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#rubber spines
pebblethief · 2 years
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enchanted by this weird little creature, even if he is missing an eyebrow
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kazieka · 1 year
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hold up im reading more about the lionfish thing and this one island in Honduras has had such a huge problem with lionfish that the measures they have taken include
• getting special exemption from the Honduran government to allow divers access to harpoons and spears which are otherwise illegal in fishing
• public campaign to teach people how to prepare and eat lionfish (apparently they are very tasty once the poisonous spines are removed) (but watch out)
• holding lionfish combination hunting competition and cookout (reportedly they killed and cooked 1,700 in a day) (someone killed 60 of them with a rubber band spear gun???)
• most recently and apparently out of desperation, the divers in charge of culling the lionfish in the Roatan Marine Park just started. feeding the lionfish they killed to sharks. bc what else are you gonna do with it
• the sharks don’t seem to notice or be affected by the poison and begin hanging out with the divers
• the sharks then were seen hunting and killing the lionfish on their own
like this is nuts to me sorry. the sharks just had to be shown “hey this is food, did you know?? you can eat these!! here try one!!” we are possibly altering an entire foodchain bc we like feeding the big ocean wolves
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autisticnightfury · 1 month
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lol, saw a post like "booktok people are soooo weird for being overly careful with books and not wanting to break them and keep them as close to unused as possible. i'm better because i dont care if the spine breaks and the pages are dogeared" like children you're both wrong.
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stenf94 · 4 months
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Nothing pains my soul quite like reading an inferior edition of a prized book
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guavasbizarre · 1 year
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this slight chronic pain is insane
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peachesofteal · 2 months
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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic - PTSD, mentions of death, trauma Simon Riley/female reader
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Simon’s boots are sticking to the floor.
He had scrubbed and scrubbed them, scratched a sponge against the sole and up over the toe, used coiled wool to try to scrape the bits and pieces from the bottom, digging deeply into the cracks to try to dislodge anything leftover from the last month. The heat made it a particularly difficult task, melting together the dirt and blood, sealing it to the rubber in a congealed mess that he couldn’t clean off.
It’s spring now, and his breath doesn’t fog through the air like it did before he left. The mornings are coated in a prickly frozen dew that sparkles just right in the sunrise, refracting orange and pink hues into the building’s front lobby, washing over the bland egg white walls and coloring them into a spectacle, cold shadows of night chased away by the long fingers of warm daylight.
His boots scuff along the hallway, squeaking like they’re trying to announce his arrival, trying to give up his position before he deems it necessary, before he gets inside the entryway, blasting a signal through the flat that he’s home, that he’s made it. The sound of his boots competes with the buzzing that’s bouncing around in the back of his skull, sawing through the soft, pink mush of his brain, trying hack away at the only good pieces he has left. It’s gotten louder since he parked the car, competing with the drum beat of his heart, the churning of anxiety and anticipation in his stomach. He’s so, so close, and still a thousand miles away from you, even though he’s in the kitchen. His fingers grip fast to his bag, canvas straps twisted around his wrist, and he holds his breath, world rotating in slow motion as he listens for you, catches the musical note of your voice in Emma’s room. His spine stays stiff, unsure, and the buzzing that bites at his synapses gets louder, fills his head with the low rumble of fear that’s been simmering beneath the surface since he stepped out this door a month ago. You’re safe. You’re here. You and Emmaline are fine. You’ve been texting him everyday. You’re safe. You’re-
“Simon?” He blinks. You’re in the kitchen with him, eyes sleepy, Emma in your arms. One of his t shirts sits at your hips, plaid robe half falling off your shoulder. She’s more awake than you appear to be, and he begs his mouth to work, encourages his tongue to move so he can talk to you, so he can say “good morning, sorry I didn’t call, wanted to surprise you.” Or “hi, good morning, I missed you so much.”
But he can’t. Because all he can see, all he can taste, is blood. He doesn’t see his girl, he sees you broken and limp on the floor. He doesn’t see his baby, he sees Joseph’s lifeless body. He sees the carnage of this last op, hears the dying draw of a last breath, over and over.
“Hey.” Your fingers tentatively skim along his forearm. “You’re still dressed.” You note, and he nods, locked up, trying to push the buzzsaw in his brain away. He didn’t change, showered at the safe house before the flight home, and then immediately headed your way, his uniform clean, untouched by the gore and misery, still starched and formal unlike his tac gear, all of it made to wring the blood from its stitching over and over again. “Simon, someone wants to see you.” Emma’s now half in his arms, cooing at him, carefully supported in your hands, and he instinctively curls around her, swooping low to nose along her scalp.
The reverberations cease. The buzzing and gnawing and stabbing into his brain silences, just like that, and he fills his lungs with air, one hand now cradling your face, the other warm beneath Emma’s weight.
“Welcome home.” It’s a whisper, the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever heard, and he smiles beneath the balaclava, pressing his lips to your forehead. “We missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He murmurs. He wonders if the moment has passed, if he should be stepping away now, and he flexes, testing- only to be pulled back, an arm sliding around his back, anchoring him closer, tighter.
“Just stay here for a minute.” Stay. Stay here with you, stay with his girls. His voice roughens as he croaks out an answer.
“Always.”
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pucksandpower · 2 months
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Thawed
Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader
Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman
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“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.
You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”
Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”
You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”
As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.
Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.
When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.
***
“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.
Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.
Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.
In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.
“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.
The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.
Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”
Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.
***
The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.
Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.
You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.
Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.
Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.
“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.
You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”
He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.
Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.
Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.
You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.
***
“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”
Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.
You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”
He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.
Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.
“Well? What did they say?”
Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”
He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.
“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”
You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.
“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”
He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”
You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.
***
You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.
“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.
He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.
Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”
She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.
“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.
“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.
He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.
Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.
***
The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.
Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.
“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.
Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.
You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”
Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”
You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”
He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”
You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”
His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”
Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.
“Always.”
***
“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.
He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.
With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.
“Kimi ...”
“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.
You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”
His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.
He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”
You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.
“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.
The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.
“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”
You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.
***
You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.
Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.
“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.
Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.
Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”
“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.
You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”
He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.
“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”
Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.
He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”
You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”
His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.
***
You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.
“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.
He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.
You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”
He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.
“What is it?” You whisper.
He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”
Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.
***
You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.
He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.
“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.
You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”
He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”
You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”
He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.
When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.
“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.
“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.
He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.
You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.
***
“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.
You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”
Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”
The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.
Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”
You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”
He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.
No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.
***
You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.
“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”
He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.
The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.
It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”
Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”
Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”
Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”
Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”
You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”
Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”
As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.
***
You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?
The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.
Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!
You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.
You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”
He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.
As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.
His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.
“Love you too,” he murmurs.
The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.
***
“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.
You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.
“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”
He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.
“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”
You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”
“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”
You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”
He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”
***
You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.
Three minutes have never felt so long.
When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.
Positive.
Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.
You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.
He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”
Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.
Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”
You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.
When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.
You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”
***
You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.
“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.
“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.
Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.
The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.
Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.
After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”
You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.
Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.
He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”
You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.
***
You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.
Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.
Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.
“What’s wrong, love?”
You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.
A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”
Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”
Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.
“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”
He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”
His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.
He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”
You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.
***
A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.
“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.
You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”
Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.
Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.
“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.
Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”
His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.
Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.
Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.
Your family, whole at last.
***
You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.
Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.
He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.
As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”
He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.
You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.
When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.
“You okay?” He rumbles.
You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.
***
The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.
Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.
Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.
“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.
He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”
Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.
But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.
You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”
He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.
No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.
***
“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”
Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”
The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”
You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”
Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.
“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”
The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.
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bbyjackie · 9 months
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𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘!
relationship headcanons with one piece feat: luffy, zoro, kid, law
warnings: fluff
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(header by Loni)
𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁𝙔 has a constant need to be around you. he follows you around absentmindedly everywhere like a puppy, sometimes it can be a bit of a nuisance.
"y/n it was so funny! usopp's hand was just stuck in the pipe and he was screaming for like an hour 'til franky saw him!" luffy cackled, a gummy grin etched onto his features as you felt your finger grow numb by the second. "hm, i bet.." you let out a light hearted scoff, trying to pull your hand back. it felt like with each tug of your hand, instead of loosening the grasp luffy had, it only made his arm stretch further. "but luf, i need you to let go off my finger!" you groaned under your breath as you felt your back grow sore from the odd angle. you were shrimping with your spine feeling like it was bent to a full right angle just trying to pull away from the - sorry, your rubber boy as he made very clear. you couldn't see him but you could already envision his dopey smile turn into a massive pout. "ehh? why do i need to let go?" "because if you don't want me to become an usopp and start screaming you're gonna have to let go sweetie!" "i dont see why i have to.." "luf as much as i love you, i'm not taking a shit with your hand snaked through the door like that."
we all know 𝙕𝙊𝙍𝙊 has the worst sense of direction, but it always becomes comedy, especially when you're mid argument with him.
"stop being so dramatic!" zoro groans as his fist pounds against the wooden door of your bedroom. "come on out y/n!", he waited for a moment only to be met with silence. you had turned away from him mid workout after he told you that he doesn't need someone to smother him like an over obsessive mother. you must be pissed. not that it's your fault, he shouldn't have turned you away, you were just worried for him. letting go of his pride, zoro's hand loosens as he purses his lips and thinks for a moment, "hey, 'em sorry, i shouldn't have said that." again, there is just utter silence. feeling dejected, zoro turns his back just to see you with an amused smirk and hands crossed against your chest and usopp giving him the most massive side eye from around the corner of the hallway. "that's great and all that you apologised marimo," you giggled, usopp jumps in, "dude, that's the utility closet."
𝙆𝙄𝘿 is always in stage one: denial. every time anyone brings up the fact that he is utterly whipped for you, his face blows red and he gets soo mad. but the thing is, he secretly keeps small trinkets of yours just so he can feel closer to you.
kid was busy at work with a screwdriver in one hand and the other keeping this small steel mechanism as still as he could. his crimson red eyes staring down intensely at the work on his bench. every time he gets concentrated like this, you could almost see the vertex of his tongue poking through the corner of his red-stained lips. "kid!" you shouted, scampering around the room, as you finally landed behind him, hands secured on either side of his broad shoulders. "hah?" kid gruffed, head leaning backwards, hitting against your chest as he looked up from his desk, "what?" "have you seen my bracelet?" you pouted, tilting your head slightly to the side as you noticed from your peripheral that the arm that was not mechanical twitch slightly. "i can't find it.." kid immediately scoffs, turning his head back down to his work. "no how would i know where it is!" "hmm okay, just asking.." when kid finally leaves his workbench, killer glances at him from the side of the kitchen. "y/n was looking for their bracelet." "yeah i know." "did you find it?" "why the hell would i know where it is?" "so the silver bracelet with a pink bunny pendant on your wrist is 100% yours?" "shut up - yeah it is mine so what!" "okay sanrio girl calm down."
𝙇𝘼𝙒 has to remind himself that he loves you dearly. you're the first person to make him feel this way. so when you're absolutely eating it up in the middle of his study with ice spice blaring through the den den mushi, he tries his best to live laugh love.
"HE SAYS THAT I'M WHAT?!" you shout, hand gripping the makeshift pen mic up to penguin as law tries his best to concentrate on the med book he has in his hand. he swears to himself that next time he'll never let you in this room again. "GOOD ENOUGH, GRABBIN' MY DUH' DUH' DUH'" penguin answers, nodding along as bepo stands utterly in the corner with the den den mushi in his hands. "THINK 'BOUT SHIT THAT I SHOULDN'T HAVE!" before you can really show your shit, law immediately shambles you guys out of the room. "law, i'm sorry!!" you plead from outside his room as the boys stand awkwardly behind you, ice spice still playing yet way quieter than before from bepo's hands. "c'mon!!" law swears he loves you, but if he hears another t-that boy's a liar! that boy's a liar! he's going to rip his ears off.
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kyo-00 · 1 month
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♨️˖ 𓍢ִִ໋໋ ONSEN! ࿐࿔
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minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.
content: nsfw; smut; porn w/o plot; afab!f!reader; public sex, protected sex (yay!)
w.c: 0.6k
n/a: previously on unprofessionalism! series. any request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated <3
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"It's nice and warm, eh? It was a good idea of yours to bring them on a field trip here," Satoru murmured hoarsely, biting the lobe of your ear gently, causing a shiver to run through your body.
Your teeth bit down your bottom lip as you bounced on his cock underwater; you had to be quiet to not alert any worker in the ryokan or any of your students that may be still awake wandering around the area. Satoru wasn't even supposed to be there, as it was the women's onsen. Before you knew it, he had coaxed you into spending some time together, ending with you atop him and bucking your hips.
"Shut up," you moaned quietly, bashful at his teasing pun. Satoru chortled, helping you to ride him, holding you by the hips while his cockhead grazed your g-spot at each thrust he met, "Fuck, just like that, you're doing good, baby girl," he hushed, dropping kisses on your shoulder blades up to your neck.
Your nipples grazed against his wet and bare chest at each bounce of your ass, the girth of his dick stretching you out and his mushroom head scraping through the rings of muscles made you feel on cloud nine and dig your nails into his back muscles, drawing a guttural groan out of him. "Damn baby, be careful. You wouldn't want my students to notice your cute scratches on my back tomorrow, hm?" he coos, kneading at the fat of your ass.
His mouth sought yours, enveloping you in a passionate kiss. The vulgar sound of your soft moans and your wet lips colliding and entwining together replaced the quiet silence of the night, along with the sound of the tumultuous water coinciding with each of his thrusts inside your vaginal walls. You bit and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth, drawing a pleasurable grunt from him. Satoru stole your breath away, clouding your mind in the lust of the moment.
You felt his tongue outline your lower lip in return, asking permission to enter, parting your lips, the tip of his tongue touching yours and exploring the inside of your mouth, caressing your tongue and then withdrawing it, prompting you to do the same.
You followed his erotic play, seeking his tongue, the passionate sensations of the kiss being sent straight to your core, a series of spasms announcing the arrival of your longed-for release. "'toru, gonna cum-" you whimpered, your thighs weakening and quivering by the second, getting closer to your climax.
"Yeah? Cum doll cakes, come on my cock," he hissed. You dissolved in pleasure, letting out shattered breaths as you shuddered atop him; your pussy fluttering and spasming around his cock.
Satoru groaned, plunging his hips against your pelvic bone, "think you can still move, baby?" he rasped, his cock pulsing and also close to reaching ecstasy. You shook your head, whimpering at the overstimulation his dick caused you. You were spent, and your legs gave up on you; you could barely keep them encircled around his waist, "Okay, I got you, just hang on- fuck- just hang on a little more, this pussy is so fucking good, I'm almost there," he huffed, panting like a dog in your ear as he fucked your spasming cunt.
Satoru dropped his head back as he thrusts deep inside one last time, a shudder running down his spine as globs of his seed filled the rubber around his pulsing cock.
Satoru blissfully hummed as he carried you back in his arms to your room, covered with nothing but a bathrobe, your breathing slow and heavy; you had fallen asleep in his arms not long after you finished. You wouldn't be mad if he spent the night in your room spooning you, right?
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jayybugg · 17 days
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dreams come true
Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Mattheo can't resist each other and have some fun in a tattoo shop.
Warning: Tattoo Artist AU!Mattheo, Dirty talk, Takes place AFTER Hogwarts, Smut (18+), No use of Y/N.
Note: I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took me to write this but personal Tumblr friends know this was a long time coming. Based on feral thoughts from @finalgirllx tattoo Mattheo edits (Please go check them out if you haven't). @cafekitsune for the banner as always! Hope you enjoy!
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Mattheo raised an eyebrow, looking up from his drawing station when the bell of the shop’s door rang. It didn’t take long for him to recognize you. A grin spread across his face.
“Back already, Love?” Mattheo’s sultry voice asked, pulling your attention to him. You tilted your head, a smile curving into your lips. “Missed me, Riddle?” You leaned over his drawing station, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.
Mattheo kept his eyes trained on your face. He knew if his eyes wondered, they would go straight to your chest. As much as he loved to flirt with you and found you insanely gorgeous, you were still a client and he needed to be professional.
“More than you know, Princess.” Mattheo stood up, walking around the table to tower over you. “What are you here for now?”
Mattheo had tattooed you last month, so he was shocked that you were already back for another one. You looked up at Mattheo through your lashes, “I have a new tattoo idea.”
“Well, spill the beans.” He leaned against the table, focusing on you. He crossed his arms across his chest, unintentionally flexing his muscles while showing off his ink-covered arms. You wet your lips, dragging your eyes from his arms to his eyes. “A dragon.” You said.
“A dragon?” Mattheo asked, looking at you curiously. You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Specifically, a Hebridean Black dragon, but more colorful.”
Mattheo smirked, walking back around the table, retaking his seat. He picked up his pencil to start a sketch. “I’m assuming you’re picking the Hebridean for its enormous size. This will be a large tattoo, huh?” He asked, eyes focused on the paper in front of him.
“You know me so well, Riddle.” You laughed, “Yes, this will be a large tattoo. I want it to wrap around my whole thigh, the head starting on my hip and the tail ending around the knee area.”
Mattheo nodded slowly, looking at you. “Those are sensitive areas, Princess. Are you sure?”
He knew you would be fine with the areas. He had already tatted your spine, leg, ankle, sternum, and side boob. He was the one who wouldn’t be okay. Mattheo was using every ounce of restraint to stop himself from simply bending you over one of these tables and taking you there.
“Of course, I’ll be okay.” You raised your eyebrow. “Who do you think I am? Some rookie?”
Mattheo chuckled at the question. “Fine. You got it, Princess. You can hang out in my station while I get it drawn up and printed.”
You smiled at him, walking into the familiar room. All the ink and equipment were neatly placed and clean. You sat on the tattoo bench, leaning back as you waited for Mattheo to join you in the room. He didn’t leave you waiting for long. Mattheo entered the room with the printed-out stencil and a pair of smooth, black rubber gloves.
“I forgot to bring a change of pants.” You said, slightly embarrassed, “This was a kind of impulsive decision.”
Mattheo stared at you before shrugging. “I’m comfortable if you just want to do it in your underwear, Princess.”
You smiled, standing up and peeling your jeans off. Mattheo turned on his heels fast to face the wall. His eyes trained on the ceiling as he took a deep breath. You laid back on the table, looking over at him. “I’m ready, Matty.”
Mattheo nodded, clearing his throat. He slid his gloves on as he watched you shift around on the bench in just your underwear and top. He held back his groan and pulled up his chair. He prayed to Merlin that he would make it out of this session with a piece of his dignity.
The beginning of the session was easy. Mattheo focused on the designs while he listened to you rant about how hard school was. It wasn’t until he got to the inner part of your thigh that it got difficult.
To have precise lines on your tattoo, you had to spread your legs with Mattheo nestled in the middle of them. He gripped your thigh, keeping the skin stretched as he worked. He couldn’t focus on what you were talking about or what he was even tattooing. He thanked Merlin for his motor skills because if he was still a rookie, this would end with a lawsuit.
You couldn’t help but notice Mattheo’s heavy breathing so close to your core. It was making you wetter than you ever expected it to. Of course, you were attracted to Mattheo, and with him so close but so far away from fulfilling your fantasies, it was killing you.
The room fell into a comfortable silence as you couldn’t keep your voice leveled anymore and Mattheo kept his mouth closed and his eyes focused on the tattoo. After a few more hours, Mattheo finally finished your tattoo and looked at you proudly.
“It looks good, Princess. I would have never thought to do this if you hadn’t asked.” Mattheo observed it, “I ran out of wrap, so I need to run over to the store to get some. Just give me like 10 minutes, okay?”
You nodded, smiling at him. “Of course, I’ll be here.”
Mattheo winked at you before leaving the shop, locking the door behind him so no one just walked in and scared you. You let out a breath of relief, your hand traveling to your underwear. You hooked your finger around the cloth, pulling it to the side and letting another finger tease your folds. You were soaked.
“How the fuck am I this wet? He didn’t even do anything.” You mutter to yourself. You glanced around the room, sighing softly before dipping two fingers into yourself.
It was probably a terrible idea to finger yourself in Mattheo’s shop and on his tattoo bench, but your desire was stronger than your common sense at that moment.
“F-fuck…” You moaned, keeping up the pace, “Shit, Mattheo.”
You kept going, wanting to reach your climax before Mattheo got back. You picked up the pace of your fingers, now slamming them into yourself. Your moans were loud, and your thoughts were so clouded that all your awareness was thrown out the window.
With your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, and fingers still buried deep in your pussy, you reached your orgasm. You let out a deep breath of relief as you finished.
“That was a nice show to come back to, Princess.”
You jumped to cover yourself, and widened your eyes, looking at the door where Mattheo leaned against the frame. He had his arms crossed, his muscles flexing and his tattoos moving. Your jaw slacked open as you tried to find any excuse for what he had seen.
“I…. Mattheo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…. I wasn’t….”
Mattheo sat the wrap down on the table, walking over to you with a smirk plastered on his face. He placed a hand on your leg, moving them apart slowly. You looked between him and his hand, pulling your lip between your teeth.
He bent down to lie between your fully spread legs, groaning at the wetness that he was met with. “Fuck, you wanted me this bad, Princess?”
He took a finger, rubbing it over your clit, adding a small amount of pressure. You let out a whimper, gripping the sides of the bench. “Mattheo….”
“I’ve been wanting to see this pretty pussy for so long. Wanting to hear you moan my name since I’ve heard that beautiful voice of yours.” He looked up at you. “And now you’ve soaked my bench just thinking about me?”
“I didn’t mean to……I just…You were so close that I got turned on.” You whispered, letting out a moan as he dipped his finger into you, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.
“I’m not mad, Princess.” He kissed your thigh. “I want to hear it again.”
Mattheo dipped his head down, sucking your clit into his mouth as he added another finger inside of you, picking up the pace. Your hands flew to his curls, tangling your hands into them, tugging slightly. Mattheo groaned softly at that, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.
“Fuck, Matty, Oh my Gods.” You whimpered out. He slid his fingers out and hooked his hand around your thighs, being careful of your tattoo. Pulling you close, he flicked his tongue up and down your clit, letting it occasionally slip into you. You bucked your hips as you felt another orgasm coming. “Matty, I’m about to, fuck, I’m about to cum.”
“Good. Be a good girl for me and cum all over my tongue, Princess.”
You let out a breathy moan, bucking your hips up to grind out your climax on Mattheo’s face. Mattheo chuckled. Standing up, he sunk his fingers into his mouth and sucked your juices off his finger.
“Sweet.” Mattheo smirked at you, “Now c’mere.”
He grabbed the wrap off the table, effectively wrapping your tattoo before pulling you off the bench and to the floor so you were on your knees in front of him. You stared up at him, your eyes wide as your hands trailed up his legs and over the growing bulge in his pants. “Go ahead, pretty girl.” Mattheo’s voice came out soft and demanding. Your fingers fumbled with his belt and zipper, eventually popping open to allow you to tug them down.
Mattheo smirk, moving your hands gently and tugging his boxers and pants down quicker, stepping out of them. He let out a small grunt as he pumped himself slowly, precum already dripping from his tip. He reached his hand out, weaving it into your hair and gripping it from the roots as he pulled your head back. Your mouth fell open, in shock and want, causing Mattheo to smirk down at you. “Look at you, such a needy slut. You want my cock that bad?”
“Yes,” You whined softly, squeezing your legs together, “Please, I want it.”
Mattheo stepped closer to you, causing you to widen your legs a bit. “Don’t go trying to pleasure yourself, Princess. Wait for your turn. Now, open your mouth.” You followed his directions quickly, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.
Mattheo groaned at the sight of you being so obedient to him. He slapped his cock against your tongue before pushing his hips forward and jutting his cock into the warmth of your mouth. His body shivered at the moan you released from just having him in your mouth. “This is what you wanted, huh? For me to face fuck you in my shop? Am I making all those dirty little fantasies come true?”
Mattheo moved his hips at a faster pace, slamming in and out of your throat. Your eyes welled up with tears as saliva trailed down your chin and chest. Your mind was dazed as your core got hotter and hotter from the rough actions. Mattheo’s moans were enough to keep you riled up. “You look so fucking pretty, Princess. Choking on my dick, eyes filled with tears from pleasuring me. Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”
Your heart leaped at the praises. To make Mattheo feel good and use you in whichever way he wanted is what you desired this entire time. Your endless wet dreams and daydream fantasies were a reality. You felt Mattheo’s thrusts get sloppier and more reckless as he let out a string of curses. “I’m about to cum. I’m going to cum in this slutty fucking mouth of yours.”
He pulled your head closer to him as he released deep down your throat, ensuring that you didn’t waste a drop. He groaned softly, pulling out of your mouth to let you relax. He leaned over, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. He gently wiped your tears and pulled you in to meet his lips. The kiss was passionate and feverish as he slipped his tongue past your lips. You moaned into it as you stood up, not breaking the kiss.
Mattheo kept one hand on your jaw as he wrapped his arm around your body to roughly palm your ass. He walked you backwards to the tattoo bench, causing you to instinctively jump up on it. Mattheo pulled only an inch away from your lips, mumbling softly to you, “You better stop me now, Princess. If this is something you don’t want….”
“I want it. I want it so bad, Matty. It’s all I’ve thought about since I’ve met you.” You reassure him, your hand reaching down to jerk him off slowly. “I want you. I need you, Mattheo.”
“Fuck, Princess.” Mattheo groaned, kissing you deeply before pushing you on your back and positioning you on the edge of the bench. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and wrapped the other one around his waist. Grabbing the shaft of his dick, he teased your folds before pushing his tip into you.
Whimpers fell from your mouth as Mattheo teased you with just his tip. “Matty…. please….”
“You’re so fucking hot when you beg for me.” Mattheo said, sinking into you. He groaned at the warmth and tightness. “So, fucking warm, Princess. Tell me when to go, baby.”
“G-go…. You can go.” You moaned, gripping the side of the bench. Mattheo didn’t waste time to thrust. His slow thrusts didn’t last long because, within seconds, he was pounding into you. Your moans drowned the creaks of the tattoo bench out. “Fuck, Mattheo, feels s’good.” You babbled; your eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
“You’re taking me so fucking well, Princess. Such a good fucking slut, letting me rail you on my tattoo bench.” Mattheo groaned, his hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boobs. “My pretty little slut, aren’t you?”
The touching, the thrusting, and the dirty talk were making your mind fuzzy. Pleasure taking over your body was making it impossible for your mind to string together any type of words. “I asked you a question, Princess, answer me,” Mattheo grunted, taking his hand from under your shirt and moving it to wrap around your throat while leaning forward to plunge deeper into you. You mewled at the feeling, your hand gripping his sides and clawing up his back.
“Y-yes! I’m…. I’m your p-pretty little slut.” You finally pushed out, “Fuck, Mattheo.”
Mattheo left wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone. “I’ve been wanting this for so long. To hear your pretty voice moan my name, to hear you beg for me to fuck you. You’re a fucking dream come true.”
Mattheo moved his hand from your neck to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to fuck you. You whimpered at the overstimulation. “I want you to cum all over my dick, Princess. Make a mess all over me and my tattoo bench.”
You moaned, feeling the growing knot in your stomach as you got closer to your climax. One more thrust from Mattheo had you whining and your legs shaking. Tears pricked your eyes once more as Mattheo kept thrusting and rubbing your clit. “I can’t- I can’t take no more, Matty.” You whined, looking up at him.
“Yes, you can. You can take more until I cum, baby girl. I’m almost there, I’m going to cum in this pretty pussy.” Mattheo said, “Gonna let me breed you, Princess? Fill you up with my seed?”
“Yes, please, cum in me. I want it, I want it so bad.” You babbled.
“Good fucking girl,” Mattheo mumbled, groaning as his thrusts became more erratic. He slammed into you once more, burying himself deep into you as he came in you. He pulled out slowly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up into his chest. “That was amazing, Princess. You’re amazing.” He whispered into your ear.
“Thank you.” You felt a blush rush to your face. “Guess I should go pay now, huh?”
Mattheo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You think you’re paying after all that?”
“It’s only right that I pay you for your work.” You said, your eyes meeting his.
“Trust me, Princess, you’ve paid me with something way more valuable than money.” Mattheo smirked. “And now that’s all I want. I’ll tattoo anything on you for it.”
You blushed, laughing at him. Your heart raced at all the future possibilities with Mattheo.
Today was truly a dream come true.
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dazai-ritualist · 19 days
Note
i saw u were taking requests! uhmmm, i had this thought just recently; you know how in the v first ep of hh where alastor kinda runs his fingers up his staff thingie? well, That but him doing it to reader instead teehee 🤭
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YOUR SWEET RADIO DEMON!
— on a date with alastor, he gets unusually possessive and jealous
— I SAW THIS ANDIMMIDEITYYL HAD TO WRITE IT
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as infamously known by hotel residents and staff, alastor loves to invade others’ personal space; pulling them uncomfortably close, touching their faces— it’s the sheer entertainment to see them writhe uncomfortably under his harsh touch, knowing that he could make them disappear right now if he wanted to.
but, he especially likes to touch you, his dear. your puffy baby cheeks, your big eyes, your resting pout on those pretty lips; you’re simply just adorable, he could eat you up!
he has to admit, you’re also divinely gorgeous, what if other overlords try to steal you away from him? of course, no one would even compare to him, much less dare to… but, he must be cautious in case some egotistical sinner thinks that they’d be able to court you.
he’d thought about marking you, perhaps on the neck, but doing that would include unsightly deeds that he wouldn’t want to indulge in…
so then, he decided to do the next best thing; have you accompany him as a companion through his day. keeping you with him as he does his overlord duties, an arm safely around your waist. and, in return, he spoils you with lovely gifts of top-notch quality.
of course, there are better solutions to satiate his possessive behavior… but, this is the one that both of you find most enjoyable.
on one of these days, alastor followed you inside as the two of you went on a date to lu-lu world, taking you on all of the thrilling rollercoasters. to be quite honest, he had a fun time, albeit all the tacky circus decor throughout the place.
while at one of the game booths, you threw the bean bag, hoping to score some points. alastor used his shadow to pull it into the hole, making absolute sure you win.
the gamemaker’s jaw fell in awe, never usually having anyone beat the game. “lovely game, my dear! i believe there is a prize that was won?” alastor looked at the demon gamemaker who hurriedly brought a large lamb-like plushie, styled after charlie’s bodyguard, dazzle.
after all of that, the red skies of hell grew dark as nightfall came. you and alastor walked to the exit before you ran into a specific man.
“oh..! what are you doing here?” lucifer asked, slightly pointing his staff towards you, his face contorting to annoyance as he looked at alastor.
“alastor and i are on… um…” you wandered off, a little embarrassed to explain. “we’re on a date, of course!” alastor announced as he pulled closer to him by your shoulder, his fingers moving behind you to dance on your skin.
your posture straightened, subconsciously trying to move away from the ticklish feeling moving itself up on your spine. “i’d say the better question is what is a man such as yourself doing here alone, hm?” alastor glared down at him.
“well, for one— i own the place.” lucifer frowned back at alastor. “very well, then. we’ll see you around, i suppose!” alastor sighed, pulling you immediately away from lucifer and not even giving him the chance to bid farewell.
as alastor pulled you away, you saw his smile getting strained. “are you ok? why were you—“ “what was that about, my love? why did you not tell him yourself that we were on a date?” you asked before alastor interrupted, the radio static over his voice getting louder the more irritated he got.
your eyes avoided his as you searched your mind for an answer. “ah… well…” you bit your lip, stalling yourself as you came up with a reason.
“is it because you’d rather go on a date with him instead?” he snarled, his eyes clearly frustrated. “would you rather be with that lonely man? all he ever does is make rubber ducks!” he sighed, his jealousy ruining his composure.
“what?!” you frowned. “no… it’s just that… it’s a little embarrassing to explain things to other people. i also got a little flustered because i didn’t expect to see him here… i love you, alastor, promise…” you pouted, leaning your head on his chest
he sighed, satisfied with your response as he put a hand on your head. “good. because you’re mine, dear. don’t ever forget that. and, if you do…” alastor started before his hand once again moved to your spine, two fingers tickling your skin as they danced their way to the nape of your neck.
“agh, stop that!” you whined. “that tickles… don’t worry, i’m all yours.” you shook your head, baffled by the extent of his jealousy. “very good… i love you too, my dear.”
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girlsworldillusion · 23 days
Text
CLAIM - by Aemond Targaryen
+18 (seriously, no minors)
author's note: my first time writing for him, even though I've been in the fandom for a while now. (I hope this isn't the only one).
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There you go, Aemond thinks with some bitterness.
Bright, innocent, pure. Tempting in annoying ways. Certainly a cute little thing to look at, though.
Unfortunately, he's not the only one who noticed this.
A warm, tingly ball curls in his stomach the more he watches you and your pathetic excuse for a partner during the waltz. Every delicate twirl you make around the grand ballroom sends shivers down his spine. The flushed dust high on your cheeks leaves his throat dry. The gentle smile you offer the Lord who smugly leads you through the dance makes his fist clench so tightly around the wine glass that Aemond is actually surprised he hasn't shattered the thing into a thousand pieces yet.
Aemond is not jealous, however. Aemond doesn't get jealous - being jealous is wanting something someone else has, and he has everything he needs, a lot of enviable things, to be honest. (That's what he tells himself, sipping some wine and sending icy daggers toward the man who insists on holding your waist tighter and tighter).
He's not jealous. He just doesn't like it when others covet what's his - or what should be his.
You, another Lady with a prestigious name. Theoretically there were many like you, it's true. But to Aemond, you always stood out. Unique, special. It is a great inconvenience that others also think this way.
Aemond was trying to be a gentleman here. He was purposely going slow so as not to scare you; innocent walks in the garden, subtle conversations about a book you both recently read, an unassuming invitation for afternoon tea (although he doesn't even like tea).
He was already exhausting the limits of his own patience and he still didn't get any real sign that you reciprocated his interest in you. You are kind and lovely, of course. But that's how you are with everyone around you. This, in itself, is no guarantee of absolutely anything for him.
Aemond was trying to be patient. Gods, he really was. But with each passing day he found himself more and more tormented by thoughts and fantasies about you. His mind is playing tricks on him, pushing the limits of his self-control to the point where he feels like he might snap like a stretched rubber band.
And it is on these nights, when everyone in the Red Keep is already asleep and he is absolutely certain that he is finally alone with his own demons - that he gives in.
He closes the only eye he has left to keep from seeing the shamefully needy descent of his hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, only for it to become a fleeting, innocuous thought a few seconds later, because there it is again; that all-encompassing, overwhelming feeling that makes him see stars every time.
He palms his straining erection wet with precum, imagining it's your tiny hand there - or your pretty mouth, your tight pussy. The mere thought of it sends a bolt of pleasure down his spine and makes him part his lips in a husky sigh.
He thinks of you, over and over again; in hurried and repetitive steps, like someone lost in a maze.
Your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyelashes fluttering with pleasure, your sweet voice begging for him...
Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-
Aemond writhes on the sheets, panting, shaking with it, his toes curled against the bed; his hips twitching with each wave of pleasure along his shaft trapped between his fingers. In the waves of euphoria, he throws his other arm over his eye, hides his sapphire and his personal decay like a secret, panting, getting close, so close, fuck, fuck...
It's sweet torture, after all. Spills out onto his own stomach and sheets instead of where he really wants to be.
But he can handle it. All to be a gentleman for you. All to endure the long, agonizing (and embarrassing) wait while you happily accept his invitations to teas and walks in the gardens and entertain him with your witty anecdotes about the latest book you read -
Although you never give him a concrete answer about your feelings for him.
He's trying to hold on.
But you need to pressure him, don't you?
He grits his teeth and narrows his gaze when the man waltzing with you leans down to say something close to your ear.
This isn't new to him, of course.
Aemond is used to having to fight to get what he wants. Nothing really comes easy for him. But there is something about the arduous trajectory of his personal achievements that no one is able to deny.
Once claimed, it's his forever.
That's it, enough of trying to be a gentleman - Aemond hums as he uses the rim of his wine glass to hide the wicked smile tugging at his lips.
.
"Oh, baby."
He is against you.
Pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass so you can feel how hard his cock is in his pants.
He's laughing in your ear.
Mocking.
"You like that, don't you, girl?" he asks, in a dark whisper after cornering you in one of the castle's corridors, blocking your walk to your chambers. He deposits words laced with malice and honey into his husky voice, whispered against the shell of your ear.
You shudder against him.
He's rubbing himself against you. His cock rubbing explicitly against the curve of your ass, while his fingers squeeze your throat, pulling the back of your head to his shoulder.
"You're mine," he says, his voice full of possessiveness. Like he was on the verge of losing it. He already lost.
You cry out softly, feeling him squeeze your throat again. Harder this time.
"Nobody touches you from now on. Got it?"
He's nuzzling into your hair. Lost in the tickle of your strands on his face, in your sweet smell in his nose.
You shake your head somehow even with his firm grip on your throat and he laughs against your hair.
A low, harsh laugh, a wicked sound that rumbles straight from his throat as he leans down to leave a single kiss on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours to give a light tug.
"Good girl."
.
You open your mouth to say something, anything - an apology, a well-rehearsed argument, words too soft and genuine to compete with the sound of Aemond's hips slamming violently between your thighs - but all all you can do is a low, breathless meow.
"You smell like him," Aemond huffs coldly, though it's more of a breathy grunt.
Maybe there is a certain amount of exaggeration in his words, you don't smell like him. Not really. But the simple memory of that man's hands on your waist and his face close to yours to whisper anything was awakening a dangerous euphoria in Aemond's veins.
He tries hard to at least pretend to be easy, to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. Struggling silently to remain composed, as if he wasn't finally fucking the woman he's wanted for a long time at a brutal pace, as if your scent and your tears weren't permanently staining his sheets right now, as if he wasn't squeaking his teeth to keep from spilling too soon at the mere thought of having permanent physical proof that you were here - right in the bed where he sleeps every night. Aemond feigns an indifference and coldness that are not real.
But he's trying.
He is under the intense watch of your drunken, half-closed gaze, and tries hard not to embarrass himself any more than he already has. He struggles to breathe through his nose, trying not to blink too often; carefree, not a hair out of place. And, in the midst of his personal battle for dignity, he finds some amusement in how you seem to be going insane beneath him; as if you seams were being torn apart with each breath hissed through your teeth.
"I-it was just a dance..."
“He was desperate,” Aemond cuts you off, squeezing you so that your words turn into nothing more than a pathetic groan at the end of the sentence. His fingers dig into your throat, anchoring him as his hips work furiously against yours. His hair is falling to your shoulders and breasts, raising goose bumps on your skin with each thrust of his body against yours. “And that smell is really offending me, girl.”
“I-I, I’m so sorry-” you stutter, hands gripping his wrist as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck, exactly where everyone can see it tomorrow, “I told him I already had someone and -"
He barely hears your confession before he interrupts. Thick words spilling from his lips as the grip on your body doubles in intensity.
"He thought with that sticky smile that he could just have you? That he would be the one to take your purity? This is for me, he should know. You belong to me. Only for me - only for me." He shakes and sputters to the wild pleasure coursing through his veins, some of his self control slipping as he bows his head and bumps his forehead against your sweaty shoulder, panting heavily into your skin at the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock like a lathe.
"Yeah - only for you", he distantly hears you moan above the roar in his ears, feels your little fingers tangle between the silver strands of his hair until you manage to give a sharp tug, right at the base of the back of his neck. He groans into your skin at the sensation.
The liquid heat building inside him is almost overflowing, so close that he can't stop his trembling hips from meeting yours with shallower thrusts. He's almost rubbing himself against you, over and over, frantically. “Aemond, p-please,” you murmur, cherry-colored tongue wetting your plump bottom lip. "I can't anymore, I can't - ngh, please-"
Aemond swallows the rest of your words with a punishing kiss, answering your broken plea by quickly grinding his hips, encouraging your orgasm to wash over you. He doesn't stop, not even when you go rigid, unable to kiss him back or do anything other than moan and cry into his mouth.
Aemond traces your lips with his tongue, nibbling them until they're soft, his own breathing becoming as frantic as the cock that's dragging without pause against your wet walls. When his orgasm washes over him, Aemond is already panting and moaning as if in pain as he rests his forehead against yours; an intense gaze observing yours, focused on every detail of your delicate features. Your hooded gaze, the wet trail of tears on your red cheeks and your uneven breathing. The purest adoration for him shining in your eyes like stars in the dark sky.
And he smiles then.
Because you are his now.
Duly claimed.
.
With a gentle touch on his elbow, Aemond returns to reality.
The apples of his cheeks are dyed a subtle (but noticeable) shade of red as his violet gaze scans the space in front of him, silently surprised to have been caught in the middle of his unholy reverie.
It's you.
A beautiful silk dress on soft skin. Hair tied in a slightly loose braid. So small compared to him. So beautiful. So...his.
"Prince Aemond, are you okay?"
He looks at you for a moment, debating between feigning disagreement to spare himself the humiliation of being caught or pushing you against the nearest wall.
In the end, he chooses to remain still, head raised proudly and face indifferent, although his violet gaze remains stubbornly tilted downwards, thirsty to maintain eye contact with you.
"Yes, I just got distracted," he says, voice deeper than he'd like it to sound.
You smile, sweet and soft and his heart quickens.
"That's great. Well, it's late and my feet are hurting after all the dancing." You close your eyes in an amused, relaxed expression, there's even a dimple forming in your cheek as the wide smile stretches your lips - and although the sight is enough to fill his chest with a bubbling sensation of pure warmth, a muscle Aemond's jaw jumps at the mere mention of your recent activities. "Have a good night, my Prince." You conclude when he offers no response to your comment, bowing with a respectful farewell before walking away.
He watches you leave the great hall with delicate steps, gentle smiles and nods directed at the people you meet on the way. The image of grace and innocence, without a doubt. At least until you turn your head towards him before walking out the hall doors.
The way your upper teeth sink into the plump flesh of your lower lip, your heavy eyelashes fluttering when you squint briefly, the flushed cheeks and swollen pupils aimed specifically at him...
It happens as quickly as it started. With a fluid movement you turn around again and walk through the hall doors, as if nothing had happened.
Aemond sighs; tired, irritated, burning with lust.
You keep playing with him.
The wine glass shakes and clinks loudly as he places it roughly on the table, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even care if anyone notices as he abruptly follows your steps, leaving the ballroom behind, with a hard gaze and dark features.
He would catch up to you.
And this time he'll make sure it's not just in a daydream-
He will claims you. Truly, indisputably.
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incorrectbatfam · 9 months
Note
damian calls tim a spineless coward (affectionately) and tim says “its ‘spleen’less coward, actually”
Tim: What if I got a rubber spleen to match your metal spine?
Damian: ...Die (affectionate).
2K notes · View notes
dcsiremc · 2 months
Text
gonna talk about unprotected sex with my favorite greenette before i go to sleep.
izuku thinks you’re so adorable when you beg him to take the condom off, when he’s fucking you so deep you have to stand on your tiptoes. and even though his cockhead is kissing your cervix, you’re teary eyed and begging him to wait, to let up just a second.
he’s kissing your shoulder, batting away the wetness from your eyes with his thumb.
“what’s the matter, honey?”
“izu take it off- i wanna feel you, please.”
he’s chuckling at your desperation, pulling one of your arms backwards, “take it off for me,” is all he says as he slips out of your cunt, and you’re quick to grab at his shaft, running your hand downward to pull at the tip of the rubbery condom. you pull until the stretchy material is pulled too far outward, nice and taut before it starts to roll down izuku’s slicked cock. when he was free from the extra layer, he maybe sure to slam right back into you, arching your back the way he likes as you drop the useless rubber to the floor.
you cry out his name over and over, eyes glazing at the feel of the ridges of his cock, bare and hot in your insides. this was what you needed, to feel all of him completely.
“awe, sweet girl, you want me to fill up this little pussy don’t you?”
the ripple going down your spine was enough confirmation.
851 notes · View notes
fanaticsnail · 3 months
Text
"I Can't Do This Without You"
Masterlist Here
Word Count: 5,939 (why am I like this)
Warnings: Pollen!Buggy x afab!reader, swearing, smut, mdni, p n v, chase, thrill, fluff, semi-public, mutual pining, has plot - I swear, whimpering, pleading, groaning, use of pet names: baby, sugar, sugarplum, hun, captain, Buggy is a switch.
I said I'd get it done in 48h, and I am a snail true to my word. Crispy leaf, dangle dangle.
Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings, @feral-artistry, @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity
Minors, this is not for you.
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You groaned as the exhaustion overtook you, lulling your head backwards and releasing a deep sigh from the chasms of your throat. Feeling the fabric of the partially dampened tea-towel grind uncomfortably against your water-swollen fingertips had you release a hiss from your clenched teeth. 
It was your turn to remain awake, plagued by the domestic duties that came with serving alongside the Buggy pirates. Although your allocations were rotational, you loathed being the only pirate awake during the cryptid hours aboard the vessel. Everything was silenced, aside from the rambunctious snores produced in the crew-quarters: roars, snores and heavy-laden breathing calling you to both run to and away from them as your eyelids grew heavy. 
The echo of: “Nobody can do this like you can,” relayed on loop, the soft breath of your captain dancing atop your neck from behind. He knew exactly what his verbal praise did to you, the confident and arrogant asshole that he was. You adored your captain, loved serving him with your peers and sailing the East Blue with him guiding you through the currants and riding through the waves. 
The only issue that you had serving your captain was this one, small, unspoken thing that had him sweetly pouring your name from his painted lips in a sticky-sweet drawl. His molasses-tone purring for you, coaxing you into doing his bidding by just the utterance of your name. It had your knees aching, spine tingling and heartstrings caught in the firm vice of his gloved fist. Perhaps he truly had no idea what he was doing to you. The way the small rasp in his voice pulled against his tonsils, the sweetness in his cadence truly revealed who he was to you alone. 
You shook your head, plunging your hands back into the suds and muck of the dishwater. The texture of undiscarded food scraps brushing your fingertips caused your lips to pull back, revealing your pearled teeth in a disgusted snarl. Savages: the lot of them. A shudder crept up your back as you pulled the plug from the basin and ran the cool water from the tap. You anchored the nozzle of the tap over the basin, aiming for the bile-like gunk stuck to the steel container and coaxing them down the sink. 
Heavy footfalls of buckled boots broke you away from your disgust, alert and ready to meet with whomever tore you from your thoughts. You rinsed your rubber gloves before removing them, casting them aside to the corner of the sink beside the amassment of freshly cleansed dishes, and turned to greet your crewman. You were shocked to see it was not just a simple comrade sneaking in to collect a glass of water, but your captain clad in nothing but his tight leather pants and unbuckled boots. His long blue hair lay carelessly from his head, waterfalling from the crown of his head down his shoulders and tickling his chiseled abdomen. Whispers of the partially curled hair, untamed and unbridled without his striped red and white bandana, stuck to his forehead in stringy clusters. 
“H-Hey, Love,” his voice rasped. His eyes were panicked, wide behind the lengthy blue eyelashes. The small stuttered quiver in his ungloved hands had your brow furrowing into a dip in the middle of your face. Although not unaccustomed to pet-names from him; the tone in his voice held you captive and unwavering. 
“Captain?” you asked after him, watching as your voice caused his head to twitch to the side and eyes clamp tightly shut, “Captain? Are you okay? You look poorly.” You removed your apron and hastily cast it down to the side as you approached him. As quickly as you approached, he stuttered his feet backwards and fisted the doorframe within his firm grip. 
Immediately halting your steps, your heart beat harder within your chest. Panicked. Your Captain was panicked and frantic. He steadied himself, cowering away from your and physically holding himself to the frame as if it was the last thing anchoring him to the earth.
“Captain-?” you began, only for your words to be halted by your captain speaking through gritted teeth. His jaw was clenched so tightly closed, you were afraid he’d break his pearly teeth. 
“-J-Just-....hnngh-... I n-need you to do something-... f-for me,” his voice faltered as the last syllable left his painted lips. His brows furrowed, eyes clamped tightly shut; his blue triangular patterns adorning his cheeks bled into the creases he created with the tightness. Sweat was pooling from his brow, down his temple to his stubbled chin. 
“Captain!” you called after him, prompting him to shake his head from side to side violently to halt you from approaching him further. 
“This was a m-mistake. I c-can’t-... fuck-... I-,” He pulled himself closer to the doorframe; his hips falling flush against the wall from behind. Your eyes searched his closed lids, following the trail of sweat down his chin to the bob of his Adams apple and down the scruff of his tufts of blue chest-hair. 
“Captain,” you spoke in a warning tone. He shook his head from side to side once more, frantic and wild behind his clenched shut eyes. You took a tentative step towards him, his eyes snapping open at the small creak of your foot atop the floorboards. 
“Baby,” he whimpered through a pained groan. His pupils were blown wide and frantic. His saliva drew the red tint away from its designated position against his lips and down his chin. There was something rabid in the air. To what extent, you truly had no idea. 
“What do you need, sir?” Your professional response was to fall back into your ship-savvy training. You stood alert, your hands laced behind your back and awaiting orders from your pirate captain. He winced at your cadence, his voice unleashing a feral groan from his throat. It was deep, desperate and needy - heavy in the growl that laid against its raspy undertone. 
“Baby, I need you to take my head. Take my head, and run.” 
At that final command, he tossed his head at you and you began your sprint towards the upper deck of the Big-Top. You held your captain’s head within the hook of your elbow, cradling him into your chest as your feet picked up a sprint. 
“Where am I going, sir?” you asked him, looking down at the painted clown you had chosen as your captain.
“Away f-from my body,” he winced. You noticed the tone in his voice, picking up his immediate distress and almost halting your steps to go back to collect his torso-.
“-DON’T!” He barked at you. You stiffened, picking up the pace once again as you fled away from the kitchen’s scullery and to the woven ropes beside the top mast. 
Why did he have to collect that substance? Why did he have to find a way to siphon it into his latest ‘Buggy Ball’? Why did he have to spill it over his gloved wrist, immediately inhaling it and sneezing through the chalky pollen?
Because Captain Buggy D Clown was, among all other things, a fucking idiot. 
He cursed at himself, feeling the tightness in the crotch of his leather pants as he braced his body against the doorframe, hoping you had ran far enough away from him to not cage you against the wall and rut into you like an ill-tempered, ill-mannered staffordshire bull terrier. 
It was no secret that he gave you preferential treatment among the crew. He attempted to balance this out by giving you the poor jobs he wouldn’t dream of designating to the others because “nobody does it like you can.” He mentally slapped himself in the face at thinking of that, as he was cradled so protectively against the side of your chest. He wanted you, he wanted you. He wanted you.
But not like this. 
He continued to verbally berate himself as your feet carried you further atop the deck and up the ropes. Your feet looped effortlessly against the woven ladder, hoisting both yourself and him to the crows nest and cowering into the side: hidden and out of sight. The stars illuminated your skin, the rise and fall of your pants holding him in a hypnotic stance as he watched your breasts swell with oxygen. Desire fell from his lips in a feral growl, prompting you to look down and search his face with panic written all over it. 
Even in his afflicted state, he could truly see how desperately you cared for him. The way your hands reached to collect his chin and coax his pollen-blown pupils to meet with your own held him bewitched by your compassion. 
“Captain?” You asked after him, breaking him from his trance momentarily as he panted out incoherent curses and ramblings, “Buggy. You need to tell me what’s going on. How can I fix this? What can I do?”
“You gotta stay away from my body, Hun,” he winced, left eye closing as his right attempted to hold firm to your gaze, “h-he-...f-fuck-... He w-wants-.....hha-ah-... He wants you, Sugar.”
You stay stationary, holding firm and perplexed as your captain continues swearing, cursing and groaning into the wee hours of the morning. You had no idea what had come over him, his affliction pulling at your heart as you watched more sweat produce at his temple. 
“Why do I need to keep away from your body, Captain?” you asked him, placing his head down beside your own and lying down against the floorboards of the crows nest. He panted, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he winced through his next words.
“I fucking told you already, Baby. He wants you.” You cocked your head to the side as you watched your captain huff and suck his bottom lip in and out of his lips. His pants and groans caused caution to tug at your mind as you continued to study him. 
His pained face almost looked as a lover would writhe beneath their other half. Lustful and insatiable being the balance of his growling and pleading expression, his brows knitting together in concentration as he continued to pant like an animal. Surely your captain would not behave as irrationally as a teenager in search of their next crevice to gyrate against. 
Until it dawned on you.
That was exactly what you were dealing with. 
“Captain?” you cautiously asked down at him, “Did you-... D-Did you toy with that flower? The one you said you wouldn’t touch?” After several clenched inhales and exhales, Buggy managed to hiss out a simple word that would change your reaction from concerned to appalled. 
“Yes.”
You immediately began to grumble and chastise the captain, who whimpered away like a puppy caught behaving in a manner undesired by their owners. After a few minutes of berating and chastising, you halted your words as you witnessed the tremble in the bottom lip of your captain. You shook your head and huffed out a simple angry puff of breath. 
“You were warned that it was a powerful aphrodisiac, yes?” you snarled at him, top lip pulling upwards to reveal your canines. 
“Yes,” He managed to hiss out once again. 
“And you chose to fuck with it anyway? Knowing there is no known antidote, yes?” You reprimanded him again, prompting a small winced whimper from your captain as he cried another simple: “Yes.”
You groaned, feeling the frustration and pain of a thousand subordinates taking directions from an idiot captain, and turned on your side, collecting the clown’s whimpering head into your hands and hoisting him over to you. 
“Buggy,” your voice held the reprimanding tone of a superior as you cautioned a warning at your captain, “You are an idiot.”
“I know, Baby,” he managed to wince out through clenched teeth, “b-but I-...hnngh-... I c-couldn’t n-not. It was-... shit–t-... It was right there.”
You sucked in a long and exasperated breath through your nose, filling your chest with the rage of a begrudging superior and began to collect enough rage within you to bring down your frustration onto him-... Only to halt as your eyes met his. 
He was a wreck. His pupils blown, his lips quivering and his teeth chattering behind his whimpering mouth. He was awaiting your beration: dreading it, but prepared for it. He wanted you to be angry with him. He wanted you to be upset that he did something stupid. He wanted you to be-... you. He wanted you.
“Why did you seek me out, Captain?” you asked him while removing your overcoat and placing it to the side. 
“I-I-... I don’t kn-know,” he whimpered, his eyes wide and beginning to brim with desperate tears. 
“Oh? You don’t know?” you asked him, kicking off your boots beneath you and unbuckling your belt, “You didn’t think I’d desire to relieve you of this predicament?” You unbuttoned your blouse, springing forth your breasts into the air and shimmying the cotton material from your shoulders, “You are my Captain.”
“What-... W-What are you doing?” he panted at you. His jaw was slackened, unblinking eyes never once pulling away from you as you continued to undress yourself. You rolled your eyes at him as you continued shimmying yourself from your clothes; presenting your nudity beneath the dusted starlight. Your captain’s blush darkened beneath his painted face, eyes bulging as his jaw began involuntarily salivating. 
“Captain,” you huffed out, rolling back onto your side and meeting his gaze with your reprimanding gaze. Your eyes softened as they met with his, your eyebrows arching upwards at the center and a small smile drew itself to your lips. “You sought me out in the middle of the night,” you smirked, reaching for his cheek but halting before touching him. 
You witnessed his pained and conflicting expression, his grimace straining against his cheeks as his eyes continued to yearn for you. You apprehensively sighed, placing your palm down in front of the clown-captain and bore your eyes into his own. Always encouraging, supporting and cheering for him in your expression.
“I joined your crew to serve you, Buggy,” you confessed to him, “You. You, sir.” You scooted your body closer to him, opting to not make the initial contact with him and holding firm to your position perpendicular to him. He grimaced, wincing in pain but his eyes were full and blown with lust and yearning. 
“D-Don’t, Love,” his tone held the undertones of warning, his teeth pulling back and painfully gritting together in his jaw, “don’t say that. Y-You’re too g-good for the crew-... sssff-... too good f-for me-e.” 
You scoffed at him, inching ever closer to him and almost brushing your nose against his beautiful, rotund circle of a nose.
“I chose to serve you, Captain,” you bore down your intense gaze into his own, “In whatever capacity you deem me worthy.” He groaned, his face involuntarily seeking out your own as you continued your confession, “What is it you always say? Nobody can do this like I can?” 
His jaw fell slack, his eyes completely tint-less as they became eclipsed by desire. The cool teal of his irises were all but lost beneath his gaze. You smiled at him, turning over to lay on your back: eyes looking upwards at the stars as you unleashed a small sigh into the air. 
“What a-are you doing?” he stuttered, slowly inching his decapitated head towards your face. Your eyes held a softness, the smile on your face as hypnotic as the day he first laid eyes on you. 
“Oh, Captain,” you cooed at him, refusing to look at his face as you continued to stare upwards into the cloudless sky, “I’m just waiting for your body to catch up to where your head is.”
Buggy’s thoughts, swirling as the cesspool of a thousand bogs, was rattled by your words. Had he wanted you? Yes. He yearned for you, he pined for you. He had always imagined how beautiful you looked, split over his cock as he inched you downwards to take in his impressive length. He had always imagined you mewling and pleading for him to have you cum against his painted lips, coaxing the eruption of bliss from your core with his tongue as you rode his face. He had fisted his cock in solitude thinking of you, only you, as he spilt himself over his thumb and into a long forgotten sock while he whispered your name as gentle as a prayer between his lips. 
He wanted you. He wanted you so badly. But he wanted you to want him. He didn’t want you to just be his crewman in servitude to their captain. He wanted you to need him exactly as much as he needed you. Even while his senses became overpowered by the aphrodisiac, he wanted you to want him in return. 
“Captain?” your voice called to him, your apprehensive and almost shy tone breaking him from his thoughts. He nodded, knowing you could see him from the corner of your eyes. Even in his afflicted state, he attempted to keep his desperate eyes hyper focussed on your face as he noticed you gulp back a dry mouthful of saliva. “Do-... Do you think you could-... Talk to me a little?” 
“What d-you m-mean, Sugarplum?” he winced, feeling the proximity of his body rapidly approaching towards the two of you in the crows nest. You huffed out your embarrassment, already naked in body beside him but yet to bare your soul.
“Buggy,” you warned him, your eyes now becoming haunted with your own quiet longing and desperation, “You know what your voice does to me, sir. I-... If we’re going to do this, I need you to talk to me.”
He was long gone from the part of feigning innocence to the matter. He was fully aware you were interested in his flirtations: reciprocating them in turn, but always shying away first to his crude and unwithheld shamelessness. 
“You want me-... to get you in the mood? F-For me to… fuck you senseless?” He asked, his brow again releasing a new bead of frustrated and lustful sweat down his temple to his lip. He noticed the visible quiver in your body at the word ‘fuck’, prompting his body to quicken its haste at climbing the ropes from below. His pants were long discarded, his boots pooling at the floor beneath them as he continued to climb as a wild and ferocious beast up the ropes.
“O-Oh,” his whimpered question fled his lips more as a statement, a growl anchoring the end of his expression downwards as he watched your body continue to respond to him. Without warning, his head rocked into your shoulder, placing his lips on every inch of your skin he could find and wiggling his way upwards to trail long and desperate kisses to your jaw and neck. 
“Oh, baby,” he began, licking and kissing at the pulse of your neck, “I have thought of nothing but y-you… -hnghh, fuck-...” he confessed as his feet fell; his cock brushing slightly against the rope and providing the smallest amount of stimuli against the throbbing shaft, “I-I wanted you, hun. I wanted you s-so badly. I wanted t-to know what you looked like caged in my arms as I fucked you beneath me-,” his feet began to pick up the pace, sprinting up the ropes to draw his throbbing closer to you. 
“Hun, I don’t th-think you’re aware of how much I want you,” He licked a long stripe up your collar bone, his teeth grazing your skin as he whimpered against you, “baby, I-I-... I c-couldn’t-...” His words halted in his throat, truly not desiring to release his confession into the air for fear of never reclaiming the words back.
“What, Cap?” you gasped, finally turning to him with your eyes half-lidded and glazed with lust, “what couldn’t you do? Tell me. Tell me, please?” He growled, launching his decapitated head towards you and placing trails of creeping open-mouthed kisses against your cheek, nose and jaw - never claiming your lips beneath his for fear of breaking the spell and having you sprint from him. 
“I-I-...” he whined, feeling his feet beginning to tingle in his approach. He was so close to you, so close to your glistening opening: ready and waiting for him to dive into your supple flesh and chase his release, “-I only think of you. I-I-... I can’t-... I can’t cum without thinking of you. I need you. I only think of you, the way you’d fuck. Baby, the way you’d taste.” 
You gasped, finally claiming his cheek within your palm and watching the tearful expression of the clown within your hands and chasing his fleeting gaze with your eyes. 
“Captain?” you cooed down at him, desperately trying to conceal your enthusiasm and excitement with your tone, “Captain, do-... do you picture me? When you touch yourself? When you-... when you masterbate?” Before the clown could halt his pathetic words from falling from his lips, his mind began to spiral as he continued his unholy confession.
“Baby, I-I tried to cum s-so badly without you. I was right there. I even found your old wanted poster and thought of making you scream as I stretched you out. I-I tried to cum while thinking of you. I kept chasing it, hun. I-I-... I can’t do it without you. I was right there twelve times before I went to find you in the kitchens. I t-tried. It’s-... I can’t do this without you,” he desperately cried, his eyes open and honest as he spilt nothing but truths from his lips. Your heart broke for him, and the shame of his confession began to glisten your aching entrance and swollen clit with his pathetic whines and calls for you. 
At that, you felt the dangerous presence of his body begging to be reunified. The thrill held you quivering in anticipation, desperate to help your captain in whichever manner he deemed appropriate to chase his relief. You closed your eyes tightly shut, feeling his body fall downwards onto you and cage you beneath it. 
“Baby, s-say something,” Buggy’s voice whispered at your jaw, his lips collecting the skin beneath it, “I-I can’t control myself f-for much longer. Baby I n-need to know this is o-okay.” His plea had your eyes snap open, meeting his teal gaze as he desperately sought out your own. 
“It’s okay,” you whispered, feeling the inches of heat grazing against your thigh in his shaft’s approach towards your shamefully aroused entrance. 
“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered into you. You felt the graze of his swollen tip prodding against your oozing entrance, flicking its shined tip against your clit as he rejoined his head firmly atop his shoulders, “I never wanted it to be like this.” He reached down, grasping his abused shaft and almost screaming as he did. His senses were overwhelmed, so desperate for stimuli but conflicted because he wanted so desperately to be good for you. 
“It’s okay, Captain,” you reassured him, turning away from his face to shy from his feral expression. You held your eyes closed in shame at how truly intoxicated this made you. You were both blessing the horrible pollen for having him finally make a move, while guilty at the fact that this was the only reason you were feeling his knob rake slowly between your silken abdominal lips. 
“L-Look at me,” he whispered down at you, “p-please, baby. Please look at me.” As you slowly turned to face him, he achingly withheld the urge to slam his cock fully within your entrance and pushing to the hilt of his shaft in one swift movement. He was physically shaking with the inability to control himself further than allowing this one moment to pass between you. 
As your eyes slowly and coyly met, he glanced deep and unblinkingly into your eyes as he slowly inched the tip of his cock into you. You watched that subtle quiver in his eyes; the way his lip trembled at the friction as his leaking tip arched its way beyond the first point of contact. He muffled a scream, finally feeling relief at the contact of your walls sucking his cock within them. He fought back another urge to break away his eye contact and have his eyes roll back into his skull in bliss of the feeling - opting to continue staring deeply into your eyes as he slicked another few inches within your walls. 
Your breath hitched, staring deeply into his eyes as your lips parted at how truly beautiful you found him. He clenched his teeth together, angling his hips forward and slowly pressing down into you while wincing back his pleasured cries of bliss. He wanted so desperately for this to feel as good for you as it did for him, but the way the pollen enhanced his every sense had his limbs on fire. As he inched his cock down to the base of his shaft, he sucked his cheeks into his teeth alongside his tongue and bit down exceptionally hard to keep his cum from spilling over immediately. 
As you became accustomed to his width, you couldn’t help but sigh out a small mewl of pleasure at being filled by your captain into his ear. At that small hitched pitch of your voice, he began to rock his entire length within you as he groaned out a desperate cry of satisfaction. 
Don’t you dare cum, you idiot. You’ve finally got what you wanted. You wanted this. Don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t you dare cum-.
“-You c-can cum, Captain,” you whispered into his ear, placing a small kiss on the corner of his jaw, “You’ve waited so long, Bugs. I’m so proud of you. You can cum, baby. Cum for me.”
His breath hitched in his throat, his cock immediately responding to your guidance by snapping the tension within his stomach. His balls were pressed so tightly within his abdomen, almost swallowed within his stomach by how tight and desperate everything became. At that small whisper of praise from you, his orgasm crashed over him like a bolt of calculated lightning seeking him out as a conductor to direct the currant. Ribbons and ropes of hot and desperate strings of sticky cum shot from his tip to coat your walls with their lustful lubrication. 
“O-Oh fuck. Fuck! F-FucK!-.. Nghh-... I’m cumming. I-I’m cumming! F-Fuck, baby. I-I’m-.. Hhah-...” He cried into your shoulder, his lips and teeth collecting your neck beneath his mouth and clenching down onto your flesh. You hissed at the contact, feeling the waves of pleasure he was experiencing coat your walls as you soothed over his shoulders with a gentle, but firm touch. 
His slow thrusts came to a halt, completely sheathed within you as he rode through his high. The collection of arousal pooling at your thighs and coated his groin was surprising to the both of you at the culmination of the fluids. As his eyes drew downwards to the contact between your bodies, he gasped at how beautifully your body had taken him in. He was in awe that you would allow him to join with your body in this way, but guilty in the fact that he was the only one to claim pleasure from this encounter.
He quirked his head to the side, remaining fully sheathed within you and began rocking his hips a little. You gasped, feeling his lingering firmness within your core and brush with the underlayer of your clit while the top brushed with his pubic hair. He laughed with an almost sickening amount of glee.
“Would you look at that?” He managed to stutter out between the snapping of hips. He leant down towards you, hovering his lips just above your own, “I’m still hard.” He hummed thoughtfully, looking first to where your bodies were connected before darting his eyes back up to yours. 
Looking up at him with partially shocked eyes, you felt the lubrication of his prior release grinding against his cock sheathed within your core. His soft and deep gyrations had an involuntary cry fall from your parted lips at the friction. Buggy’s eyes smiled as his lips broke into a crooked smile.
“Ohh,” he cooed down at you, “Ooh, you thought we were done, didn’t you?” He reached down to collect your thighs, hooking them over his hips and joining them at the ankles, “oh, sweetheart. You thought you could get away with ordering your captain to cum in you without consequence?” 
He shifted his cock deeper within you, raking his hands at your thighs upwards to collect your ass beneath his wide fingers. You bit your bottom lip to halt a sound from leaving your lips, prompting Buggy’s teal eyes to look down at you and frown. He snapped his hips harder against you, slow and deliberate thrusts dragging at your walls with his cock and prying another muffled moan of desire from you. 
He frowned further, drawing his face closer into you and almost brushing his lips with yours. 
“Don’t you dare stop those pretty sounds from comin’ out,” he commanded you, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with desire. His throbbing cock was twitching within your fluttering walls, his groans of pleasure serenading you with his raspy tone gracing your ears, “Oh, Baby. Let me hear you. C’mon, now.” 
You screamed at your eyes to remain fixed on the man above you; his own half-lidded expression being mirrored in your irises as your lips almost brushed. He continued slowly anchoring his hips in and out of your glistening entrance with your walls fluttering around him. You gasped as he wove his arms beneath you and hoisted you upwards. He rocked back to sit atop his calves, pulling you with him to sit atop his lap and braced himself fully flush with you. 
With his arms hooked beneath you, he found the backs of your shoulders and braced you against his torso, breaking away his eye contact as his lips sucked on your neck. He gyrated his hips up into you, keeping you completely still and caged atop his lap as he rocked you. The new angle had your jaw slack and gasping silent cries and mewls of pleasure down into his ear. 
“You were so chatty, baby,” he grunted against your neck, trailing his lips against your neck to your jaw, “Where did that go, huh?”
At that final taunt, you wove your hands into the back of his scalp and forced his neck back to look up at you. He gasped out a sighed groan, jaw clenching at your manhandling of his sensitive body. Grinning up at you with a grimaced lop-sided smile, he again taunted you: “Too embarrassed by me? Don’t want to have the infamous Clown-Captain make you cum?”
He picked up the pace, almost disregarding your hands within his hair as his thrusts became more desperate and unbridled. His playful eyes never broke away from your face, only leaving to glace at your breasts bouncing at eye level and shamelessly ogling them before finding your eyes once more. His hips began to stutter more, almost rhythmically in tune with your body as he felt your walls suck him in with their flutters. 
“Not embarrassed, Cap,” you managed to gasp out, grinding down onto his cock. He squirmed beneath you, matching your circling and gyrating rhythm as he bucked up into you. “I’m just enjoying your voice.” You tugged back his hair tighter, his lips releasing a hissed sigh as you brought  your lips down to suck on his neck. He continued rolling his hips upwards, allowing you to chase your release by circling and gyrating against him. 
“P-Please,” He called in a voice above a whisper, “Please cum on my cock. I need you to cum on my cock, baby. I want you to use me like a toy. Your toy.” You whimpered against his neck, feeling the tightness in your abdomen increase to the center of your stomach. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he continued rocking you atop his lap. 
“No,” He shook his head out of your grasp and bore his teal eyes into your own. He uncircled his arms from beneath your shoulders to his right wrapping around your stomach while the other cradled your jaw, “No I want to see it. I want to see you cum. I want to see the lights dance in your eyes as I rock you on my lap. I want to see your pleasure as you chase it, sliding your slick cunt over my cock. Please, please baby. Please cum for me.”
As his eyes locked on yours, you felt the twirl within the pit of your stomach finally release the band of pleasure within you. Every inch of your body burst with the tingles of your orgasm: the tips of your toes shivering within the vibrations of warmth and static up to your legs, thighs, abdomen, torso, neck and face. You were suffocated by the cry you released of his name pouring from your lips as you raked your hips over his lap, whimpering and moaning for him as you rode your high into blissful overstimulation. 
Buggy had no idea when he began cumming, but he could feel you sucking every inch of his second release deep within you by the sturdy thumps of your glistening walls squeezing each drop from his quivering shaft. He cried for you, the sting of overstimulation balanced with ensuring you had truly finished allowing the waves of bliss to wash over you. He felt tethered to you, the only thing anchoring him down to this world as he serenaded your praises with the angels. 
He released your jaw, circling his hand to the back of your head and pulling you down to touch your forehead with his. Your movements stilled, the only sounds resonating were the crashes of waves against the hull and the distant roars, snores and heavy-laden breathing of your crew sleeping and remaining blissfully unaware of what just occurred within the crows nest. Sighs and breaths between you passed as you greeted one another with warm, coy smiles. 
“Did you learn your lesson, Captain?” you asked him with a small, sleepy giggle. 
“I think so, Hun,” he replied with the same tone, the creases of his eyes holding both his charm and his playfulness within it, “‘You’ll always look after me when I do something stupid’ was the lesson, right?” You pursed your lips at him, no longer having the energy to fight with him and opting to place a small chaste kiss atop his round nose. He winced at the caress, but opted not to pull away once he saw your sleep-deprived expression. 
“I’m just playing, Love,” he sighed into your face, still ghosting his lips over your own without fully committing to the kiss. 
“I know, Cap,” you mumbled sleepily, pressing a soft and deep caress of your lips against his. He groaned against your lips as they finally met, holding firm against you as you angled your head to deepen the kiss. Breaking the dance of your lips intertwining, you leant back and smiled warmly at him, “But I will always look after you when you do something stupid.”
“Oh good,” he sighed in relief, a broad and brilliant smile drawing itself against his lips as he hardened his resolve, “Because all I've learnt is nobody can do this like you can.”
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veryinnovative · 3 months
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@jegulus-microfic | january 3, prompt: ruthless | word count: 1.422 featuring pornstars jegulus! NSFW
“They’re going off-script, why are they going off-script?” Barty grits out, confined to the sidelines since he’s part of the camera crew and not the main act, one hand firmly gripping the tripod’s handle as the other waves the booklet in front of Evan’s face.
Because Regulus is sprawled out on the bed on his back, his harness and strap-on discarded on the floor, purple rubber still glistening from where it had been seven inches deep inside James moments prior. His thighs are spread wide by the broad palms and pinned to the mattress as his set partner crawls between them, face still flush from exertion and hair in total disarray as a result of Regulus’ constant pulling and shoving.
The position is not a total mystery, no. Regulus had been in the industry for over a year now, a short span of time during which he had climbed the rank listings and breached the top ten, now striving after the top five together with James Potter, arrogantly self-proclaimed oral king by the looks of it, always needing something in his mouth to satisfy him or shut him up, take your pick. The entire set had been arranged by both their managers, going off on tangents about how they have impeccable chemistry on-screen (combined with Regulus’ superb acting abilities). It’s their second time shooting a video together, considering how their first had broken the record just three weeks ago, and neither Pandora nor Lily had wasted a second to get them together in a room again.
“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses as James’ mouth works a burning trail down his chest, tongue laving over the latticework of bruises and the lovebites blooming. He tries very hard not to lean into it, wards off the urge to chase after the hot cavern the ventures dangerously low.
“Going down on you,” James whispers into his stomach, quiet enough for the microphones not to pick up. Even if they did, it could be edited out afterward. 
“I was supposed to go down on you, remember?” Regulus retorts, mentally convincing himself he’s only keeping his legs open for the camera. It’s not like he’s been wondering if James’ mouth is the real deal as many others have made it out to be. Not at all.
“I already came and you didn’t, so I’m just returning the favor before we move on,” James mumbles into his thighs, masking the speaking movements of his mouth by kissing the skin.
“You’re wasting your energy.” Then, the little light of Dorcas’ camera across them flickers, indicating it’s Regulus they’re focusing on. He makes a show of letting out a pleased sigh, craning his neck, and throwing back his head so his face can’t be recorded. It allows him to talk. “I don’t feel like cumming, so just let me do my job. Besides, I doubt you could get me off like this anyway.”
Blatant fucking lie. James undoubtedly notices because he stifles a snort into his leg.
“Sure thing, love.”
Regulus’ jaw ticks and he winds his fingers into James’ hair, reprimand ready on the tip of his tongue, dying off into a choked gasp when the flat of a thick, broad tongue runs a long stripe through his folds.
And the thing is, it’s not just his mouth. Because James’ hands wander, alternating between gripping his hips and roaming upwards to flick his nipples, taking them between his forefinger and thumb to stimulate—rub, pull, gently squeeze all the while his tongue dips in and out of him, gathering the wetness there, swallowing it, moaning at the taste, stopping and only letting the hotness of his breath ghost over Regulus’ dripping core. Building anticipation. Teasing. Lips slick and just as swollen as he is, spreading him open wider just so the camera can get a clear-cut image of how James leans in again, thumb pulling up the hood, mouth this time aimed at Regulus’ cock.
James’ tongue is ruthless.
Licking, sucking, humming around Regulus and sending the vibrations roiling through his spine, static shooting into his skull, paralyzing the rest of him. Using his nose for friction if it’s his tongue that’s too occupied fucking in and out of him, thumbs eagerly pressed into the divots of his hips.
“Jesus fucking Chr—” The words pathetically drop in pitch, bleeding into a low whine as Regulus’ hips buck, James’ mouth only following the undulations. He swirls his tongue, pulls him into his mouth, and sucks until the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth no longer rise above the ringing flooding Regulus’ ears. He moans, fingers pulling onto the thick curls until it leaves James whining between his legs as well. “Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, fuck, indeed,” Barty whispers from to the side. “Holy shit, he’s making it look so real.”
“Am I about to tell you something,” Evan mutters, adjusting the sound settings.
Regulus arches off the bed, writhing in place against the steel hold on his hips, the balls of his feet digging painfully deep into James’ back when he feels the pressure building low in his stomach, pleasure pooling low below his spine. 
“I’m not going to cum,” Regulus gasps out, not giving a fuck how loud it comes out. Between his clenched thighs, James chuckles, its rumbling reverberating through each and every one of his nerves as he pulls off his cock with a wet pop.
“Yes, you will,” James answers, kissing his cock before biting into his thigh. “Because I’m going to make you.”
The mouth leaving him punches a little, pitiful sound of protest out of Regulus, one he will most certainly deny and demand be edited out. Though, right now, he’s too strung out to care. Regulus’ eyes droop down, watching how James leaves the little space between his legs, strings of spit and wetness breaking off into the air as he crawls up onto his knees.  
Everything moves rather swiftly afterward. The excited noise filling the room might have either been his or Barty’s, but none of it matters when James grabs Regulus by the back of his knees and pins them down, nearly folding him in half before he continues his mouth’s assault, urging the tightening knot low in his abdomen to unravel.
There’s the tongue inside of him, on him, in him, around him—circling, pulling, teasing, drawing out the most guttural of moans when he feels the graze of teeth. The entirety of Regulus swallowed by James’ mouth, consumed with the sort of deprivation only the taste of him can alleviate if the desperate sucking is anything to go by. Regulus’ legs shake, body twitching in place, fingers curled so tightly around handfuls of curls when he chokes out a weak, “I’m not—I’m not going to—”
James groans a muffled command, fingers digging deep into his thighs, the splay of stray strands across his stomach, muscles pulled taut, the fluorescent lightning above, that stupid fucking tongue, the sole bane of his existence—
Regulus cries out a soundless rasp, like his voice has left him together with his soul, entire body convulsing, head thrown back on the arrangement of pillows as his eyes roll back into their sockets. 
Worst of all, James doesn’t stop, only grunts in response as Regulus gushes over his tongue, making a dangerous sound stuck low in his throat when the hand on his head tries to push him away.
“Stop,” Regulus squeaks out. Squeaks, because that’s how terribly low he’s fallen. The overstimulation is a lot, pleasure overwhelming like his brain is threatening to come oozing out of his ears, and next thing you know the video will be titled ‘James Potter managed to make exalted Regulus Black cry with his orgasm’. 
“Please, please s’too much—” Regulus tries again, almost sobbing out a breath of relief when James does finally lift his head with a gasp, his entire fucking face slick from where it had been buried inside Regulus.
“Fucking hell,” Barty hisses in the back, vocalizing Regulus’ internal monologue. “Cut! Fucking, cut the cameras! Pause! Water! Bring this fucker some water before he passes out—”
A flurry of movement in the background, the noises fading into white noise as Regulus’ legs are lowered back onto the bed. James hovers above him, the spit-slick grin almost blinding, or that’s just the stars blinking in Regulus’ vision.
“You were saying?” James asks, teasingly touching Regulus’ puffy cock, laughing when it rewards him with a full-body shudder.
Regulus weakly wacks him in the chest. “Go fuck… Yourself.”
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