when he rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking to her," he says loudly, his expression totally belligerent when you spin around and lock eyes with him. "Well, I am!" you snap. "And I know you're not gonna tell me who I can and can't talk to!"

He's smart enough to keep his mouth shut as you continue your conversation with his mom. "Yeah, it's super concerning since it's the same injury Joe has. Something about overcompensating a calf strain makes you really vulnerable to an Achilles injury." Joe makes a snorting noise and you cut your eyes at him while continuing. "Well, he's a hard-headed, stubborn asshole when it comes to stuff like this, so no way he's gonna listen to us about it."

"Damn right," he mutters, ignoring your warning look while picking at his thumbnail.

"Okay, I'll tell him," you sigh, ending the call and hitting Joe with an exasperated look. "Your mom would like to talk to you when you feel like it."

"It's not gonna be tonight," he states. "And it may not be for a while since I don't feel like hearing a bunch of crap about why I shouldn't be playing."

"She's just worried about you, Joe. We all are."

"That's nice, but I don't wanna talk about it with anybody right now." You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off. "That includes you."

You heave a sigh and lick your lips before responding. "But …"

"Drop it!" he snaps, immediately grimacing when he sees the look on your face. "Fine," you whisper, brushing his hand off your arm as he reaches out to touch you. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he mumbles, following you as you turn and head toward the kitchen; halfway there you hear his phone ring, your eyes going wide when he answers it.

"Hey Coach," he mutters, turning back toward the living room as you continue into the kitchen.

"Of course he answers Coach's call," you grumble, stopping just out of sight to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Yeah, I saw it," Joe says. "Looked like his cleat got caught in the turf. It's def a ruptured Achilles." He listens for a minute before speaking back up. "As far as I'm concerned this changes nothing for me. I intend to play Sunday as long as I don't have any setbacks between now and then."

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding and walk farther into the kitchen, grabbing your water glass to refill it before setting it back down. "Fuck it," you mumble, reaching into a cabinet for a wine glass before pulling a bottle of rosé out of the fridge; you pour a large serving and take a couple of sips before heading toward the stairs, rolling your eyes when you hear Joe talking about some offensive scheme with Coach Taylor.

Fifteen minutes later you're chin deep in a bubble bath, the only light in the bathroom coming from several candles; you take a sip of cold wine and hold it on your tongue for a bit before swallowing, your pulse picking up when you hear a soft knock at the door.

"Can I come in?" Joe calls.

"Yeah," you answer, setting your glass on the tub ledge as he opens the door and slowly approaches you; he drops to his knees beside the oversized tub and blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he states. "I'm under a lot of pressure, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

You take in his earnest expression, struck speechless for a few seconds at how achingly beautiful his face is in the flickering candlelight. "I understand," you finally concede. "I just wish you'd talk to me about it instead of shutting me down."

"There's nothing to talk about because my mind's made up. If practice goes well this week -- and I receive clearance to play -- I'm taking the field this Sunday. I'm sorry if that makes you mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm scared," you whisper, blinking your eyes rapidly to try and keep tears from falling.

He bites his bottom lip and leans in closer. "Babe, I'm not gonna lie and say there's nothing to be scared of because you never know what's gonna happen in this sport. Here's the thing though." He runs a hand through his hair before continuing. "I could bubble-wrap my entire body and sit out until I feel 100% healthy," he shrugs, "but the second I step back on the field I'm at risk just like every other player. Instead of a calf it might be another blown-out knee, cracked ribs, a bad concussion …"

"You're making me feel a lot better, thanks," you butt in, grabbing your wine glass and taking a hearty gulp.

"My point is … guys get hurt every week. You can't play scared, though, or you might as well just go ahead and hang 'em up." He takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly. "You went through my knee rehab with me so you know it was hell. But we came out the other side stronger than ever. If, God forbid, something like that happens again, I know we'll get through it, okay?"

"I guess it has to be okay," you sigh. "I mean this is your job. It's violent as hell, and it may get you permanently maimed or worse one of these days, but unfortunately you're really good at it."

He gives a snort of laughter while shaking his head. "Unfortunately?"

"That was a little harsh," you admit, watching as he stands up and strips his clothes off.

"Scoot forward," he orders, stepping into the tub behind you as you do his bidding; he eases into the warm, frothy water, his long legs stretching out on either side of you as he pulls you back against him, your back to his chest.

Once he's settled he digs his fingers into your shoulder muscles, working out the tension as you give an appreciative moan. "That feels good," you whisper, your toes curling as he moves to your neck muscles, taking his time to give you a thorough neck and shoulder massage before dipping his hands below the water surface to rest on your thighs. "How did you know my thighs are sore?" you sigh, your eyes sliding closed in pleasure as his big hands knead your sore thigh muscles.

"Because I'm guessing you were so tense at the game yesterday you could've cracked a walnut with your buttcheeks."

"You have a way with words," you giggle, taking a sip of wine before setting the glass on the tub ledge and relaxing back against him. He continues to massage your thighs for several minutes, his right hand edging closer to your crotch before he finally ghosts his fingertips over your folds; your body reacts instantly but your mind refuses to play along. You wait a minute to see if you can get in the mood before dropping a hand down and gently moving his hand back onto your thigh. "I'm not in the right headspace for that," you murmur. "My body's saying yes but my mind's saying no."

"It's okay," he soothes, pressing a kiss on your neck. "I just thought some endorphins might help you relax."

"Absolutely would if I could shut my damn brain off for a few minutes." A thought hits you. "If you want me to get you off I'll be happy to."

"I'm not really in the right headspace, either."

Y'all fall silent for a bit before he speaks back up. "Since we're both tired as hell why don't we get in bed, put something boring on TV and hope it lulls us to sleep."

"Sounds good," you sigh, easing out of the tub and drying off before brushing your teeth; you step into a pair of panties as Joe blows out the candles, a smile gracing your lips at the comforting feel of his hand on the small of your back as he follows you into the bedroom.

~ ~ ~

The next morning (Tuesday) you're in the kitchen making breakfast burritos when Joe comes down the stairs already dressed for the day.

"Smells delicious," he says, watching you roll up two fat burritos before setting them on a hot griddle to get toasty. "What's in 'em?"

"Eggs, spicy turkey sausage, onion, red bell pepper, poblano, jalapeno, and some chipotle salsa."

"Yum," he groans, grabbing a couple of plates as you flip the burritos, smiling down at you as y'all wait for the second side to get golden.

"Did you sleep okay? he asks, dropping a kiss on your lips. "Not really. Check out these dark circles," you grimace, pointing at your face. "Your barely-there dark circles ain't got nothing on this huge zit," he grumps, pointing at a miniscule dot on his chin. You squint your eyes and lean in close. "Boy please," you scoff. "It doesn't count if you need a magnifying glass to see it."

"It's not nice to talk about Travis Kelce's dick like that, babe," he deadpans, both of you cackling like hyenas for a bit before settling down.

Y'all eventually sit down at the table and exchange small talk over breakfast, mostly about your plans for the day:

his plans = work-out, treatment, film session

your plans = work-out, virtual meeting for work, errands

Once breakfast is done you slide the last dish into the dishwasher just as Joe's phone rings; he checks the display before giving you a look. "It's Josh," he says.

"Josh Allen?"

"Yeah, I texted him earlier. He looked like he was going through it in his post-game presser last night."

You nod in agreement, loving the fact that a lot of the young NFL QBs reach out to each other to lend support. They're rivals on the field but off of it they're a very elite brotherhood. Nobody understands the pressure on a QB1 except for another QB1.

You finish wiping down the counters and tune into the conversation.

"Yeah, bro, I know it sucks," Joe states, "but even the best-of-the-best shit the bed every now and then. You just gotta flush it down and move on." He catches your eye for a second before continuing. "Listen, you're being too hard on yourself. The worst thing you can do is dwell on it. Keep your head up and unleash hell next week."

You give him a smile as he ends the call. "Is he okay?"

Joe shrugs. "He's really beating himself up about the four turnovers he had."

"You gave him some great advice. Actually, you're giving him a lot more grace than you give yourself."

"He needs it more than I do," Joe boasts.

"Hardass," you scold, giving him a playful grin.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he smirks, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips before heading for the door. "Have a good day," he calls over his shoulder, giving you a wink before disappearing into the garage.

A few hours later you stagger into the house carrying four heavy bags of groceries. "Should've made two trips," you chuckle, heaving the bags onto the kitchen counter with a sigh of relief. You eventually get everything put away, yawning a couple of times in the process. "I could really use a nap," you mutter, checking your watch. "Plenty of time," you smile, heading upstairs and stripping down to your undies before falling into bed.

An hour and a half later you come awake abruptly, your body so close to climax that you can't believe you don't fall over the edge. "Shit," you whisper, still groggy from sleep as you cup a hand over your throbbing crotch. You consider finishing yourself off but decide to wait for Joe to get home.

You take several deep breaths as you remember the reason for your hyper-aroused state -- an erotic dream about your man. "So hot," you mumble, easing out of bed and checking the clock, noting that Joe should be home soon. You walk into your closet and grab a couple of items, deciding to recreate the outfit from your dream.

You pull on a tight white t-shirt -- no bra -- before adding a black flouncy skirt so short it barely covers your buttcheeks. "Not bad," you whisper, checking your reflection in the mirror while fluffing your hair. "Oh yeah, almost forgot" you breathe, reaching under your skirt to slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you turn and head for the door.

You're halfway down the hallway to Joe's office when you hear the garage door open; your entire body immediately reacts, every single pleasure point throbbing in anticipation. You hurry into his office as you hear him coming up the stairs. "I'm in your office," you call loudly, "and I hope you're ready for this," you add under your breath.

"Hey," he says as he strides into the room, the big grin on his face morphing into a look of surprise and then lust as he gives you a slow once-over, his gaze coming to rest on your hard nipples plainly visible through your thin shirt.

You immediately notice his haircut but are too far gone to mention it. "I took a nap earlier and had a dream about you," you admit, closing the distance between you and rising up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Must have been a good one," he says, deepening the kiss while cupping his big hands over your breasts, teasing your sensitive nubs through your shirt; he pinches them just hard enough to make you gasp, and you press your thighs together at the gush of liquid heat in your core. He reads your body language and drops a hand down, sliding it under your short skirt before slowing inching it up your inner thigh, making a sound that's part groan/part growl when he realizes you're not wearing panties.

"Damn, babe," he hisses, pulling back to look down at you as he plays with your slick folds. "So wet for me." He slides a long finger inside you, both of you moaning when your walls clench hard around it.

"We gotta slow down or I'm gonna cum," you whimper. "Is that a bad thing?" he asks, latching his pretty mouth onto your neck while pumping his finger inside you. "I wanna do it just like in my dream," you pant, taking a couple of steps back to try and get yourself under control; you watch him suck his wet finger into his mouth, the look on his face causing your core to react.

"What do you need?" he asks. "Get naked," you order, taking your own clothes off while he does your bidding; you walk toward his desk, spinning his large, black leather desk chair to face you before pointing at it. "Sit," you urge, watching closely as he follows orders, his long legs falling open in his usual manspread.

You drop to your knees between his thick thighs, your mouth immediately on his hard cock as he buries both hands in your hair, his throaty groans going directly to your clit as you work him in all his favorite ways.

Shit, gotta fast-forward, you think to yourself. You'd teased him more in your dream, but you're literally about to bust so you quickly stand up and crawl into his lap, gasping when he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the desk. "This wasn't in the dream," you whisper, laying back against the desk as he grabs your ankles and places your feet on either side of him on the arms of the chair. "Just let me have a quick taste," he purrs, waiting for your approval before lowering his head.

You run your hands over his fresh fade haircut, relishing the velvet-like feel as he licks your wet slit a few times before sliding his tongue inside. "Oh my God," you moan, fisting a hand in his hair as he continues to tongue-fuck you, grateful that he left enough hair on top of his head to get a nice handful.

Even though he's strategically avoiding your clit, you quickly feel that delicious tension building inside you. "That feels so good but you gotta stop," you whine. "Why?" he asks. "Because I wanna cum on your cock," you say matter-of-factly.

The words barely leave your mouth before you find yourself lifted off the desk and straddling his lap, your head spinning a little as he makes sure you're settled before he drops a hand down to his erection, dragging it through your drenched folds a few times to gather moisture before pushing inside. It's been a few days and you bite your lip at the way he fills you up, inch by inch, the delicious stretch making your eyes water and raising chill bumps on your skin.

"So good," you whisper once he's fully seated, holding yourself still for several heartbeats to adjust to his thick length. Your gaze is drawn to your juices glistening on his lips, and you can't resist leaning forward and slowly licking them before sucking his plump bottom lip into your mouth. His cock twitching deep inside you spurs you into action, and within a few seconds you're riding him hard

"Don't touch my clit yet," you whimper, digging your fingers into his muscular shoulders as you hit the perfect pace. "Yes, ma'am." He runs his hands up and down your thighs before resting them on your ass. "Did I talk dirty to you in your dream?" he grits out, his big hands squeezing your plump ass as you bounce on his cock. "Y … yeah," you pant. "Thank fuck," he groans, his gaze resting on your bouncing breasts for several seconds before he locks eyes with you and starts talking, the filthy praise spilling from his pretty lips arousing your body like a physical touch.

"I'm so close," you gasp. "Want me to finish you?" he asks, moving a hand to your clit as soon as you give him a breathy, "yeah." It takes one stroke of his thumb on your super-sensitive nub before you come apart, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the intense climax hits; he hisses in pleasure at the feel of your core rhythmically clenching his thrusting cock, lasting only a few more seconds before he buries himself deep and cums inside you, licking your sweaty neck before sucking hard enough to leave a love bite.

You pant against his shoulder for a few minutes, eventually lifting your head up before quickly dropping it back down. "Damn, I'm dizzy," you mutter, grinning when Joe mumbles "me too" against your neck.

After taking a little more time to come to your senses, you lean back and look at Joe, running a hand over his fade while giving him a grin. "I had a feeling you'd lose the hair before week two."

"Needed a fresh start," he states, returning your grin. "A hard reset."

"Ohhh, 'hard reset' sounds kinda hot," you giggle, hitting a Kegel on his still-softening erection.

His breath catches in his throat and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. "If I knew a haircut was gonna make you go beast mode on me, I would've cut that shit a lot sooner."

"I love the cut, but I was already horny as hell when you got home."

"You need to have naughty dreams about me more often," he teases, "except don't rush me through the pussy-eating part next time."

"Did you feel deprived?"

"A little," he pouts. "You know I love to get you off with my tongue. Plus, it would be nice to be reminded that I'm really good at something since I've clearly forgotten how to throw a damn football."

"Joseph!" you scold, opening your mouth to further admonish him.

"I'm kidding," he chuckles. "Don't get your panties in a wad."

You roll your eyes at him before looking down at your still-joined bodies. "Good thing this chair is leather instead of fabric."

"Why?"

"Because your lethal hotness caused me to unleash a pussy juice tsunami."

"You have a way with words," he laughs. "Let's go get a quick shower," he continues. "I'll clean the chair up later."

Twenty minutes later y'all are lounging on the bed, him flat on his back and you on your side facing him, exchanging small talk while the ceiling fan cools down your naked bodies.

"How did treatment go today?" you ask.

"Fine," he answers vaguely. "And my work-out went good."

You're dying to ask how his calf feels but you hold your tongue, opting instead for something positive. "I'm making your fav dinner tonight."

"Yeah? Which one? You make like a hundred things that are my favs."

"It's a surprise," you tease. "Why don't you try and get a nap while I go get dinner started. I'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Okay," he agrees. "If I can't sleep I'll just watch some film."

"Of course you will," you chuckle, pressing a kiss on his chest before pushing up into a sitting position. You take a deep breath and lock eyes with him. "I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If your calf tightens up during the game this Sunday, promise me you'll tell the trainers and team doctor, okay? Let them decide if it's safe for you to keep playing."

"Sure," he says, a little too casually for your liking.

You lean down until your face is inches from his. "Listen, I know you're tough enough to play with pain, but as the leader of this team you have an obligation to do what's best for the franchise. If you go down with a season-ending injury like Aaron's, this team is dead in the water. You owe it to them to be honest about your condition."

"Damn, woman, going for the jugular," he laughs, reaching a hand up to brush your hair off of your face. "How about this … if it tightens up more than normal, I promise I'll say something."

You search his face for several seconds before leaning down to give him a kiss. "Thanks," you breathe against his lips, squealing in surprise when he quickly flips you onto your back and crawls on top of you, careful not to crush you with his entire weight. He lowers his head and nips your earlobe before whispering in your ear.

"I gave you a promise … now what are you gonna give me?" he purrs, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ummm, your fav dinner?" you whisper, your pulse rate kicking into overdrive at the look on his face.

"Later." He holds eye contact with you while kissing his way down your body before settling between your spread legs. "I'm gonna have my fav dessert first," he states, giving your clit a vigorous suck before sliding his tongue inside you, his groan of approval tickling your sensitive skin as you bury a hand in his hair and arch up against him.

[delulujuls]

silent carnival | ln4, op81

i will just leave this here without any particular comment. im glad that the las vegas is over and im even more glad that lando is okay. anyway, please enjoy it as always!

summary: lando crashed and went to the hospital, y/n and oscar coming to the rescue

warnings: nothing i think

pairing: lando norris x fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri

The prevailing silence in the car was almost deafening, even the radio didn't dare to hum songs. The only audible sound was the quiet engine working at full throttle, ready to reach the destination as quickly as possible.

Y/N and Oscar sat next to each other in the back seat, gazing at the night landscapes illuminated by fiercely glowing neon lights. Neither of them was in the mood for conversation. The atmosphere was truly worse than gloomy.

Las Vegas was way much more than intense. The city pulsated with nightlife, decidedly more than any other place where Formula 1 had the pleasure to visit. That's why the silence that surrounded the McLaren drivers was quite shocking. However, this silence was entirely justified. It emerged when the orange car with number four on it submerged in sparks and concluded its disastrous ride in the barriers. Right then, all of Las Vegas froze; right then, the entire McLaren garage held its breath.

When the taxi parked at the hospital driveway, the pair quickly stepped outside and headed towards the entrance. After talking to the woman in the reception point and facing temporary difficulties finding the right room, they humbly sat on chairs in front of it. They had to wait until the tests were completed and the doctors left the room, allowing them to come in.

Seeing Y/N nervous, Oscar wordlessly embraced her, providing comfort. She closed her eyes and leaned on his shoulder, knowing well that she wouldn't calm down until she saw Lando with her own eyes.

After some time, when two doctors and a nurse left, the couple entered the room. Lando was genuinely surprised to see his friends, but he smiled seeing them.

The girl quickly approached the bed, ready to hug him, but she hesitated and lowered her outstretched arms, not wanting to cause him unnecessary pain. However, Lando pulled himself up a bit, reaching out to her and allowing the embrace. Oscar exchanged a reassuring look with his friend, smiling at him encouragingly. He sat on the bed and also hugged Lando, soothingly patting his back.

"You gave us quite a scare," Y/N murmured, still holding him tightly.

"It looked worse than the actual outcome it brought," he replied.

After some time, she pulled away and sat beside him, scrutinizing him carefully. Fortunately, there were no signs of serious injuries, just a few bruises and bumps.

"Thank goodness you're okay," Oscar said, glancing at him. However, Lando didn't seem overly comforted.

"Maybe I'm fine, but I completely fucked the car. I'd rather something happened to me than—" "Don't even say that," Y/N quickly interrupted him, scolding him with her gaze.

"Our cars have been total crap for a few races now, so I think you did a favor to the factory people," Oscar remarked with a reassuring smile, lifting Lando's spirits a bit, although he still shook his head.

"Total massacre. At least you fought for our honor," Norris said, looking at the aussie.

"Fought is an understatement. Oscar was ready to throw hands," the girl laughed at his comment.

"Maybe it's for the best, considering how much of a disaster the track was. And you just crashed and hopped into the warm and comfy ambulance without giving a fuck—lots of space, delicious, perfectly chilled water, phew," Piastri joked, maintaining a serious demeanor.

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement. "I'm glad this race is behind us," Norris admitted with a sigh, wincing as he adjusted himself on the bed. "It's just a shame about the outcome."

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "The most important thing is that you're okay."

"Since I'm fine, you shouldn't waste time here," Lando said, looking at his friends. "This is our last night in Vegas; I'd go for a wild party if I were you."

"Oh c'mon, fuck Vegas," Oscar cut in, shaking his head.

"I can't wait to leave this place," Y/N admitted, taking out her phone "I'll order us some champagne, what do you think? We need to toast to this cursed city."

"I'm a hundred percent in," Oscar nodded.

"I hope no one will be mad at us for a little party here," Y/N said, dialing a number.

"It's an open party, the McLaren house is open to everyone," Oscar added.

And as they said, so they did. Shortly after, three bottles of champagne appeared in the hospital room and each of the trio could swear that the shared evening was better than any party.

At some point, Lando stopped thinking about the past race and the unfortunate crash. His thoughts departed from that incident; he didn't even feel the pain of his bruised body as he held a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne in his hand. He couldn't also contain his smile as his friends danced in the middle of the hospital room, singing a song in his honor. At that moment, Lando was genuinely happy and understood that to feel this way, all he needed was the company of these two, who would do anything for him.

[roguelov]

Sleepless Nights (Part 2)

Summary: Unable to sleep, you stumbled across Sanji at the back of the ship. A quick exchange, and some teasing remarks, a realization was made. Sanji hasn’t been with anyone, and you wanted to be his first

Word Count: ~3.8k

Reader: Afab (referred as love/sweetheart)

Warning: SMUT (unprotected sex, cream pie, riding, minor praise kink, inexperienced!Sanji)

Part 1

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

“Oh, sweetheart, I can keep going.”

Giggles - giddy and eager - cut into the still night air, only for muffled shushing to follow such unabound joyous noises. Footsteps padded quietly, or attempted to, across the creaky wooden ship deck.

Laughter and ruin would continue to fill the air tonight.

Just seconds ago, you and Sanji had merely tasted each other, and brought each other to pure ecstasy. Yet, it left a gaping hunger inside both of you. In a somewhat mad scramble, you hastily pulled on your sweatpants, knowing fully well they would slip right back off. You grabbed Sanji’s wrist, leading him back below deck.

To where? You weren’t entirely sure yet. Your room? His room? It didn’t matter, you just wanted him.

However, you only got a few steps before he yanked you back into his chest. He cupped your face, kissing you fervently. You hummed, delighted to be tasting the sweet wine of his lips. Your fingers carved a path down his chest. The tantalizing touches sent sparks over his wanting skin. Your hands landed at his hips. Grinning to yourself, your fingers sneakily skimmed further downward then cupped his half hard cock.

Sanji groaned against your lips. He broke the kiss, gulping down well needed air. His eyes dropped down. What were you -

You slowly rubbed him. He hissed, letting out a few curses.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured softly. He let out a breathy laugh and smiled up at you. His eyes - the color of the sea before a deadly storm - flickered down back to your addictive lips. “You are dangerous.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his and enjoying how his breath hitched slightly. “I know. Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no.”

Sanji kissed you again. It was loving and all consuming. He stole your breath without a second thought. Your knees felt weak under him. You instantly clung to him, he was your anchor in this raging storm of wants and hunger.

No, he was dangerous. He was brewing the perfect storm inside of you.

His lips slowly left yours. A soft whine rumbled in the back of your throat. You tried to lean back in to chase after them, to chase after such sweet nectar. Sanji smirked. He was thrilled to know he had such an effect on you. His lips trailed across your jaw then down your neck. You sighed, happily craning your head to the side. You would let him feast on you time and time again.

“Sweetheart,” he purred.

His confidence was growing, and the familiar honey rolled off his wicked tongue. He wanted to make you feel as you make him feel: weak.

He was weak for you.

So very, very weak.

How many nights had he imagined this scenario? How many nights had he touched himself to the thought of you? How many nights had you plagued his mind? He was weak like a starved man, only you gave him salvation and only you could satiate him. He wanted you writhing in pleasure after pleasure to understand a fraction of his hunger and devotion to you. What happened on the deck wasn’t enough. He wanted more, craved more.

Weak and hungry, that was what he was.

Sanji slowly kissed your neck, enjoying your soft sighs. One kiss there, one kiss here. One small nibble there. You hummed, smiling like a drunken fool. His teeth grazed along your skin, teasing where he might bite next. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Please,” he murmured, a small plea. “Let me hear you.”

He needed to know if he was doing everything right, and desperately wanted to hear all those delicious sounds fall off your lips. Sounds only he was allowed to hear. Each one was a shock to his system.

More.

He wanted to hear more, hoping to leave you completely breathless. His teeth sunk into you. He definitely wanted to mark your skin. He gently sucked on your neck and soothed any pains with his wonderful tongue.

You whimpered as his name tumbled out. You bunched up his shirt and walked backwards, trying to lead Sanji. You had to get to a room. You both were still in the middle of the deck. However, you moved only a few feet before Sanji pinned you up against the wall. His lips never left your neck. Gripping your hips, his thigh slipped between your legs. He pressed further into you, making you grind down on his thigh.

You moaned softly.

Sanji - your perfect storm - was learning. Every tease you did, he returned easily. He nibbled on your ear, whispering your name. His hand guided your hips forward, rubbing you against him again. Pleasure rushed through you. Yet, before he could repeat the action for a third time, you pushed off the wall, flipping him around. You quickly took charge, as if Sanji was truly giving you much of a fight.

He melted under your touch, like butter to a pan.

Your hands skimmed over his chest and stomach. You slipped your hands under his shirt. He hummed, arching his back slightly. You traced over his muscles. The cook was surprisingly toned, or you supposed it was obvious given his size despite the suits he typically wore.

Your nails scraped down, making him gasp. You smirked. As his lips parted in that sweet small gasp, you dove in, slipping your tongue inside his mouth. Sanji groaned as he put all his support into the wall. Blood rushed past his ears. But, it could not drown out the delightful sounds of your lips against his, of your tongue swirling around and tasting every part of him.

You truly made him weak.

Distracted by your mouth, one of your hands reached down again. This time, however, you grinded the palm against his painful bulge. Sanji’s eyes widened and he moaned loudly. Yet, you swallowed up each of his needy sounds. You did it again, and Sanji’s hips bucked into your touch.

God, you were torturous.

The sweetest kind.

Pulling away, Sanji was panting. You grinded your palm into him, just to hear his sweet moan without restraint. And he didn’t disappoint. God, it was beautiful. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and a dizzying fluttering in your stomach.

Biting your lip, you grabbed his waist and dragged him with you. It wasn’t elegant. You both clumsily stumbled around unable to keep your hands, or lips, off of each other. Your back soon smacked into a door. You blindly reached for the knob, and bumped it open. You unknowingly tumbled backwards into the kitchen, and Sanji blindly chased after you. Your back hit the counter as he trapped you in place. His lips once again happily kissing your neck. This wasn’t the place you initially wanted to be in, but it could work. Besides, neither of you could wait much longer.

You cupped his face to look at you. You asked, softly, “Here?”

He glanced around the empty kitchen. Perfect. To be honest, he wouldn’t want it any other way. “Where?” He whispered, excitedly.

“The bench.”

You gently pushed on his chest, leading him backwards to the ‘u’ shaped bench surrounding the suspended dining table. Sanji plopped down, staring up at you with stars in his eyes. You laughed lightly and slid into his lap.

You paused for a moment, wishing to admire the man before you.

You delicately brushed back his lush blonde hair to see all of his face. His lovely, handsome face. Your hands cupped his face, tilting his head back slightly. Your fingers glided down his face, following the curves and edges. A face sculpted out of sunshine and forgotten gold. And yet, his eyes glimmered like the treacherous unforgiving sea. Your thumb brushed along his lip, lips which were a siren’s call tempting you. And tempt they shall.

You captured his lips again, his divine lips. They were utterly addictive. You didn’t know if you could last a day without tasting them at least once.

Sanji groaned. His hands grabbed your hips, drawing you closer. There was too much space between the two of you, he needed to feel you up against him. His hand slipped under your shirt, placing the flat of his palm on your lower back. Your bare skin was so inviting and soft against his calloused fingertips.

“Can - can I take this off?” He murmured to your lips.

His hand kept crawling up your back, impatient and giddy to see all of you.

You whispered, “Yes.”

You lifted your arms, allowing Sanji to take the leading step in this dance. He bit back a smile. His fingers curled around the hem of your shirt. His heart pounded like a schoolboy, so much that he felt it in his fingertips. He tugged it up, carefully. Your vision was blinded for a second as the shirt was pulled over your head and tossed onto the floor. Sanji’s eyes greedily drank you in.

“Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbled.

Your heart fluttered under his praise and reaction. He hesitantly reached up, only to bring his hands back down. “Touch me,” you breathed out. “You can touch me.”

He swallowed, and nodded. His hands shook lightly with overwhelming nerves and excitement. His hands cupped your breasts so delicately as if you were made of glass, as if he was afraid he may break you.

You purred, “Keep going.”

Sanji shivered. Keeping his eyes on your face, he slowly kneaded your breasts. You sighed, blissfully. Pleasure began to crackle over your skin. With each sigh, Sanji kept going, kept playing with you. His thumb and index finger pinched and rolled your perked nipples.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you moaned, “Sanji.”

Oh, he loved that sound.

His cock twitched in his pants.

His eyes dropped down to your breasts. He licked his lips, feeling his mouth water. He bent his head down. His lips wrapped around one of your nipples. You gasped. Your hands flew up, digging into his shoulders. His tongue swirled around as he gently sucked on it.

“Fuck,” you mewled.

Your hands moved and threaded your fingers through his hair at the base of his head. Your fingers curled tugging on his golden locks. Sanji hummed, such a sensation sent a spike of pleasure through you. He removed his lips, and trailed a line of kisses across your chest to your other neglected breast. You bit your lip, trying to be quieter. But, Sanji’s wondrous vile mouth was making it difficult. He was dragging out and down into an ocean of pleasure. One swift under current and you were drowning in him.

You grinded down.

More.

You will happily drown even if he was your demise.

Sanji popped his mouth off and hissed, “Oh, fuck.”

You chuckled faintly. You repeated the tantalizing action. Sanji groaned loudly, throwing his head back. You wouldn’t waste an opportunity. You instantly latched your lips onto his neck, biting and sucking just as he did to you. You wanted him to drown just as you were.

Sanji whimpered.

Your lips curled into a smirk over his neck. Your fingers fell from his hair and down his chest. You bunched up his shirt. “Can I -“

He didn’t let you finish. He quickly pulled away and removed his shirt, adding it to the floor besides yours. You blinked then laughed.

“Okay, loverboy,” you smiled. “Eager, are we?”

Sanji’s cheeks flushed. “A bit.”

Your smile grew at his honest words. “That’s okay, so am I.”

You pecked his lips, short but still oh so sweet, before you dipped your head further down. He laid back into the bench as your lips skimmed over his stomach. You peppered soft butterfly kisses all over him. At each delicate touch of your lips, Sanji’s heart skipped. His eyes fluttered closed as you wove this loving spell over his desperate body. Until, that was, you nipped at his skin. Lust and desire was mixed into the spell. You injected it into his veins, making him gasp. Your sinful lips trailed upward. A patchwork of love bites criss-crossed over his body. Bruises would bloom tomorrow and he would cherish each one. As your lips brushed over his nipple, your eyes flickered up, seeing his eyebrows pinched together in pleasure. Smirking, you swiped your tongue over it.

He moaned, arching his back, “Sweetheart, I - I -“

I want you, I need you, he thought.

You knew how to make his body scream out, knew how to leave him gasping, knew how to make this nearly invincible cook into a puddle under your devilish fingertips. You kissed up his chest until you were face to face with him. “Come on, Sanji, use your words,” you teased.

“Oh, you little -“

He was cut off as a moan ripped out of his throat. You had grinded down on him, sending another wave of pleasure surging through him. You truly loved how easy it was to make him fumble over his words, to know you held such a devastating power over him.

“Speak up.” Your lips curled into a mischievous smile.

His lips were only a paper width away. His eyes constantly jumped between your eyes and your lips. He needed to taste you again, to feast on you in every possible sense. His arm curled around and his palm landed on your back, keeping you close.

“I need you, sweetheart.” His eyes seized their jumping and landed back on your lips. “Please.”

Your expression softened at his plea. “Okay.”

However, it wasn’t romantic. It was frantic. You leapt up removing your sweatpants while Sanji awkwardly wiggled out of his. No, not romantic. But, dear god, your hearts pounded with such excitement and adoration.

You paused again, glancing down at him. Propping himself on his elbows, he took you all in, trailing his eyes up and down your body. You immediately felt hot under his gaze, then he smiled. He smiled widely with that boyish charm of his.

“Beautiful,” he breathed out. “Absolutely stunning.”

You dropped your head, hiding your bashful smile. Shaking your head, you crawled back into his lap. His hands gently held your hips, still staring up at you with hearts in his eyes. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your skin. You brushed back his curtain of hair again. He leaned his head towards your warm hand. He grabbed your wrist, keeping your hand on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed your palm.

Perhaps, this was romantic.

Your heart skipped. “I’ll take care of you, okay?”

His eyes glanced over to you and smiled, “I trust you.”

“If anything feels wrong, tell me.”

“I will.”

You kissed him, sweetly. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

Sanji’s body buzzed with excitement at your promise. You would make him feel good, you would do everything you could to do so. But, you also would tease him.

Just a bit more.

Just to draw out his pleasure more.

You lowered yourself, and rubbed your dripping folds against his tip. Pleasure crackled down his spine. He hissed, tightening his grip on your hips. If this small act gave him this much pleasure, he didn’t know what he would do once inside of you.

You rubbed yourself down the length of his cock. Fuck, this was making you more wet. The feeling and thickness of him, his moans, it all made your heart flip and your cunt throb. You could rub and grind against him all night, getting off on this sensation alone.

Sanji moaned loudly.

“You might want to keep your voice down,” you whispered with a light laugh. “Wouldn’t want to wake the others.”

“Fuck -“ he choked on his words - “I’m trying, sweetheart, but - fucking hell, you’re - you’re -“

Teasing me, ruining me.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, I want to feel you, can I? Can I be inside of you?”

You leaned down, kissing his pouty lips. “Yes, of course, I did promise I would take care of you.”

Your fingers curled around the base of his cock. You lined yourself up, and slowly - so very slowly - sank down. You wanted Sanji to feel every inch, to feel how your body adjusted to his size and shape.

And, oh boy, he did.

His head tipped back into the bench cushions. He clenched his jaw. His fingers buried into your hips, bruising them. It was a miracle he didn’t slam you down.

You finally bottomed out, sitting beautifully in his lap. Your hand splayed across his chest as you tried to catch your breath. You shivered in delight. You felt full. He stretched you in a way you truly never felt before. A soft whine hummed in your throat.

So full, so stuffed.

Panting, Sanji glanced down. He swore viciously at the sight. His cock had disappeared inside of you. His mouth dried up. You were so warm, so inviting. Then, you began to move. You lifted yourself up all the way and gently sank back down.

Sanji choked out a moan.

Your bodies were meddled together perfectly. He was made for you, and you were made for him. His mouth dried up as he watched. It was utterly memorizing as you took all of him. Moving up and down at a steady pace, you wanted to ensure Sanji felt everything. Fuck, he was. His body and mind were being consumed by pleasure. Your cunt hugged his cock, almost unwillingly to let go.

“Love, can - can you go faster?” Sanji begged.

Ecstasy turned to sweet nearly unbearable agony. Your pace was torturous as pleasure filled every part of his body. A soft whimper escaped his lips. He craved more, wished for more, and will continue to beg for more.

He was at your mercy.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I can.”

As you picked up your pace, Sanji moaned unabashedly. His sweet moans, your combined panting, the slapping of skin, and the creaking of the bench filled the quiet night air in the dark kitchen.

“Fuck,” he hissed out and instinctively bucked his hips up.

You moaned, “Shit, keep doing that.”

You pumped yourself at a faster pace, rolling and grinding your hips while feeling as Sanji bucked up hitting deep parts within you. It was heavenly. Each stroke made you choke on pleasure, leaving you gasping for air. His name fell off your lips. You tipped your head back, arching your back.

Sanji almost drooled at the sight.

His lips begged to drag over your body, tasting every inch of you. He wanted to tease your breasts again. He wanted to run his hands all over your curves. God, he loved those soft sighs you made. He loved how your face twisted in pleasure. He loved knowing your beautiful face was the first he saw painted in this light.

His heart leapt.

God, he wanted to devour and mark your body. Your sweet body called to him, tempted him. But, all he could do was stare; stare as your breasts bounced up and down to your pace, stare as sweat beaded across your chest making him lick his lips, stare as your swollen lips fell open with another lovely moan. Stare and stare while feeling his hunger grow.

Your hand slid down your body. Sanji’s eyes followed your fingers, curious as to what they were about to do. Your fingers then reached down, swirling and playing with your clit. Your walls clamped down around his cock.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he moaned, snapping his hips up again. He didn’t think more pleasure was possible.

Your head tipped back forward smiling down at him. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise was a bolt down his spine. His cock twitched at the sweetness that dripped off your lips. He only ever wanted to be good for you and no one else. He dragged you down again, pushing deeper inside of you. Your hands flew down to his chest, moaning. Soon, a new pattern emerged. Every time you came down Sanji forcibly bucked up.

He was a very fast learner.

Your nails scratched along his flushed skin. Purple spots and red ribbons will adorn his body in the coming days. Marks he will wear with pride. He hissed through his teeth, “Love, I - I won’t last any longer.”

“That’s okay,” you murmured. You lovingly cupped the side of his face as you continued to ride him. “Cum for me, Sanji.”

He whimpered, nodding.

Towards the end, it was animalistic.

It was utter desperation.

Sanji hungrily snapped his hips at a sloppy unruly pace. You grinded down onto him, rolling your hips. He groaned, arching his back. You had truly ruined him. He had feasted upon you to never go back. You will leave a crater sized hole in his chest forever. You and you alone could only fill.

Grinding down once more, Sanji groaned, cumming inside of you.

“There you go,” you whispered. You continued to ride him, working him through his orgasm and reaching your own.

His eyes lazily glanced down, seeing the white ring around his cock and his cum spilling out of you with each thrust. He whined and thrusted his hips up again, “Please, love, let me see you, let me hear you.”

A smile ghosted over your lips.

Your pace faltered as your legs started to shake. Yet, Sanji continued to guide you, helping you along. He wouldn’t dare leave you in such a desperate and hungry state. Luckily, you had an idea.

You extended two fingers towards Sanji’s lips. “Suck, please.”

Sanji didn’t need to be told twice. He happily wrapped his lips around your fingers, sucking on them. His tongue ran and swirled over the pads of your fingers. You whined and shivered at the sensation. You swiftly pulled them out of his mouth, then swiftly played with your clit again.

You moaned loudly.

Sanji’s heart skipped. “Come on, love.”

Your walls fluttered. Sanji groaned, feeling you around him.

“That’s it, please let me see it,” he mumbled, still snapping his hips up.

Playing with yourself, Sanji’s pleas and his constant thrusts, it all pushed you under the current. Pleasure, unadulterated pleasure, was wrought into your body. Your walls clamped down as you came all over him. You moaned out his name which soon morphed into a small whimper.

Sanji swore at the sight.

Your hands rested on his chest, needing something steady to lean on. Both of you were panting as if swam across the sea. You picked up your head. His stormy blue eyes locked with yours. A lazy smile spread over his lips then he laughed lightly. He was still in a dreamy daze, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Tired?” You joked in a quiet voice.

“Exhausted,” he murmured, staring at your lips again.

You laughed once. You leaned down, kissing him softly. He hummed. You pulled back, but Sanji sat up, stealing one last kiss. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Come on,” you whispered, already starting to move. “Let’s clean up and go to bed.”

“And will I be joining you in bed?” Sanji teased,unadulterated while secretly asking.

You smiled, “I was hoping you would.”

[heartfullofleeches]

bunnyboy streamer darling gets access to a lot of resources and expensive ingredients/equipment but in exchange for wolf hybrid sugar parent yan looking at them like they’re dinner…bunnyboy won but at what cost

Bunnyboy: so... how was it?

Wolf Yan: Delicious as always, dear, though I could go for some dessert

Bunnyboy: D-dessert? But you ate nearly the entire sheet of cookies I just pulled out of the oven....

Wolf Yan: We both know that isn't what I'm talking about

Bunnyboy: ....Did you know Cannibalism is illegal in most countries?

Wolf Yan: Take off your apron, Rabbit.

Bunnyboy, tearing up: Please don't eat me, I don't taste good I swear-

[conkreetmonkey]

Splatoon 3 is wild because imagine if you were living in Japan due to a recent economic and cultural boom, and suddenly a space shuttle with a mutant house-sized T-rex riding it suddenly burst from the center of Mt. Fuji and disappeared into space without explanation, and all you ever find out about what the fuck that was about is that Zuckerburg mysteriously disappeared the same day and was never seen again, but still "officially" ran Meta through an open secret Queen-Elizabeth-being-in-good-health gaslighting campaign, and everybody kind of suspected he may have been connected but never figured out anything conclusive.

Also the T-rex is now orbiting the earth in the fetal position like the guy from Jojo, and there are rumors of a substance that, if touched, turns you into a half-dinosaur monster. Nobody understands any of this but Meta employees just keep going to work and pretending Zuck still exists. The same 12 prerecorded voicelines constantly squak from the PA system.

Oddly, the statue in front of Meta HQ of a T-rex eating a human changes overnight into one of a giant human eating a tiny T-rex. Nobody noticed the switch, despite the statue being in a constantly bustling area. It happened shortly after the shuttle incident.

Jack Black's tiny clone, Lil' Jack, now wears a headset at all times and has been acting really shady since the incident. Also they're both hyperintelligent, immortal velociraptors found in an ancient cryogenic chamber who spend their days judging college football and eating the legally harvested flesh of hillbillies. Lil' Jack is probably plotting to kill Big Jack, but Big Jack doesn't seem to care, growing fat and lazy, sleeping on public benches in a bed of throw pillows. Also, he's very open about the fact that, as a velociraptor, humans look delicious, but he hasn't actually eaten anybody aside from the aforementioned hillbillies because he's civil.

Everyone is just expected to move on with their lives after this. This is normal to you.

The local art school was recently attacked by giant sea serpents, which were actually hideously bioengineered hillbillies, fulfilling a biblical doomsday prophecy, and they were driven back by Meta's army of minimum wage, part time child soldiers armed with warcrimey jury-rigged weaponry. The sea serpents had giant frying pans grafted into their mouths, which launched primitive tactical nukes made by filling garbage bags with their explosive blood. They still exist, and occasionally defend their comrades, but spend most of their time in the deep sea.

The local homeless emo twink everyone's attracted to is a closet millionaire who sells bootleg clothing in exchange for live rats, which he messily devours behind closed doors. He's also 8 feet tall and British and only has one eye.

North Korean refugees now flood the western world, after a greasy 14 year old hipster, under the guidance of Ariana Grande and Taylor Swift, beat Kim Jong Un in a mech battle, and the EDM remix of the Japanese national anthem they performed caused like half the soldiers to immediately realize North Korea sucks ass and defect. One of these individuals, 7 foot tall hypergenius, becomes a newscaster alongside a nepo baby rapper with dwarfism who likes to eat entire jars of mayo, and also they're a popular band. Also also, they may or may not be gay. Almost the entire population is gay, so this isn't a huge deal.

The new local newscasters are a famous Japanese lion tamer, an Indian girl with a bloodline trait allowing her to control snakes, and a Brazillian man the size of a smart car who exclusively communicates via grunts.

Gods, souls and zombies are objectively real, and you're effectively immortal because real-life respawning was invented a while ago. It works like a Keurig, but with mucus instead of coffee. Submersion in water kills you.

A good deal of the population is a hivemind. They pretend to be individuals for no reason.

Almost all men are now femboys.

Despite all this, you still have to go to work at 9 tomorrow.

[jeongin-lvr]

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ libido, k. seungmin

✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗒！𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀，𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆，𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌／𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌，𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾，𝗅𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗑，𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 （𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒，𝗉𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗒，𝗉𝗎𝗉）𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗅𝗈𝗅，𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂’𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇.

𝗇��𝗍𝖾： 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗅 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌

[ 𝟣𝟪𝟦𝟤 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 ] ✩ [ 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

“𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡?” The pitch of my voice raised as I felt his cock brush against my back, barren and hard for what felt like the hundredth time. Tip swollen and red, desperately oozing a delicious coating of precum that glistened down his hands, down my inner thighs. It was truly a mess; a mess he’d made over and over again. And while I feigned the tired, annoyed act, I could already feel my own thighs rubbing together for a bit of friction.

“Round five, what do you say, pup?” Seungmin cooed into my ear, pressing his pale chest against my back as he rubbed his hands along my arms. I took his words more as a challenge rather than an offering, soon enough my head was tilted toward him, staring at his face.

Almost inhaling his words, his stare, his perfectly caramelized eyes, “How are you not tired yet?”

My fingers laced in his brown hair, a bitterly sweet grin on my face that he only matched. Seungmin let out a groan as my ass pushed up to his throbbing cock; tampering with his hardness and making him miss the friction. The brief exchange of pleasure had his hands suddenly clamping onto my thighs, bringing my body to meet his again. Seungmin grumbled into my skin, simply opting to kiss along my neck instead of answering. Maybe partly because he didn’t know either.

But when he looked at you, everything was just red with love. Seungmin couldn’t think straight, not with the way you were prettily naked right in from of him; gorgeous tits begging to be pinched and kissed over; ass still red from rounds prior but not quite red enough. And when he looked along your collarbone, even your neck, all he could think was how badly he wanted to mark the perfect canvas of skin. And no matter how many rounds or kisses or bruises he’d leave, it was never enough. There was always more blank space that was being begged to be splotched.

There was a certain romanticism about the entire thing. About seeing you being split open or fucked out on his cock. Pleading and moaning each time he’d fully submerge between your thighs. He needed it all the time. Even when he could barely lift you or move you or even fully thrust into your creamy hole. Seungmin couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t need to explain it to understand it. All he knew was that it was like being dehydrated and knowing you were the only way to quench the intense thirst in his throat.

So Seungmin just took his cock by the base and pressed it to your drenched cunt. The same tight little hole he’d fucked several times already. There was a tender cheekiness to his actions, he knew that you couldn’t say no to an offer so tempting.

“C’mon, pup, you know you want it,” Seungmin taunted, prodding my thigh upward with one hand to give him better access. And just as tauntingly he ran his swollen tip along my drenched slit with a drawn out groan, “Fuck, say yes, please.”

The desperation was comedic. When my eyes met his they were lidded and careful, yet glossy with desperate shine and want. I found myself grabbing his cheeks, squishing his lips together while slowly leaning in to close the distance.

“Fine, just put it in already.” I spoke quietly just before kissing him. It was slow, daunting and beautiful. The wetness of his tongue meeting mine quicker than I could breathe. For a second he didn’t react, just subconsciously kissing back while groaning between my lips. He didn’t press further or rake his hands over my body like a starved man. It was a brief moment of pure connection; the intent to kiss and nothing more than that.

Then I felt that feeling of his cock sliding through my puffy folds in languid motions. Slowly adapting to the wetness and filling the air around us with generous moans. There was no need for foreplay or dragging out the process since he’d fucked me raw plenty of times before, I was prepped and getting needier by the second. With my cunt clenching around nothing and oozing thick droplets of both his and my own cum, I just needed that emptiness in me to be replaced.

Suddenly I was the desperate one. He had such a power about him that made me unravel in minutes. Now those mocking comments were almost sobbing moans each time his cock head brush quickly along my swollen clit.

“Hm, whose the needy one now?” Seungmin chuckled at his words and newfound power over me. His hand tucked under my waist and planted firmly along my belly for extra stability, “My pretty puppy… want me inside?”

I practically moaned at the nicknames. It wasn’t unusual to hear him refer to me as puppy or pup, especially in bed, but each time he did it never failed to make me throb and clench. His soft, baritone voice lingered in my mind, replying his words until they were engraved into my brain like a tattoo.

The truth was that though my protests were vocalized, it wasn’t because I truly didn’t want him again just as he wants me. Instead, I didn’t know if my body could take it. I was sure how another round would affect my already tired body. But the way I was already reacting to his subtle touch, his nimble fingertips dancing along my plush thighs, tenderly pinching and plucking at my skin as if to egg me on more; the feeling was only a reminder of how good it feels to be connected like that.

So intimately and deeply while he just whispers stupidly cute things in my ear.

There’s nothing like tired, needy Seungmin. He’s mean in bed most of the time; spitting, choking, manhandling… but the second he’s sleepy yet still incredibly horny, he’s suddenly the softest person ever.

“Mhm,” I stuttered out, once again his cock glided along my throbbing clit. The ache was prominent now. I couldn’t hold back any of the noises I made, nor could I stop my thighs from trembling with anticipation.

Seungmin kissed my cheekbone, playing coy with a subtle yet noticeable smirk, “What’s that? Can’t hear you, love…”

I glared but the dissonance was long forgotten when I was briefly reminded of my desire with the pressure of his tip dancing over my entrance.

“Fuck- want your cock in me, Min,” I grasped my hand backward, clawing at his neck and tiny strands of hair at the base of his neck. He groaned into my ear, chuckling yet wincing at the dig of my nails in his flesh.

“Hm, that’s a good girl,” Seungmin himself couldn’t deny the oozing tension, the leaking desperation that left his body. The air was thick with yet another forecast of love sickness.

And with one more brief kiss to my temple, he was pushing into me, gently at first, but then as he felt my sensitive pussy clench from another round of penetration, he slammed upward unexpectedly. My mouth formed an O, whimpers soft and almost inaudible.

“S-sorry, pretty pup,” Seungmin apologized but with the way he was grinding into my cunt from behind, it was hard to believe, “You just feel too good… s’warm.” His pretty hands slithered around my torso, snatching me close to his body and holding me in a spot that I couldn’t break free from, not that I’d even try.

And, god, he sounded so pretty moaning into my ear. Just a soulful chant of my name over and over; harmonizing with the little grunts and panting he’d let slip out. My hand still tightly held his neck, just clinging onto anything for an ounce of stability.

The males movements became quicker, the snap of his hips meeting my ass in quick slaps of the collision of skin. The skin of his bare chest against my back was sweaty and hot, his hair tickled my ears and cheekbones chaotically. His arms squeezed around me tighter, clinging like a koala.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Seungmin cursed into the air, breathe shorter as he exclaimed, “I’m gonna cum already! Baby, are you c-close?”

There was a subtle hint of submissiveness in his voice; not one that I’d openly point out but enough to make me a bit smug. Until I felt his cock thrash hungrily inside of me, almost perfectly kissing my gummy spot in repetitive motions.

“M’so close, Minnie,” I laid my head back, pressing into his chest and feeling his lovely breathless groans deep within his body. Seungmin took one hand at my waist and dragged it downward to my red clit, swirling the bud with erratically sensual touches. Writing circles into my sex with the help of my overflowing cunt.

“I want-“ helpless pants left his swollen, glossy lips, “I need you to cum with me, puppy. Can you do that? Please?”

I choked out in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering shut as I felt that familiar warmth cascade over me, signaling I was dancing along the line of my orgasm. Tiptoeing along the edge of complete bliss.

“M’kay, almost-“ there was a sharp inhale of breath, my mouth falling wide again as I clutched his skin. Seungmin had hit my sensitive spot three times back to back. My eyes watered and my chest tightened.

Seungmin nipped at my skin, teeth abusing the skin only for his lips to kiss the ache away.

“Oh, pup, fuck can’t hold it back,” Seungmin let out a choked moan that sounded increasingly similar to a sob. And when my eyes fluttered open again at the harmonious sound I tilted my head and saw his face contorted in overwhelming satisfaction. A hint of sparkle in his eye as he felt his climax soon overtake his overstimulated body, “Please, my love, you can do it. C’mon, puppy baby.”

I couldn’t mistake the ache on my inner thigh and now blossoming through my cunt. My walls contracting and squeezing along every line and crevice he had to pump into me. I felt that bliss of my orgasm kiss me, and soon my body was shaking.

“Seung, oh god, m’cumming!”

Seungmin let out a shaky sigh of relief, fingers rushing along my clit until I was over that edge. Until my eyes were rolled back and my mouth turned into a widened hole that only let out choked out, graphic moans. Seungmin let it all erupt, his cock twitched along my pulsating walls, and almost in unison, our bodies reacted to the other. Cum splattered my insides as mine glossed along his cock. Sputtering hips met the other in melodic motions, the only sound being sweaty bodies slapping continuously.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Seungmin emptied his seed into me, not caring much to ask where he could release. His breathing slowed, his grip loosened around my waist, and I felt his heartbeat slow against my back as well, “That’s my good pup. Did so well…”

[emeraldbloodcrown]

ONCE MORE

Chapter: Prologue - Nostalgic Fires Pairing: Poly; Tattoo Artists!141 x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You arrive in your hometown after over ten years of being gone, jobless but with your best friend and a letter from your grandmother asking for your help. Content/Warning: Don't think any yet. Lots of talk about a better past, unfair treatment at work and having someone's life work destroyed by a fire Word Count: 3k+

Childhoods had a way of making our past seem magical, both secluded and free-ranging, like finding an entire world hidden in your backyard. It seemed so colorful, so joyous, that the adult life you had been anticipating so much at the time, had no chance but to feel bleak and grey next to it.

You assume that it was like that for everyone but it still felt more so for you. Growing up had felt so much more fulfilling than anyhting after your 16th birthday, and it wasn't just due to being a child. No, your grandmother had a big part in that.

The one thing you remembered the most about her was how hardworking she had been through all of your time with her but she had never been unkind towards you or rejected your need for attention. No matter how busy she got, she would simply dust off her flour covered hands on her apron, bent down and lift you up with a smile, telling you off what she was preparing and how she was doing it.

Or she would sit you on the counter behind the display of her delicious smelling goods, while she chatted with her customers, often using you to charm them into buying more than they had planned to, and her sneaking you a Brezel or a muffin as thanks.

When you got older, she let you help her in the kitchen while you talked her ear off about whatever you liked, her humming occassionally but when you felt unheard and stopped, to which she always said the same thing.

'Now don't get shy on me, dear, keep talking.'

Often being able to ask you a question about a specific detail, surprising you when you had been so sure, she was too busy with her own tasks to listen to you at all.

You loved being with her, loved the hard work she shared with you and with what ease she was able to pull it off; her smile ever present on her red-painted lips, with a happy tune falling from them.

As a child, she looked breath-taking to you.

As an adult, she looked downright impossible.

You couldn't recall a single day she was not wearing an luxury suit or dress with heels and expensive jewelry, makup on her face and her hair in an extravagant updo. She was stunning every day, but her work demanded she be on her feet for long hours, so everything about her, seemed so impractical now.

Of course, some people say that they feel more comfortable in heels, especially after years of use, and while you liked to wear them too, no money on this world could ever make you wear them to work, so you were especially glad that you also weren't allowed to wear them.

After your 16th birthday, your grandmother and her bakery had only been a distant memory. Your parents choosing to exchange the quiet and homey small town life for the big city, bustling with people and always so busy.

The change was drastic and even after all these years, felt a little traumatic: to be ripped away from your home, from your friends and familiar circles, being forced to start new and find a place among strangers who have known each other for years.

It was hard and you still felt a little bitter that you weren't allowed to stay the year and couple months it would've taken for you to graduate with your friends. But as much as you disliked it at first, being in the city offered you an easy way into your adult life, finding your place as a worker and after some struggling lead you to what would be your job for the foreseeable future.

Three short but also long and hard years later, you're employed as a nurse for elderly, certificate under your belt, new best friend from your training by your side, and ready to provide for your residents as best as you could.

But the excitement and vigor you had started your job with, soon fizzled out, killed off by the reality of what seemed to be expected by everyone working in that particular nursing home.

Sure, treating patients was always a hard, often very thankless, job but checking in with your former classmates proved that your facility was eager to take the cake.

The staff crisis, that had already existed when you and Anna got hired, had only gotten worse and resulted in quality and nursing management almost begging you to make the impossible choice of either leaving your colleague alone for a full night shift or going against the law and covering when you've already been working more than half of the late shift of the same day.

With that crisis, naturally, also come the vicious cycle of the few people they had on staff being severely overworked. That made them more prone to accidents or falling ill, which added onto the stress of nurses needing to cover the shifts of the sick person, of management trying to keep the ship afloat, and of residents who grew unsatisfied because they didn't receive the care they paid so much of their hard-earned money for. Not to mention that the sick person often had to deal with some backlash and the accusations of whether or not they really had it as bad as they said.

All of that fostered a horrible environment, which brought you and Anna to make a pact one night after too many wines: both of you would be checking in with each other when either one of you was stressed, using 1 - 10 to gauge the severity, and as long as one of you was alright, the other would be supportive. But should both of you arrive at a 10, you'd immediately go looking for a new job.

Now there had been many occassions where you both were angry enough to throw the towel but that was mostly blowing off steam than being serious about it. Until, after 7 years of working in this 'hell hole', as Anna called it, you got serious.

Coming to work, both of you had already been chewed out for things beyond your control: Anna for not treating a resident who vehemently, and often violently, denied the care, and you for trusting that colleagues twice your age were doing their jobs right and didn't need to be supervised.

And it only got worse from then on.

To Anna's already high work load, came several more tasks; predominately tasks that routinely had been the early shift's responsibility and now all of a sudden were demanded to be done by her and finished in this shift, if she didn't want to face repercussions.

While you were greeted with a bunch of paper work, most so poorly documentated that you had to hunt down residents and family to actually get an idea of what happened, chaining you to the computer and growing increasingly frustrated with your colleagues for letting you walk into the knives of management and relatives because, apparently, they had been told that you were in charge of these things all along, when you were just the idiot picking up after them.

By the time, Anna came to the office, her scrubs were clinging to her body, both from water and sweat, her face was flushed and her hair a mess from all the times she must've run her fingers through - a nervous habit she never could stop when she was stressed.

On the other hand, you were surrounded by all of your resident's medication, checking to see if it all was up to date with their plan. Which was something that should've happened weeks ago but got pushed because it was boring work, until it hit you to get it done before the inspection in two days.

So when Anna came to you, you were sitting on the floor, plans and medication, both valid and expired, caging you in, cussing harshly under your breath as you tried to get control of the situation.

She watched you for a moment, exhaustion delaying her thinking before she snapped out of her perplexion.

"I need a check-in."

"Huh?" You questioned brashly, too caught up in your thoughts before your brain actually understood what she had said, and your angry expression sobered up. You put the papers to the side and turned to her, giving her your full attention.

"Alright. On three. One. Two. Three."

"Ten"

"Ten"

Registering what you both had said, you looked at each other with a mixture of shock and sorrow. Seven years of hard work, of enduring things, and taking care of people who didn't want your help. But also seven years of improving or maintaining life quality, of presents from relatives to somehow show their gratitude after their loved ones' passing, and of residents treating and caring for you like family.

There had been so many days that had made every bad one seem worth, but lately they had become a rarity. The stress you took each shift too great to be relieved after work or good sleep and going to work had your steps filled with doom, instead of the purpose and pride they had when you both started.

"So it's time?" Anna asked, her voice too timid for her usual demeanor. You both knew this day would come but to see it arrive, see it drop down onto your conscious with its heavy finality and seal this chapter of your lives? That was something else.

You took a shaky breath, casting your eyes down to your hands, a small tremor in them.

"I guess so.."

"And what now?"

Yeah, what now, indeed.

The answer came faster than you had expected. As loving as your upbringing with your grandmother had been, with your parents taking you to the big city and their divorce that followed soon after, the contact to your grandmother slowed immensely until it fully stopped just a couple years ago.

The more surprising it was for her to reach out all of a sudden, asking for your help after a fire had claimed most of her pride and joy, and she needed your help trying to get it back to its former glory so it could be sold before her body gave out on her.

You felt like there was more to it, asking so directly for your help didn't sound like her but it seemed only right, with your and Anna's notice signed and sent to the personell manager, to take this change of scenery and see what it's all about.

With as hectic as your work had been lately, you had only been able to spend money on your essentials, leaving you with some savings. Not enough to last for a long time, but enough so that you didn't immediately have to go job hunting but could take a little while to recharge.

Once your colleagues heard about what you had done, they grace you both with the reaction you had expected: a little bit of guilt tripping, some manipulation to get you both to stay and ultimately with a heavy dose of superiority once they found out what your plan was, as if you’d fail and crawl back to them within the next month.

Actually leaving your key and name tag, like you had wanted to so many times, was freeing, saying goodbye to your residents less so, but you tried to focus on what was ahead of you.

Spending some time back home would do you good, as would seeing your grandmother. After her initial letter, you had written her back, still adamant about not needing a phone, and told her about your plans to come visit with Anna, and her response had been ecstatic.

The drive had been largely uneventful, both of you deciding to take the scenic route, turning it into a road trip and making a few memories along the way, safely stored away in your phone.

Coming back after more than a decade felt weird. Closer to a deja-vu than an actual memory. There were several corners that you still remembered like the back of your hand, but then there were others, which felt familiar, but they had changed so much over the years, they were unrecognizable.

And the worst offender for that was your grandmother's bakery. You hadn't expected it to resemble your memories at all, knowing that most of it had probably fallen victim to the fire's destruction but even those parts that had remained untouched, looked like they had been victim to the decay of time.

Instead of feeling broken nostalgia, you were filled sorrow and sadness. A part of you wishing you had stayed all those years ago, when you knew full well, it had never been your decision from the start.

You heard repeated clacking behind you, recognizing the familiar melody of your grandmother's steps after all these years, and they put an involuntary smile on your lips.

Turning around, ready to hug her, you faltered in your step when you took her appearance in. She was still the tall and proud woman from your memories but it was terrifying to see how much her age had caught up to her.

She had a wrinkly, boney hand clasped around a cane you would've bet money on wasn't hers. It looked too ordinary, too run of the mill for your grandmother's extravagant tastes. Not to mention, that she hardly used it as a walking aid, the way she put her body on it, more akin to a crutch.

Her face was papery, devoid of any color despite her use of makeup, with sunken in eyes and sharp cheeks that could only be explained by an insufficient diet. Which was only supported by the clothes, several price tags too cheap for what she used to wear, hanging limply off her shoulders and her elbows seemingly poking out of her skin.

“What happened here?” You asked, fully meaning her state but if your grandmother was aware of that, she chose to ignore it.

She heaved a heavy sigh, her eyes turning distant. “Life, I reckon. People are so busy now, a place like this is not meant for that. And I'm not getting any younger, complaints started to pile up, and,” she paused for a moment and you instinctively knew there was something she wasn’t saying, “it’s in the past now.”

Watching her stuttering motion as she took the couple steps towards you and Anna, you had to keep the nurse inside of you on a short leash, wanting to call for a wheelchair just in case, as you felt the same caution clutch your heart your accident prone residents did. Sharing a look with Anna, you knew she felt the same way.

Your grandmother pulled out the keys, the little muffin pendant reflecting in the sunlight as she put them in your palm with a tremor in her hands.

“The door’s pretty tricky, so it’s best one of you tries,” she said, acknowledging Anna for the first time and giving her an exhausted smile.

You had to use quite a bit of force to get the key to turn fully and throw your weight against the door for it to open. The smell from burnt wood was still in the air as you and Anna walked in, turning to get an idea of how big the damage was.

"Do you know how it started?"

Your grandmother flinched, too caught up in her thoughts as she looked at her shop with sad eyes. For years, she had been able to keep this dream of hers a well-lived reality, but now it had all been ripped away from her in an instance.

"Apparently, I had the stove on when I left some papers on it…"

Even without looking at her, you heard the pain and confusion in her voice. You knew that she didn't believe that, and surely, it didn't sound like the person your grandmother was. Or rather, the person she once was.

If your line of work had told you anything, it was that age had a habit to either be your constant companion, resulting in people being able to age 'with grace', or it sneaked up on them, leaving them clear-headed for a very long time until it slammed into them, and seemingly sudden, things that were no problem just a few weeks ago, had now gotten impossible.

The latter could very well be the case for her. She was an old woman, who had been married to her work more than to her husband all her life, and most likely was very lonely whenever she wasn't at the bakery. These bouts of forgetfulness could be a result of that.

But whatever it was, you doubt she would be able to rest easy, knowing how she had lost her pride and joy, so restoring the bakery was among your top priorities now.

"Don't worry," you said as you held your grandmother's frail hand, squeezing them gently, "we make it good again, okay?"

The sadness left your grandmother's face for the first time and even her body seemed to straighten by the positivity in your words as she returned your action.

"I know, love. Never doubted you. I'm just sorry I had to bother you both, I know how busy you two are."

A white lie already on your lips, Anna beat you in her attempt to reassure her: "Oh don't you worry, we quit anyway."

Noticing your glare, she quickly realized what she had done and slapped a hand over her mouth but it was too late. Your grandmother pinched the skin of your hand as she threw an unimpressed look at you.

"We talk about that later"

You nodded to her parting words and watched her slowly make her way back to her own house down the street, before you punched Anna in the shoulder.

"Thanks for that."

"I didn't know!"

Rolling your eyes, you looked back at the charred remains of the bakery, and your task for the foreseeable future. Still rubbing her arm, Anna joined you and asked the most important question:

"Where should we start?"