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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 days

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BATMAN | BRUCE WAYNE (THE BATMAN 2022)

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“Live A Little” (Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader)

| Car sex on the hood of the batmobile w/ a very determined Bruce.

| NSFW, so this bad boy is 18+, minors dni, semi-public sex (?), this ain’t nothing but pure fucking smut, slightly sub!Bruce, bottoming from the top, switching (in the kink sense) -soft!Bruce

| Rev those mfkn engines, Bitch! (Pic Source: The Batman 2022)

| 1k+ words

You hadn’t known what, but something had set Bruce off tonight.

The whole night he’d been bouncing all over the place. Even when escorting civilians from an active shootout as you distracted the perpetrators he’d been studiously focused and swift. There hadn’t been a singular fatal wound acquired at all.

Bruce had been at the top of his game the whole time.

All of which led you to where you are right now. Head down and ass up as he took you against the hood of the Batmobile.

Bruce had barely let you get two feet away from the vehicle before he was kissing you senseless, and you’d gone along with it because you’d been feeding off of his energy all patrol just the same.

No one could possibly expect you to watch the man take down almost a whole drug ring by himself, he was going at them so hard, and not get a little turned on. It had been a very successful night, you think Bruce deserved to take the edge off.

Didn’t hurt that it benefited you also.

—

“Fuck, Bruce,” your words whoosh out of you in a rush, “harder.”

In response Bruce pushes his gloved hand in between your shoulder blades to get you to arch your back, pushing himself even deeper inside of you with a grunt.

Your head thunks softly against the hood as his pounding gets harsher, your covered breasts rubbing harshly into still warm metal, and in the back of your mind you’re glad for your costume still being on.

Your name falls past bruised lips in a desperate growl and, impossibly, Bruce’s thrusts grow wilder.

It’s maddening. You can barely remember to keep breathing.

Hands clambering over the hood for purchase the Batmobile by design doesn’t grant, you gasp at the way he keeps forcing you forward.

“What - fuck - what if Alfred comes down?”

Bruce leans over you until his hips meet flush against your ass. His breath puffs on the side of your head.

“It's fine,” he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, “I asked him to give us a minute.”

You cry out as he straightens back up and the tip of his cock presses down on your g-spot. A whine comes tumbling past your lips when, on top of that, instead of pulling back Bruce stays still.

Legs trembling where they’re trapped against the front of the enhanced car, the bottom half of your suit tangled around your boot glad ankles, you close your eyes against his onslaught.

Bruce just barely pulls away before slamming the short distance back into you and your mouth falls open, saliva leaving a short wet streak in your wake every time you’re jolted.

Your toes curl.

“You feel so good,” he whines, trembling against you.

Eyes still squeezed shut, colors play along your lids as your body clenches, walls tightening on his cock in a mostly purposeful reward.

“I’m glad, Sweet Boy. It’s just for you,” you say breathlessly.

Bruce moans at your slurred words and the hand he had braced beside your head goes to wrap around your waist and lift your lower body up, granting him even more leverage to grind into you.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you breathe out, using one of your own arms to push your upper body higher to gain enough footing to push back against his minuscule thrusts and snake an arm down to get at your clit.

“C’mon then,” Bruce grounds out.

The shallow thrusts stop as he guides your hips so that you’re both grinding flush against one another. His cock incessantly pressing into your delicate bundle of nerves as you do your best to clamp your walls around his length against the way he’s making your body go haywire.

You huff out a breath while your head hangs and your forehead rests on the hood.

“God Bruce,” you gasp, fingers circling fast over your slick nub.

A few scant tears squeeze from your eyes, your arms starting to shake, then Bruce is knocking your right arm down and forcing your left arm up beside its twin as he bends over you.

With a grunt two gloves drop down beside your head and then you’re letting out a sob as his left hand moves to rub over your clit himself and his other arm moves to wrap around your shoulders from the front as you jerk against one another.

“Come for me, Sweetheart,” he moans against your ear.

Your throat clicks and you can feel your orgasm coming, body tightening as your breath stutters. Bruce holds you still when you squirm, body convulsing as everything peaks and your mouth drops open in a silent scream.

“That’s it, let me be good,” he grinds hard as he guides you through it. “Let me make you come.”

“Mhm,” you breathe out to the best of your ability, body going limp. Bruce stays stroking the sensitive insides of your walls raw as he works to get himself off next.

His grinding gets more frantic, his hips rub flush against your ass, and his grip tightens. He grinds a few more times, moans almost pained, before he whimpers and goes still and he’s coming inside you.

You shiver at the feel of the heat pooling right up against your cervix in the space left at the top of his condom. That alone makes you groan even as your orgasm bypasses you and you and Bruce are left trembling against one another in the aftermath.

With slow movements Bruce eases your body back down onto the Batmobile but stays inside you for another few moments as you both catch yourselves.

Eventually though, he squeezes pale hands around the brown skin of your hips and carefully begins inching his cock out.

You whimper softly at being left wet and aching to be filled when he finally pulls free and leaves to toss the soiled condom.

Huffing out a laugh, you just take a few moments longer to breathe, a pleasant ache already settling into your body while you get a feel for your legs again.

The sounds of Bruce tucking himself away and buckling the crotch area of the suit back wash over you in an easy wave that you have to fight not to let take you under as your eyelids grow heavier.

When you feel his heat back on you he’s got a wet wipe and lifts you a little to clean around your wrecked vagina with a few firm swipes. You blink your eyes back open with a start, but Bruce only holds you steady.

When he speaks next his voice is almost tiny, it's gone so soft.

“Are you okay?” His thumbs rub circles into each side of your hips. “Was that good?”

You nod your head lightly into the hood, “Yeah, baby,” you sigh, “I’m okay. It was great.”

A silent beat and then Bruce is laying his body back over yours.

“Good,” he mutters into your dark skin, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck before pulling away once more to go deal with something.

You flip over, leaning against the hood to wipe at your tear streaked face and stare at him as he walks back from the garbage bin to loom over you.

You lock eyes and a smile tugs at your lips when his face flushes. His cowl is off, there’s tear tracks streaked through the black smudges around his eyes, and his hair’s a runthrough mess.

“What spurred that on?”

His flush travels down his chest, but still his perpetually gloomy gaze locks with yours - his eyes a little lighter than usual - as he answers.

“Yesterday you said you were proud of the progress I was making.” His lashes flutter, he shrugs. “Felt nice.”

“Awww,” you coo, voice coming out in a breathy pant, before falling back against the now cool metal of his pimped out muscle car to stare up at the high ceilings of the Batcave, “I’m glad you appreciated it so much, Brucie Baby.”

Bruce gives the most dissatisfied grunt he can muster, a low embarrassed thing, and you summon enough air in your lungs to laugh.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I’m so bad at writing full on smut so give me some grace, I tried. Like, you don’t understand, I’ve been trying to post this as something appealingly written for two whole years. For two years this fic has been fully written but just didn’t read right so I’ve been tweaking it over and over and over again this entire time.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! constructive feedback would be especially lovely.

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c-nstantine · 5 hours

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Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who decided to give it all up for the moment he finds out he got the love of his life pregnant. She made enough money for the both of them so why not.

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who finally learns how to cook because he likes to pack his girlfriend's lunch before she heads to work. He even makes his kids a mini lunch box, even if they aren't in school yet.

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who still works out. He is a self proclaimed "trophy husband". He does pilates to keep his flexibility .

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who thinks its funny when other women try to flirt with him at the PTA/PTO meetings. He's dramatically talking about his wife/girlfriend. Like loudly.

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who isn't lazy and takes his position seriously. How dare his breadwinner come home to an unclean home with no dinner. Nope, everything is ready and prepped.

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who makes love to his wife frequently. Hand over her mouth just so the noises don't wake the tot next door.

Stay-At-Home Dad! Dick Grayson who plans on having more kids but wants to wait until the current little one is a little older but he likes to practice just in case.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x black!reader #nightwing x black!reader #nightwing #dick grayson headcanon

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punkeropercyjackson · 1 day

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Also 'Female Fantasy' itself is misogynistic because it says it's about women but is literally about men.It means 'man who is the ideal for women' instead of 'woman who is feministly written' which is bad enough but also paints a very whitecentric,cisnormative,neurotypical and ESPECIALLY straight idea of girlhood as it erases lesbians and aroace fems and girls who aren't attracted to conventional men due to being autistic or fat or black or trans or just not conventional in some other way.People who use that word are always bullies to minority women because of how lacking in intersectionality it is and the propaganda fed to them by society making them think this is normal behavior as we deserve to be 'punished' for upholading not the patriachy which is REAL feminism actually!!! /s.A real 'Female Fantasy' requires being about WOMEN,not boyfriends,fucking WOMEN.Men should be praised for going above and beyond,not having basic decency or often even actually being outright awful but beauty standards' incorrect idea of hot and women should be allowed to exist outside of them even IF we're attracted to them and yeah,this includes straight women.Y'all are performative as hell

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kirbyskisses · 1 year

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dear non-spanish speakers writing spiderverse fanfiction (or anything with spanglish),

in spanglish you don’t switch by word, you switch by phrase.

it’s not:

“[first part of the sentence in english], [second part of the sentence in english], mi amor.”

“[full english sentence], querida.”

it’s:

“[first part of the sentence in english], [segunda parte de la frase en español], mi amor.”

also miles is boricua, miguel is mexican. they have two different accents and use different vocabulary for certain words.

also miles is “nyourican” - a puerto rican native to new york - while his mom is directly from the island, so there are differences there, too, because his spanish is more influence by new york english.

here’s some good references that aren’t google translate (which usually pulls from spain, a country that speaks vastly differently from latin america)

SpanishDict

WordReference

here have some random videos on different slang/spanish accents:

Puerto Rico

Mexico (1) (2)

in spanish most words are gendered, so most feminine words end in a and masculine/gender neutral words end in o. adding ito/ita makes something cuter, smaller and more affectionate.

spanish nicknames that aren’t “mi amor”

“querido/a” - darling

“cariño” - dear (always masculine regardless, of who its being said to)

“mi princesa/príncipe” - my prince/princess

“mi rey/reina” - my king/queen

“papí/mamí” - can be used in any way; romantic, sexual, familial for one’s parent or child, or just platonically

“tesoro” - treasure

also spanish is a language that uses adjectives as terms of affection both cute ones and ones that might sound insensitive in english

gordo (fat), flaco (skinny), negro (black), blanco (white), linda (pretty), bella (beautiful), morena (brown skin), etc.

and like most languages that are not english, spanish has multiple ways of saying i love you.

“te amo” - romantic

“te quiero” - familial, platonic (although there’s nothing wrong with using it romantically)

see also:

te adoro - i adore you

te deseo - i want you

te necesito - i need you

and, of course, they can vary regionally too.

please use this because i have read a lot of really well written things that take me out of it because the use of spanglish is terrible. don’t just go on your presumptions that spanish/spanglish works in the same way that english does.

buena suerte, gringos.

- signed your friendly neighborhood afro-latina

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risingoftime · 7 months

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coriolanus snow x fem!reader | smut below mdni

“Coryo, stop teasing,” you whined.

Coriolanus rubbed his tip against your puffy clit. The tingling sensation began to overwhelm you while he continued to stroke your folds with his cock.

“Shhh.” He softly kissed your forehead and leaned his head close to your ear, licking the skin from the base of your neck to your jaw. “You hear that?” he whispered. Before you could respond, Coriolanus slammed his cock into your hole, forcing you to take in all of him with no time to adjust. He spread your legs further apart to give him more access. Coriolanus took his precious time thrusting in and out, and your wet cunt gripped around his length. You cried out his name, pleading for more.

“You sound so pretty, baby. I love to hear you moan my name,” Coriolanus praised.

He pushed himself in more profoundly, hitting your G-spot, “Ahhh Coryo, fuck yes right there.” You could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. When attempting to force him to move faster, Coriolanus removed his hands from your legs to pin your hands above your head on the mattress. “I will fuck you when I want and how I want,” he snarled. And Coriolanus did just that, engulfed in your wet heat and edging himself to orgasm, one stroke at a time.

He kept your wrists pinned down with one hand and took the other to caress your clit. Coriolanus found joy in watching you squirm under his intense stare, waiting to see your eyes roll back when you orgasm. He loved admiring your pussy squirting on his cock even more.

“Tell me that this pussy is mine.”

“It’s all yours.”

You watched in awe as his thick veins pulsed before spouting his cum on your pussy before pumping more inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

#⟢DRABBLE #coriolanus snow #tbosas #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x black fem reader #coriolanus snow x black reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #x black reader #the hunger games #tbosas fic #x black!reader #president snow #young coriolanus snow #smut #tbosas smut

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hookhausenschips · 1 month

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First Victory, First Love {LN4}

Masterlist

Summary: After many close calls and years of hard work, Lando finally gets his first win and he finally gets the girl.

Taglist

Lando Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane , @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired , @evie-119 , @donteventry-itdude , @spookystitchery

I’m so proud of our boy, Lando the man that you are🧡 Congrats on your first win

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It was Miami Grand Prix weekend, and as usual, my brother, Lewis Hamilton, was the star everyone was talking about. However, for me, this race was about a different kind of excitement. Lando Norris, a good friend (and rumored more-than-friend) was on the cusp of his first Formula 1 win, and the city was buzzing with energy and anticipation.

Lando and I had been friends for years, sharing laughs, inside jokes, and lately, the burden of constant media scrutiny.

The humid Miami air was thick with the scent of salt from the nearby ocean, mixed with the pungent aroma of burning rubber and hot engines. The atmosphere was electric, as tourists and fans, draped in team colors, filled the streets and grandstands, all eager to witness the spectacle.

From my spot in the Mercedes team area, the afternoon sun blazed down, mirroring the heat of the competition on the track. The crowd was a sea of team colors, buzzing with anticipation and the roar of engines.

I had always been proud of my brother, and watching him race was a thrill unlike any other. But today, my heart was unusually divided. Every time Lando’s car zoomed by, my pulse quickened, and I couldn't help but cheer for him too. Rumors had been swirling about Lando and me ever since we were spotted together at various events. We had always maintained that we were just friends, but truth be told, there was something more brewing beneath the surface.

The race was a nail-biter. Lando had started in a promising position, and as the laps ticked down, he was maintaining a lead that seemed to defy the expectations of everyone, except perhaps himself. Lewis was doing well too, but today, it looked like the spotlight might just shift.

Lando had been exceptional all season, and today, he was in rare form, slicing through his competitors with a precision that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

I found myself at the McLaren garage, nervously pacing behind the team engineers who were too engrossed in their data to notice my anxiety.

As the final lap approached, the tension was palpable. I stood in the paddock, holding my breath, watching the screens as Lando rounded the last few corners. Then, the crowd erupted as he crossed the finish line, his first Grand Prix victory finally a reality. I couldn't contain my joy, jumping up and down, screaming louder than I had for any of Lewis's victories.

This wasn’t just any win; this was Lando’s first win, and the joy was overwhelming. As he exited his car, the team rushed to lift him up in a victorious crowd surf. I watched with a proud, tearful smile as he was celebrated by his colleagues—the people who had become like a second family to him.

When they finally set him down, his eyes scanned the crowd and quickly locked with mine. His face broke into an even wider smile, if possible, and he rushed over. His suit was sticky with sweat, but none of that mattered as he scooped me up in his arms, spinning me around in a dizzying whirl. Laughter bubbled up from my throat as the world spun around us, and when he finally set me down, my cheeks hurt from smiling so broadly.

His hug was different—tighter, longer, more meaningful than the usual friendly embrace. It felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper between us, something we hadn’t yet dared to voice.

As he pulled away, his smile was radiant. "Did you see that? I can’t believe this, y/n! We did it!" he beamed, his excitement infectious.

"I saw everything. It was amazing. I knew you could do it, Lando. I’m so, so proud of you," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. The crowd around us cheered, some snapping photos, and I knew our interaction would only fuel the rumors further. But at that moment, I didn't care. I was too caught up in the joy of his victory.

Lewis came over, a broad smile on his face, sweat on his forehead. "He's got quite the knack, huh?" he said, nudging me playfully, well aware of the rumors linking me with Lando.

"I guess he does," I replied, trying to keep my voice light, my mind already on Lando's beaming face as he headed for the cooldown room.

I followed the wave of people moving towards the podium. As he climbed onto the podium, I made my way to the front to watch, pride swelling in my chest. As the ceremony started I stood with the team, looking up at Lando as he stood on the podium, the national anthem playing in the background.

Cameras panned over to me occasionally, catching every tear-streaked smile and emotional clap. I knew those images would only fuel the rumors about Lando and me, but at that moment, I didn’t care. This was his moment, and I was here to support him. I clapped and cheered, my heart doing strange flips.

After the champagne showers and formalities, the celebration later that night was a vibrant affair, filled with music, dancing, and an endless flow of drinks.

I spotted Lando across the room, surrounded by his team and fans, his smile infectious. Our eyes met, and he excused himself to come over. "Y/N, this feels unreal," he said, his voice a mix of exhilaration and fatigue.

"It's incredible, Lando. You were amazing out there," I replied, my words genuine, my heart swelling with pride for him.

As the night deepened, the crowd thinned, and the music softened, Lando and I found ourselves stepping away from the chaos, seeking a quieter spot to talk. We ended up walking along the beach, the sound of waves crashing a soothing backdrop to our conversation.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that you could only share with someone you truly connected with.

“Everyone’s talking about us, you know,” I said, a cautious note in my voice, unsure of his response.

“They always do,” Lando replied, his voice steady, eyes not leaving mine

“Those rumors…” Lando began hesitantly, kicking at the sand with his shoe. “They’ve been a bit mad, haven’t they?”

I laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve been something else.”

He stopped walking, turning to face me under the moonlight. “What if we...” His voice trailed off as he took a deep breath, his gaze intense. “What if we gave them something real to talk about?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Lando stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch mine. “I’m tired of denying what I feel, y/n. Being with you tonight, seeing how happy you were for me... It’s made me realize that I don’t want to hide my feelings anymore.”

I took his hand in mine, squeezing it lightly. “I feel the same way, Lando. I’ve been so worried about the media, about Lewis, about everything... But I don’t want to hide it either. Not anymore.”

With a smile, Lando leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that felt like the start of something new and beautiful. It was gentle, tentative at first, then growing more confident, mirroring our own journey from friends to something more.

As we broke apart, the sound of the ocean and the soft breeze around us, I felt a peace settle over me. Lando and I had crossed a line tonight, and there was no going back. But as I looked into his eyes, I realized I didn’t want to go back. I wanted whatever was ahead of us, as long as we faced it together.

Hand in hand, we walked back to join the others, ready to face the future, no matter what it might bring.

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bluesidez · 3 months

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The Love Lab presents:

Wash Day 🫧🚿

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel offers to wash your hair because wash days can be a lot, mischief ensues.

content warning: 18+ MDNI, lots of fluff and banter, talks of marriage/proposal, lovey dovey!miguel, head scratching + massaging, p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾, healthcare is expensive and so are babies), just the tip at one point, cussing, subby + service-like miguel (he does start to enter a daze that is similar to a sub drop, but it's not really that and the reader checks up on him immediately), needy!miguel, creative use of miguel's talons, kissing, hickys, a little hair pulling, manhandling, cunnilingus, fellatio, squirting, slight edging, praise kink, breeding kink towards the end, mentions of cum, overstimulation, a little aftercare, reader is a bit of a tease, miguel is a bit of a brat, more references to cats than I thought, no use of y/n

credit for the art/dividers: Me! (+ illustrator and canva)

a/n: This is my first fic that I am posting on here! 🤠 This one has been in the works for a while, but I am happy with the result. This story is written with a black reader in mind, but it's very inclusive minus the hair situation, so anyone can enjoy the story. There is one unrealistic part that NONE of my natural brethren would ever allow, I beg you to just go with it. 😭 I also used a little Spanish in here, to my Spanish-speakers, if anything is wrong, just let me know and I 'll change it right away!

I also imagined the shower to be one of those fancy walk-ins like this or this but big enough for two, because in my mind, Miguel is stacked in the money department as well.

word count: 6.9k (I got carried away)

To all my sub Mig lovers and fiends! Love ya! 🩵🪮

It was finally time for the day you’ve been putting off for about a week now, the taxing Wash Day.

Normally, you would drag this day out because you knew that once you started, you had to keep going until your hair was done and either ready for the bonnet or the hood dryer. Although today, you were lucky because you had a braid appointment the following morning, so that meant just a simple wash and a blow-dry. You were even luckier because your boyfriend, Miguel, was more than happy to wash your hair for you.

“I know how tired you get afterwards and I just want to help make the process easier,” is what you remember him telling you last night in your sleepy, whiny state.

Now, here you are the next day watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pouted in a crooked M as you guide him to the old faithful: the kitchen sink.

“Why are you giving me that face? You said you were gonna help,” you chuckle at his expression, watching as his eyes turn to your hair supplies littered across the counter.

“No, no! I still want to help. It’s just that,” he picks up your wide-tooth comb, running his fingers over the teeth, “I thought we were going to be in the shower.”

You look at him, a little dumbfounded at the statement. You didn’t mind washing your hair in the shower, you did it all the time, but what was the point of getting you both wet?

“I just thought it would be easier for you this way,” you reply, pulling the faucet from the sink and waving it around in an attempt to hype up the situation. “I’ll bend my head in the sink, and you’ll wash it that way. Or! You can hike me up on the counter and I can lay down with my head over the sink. That one’s a little less comfortable for me, but it gives you more than enough room to maneuver.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes going from you to the counter, then right back to you. “That’s fine and all, but what if my back starts to hurt from bending for too long.”

You just stare at him, unamused. If anyone would be in pain, it would be you.

“In the shower, we can stand together and I can see exactly what’s going on. Plus, you can wash my hair too,” he continues, pulling you flush against his chest, comb forgotten. He starts to rub your hips in a slow motion. “Let’s make it a date.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re not that old to where your back can just give out like that,” you quip, leaning back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. “Secondly, you expect me to believe that the Spiderman is unable to wash someone’s hair in this sink.”

“At 6’9? Absolutely.”

“Touché.”

Truthfully, Miguel was a bit turned on after spending the last 20 minutes watching you completely melt under his hands from scratching your scalp.

It was such a simple task but all of your sighs and whispers of “right there” and “harder” had him internally groaning.

When it was finished, you were up off the floor easily and blissfully unaware, while he was left with a few of your shedded curls covering his clothes and pre-cum threatening to seep into his underwear.

So yes, while technically the shower was the best option for him, he really wanted to ignite that same reaction from you again. It was addicting.

You reach up on your tippy toes and squish his face to give a quick peck to his lips. “Fine, fine! Quit your puppy dog eyes, we can go to the shower. Just let me pee first.”

Step 1 of Miguel’s master plan was already successfully underway.

He started to pick up your supplies, reading the ingredients out of curiosity. Today you were trying a new line of products that was making huge waves online. He remembers seeing how excited you were when the package came in. You had barrelled into the bedroom in a squealing frenzy, and had it not been for his spider senses listening out for you, he would have jumped from the way you threw the door open.

Even though it was another line of products that would fill up the bathroom cabinets, your giddiness rubbed off on him, so he was ready to see results.

“Baby, come on! I’m ready!”

Miguel quickly huddled up everything from the counter and made his way to the bathroom.

He walked in to see you standing next to the sink, birthday suit on and your hands reaching up to push your hair from your forehead.

Heaven-sent were the first words that came to mind. Here you were, standing in the steam of the bathroom just for his eyes. He couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

You turned to look back at him, mirth in your eyes, “Mig, come on, the water’s running.”

He didn’t even comprehend the sound of the water hitting the tiles, he was so zoned in on you.

“I’m coming, I was just…admiring you,” he replies, moving to prepare for the shower.

“There’s no way you’re eyeing me up right now. I look a little crazy,” you say, turning back towards the mirror.

“Querida, you could be rocking a spiked mohawk right now, and I would still have the same reaction. You’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering at his words. If you didn’t have to get ready for your hair appointment tomorrow, you’d stop everything then and there to love on your boyfriend.

For now, you settled on helping him out of his clothes, a smile growing on your face. You pulled his shirt up as far as you could reach, then let your hands roam over his chest, watching the goosebumps that followed behind. You kept your fingers walking down to the waistband of his pants, lightly scratching at his happy trail.

His stomach twitched in response to your touch, hands itching to pull you closer.

You placed your hands at his sides, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, slowly tugging at the bands. You stepped forward to get a better leverage, breasts pressing against his torso.

His breaths were coming out in short beats, not wanting to disrupt the spell that you put him under. He looked down at the closing space between you all’s bodies because if he looked up at your eyes, he’d stop everything and take you right there against the counter.

But the shower. He was supposed to make it to the shower. Which was in an area by itself. In the next room. With your hands roaming everywhere, he wasn’t even sure if he could even make it past the toilet.

His eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands back up his thighs, a deep breath building in his lungs. Like this, he was really able to tune in on both the heat of your body against his and the lingering touch of your hands. Hyper-focused on you and you alone.

Then he heard a loud slap.

His eyes bucked back open, body rigid as the sting came back in waves on the side of his ass.

“Come on, we’ve got heads to scrub!” you said, voice as clear as ever.

He watched you twirl towards the shower, his mind muddled from your switch to playfulness. Had he read that all wrong?

He looked down and sighed at the sight of his dick, half-hard at what could have been.

All he could do was stagger out of the clothes that pooled at his ankles, grab the hair products, and waddle to the shower.

You were already halfway under the spray of the shower head, head leaning back, waiting for the water to completely soak through the layers of your hair.

Miguel came up next to you and detached the shower head, bringing it closer to your scalp, careful not to get water in your ears.

“So first, we have to use the scalp scrub shampoo,” you say, grabbing one of the taller bottles and unscrewing it. “Just take this in your hands first, lather it, and work it into my scalp.”

You pull his left hand forward and squeeze some of the liquid in his palm.

“Is this enough?” he asked, noticing the little amount you put in his hand.

“Yep! A little can go a long way, baby,” you say, turning around to him, trying to determine how you would reach the top of his head.

Oh, how Miguel was so well acquainted with that phrase. Especially after this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing with him all day.

You faced him as he placed his fingers on your scalp, beginning to move in circles, spreading the shampoo in several sections.

“You can add a little pressure. I can take it,” you mumble out, almost low enough for Miguel to miss it.

So he does. He starts to scratch at your scalp, remembering that this is an important step. For your hair of course, not his plan.

“Ugh, that feels so nice,” you sigh, trying not to sway under him. “I should have had you do this sooner.”

Miguel thought so too. Here you are, head leaned back, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. He kept scratching at your scalp, your head nodding along with the motions.

“Can you scratch over here, please?” you ask, pointing at the right side of your head, eyes squeezed tight to not let any soap fall in them. Even after all of your teasing, you were still so cute in this moment. When Miguel complied, you showed your gratitude by groaning out a quick thank you. With a long sigh, you placed your hands in front of his chest, fingers balled up in loose fists.

“Does it feel good?” Miguel knew the answer, but he had to play along. “You want me to move anywhere else?”

“Yeah, could you just-” you leaned your head over, mindlessly guiding Miguel’s hands. “Right there, baby.”

You brought your hands up to grip at his wrists, needing something to hold onto. Miguel felt insane.

To curb the feeling, he quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. His head was overloaded with the sound of your voice and he had to keep himself composed.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wide at his affection. He kept making you feel warm doing such mundane things. You purse your lips, silently begging for more.

Miguel brought his soapy hands to the water to quickly rinse them off, then placed them on your cheeks and leaned down again to kiss your lips.

One. Two. Three pecks and you were giggling.

Four. Five. Six pecks and you were on your tiptoes, arms crossed behind his neck.

Seven. Eight. Nine pecks and you were turning your head, opening your mouth for more.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve kisses and you were in his arms, feet off the ground, biting at his bottom lip.

By the thirteenth kiss, you were pulling your head back, staring into his eyes, grabbing at his nape.

“We still have to wash the shampoo out,” you say, watching as his eyes linger on your lips.

“We can do that,” he mumbles, still holding you close.

“Are you gonna put me down?” you ask, tone a little cheeky.

He snaps his eyes up at yours, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” He started to move one of his palms down your back, taking a thigh to pull around his waist, and placing his mouth on your jaw.

“Nuh uh, O’Hara,” you chide, pushing against his chest and wiggling to get him to remove his embrace. The water smacks against the tiles as you jump down, one calf still in Miguel’s hand.

“O’Hara?” Miguel scoffed, playfully pulling at you again and tickling your side. “I’m not sure who that is, but maybe you forgot how to say baby, mi vida.”

You laughed at him, finally calling out his bluff, “No, because my baby said he would help me wash my hair, and right now he’s being bad and trying to distract me. So, until you finish, it’s O’Hara.” You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, daring Miguel to counter your words.

He dropped your leg and muttered out a gruff “fine” with his lips downturned. Two could play at this game and if he wanted to distract you, he just had to turn up the heat.

He grabbed for the shower head and started to rinse the thick shampoo from your hair, carefully weaving through the locks.

“When do we detangle it?”

You started to smile again, happy at his verb usage. He really does listen to you when you talk about your hair.

“When we put on the conditioner, but you can start a little now while the water’s running on it. Need the brush?”

“No, I’ll just use my fingers for a little bit.”

You turned your face back to him, shocked that he remembered another technique.

“You’re gonna finger detangle, ba- I mean, O’Hara?”

“Yes I am, corazón. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a great boyfriend that knows what his girl needs.”

You squint your eyes, wary at his words. “Uh huh, I bet you do. If you know so much, what’s next?”

“We shampoo again. Rinse. Then it’s conditioner and detangling, just like you said.”

You hummed, internally ecstatic that he actually did know the answer. “Another point for you,” you say, turning back around as Miguel places the shower head back on the hook.

Miguel smirked. He listened to you, he really did, but he also made sure to watch over 20 videos about washing coily hair while you were sleeping. You didn’t have to know that though.

His high was short-lived when you bent over to grab the next shampoo. He grabbed at your hips, watching as the swell of your ass aligned against his front. He pushed his head back and breathed in deep. How unfair.

You leaned back up slowly, turning the bottle around trying to fish for any specific directions.

“This one is a hydrating shampoo. It says you can just put it on my hair and just work it through.”

Miguel repeated the same shampooing process, although this time with less scalp scratching and more scalp massaging. You were once again in bliss at his ministrations, like a cat who couldn’t stop purring.

“O’Hara, you really have a way with your hands. Super relaxing,” you say with snickers underlining your voice.

Miguel just reached for the shower head, ready to rinse for the second time. “This guy sounds like a real catch. Too bad he isn’t here.”

You just laugh at how sulky he sounded, ready to grab the conditioner.

“Well, is there a Mr. O’Hara here? I kind of need him for this last step.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

You really didn’t understand how much he wanted to make you his wife. In fact, he started planning the proposal to a T after a year of you all being together. He started to dream about a future with you after the first couple of dates, despite how often he had to tell himself to slow down. It was terrifying yet thrilling how much you left an impression on his life.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara.

Mr. O’Hara.

Mrs. O’Hara.

Miguel bent his head in your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist, face burning from his running thoughts.

“Y-you can’t use that against me. You know how I get,” he said petulantly, voice softened in the juncture of your neck, drowned out by the pouring water.

“And how do you get, baby?” you ask, reaching over to run your fingers through his damp hair. You tugged lightly at the root causing Miguel to hug you tighter and groan against your neck.

As hot as the water was, the heat of your body against his left him burning. The angle was weird so he couldn’t exactly rub up against you, but he could kiss along the surface of your shoulders.

He started to slowly press kisses down your neck, moaning as you tilted your head to give him more space. He stopped to linger at the top of your shoulder, taking in a small amount of skin. After he was happy at the mark he left, he opened his mouth a little wider, canines grazing against your skin.

You reach to pull his head back up, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Focus, Mr. O’Hara, it’s only one more step.” You say these words lowly right next to his ear, pressing your lips on his tragus then pushing his head up to kiss against his jaw.

When Miguel stood up fully, you could see the dazed look in his eyes. Staring closer, you noticed they were a little dewey.

You had to bring him back down to Earth. You couldn’t have him lost in this steam.

“Hey, baby look at me,” you even your tone and angle his face towards yours. “Are you alright? Do we need to sit down?”

You wait for his eyes to find yours, searching for discomfort.

“No, I'm fine. I’m ok, sorry,” he says, leaning into one of your hands, wrapping his hand around it for extra support.

“Positive? I know the water is really hot so if you need to step out and cool down, then that’s fine. I’ll help you settle down then come back and finish up by myself,” you say, adamant in your words.

“No! No, no. I’m really ok. I’m so cool and calm right now that it’s crazy,” he replies, frantic at the thought of leaving you in the shower. “Hand me the conditioner.”

You look at him again, tickled at the change in condition. All you could do was sigh, twist the cap off of the conditioner, and pull the inner lid off.

He dabbed two fingers on top of the cream, scooping a small amount off of the top. “A little goes a long way, right?”

“A little does go a long way.”

“Can you turn around, please?”

You comply, placing the conditioner in a corner.

“If you need it to lather a bit more, just add a little water,” you remind him.

He began to work the conditioner through, going from the root to the ends. The results were quick and he could see your curls begin to sprout. He started to thoroughly pull his fingers through, working out any leftover tangles. He got to a bigger knot and held the section of hair in one hand, and carefully combed through the knot with the other.

You were feeling peaceful until it dawned on you: you never gave him a comb or a brush to work with.

“Hold on, baby what are you using to take the knots out with? Do you have a comb?”

Miguel placed one of his hands in your face and pushed his talons out, like a cat showing its claws off when you press the center of its paw.

You panic, remembering that they can tear through people and metal, “Um. I don’t think using these bad boys on my hair is the right way to go.”

“Tranquila, mi amor, I got it. I’m using the dull side, see?”

He put a tuft of hair in front of your eyes and showed the process of him detangling while talon-less, then working out the final tough knot with the side of the talon, turning his hand sideways to avoid cutting your curls.

As a result, the section was completely detangled, allowing him to run his fingers straight through the thick strands, and the curls springing back up once he was finished. Plus, from what you could tell, there was no breakage.

Color you impressed because Miguel was pulling out all of the stops today.

“Alright, just. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“If you jack up my hair, Lyla will have to place Jess in charge permanently.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stand, arms placed under your chest, waiting for Miguel to finish. Subconsciously listening to the pattern of his breaths and the sound of his talon going through your hair.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to wash my hair while this sits?”

Such a smart boyfriend.

“Yeah just let me go ahead and finish this shower while you get your hair wet.”

Miguel stepped back to get under the overhead shower head, letting the water fall on him like rain, watching you as you began to lather body wash on your net sponge.

You were scrubbing away at your skin getting into every crevice, peach fragrance filling the air.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, but look where that’s gotten him so far. Almost kicked out of the bathroom.

You were just as stubborn as he was, no, resolute.

He admired it, especially when you gracefully brought him down from clouds that were his own fantasies.

Focusing back on you, he stared openly as you folded your body in half to reach your ankles causing everything to be on display.

A normal person would put their foot on the ledge to reach below. You were definitely fucking with him.

He watched as you pulled the net sponge across your body, leaning up as the languid movements of your hands pulled the net side to side.

He was glad that the water drowned out his harsh breathing.

You finished off your shower, working the detached shower head over the soap, clearing up your skin.

You brought the shower head lower, making sure that there was no bubble left behind.

When you held your ass to help the water pass all the way down the back of your body, Miguel jumped to hold the base of his cock, softly groaning at the picture you were painting.

He lifted his face up and pushed his hair back, in hopes that the stream could help him clear his mind. But, the water was hot, all it did was make him lightheaded at the thought of you.

“Miguel? Come over here so I can wash you too.”

Miguel tottered over, looking down at your body, shining after all your thorough work. You were placing soap on a pair of exfoliating gloves you had bought for him, lathering them together once you were satisfied with the amount of soap.

You got to work on his body, starting at the shoulders and moving in circular motions.

Miguel stared in silence, hoping you would put an end to this charade. But you continue to be meticulous, covering every inch of his upper body. Lifting his arms when you wanted to. Moving him around when you wanted to.

In this moment, he felt like a ragdoll, letting you do whatever you pleased.

You squatted down to do his lower body, eyes laser focused, not missing a spot.

All Miguel could focus on was your face so close to his dick that was twitching in anticipation. You just ignored it and continued to rub the rest of him down. Miguel wanted to cry.

You were touching everywhere, slowing down on his inner thighs and ass causing his knees to shake.

You held him steady by gripping the back of his thighs and finally looked up at him, acknowledging his presence.

Your eyes traced him all the way down to the gift that was in front of you. You parted your lips and let your tongue brush against the tip, watching as spurts of pre-cum escaped. You couldn’t have that. You leaned forward a little more, taking the head in completely, and allowed yourself a few more licks and a suck before you let go with a pop, watching the thin trail of spit grow as you leaned back.

Miguel whined in frustration, a cloud of desire fading so quickly.

“Amor, why did you-”

You quickly jumped up and rested against him, arms wrapped around his waist and hands lightly groping his butt.

“I didn’t even wash your hair yet, silly,” you quip, chin nuzzling against his sternum. “Now, go rinse off and sit on the bench so I can reach your hair.”

Forget wanting to cry, Miguel might actually do it.

He was so, so hard.

After the soap was gone he trudged to the bench, glancing over at you washing the conditioner out of your hair.

“I could have washed it out for you,” he protests, half bothered by his situation and half annoyed that he let it blindside him from the main point of this shower.

“It’s ok, baby. You really helped me out a lot today and I’m thankful. I’m also making sure you don’t drop to the floor right now, so hold on for me,” you reply earnestly, chuckling at the look of frustration slapped across Miguel’s face.

You bring over the hydrating scrub, some conditioner, and the shower head, and stand in between his legs, ready to start.

Miguel looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, undeniably in love and unbelievably aroused.

You started to unscrew the scrub, making sure to part his hair down the middle.

“You’re using your products on me?” he asked, confused at your actions.

“Just the shampoo. I don’t think this conditioner will do you any good, but for the most part, the line is pretty inclusive. Ain’t that neat?”

“Mm-hm,” he responded, cheeks squished against your chest, arms wrapped around your thighs.

“Look forward, for me, baby,” you say, starting to spread the shampoo on his scalp.

He just hummed and groaned in the safety of your torso, while you scratched at his scalp and pulled the shampoo to his ends. He started to kiss and nibble at any skin he could get his mouth on. His grip was getting tighter and he felt a stutter in your breaths.

“Lean back so I can rinse this out.”

He placed his chin on your stomach again, eyes full of hearts.

“I’m almost finished, I just need to put your conditioner on.”

Miguel hummed once more as you placed the conditioner at his ends first, then scrunched his hair up, careful not to mess with his scalp. Mindful of his wavy, curly hair texture like he was for yours.

His wine eyes kept staring at you, as if you were the 8th wonder of the world. You felt heat in your face, an accumulation of the almost boiling water and Miguel’s full attention.

He was simply grinning, face wet and tinted from the water.

“You’re so cute,” you say, rinsing out the last of the product.

“Only with you,” he replies, still trying to make you look into his eyes. “Can you come closer?”

You set the shower head down and run your hands through his strands, “I feel like I’m already as close as it gets.”

“Not really,” he said, swiftly sitting you on his lap like you weighed nothing. “You could always be closer to me, cariño. I can think of many ways to make that happen.”

You finally allow yourself to indulge in his shenanigans. Leaning your forehead on his, you open your mouth to say, “Is that why you were so adamant about getting in the shower? To get as close to me as possible?”

He looked from your eyes to your mouth, “No?”

You bring your hands from his hair to his neck, “You know you can’t lie. In fact, you’re like, really bad at it.”

“Fine. It was partially because of that. How did you know?”

“Like I said, you can’t lie and neither can your face. You’ve been pouting ever since I let you scratch my head and especially when I wanted to wash my hair in the sink.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Kind of,” you say, a laugh twinkling off your lips. “I can always tell when you want me.”

“Yeah? And what am I telling you right now?” He starts to move your hips, placing his erection right under you, grinding your lips against him.

You close your eyes, a flame beginning to blossom within you, “I guess that you need, fuck, you need me.” Your clit was throbbing against his length as he dragged your body back and forth.

“I do, bebé, I do,” Miguel was moaning loudly, melting at the feeling of your pussy finally warming him up. He moved his lips to yours, desperately trying to have more of you, gripping your hips even harder.

“Baby, s-slow down,” you say in the midst of his kisses, trying to put your feet on the bench next to him to gain some sort of stability. You knew he was pent up, but he was moving so frantically, you were scared he might slip off.

“Te necesito. Please, just-” Miguel cut himself off with a groan in your neck, grinding your slit along himself faster. He started to kiss down your chest, finally getting to your breasts, and gliding his tongue along the wet skin. He took a nipple into his mouth, allowing himself to suck.

The flame from before was starting to grow, “Miggy if you keep going, I’m gonna cum.” He was just starting and you already felt everything coming to an end.

How were you so close, yet he was the one who was riled up?

“Miguel, I’m-” you hold on harder to his neck, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh huh. C’mon, give it to me,” he encouraged, staring at you, eyes cloudy.

You break above him, a scream crawling from your throat, hips stuttering in his hold, and liquid leaking onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” your mind was hazy, reveling from how quick you came, but mostly at how needy Miguel looked.

“Was it good?” he asked, hugging your body as he switched angles, dragging his body closer to the edge of the bench, letting your feet fall to the floor. His voice was whiny, desperate, wanton. “Was I good for you? Did you feel good?”

You brought your mouth to his temple, movements shaky and heart still thumping, “You were so good for me, baby. So good.”

He sighed, breath leaving his lungs as if what you told him was a matter of life and death.

“Then use me,” he leaned back, hands pressed against the seat. “Use me, however you please.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but fully immersed. When you brought your hand to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was moving. You brought your mouth to his once more, a thumb on his chin pushing so that lips could part. You kissed him deep, making sure to direct his focus there while you placed your knees on the bench.

Sitting just above him, you guided your sex to his, allowing his tip to barely kiss you. You wanted him, yearned for him inside of you, but not yet.

You slid his tip past your slit, only edging it in partially, then rubbed your pussy up and down the head, allowing yourself to open up.

Miguel moaned into your mouth, hands curling into fists as he felt your walls close around the top of him. He started to move in tiny thrusts matching your rhythm.

“Nuh uh, baby, it’s just me right now, remember?” You break your kiss to reprimand him, bringing your hand from his chin to his stomach, and stopping all movement.

Miguel could only cry out and nod, upset at the loss of your body devouring his own, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, keep going. I’ll be still, cariño, please.”

“Good. There he is, my sweet baby,” you say, voice a prime example at how much Miguel begging for you was affecting you.

You start back, ass moving with a bit more force. You lean to press a long kiss against his neck, losing yourself in the sound of him barely inside of you, his groans a lovely melody filling up the room.

“You feel amazing, Miguel. So big, and you’re only giving me so little,” you pant in his ear, knees starting to hurt from how hard the tiles were.

“It’s all for you. Just for you,” he gasped, twitching when the sounds of your juices got even louder at your constant movement. “Mi amor, please, can I hold you?”

“Always, baby.”

Internally you chuckled, you never told him he couldn’t touch you, you just followed his plea to use him like a toy. He was so pussy drunk, he forgot the parameters he set for himself.

He wrapped his biceps around you, your arms folding behind your back in the process, but that didn’t stop you from riding out the high that was another orgasm.

“That’s right, keep going. Úsame, take what you need,” he requested. He was itching to dive deeper into you, not wanting your pleasure to end.

You threw your head back and whined high with Miguel’s name on your tongue, gushing out your release for a second time.

“Fuck.” Miguel was still holding onto you, legs taut in their position. He swerved your pussy across his length, listening at how wet you were.

You laid your head on the tile above Miguel, relieved with its slight coolness and trying to slow down your rapid heartbeat. Your hips kept bucking as an aftereffect.

You didn’t get that much of a cool down before Miguel was at it again, finally sliding his dick in until he bottomed out.

The two of you let out long moans in unison, a harmony that wasn’t unfamiliar to your apartment.

In this position, your face was back in front if Miguel’s, eyes watery from the sensation of him filling you up.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect,” Miguel cradled you, trying to get as comfortable as he could, despite the impossible position he put himself in.

Lifting his hips off of the bench, he held himself up by his back pressed against the tiles.

Before you could even ask him if you all should move to the floor, he knocked the wind out of you, holding you up as he slammed into you.

“Miguel!” you shout, clamoring for anything to grab onto after the impact had you knocking forward.

“I got you, I promise. Won’t let you fall,” he heaved out, words spilling out as fast as his hips were snapping.

All you could do was mutter out words incoherently, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass reverberating off of the walls. Your eyes finally let go of the tears they were holding, overwhelmed by your state of being.

“What’s that, mi amor?” Miguel cooed at you, licking off one of your tears and kissing your cheek. “Can you feel me? Is it too much?”

“I, ngh, I,” you could barely get your words out, your brain turning into mush after each thrust. Miguel kept going, humming as he spread kisses around your face.

“You gotta answer me, baby. I need to know,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” you respond, voice cracking from overuse. You were still peeved at his composure. “I thought you said, oh my god, you said you didn’t want to hurt your back.”

Miguel just pursed his lips, eyes clearing up for just a second, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to, super-healing, remember?”

“That’s-” your sentence was cut off by Miguel hiking you up and smacking you back down in time with one of his thrusts.

“Shit! Do that again,” you sob, thoughts coming to a stop.

“Yeah?” Miguel tried his best to keep his eyes on you, but you were squeezing so tight around him that his eyes kept rolling.

“Yes, Miggy. Right there, that spot. It’s so,” you were drooling at this point. “It’s so much.”

Miguel kept it up, glad to be hearing those words, proud of himself for igniting you.

You held your head down, body wound tight, “I think I’m gonna cum. I’m close.”

“Again?” Miguel asked, heart fluttering at you falling apart on his dick.

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop,” you say, voice wavering.

Right as you felt your body beginning to let go, Miguel halted and sat back on the bench.

“No, no, no. Why did you-” You were cut off by Miguel grabbing you and placing you on your shoulders, pussy in his face.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in where his cock once was swirling in and out, sucking at your folds. He starts to hum as if you've fed him his last meal, causing your orgasm to come in waves.

“Oh!” you shout, thighs quivering around his head, one hand gathering a fist of hair and the other pawing at the wall. Miguel was lapping everything up, holding you so that you couldn’t even think of falling.

“Ok, ok,” you say, mewling as he kept you in place while your hips shook. “S’too much.” He finally let’s go, placing you back in his lap.

“Did I do good?” he asks, chest rising and falling rapidly now that he catered to you. His face was a mess, evidence of you all down his neck.

You kissed his nose, giggling at his need for praise, “Yes, baby. You did amazing. Fantastic. Perfecto.”

He was practically vibrating with joy, kneading at your thighs.

“But Miggy, there’s still a problem,” you say, holding his face with both hands. “You still didn’t cum yet.”

You watched his face flit through several phases: ecstatic, worried, then hungry.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, hands starting to roam again.

You simply nod and try to prepare yourself for him moving you around again.

He sinks back in slowly, careful of your sensitive body. You try your best to move, hips working in circles, hands holding onto his thighs. You couldn't help but to squeeze onto him, despite how tired you were.

“You look so pretty,” Miguel mumbled.

“Bet I would look prettier if you finished. Inside.”

That fired him up even more. He started to help you to bounce up and down his length, teeth gritted. You held your head back, eyes scrunched at the feeling of him inside again.

Then he started to whimper, a telltale sign that he was close.

“Can you say it again, please?” he said, moving to stand with you in his arms.

“Say what?” you ask, exhausted yet in awe that he still had so much energy. “That I want you to cum inside? Fill me up?”

You could feel him twitch inside of you, mind hazy at the thought.

“Shockingly, no. My name. Porfa, mi vida. I need to hear it.” He was still holding you as he pounded away, eyes never leaving yours.

You’ve been saying his name the whole time, so surely that can’t be it. Then, it dawned on you.

“Let go, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, mouth right next to his.

And so he did. He bent over, hands gripping your sides as he snapped his hips frantically, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you hard. You could feel him seeping inside you, hot liquid filling you up.

You clutch at his shoulders, feeling your hold slipping from how wet his skin was from the shower and the heat. You cry out again, body sore from all of fun and sensitive from overstimulation.

Miguel finally let up for what felt like hours, standing up straight and pulling you off his dick. He hissed at the feeling, angling your body parallel to his so that everything could fall to the shower floor.

You lay your head on his shoulder tiredly, grateful that he was still carrying you.

“That’s going to mess up the drain. You should have just let it stay in me until it took,” you mumble into his shoulder, hearing his breath hitch at your words. “Or until I got to the toilet or something.”

He brought you both back to the bench, “You're on the pill so stop teasing me about that.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t live out your breed-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, mi amor,” he says, pecking your lips to stop you from continuing. “Now let's clean you up. Again.”

He reaches for the shower head and checks the temperature. Humming, he aims the spray at your lower area.

You jump and yelp, “That’s so fucking cold!”

“Bébe, it’s literally warm. I just checked!”

No wonder he was about to die in the steam, “You know how hot I like my showers, and that’s ice cold right now.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not burning, but we have to clean you up,” he said, trying to console you. “I’ll warm you up later.”

You look at him and there’s this playful look on his face. “No,” you say, just the thought of doing this again making you sleepy.

You eye his body up and down. “Maybe later.”

He just chuckled and finished up.

An hour later, the two of you are dry, blow dried, and comfortably laid out across the couch with baking competition shows queued up on the TV.

You look up at Miguel from your position on his chest, cheesing from ear to ear.

He feels you staring at him and looks down, eyes warm. “What?” he asks, watching your face light up.

“Nothing. I just love you,” you say, unable to look away.

He kisses you, heart keeping a steady beat, “I love you too.”

I hope you enjoyed reading! 🩵🩵

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

(And did anyone catch my Beyoncé Cécred refs?? I have no idea how brand names work with fics so I just stuck to nameless descriptions😭)

- Lauro 🧼

#love lab fics 🧫#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara x black reader #miguel x black reader #sub miguel o'hara #sub miguel #x black reader #x black!reader #afab reader #x black fem reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #seriously though can I say brand names in fics?#i love miguel so much i could do a backflip #my friends are only mildly concered

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mrsurahara · 1 month

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𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗕𝗦𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔𝗕𝗕𝗬'𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗛𝗖'𝗦┊𝗔. 𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡

ఌ︎. p. abby anderson x f!reader // g. fluff + smut

ఌ︎. cw. NSFW (MDNI. i will block you); Abby uses a strap on reader; choking; mentions of bruises; pussy eating, tribbing/scissoring; cute shit — let me know if i missed anything!

ఌ︎. wc. 0.9k

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

✉ i can just imagine being completely obsessed with abby’s hands. holding them, massaging her fingers, softly running the tips of your fingers over the calluses she’s developed from weight lifting, kissing the pads of her fingers, and cracking her knuckles.

✉ i can also see abby being the type to get matching nail art with you. i don’t care if you are an xxl acrylic wearer or you get simple gel manicures, abby would definitely get something to match.

✉ playing with the rings on abby’s fingers. whether, it’s because you're anxious or just need something to fidget with, she won’t mind because even the simplest touch from you is always welcomed. stealing abby’s rings even though her fingers may be bigger than yours so they don’t fit. “i bought you this,” she runs the pad of her thumb over the lab-grown pandora promise ring she got you for your birthday, “and you’re still stealing mine,” she shook her head with a light laugh.

✉ when you’re taking a nap while abby is studying or working and subconsciously reach out for her hand. yeah, typing with one hand is a little more difficult, but she totally thinks it’s worth it.

✉ abby sweetly caressing your face when you kiss. it doesn’t matter if it’s a short kiss before the two of you part or a hungry kiss full of pants and sexual tension, abby’s hands always find their way to your face.

✉ having an oral fixation when it comes to this woman’s hands is a given, methinks. playfully biting her hands, nipping at her fingertips when she feeds you something. licking the pad of her finger when she wipes sauce from the corner of your mouth. it started off as a joke. she had wiped some pasta sauce from the corner of your mouth and pressed her thumb against your lips encouraging you to lick the red substance off her finger. things escalated rather quickly after that.

✉ abby pushing her thumb past the swell of your plump lips, making sure to press down on your tongue. sticking her fingers that are slick with your wetness down your throat until you gag and tears begin to well in your eyes.

✉ your back to her chest, her legs holding yours wide open. one of her veiny hands holding your lips open as the other one alternates between your sopping hole and rubbing your clit. making you cum over and over again as you maintain eye contact. once you’re thoroughly fucked, she’s taked her pruned middle and ring fingers and make you lick up the mess you made all over her hands.

✉ abby forcing your mouth open, pointer and middle finger on either side of your tongue; the mixture of her spit and your cum rolls off the tip of her tongue onto yours.

✉ i like to think abby, wears her strap + harness when the two of you go out to tease the hell out of you. she’d make you sit on her lap and grind her hips into your ass making you warm with arousal. she’d pull you away at a function because she can’t go another second without touching you. her calluses feel so good on your face when she covers your mouth and she strokes the silicone piece in and out of your tight, wet cunt. “can’t have everyone hearing how pretty my girl sounds, now can i?” she whispered in your ear as she bent you even further over the vanity in the bathroom she pulled you into.

✉ OH. EM. GEE. abby wrapping your hair around her fist tightly as she pounds into you >>>>. maybe she hasn't been able to pull your hair the way you like because your scalp is sensitive from getting your hair done, so when the tension loosens she goes ham.

✉ abby’s hands around your throat. whether you’re in missionary holding the most sensual eye contact or she’s fucking your from behind like a whore, the blonde’s hands always find their way around your throat. “all you have to do is cum on my cock, princess and i’ll let you breathe.”

✉ abby holding your hands. holding them above your head, both wrists trapped in the clutch of her strong hand. lacing your fingers together as she grinds her soaked cunt on yours.

✉ the tips of her fingers leaving bruises on your hips and thighs. even if they don’t visibly bruise, you can still feel the imprint under your skin buried in the muscle from where she held onto you tightly.

✉ abby’s hand finding the back of your head as she stands over you, pushing your face into her wetness. the metal of her rings digging into your scalp as she grinds her pussy onto your awaiting tongue. her sweet caresses as she swipes the cum from your face and licks it off, tasting herself. “you always look so pretty when you let me use your mouth,”

✉ when abby’s on top, grinding her pussy against yours and finally reaches her climax. she’d continue moving her hips, despite the overstimulation to make sure she doesn’t waste a drop, she’d take her fingers and fuck her release into you until you cum one last time.

✉ abby who will dive between your legs, licking at your mixed essence. she’ll take her index and middle fingers and pry your mouth open, resting the two fingers on either side of your tongue. her saliva mixed with your shared juices would land on your tongue and like the good girl you are, you swallow happily, making the corners of her pink lips lift into that smile you adore.

a/n: ... heeeey y'all 😅 i know i've been inactive, but blame school and work #NAWT me!! although i haven't been uploading, i have been jotting down all of my ideas so, just know i have some stuff in my drafts. kk luv y'all, SMOOCHIES!!

#⌁₊˚⊹ mywriting ⊹˚₊⌁#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x black!reader #abby anderson x black!fem!reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou2

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inf3ct3dd · 3 months

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princess protection program

summary : after your country is invaded during your yearly ball, you are forced to flee to....jackson, wyoming? where even is that? assimilating to average middle class life may be.. devestating, but maybe you can handle it with the help of your new roomate.

pairing: ellie williams x black princess!reader

content + cws : readers a huge snob lowk, CLICHES, mutual pining, silly fun, slight violence in beggining + end

MASTERLIST.

001. ugh, as if!

002…..

more coming soon….

+*:ꔫ:* reader *:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

. ⭒☆━━━━━━━ ellie ━━━━━━━☆⭒

#princess protection program *:ꔫ:*+ﾟ #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x black!reader #ellie x black reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x you #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie tlou2 #x black!reader

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c-nstantine · 1 day

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would clark be able to smell you ovulating??

would that send put him in a state of horniness?

inquiring minds wanna know

#clark kent #x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #clark kent x black!reader

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punkeropercyjackson · 21 hours

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You tellin' me this ain't Percy,Sally and Poseidon??????????

Damn ight,i guess nothing is real then

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kirbyskisses · 1 year

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iwa iwa iwa iwa! :(((

iwa who teaches you to touch yourself :(

iwa who’s there to coax you through it, telling you how hard your cute little clit is for him as you sit help on his lap, forced to look at your nude form sat atop him, trembling cunt stuffed with two of your own fingers :(

“god, baby.” he coos. “you’re so turned on. so ready to cum.”

he whispers it against your neck, sucking on the soft skin with a proud, teasing smile.

he can feel you dripping on his fingers but he won't put them in yet. oh no, no, no - not when he has this perfect opportunity to watch his baby make herself cum for the first time.

iwaizumi whose steely eyes soften at your desperate, mewling attempts - hastily pumping your fingers into your own dripping entrance, tearfully trying to make yourself cum.

“such a pretty pussy. and all mine.” he plants a kiss at the shell of your ear. “she’s mine, right cutie? that’s how i know what she needs. ‘m gonna teach you what she needs okay, angel?”

your mouth falls open, lips swollen from how much he’s kissed you - a distressed whine falling from you lips.

“can’t - haji. m’ fingers aren’t like yours!” you sob weakly, pussy walls squeezing pathetically around the thin digits inside you.

he chuckles a bit - you are right in a way.

his thick fingers, calloused but so, so experienced with massaging and feeling every inch of your body - they could make you come undone in seconds.

he’d be lying if he said it didn’t appeal to him; head swimming with the image of you as a sobbing, gushing little mess that can’t stop creaming nice and hard onto his hand.

but he wants to see you draw yourself to that euphoria.

“you can. baby you’re so beautiful on your little fingers. go on, add another. my perfect girl.”

“haji’ i can’t! ‘s embarrassing!!”

iwaizumi who ignores your plea, unfurling your small hand with his own sturdy one and making you rock your grinding hips onto a third, trembling finger. who thumbs your tears away before his hands return down your body to your hips.

“shh. nothing to be embarrassed about.” he gives a low, handsome chuckle - the type you can feel through his chest and his thumbs massage your hip bones. “don’t f’rget to thumb that clit, baby - she needs attention too.”

iwaizumi who kisses your cheek while all your pretty head can think of is how good his lips would feel attending to the wet, hard little bud rather than the sloppy, inexperienced circles of your now wet thumb.

“h-haji!” you sob, hips grinding into filthy little rolls trying to create some kind of friction on iwaizumi’s sturdy lap. but his hands keep you locked in place in front of the mirror.

“iwaaaaa - s’ not fair!” you sniffle, voice breaking pathetically at your attempts to thrust your fingertips onto that innermost gooey spot. you kick your legs like a petulant child but that only makes him tighten his hold on you, his heavy body restraining you. your lips let out a whine, only able to move your wrist and hand, back and forth into your precious folds.

“don’t do that, baby. stay still and look at yourself, angel. that tender little cunt - my baby’s gonna make it cream.”

“can’t like this - iwa, i can’t, I can’t—! i just need you to touch it , please-!” you wail. the stimulation in your pussy is teetering on too much and too little and it’s drivingyouinsane.

iwaizumi who sighs followed by a little chuckle.

“okay baby. if you’re that lost… let me give you a little help.”

you sob, expecting your boyfriend’s fingers to slip inside you and relieve your fruitless efforts when instead one hand wraps around your wrist, the other pulling back you thigh to widen you more -

oh, fuck

iwaizumi who plunges your own fingers deeper and deeper and then back out; fuckfuck-no ‘s toomuch, ‘s toomuch!

the knot in your stomach tightens when he pushes your fingers into something that makes you cry out. something too wet and deep and warm and he just keeps hitting it. he won’t slow down - whywon’theslowdown?!

“rub that little clit and keep hitting that spot nice and fast. that’s it. so good for me, baby, you’re almost there.”

iwaizumi who looks with proud eyes as you gasp and spread your digits inside your own tight walls.

you both sit watching the reflection of you pussy in the mirror as it flutters around your fingers. you melt against him, unable to stop moving your fingers - he just won’t let you! :(((

“haji,,, haji - wait! wait - lemme stop!”

“it’s okay. it’s okay, you’re so close. just a little more…”

“no! no you don’t ‘nderstand - you don’ - it feels funny, iwa - iWA!” every fiber in your body wants to slow your fingers and squirm away but his hands is on yours again forcing your wrist in n’ out and you languish, the most wanton moans blending in with the schlick, schlick, schlick of your sloshy pussy.

“supposed to feel funny. Just let me help… you’re doing amazing, keep your hand like that - good g’rl…”

iwaizumi who growls and lets your other hand pat and pinch and roll your ‘hungry little clit.’ you squeeze your eyes shut.

“no, no baby. look’t me. look’t the mirror. your pretty pussy, she’s so ready to cream. don’t you want to see her do it for the first time by yourself. fuck, your legs are shaking.”

you open your eyes but the sight of the mirror is still blurred by tears as you sniffle out another desperate plea.

“ ‘jime! haji - haji- n’t gonna cum! n’t gonna cum! I’m not -!”

“yes you are sweetie. can smell how close you are. i know this pussy - you’re gonna make yourself get there I promise.”

“no, no!” you babble, desperate to move - “no Haji - ‘s not cum - ‘m gonna pee! feels like it - lemme stop i can’t hold it!”

iwaizumi who chuckles, knowing you’ll ruin yourself if you stop and he won’t let you - your fingers piston in onto that gushing bundle of nerves and he rubs your the lower part of your stomach.

“n-no, iwa, iwa - !”

“deep breath baby. enjoy it for me. you’re doing so good - make yourself let it out for me.”

and then you reach it - your whole body trembling while you thrash against him

iwaizumi who smiles, praises dropping from his mouth about how fucking pretty you look cumming for him - splattering translucent fluid all over the mirror and onto his pants with the most wrecked, tear-filled cry of “ha… ha-hajimeeeee!”

iwaizumi who loves the way you whimper when you come down, utterly overwhelmed and needy on his lap as his muscular form praises you with a smirk.

“did such a good job, baby. congratulations.”

(for @sookisaurus and @sems-diarie)

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer #iwaizumi hajime x reader #smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hajime x reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x black!reader

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risingoftime · 7 months

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one night only

⤷ coriolanus snow x fem!reader: coriolanus’s classmates gets him a personal birthday present.

contains: 18+ MDNI, virginity loss, escort!reader, virgin!coriolanus, porn with plot, dub-con, smut, oral, p in v, sex work, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation.

word count — 2k

From above, you observed a line of women entering Pluribus's nightclub from the changerooms. Each woman seemed to cater to every man's fantasies, meticulously groomed and prepared for what the night might bring. As your turn to go on stage approached, the music transformed into a slow and seductive rhythm, signalling your cue. Taking one final swig of the strong white liquor, you felt a burning sensation as it went down your throat, causing your eyes to water. The spotlight illuminated the top of the staircase. It was now or never.

Your sheer daisy blue robe hinted at the white lace lingerie hidden underneath; almost everyone’s eyes were on you. Almost. A single gentleman by the bar with his friends kept his eyes on the stirring glass of moonshine that he held in his hand. He masked his face as bored and indifferent, but his body language communicated a different story, tight and wound up as if he’d be ready to bolt at any moment. It was evident that his friends dragged him here. He stood out like a sore thumb with his buzzcut light blonde hair and tall, broad physique. The lighting was low, but you knew who he was instantly: Coriolanus Snow, the first student-mentor from the Academy. He’d helped that girl from District 12. You’ve always had a soft spot for pretty boys, especially ones with deep pockets that would pay a hefty price for just one night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to introduce our one and only Capitol Gem.” It took everything within you not to roll your eyes at the nickname Pluribus had come up with as you descended the steps. Hoots and whistles erupted from the crowd as your hips swayed with each move, flowing through different positions to accentuate your flexibility. In a passive motion, you unwrapped your robe with a coy smile on your lips, entirely in character now. Gone was the girl from District 11. The song's base bounced off the wall, creating a numbing hum in your chest and ears. Combined with the liquor, it was easy to ignore the lust-filled stares. The robe cascaded at your feet, fully exposing your scantily covered body. Some men began throwing cash on stage, yelling, “Take it all off, baby.”

You swiftly climbed the pole, contorting your body to swirl around, allowing them to view you from all angles. This is what they came for, to watch you—whining your waist up and down while holding the rod, serving the fantasy of how you’d look when riding someone’s cock. Dropping into a split, the crowd went wild. Glancing at the public, you could see the other women beginning lap dances, writhing their bodies to the rhythm of the music. Coriolanus kept his eyes on the drink in hand, only glancing up to sip the moonshine. Your eyes met briefly, and he offered a shy smile before his friend caught his attention to whisper something in his ear. Coriolanus shook his head in protest, but his friend seemed too intoxicated to care about their friend's opinion. The man was slightly shorter with dark brown curls and had a big, goofy smile as he unfurled a fat wad of cash from his pocket. The friend pushed it against Coriolanus’s chest, forcing him to grip the money before it dropped on the dirty speakeasy floors. If you didn’t approach them now, then another girl would.

Elongating your body across the stage, you grabbed the miscellaneous bills of cash on the floor into a pile and stowed them away in the bag you hid by the steps. Pluribus knew your routine and smoothly transitioned to a new tune. With a charming smile, you quickly walked through the crowd, evading eager hands, keeping your eyes on the prize - Coriolanus Snow. But before you could approach him and introduce yourself, his unnamed friend positioned himself between you.

“Hello, Darlin, I’m Augustus,” he slurred your stage name as if it was meant to remain secret. His skin glistened, and the smell of alcohol reeked from his pores. Poor thing was drunk off of his ass. Augustus’s other friends watched, amused at him, while Coriolanus sorted and pocketed the money into his pants.

“What can I do for you, baby?”

“Oh no, not me! For my dear friend Coryo. It’s his birthday! Think he needs a private dance–”

“He needs more than that!” One of the boys quipped, earning quite a few laughs. There appeared to be only a few members from Capitol University, but you only saw walking dollar signs. “Well, it’s only your birthday for one night; I can make it worthwhile,” You replied. They nodded eagerly and practically shoved Coriolanus to stand in front of you. His eyes widened, and his face tinged pink with embarrassment.

“I– I’m sorry about them.” He fumbled over his words as he tried his hardest to keep eye contact and not wander further down to your breasts. You appreciated the effort. Quite the change of character in comparison to what you were used to.

“Don't worry, I don’t bite! But I do need to be paid before we go any further.” You looked up at him and his friends shyly, laying the innocent role on them thick, and they did not hesitate to hand you a sum of money that could cover all of your monthly costs. The sons of Capital families were always the easiest to deceive. They’d learn eventually.

You led Coriolanus upstairs to a simple and minimalist room, clean and warm. He let go of your hand before you could guide him to the bed.

“We don’t have to–”

“Don’t have to what… fuck? Are you a prude?” The question came off more blunt than you had intended; your surprise was evident. Many men of the Capitol fantasized about fucking a girl from the districts with the presumption of sex being more exotic with women who did not come from the same socioeconomic background. Yet he seemed bashful and unsure of how to converse with you and, nonetheless, have sex. “No, no, it’s not that…” His eyes wandered around the room, avoiding eye contact. In the dim lighting, you could still see his cheeks flush with embarrassment or perhaps from the alcohol - most likely both.

“Oh. You’re a virgin.” It became painfully apparent as his face deepened in shades from pink to beet red at your discovery. “It’s hard to believe the Coriolanus Snow hasn’t been with anyone. Has no one caught your eye? You are quite popular amongst the Capitol.” You walked to the bed and lay on the duvet facing him.

“There was this one girl, but it didn’t work out.”

“So you've never thought to act on impulse on your desires? or are you a romantic?” His answer to the question was inconsequential, but it would’ve been a lie to say you weren’t attracted or intrigued by the young man standing before you. The real question you wanted to ask was whether he’d act on his desires with you. Would he give in?

“I’m far from a romantic,” he confessed.

He walked to the bed and tentatively sat beside you. Coriolanus was watching you now, allowing his eyes to take you in. Your supple dark skin glowed in contrast to the crisp white lingerie set. If he looked closely, he would see your hardened nipples underneath the unlined lace. His heated gaze made you feel aroused without even being touched - a foreign sensation you hadn't felt in a while. Coriolanus's face drew closer to yours, lips mere inches apart.

You weren't sure who made the first move, but everything else faded away when his lips met yours. You took his bottom lip between your teeth, slightly tugging it to deepen the kiss. Coriolanus’s tongue slid over yours, and he tasted like mint and moonshine. You whispered between kisses, “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Snow.” Taking one of your hands, Coriolanus guided your hands to his clothed crotch. “Tell me,” you repeated with another kiss.

“Suck me off.”

Unbuckling Coriolanus’s pants revealed a deep v line to his long, girthy cock sprung free from his pants. He inhaled sharply as your tongue trailed his length from the base to the tip before taking the head of his dick in your mouth. You watched as Coriolanus bit back a moan while he watched began sucking the precum leaking from his slit.

“Oh fuck” he rasped. Your head began bobbing up and down his cock with lips wet from saliva, using your hands and mouth together to make sweet pressure build up in his core. The once untouchable Coriolanus Snow was like putty in your hands, whimpering and begging for you to provide him release. You looked up to meet his eyes as he watched and moaned pitifully, trying his best to hold back. Snow looked so pretty like this, vulnerable. “Shit, I- you’re so beautiful,” he groaned. Coriolanus inhaled sharply as you continued to suck his dick, taking it all in your mouth with precision.

“I’m going to cum” Coriolanus cried out.

As you removed his member from your mouth, strands of saliva trailed behind. You continued to stroke him slowly with your hands. "No, not yet. I'm not done with you," you said, shimmying out of your panties. Grinding your wetness against him, you teasingly rubbed your pussy against his cock. Positioning yourself to let your clit rub against him, you worked yourself up, feeling an indescribable need for more. Your tightness clenched around nothing, longing to be filled by Coriolanus. "Snow put it inside me." The chemistry between the two of you intensified.

Coriolanus fumbled with the condom before gliding it on his member. Sinking onto his cock, you were unsure if you can take it all. With each inch, your body shook, waves of pleasure overcame your body once he was entirely in, and arousal pooled between you. Digging his fingers into your ass, in a calm voice, “Your pussys’ so tight,” Coriolanus said. He pounded into you relentlessly as you straddled him. His hooded eyes trained on your cunt, taking him all in. Wet slapping sounds filled the room, betraying the explicit activities within.

“Fuck, slow down. I'm going to cum Corio-”

His lips overtook yours once more in a passionate kiss as he panted between each thrust. “Feel s’good,” Coriolanus slurred. His toned arms wrapped around you, locking you into position with no room to run from his dick, completely taking possession of your body. Your silky walls coiled around him, only for Coriolanus to take. Both of your waists moved frantically as the tension between the two was about to snap.

"Cum inside me, baby," you purred. Coriolanus was on the edge, lost in the sensation of your pussy as he thrust into you. His movements became languid and sloppy. "Ugh, don't stop," Coriolanus choked out between moans. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened as you rode him toward orgasm.

“You’re all mine,” he growled.

“Only for tonight, just one night.” You huffed, still slick with sweat and your juices. Your clit throbbed each time you rolled your hips. Coriolanus erection is still hard inside of you. He got his, and now it was your turn to get yours. He winced at the continued friction as you bounced on top of him. His once rough grasp around you turned gentle, unable to handle the pace that you set.

“I… I can’t.”

“Shhhh, let me take care of you.”

You placed tender kisses along his neck before gently nibbling on his earlobes. The heightened sensitivity awakened a different side of Coriolanus. "I'm gonna cum again," he sighed, blissed out. Your pussy tightened like a vice grip as your legs trembled in bliss, milking him of every last drop of cum, leaving you both feeling euphoric.

"That was fucking amazing... I never..." After struggling to form a coherent sentence, Coriolanus touched your chin, guiding your lips back to his. It was intimate as you melded into each other, foreheads pressed together. Coriolanus and you remained in that position for what felt like hours, inhaling each other's breath.

#⟢CREATION OF TIME #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #x black!reader #coriolanus snow x black reader #coriolanus snow x black fem reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #thg #coriolanus snow fic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fic #smut #coryo snow

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hookhausenschips · 11 days

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The Fastlane To Family {KR7}

500 Follower Special!!!

Navigation

Summary: The new rookie slowly becomes the on grid child of the Iceman.

Taglist

——————————————————-

As the newest and youngest member of the Formula 1 grid, I, Y/N, stood beside my race car, inhaling the mixed scents of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel. The roar of the engines filled the air with palpable anticipation.

I glanced around, absorbing the vibrant spectacle, the excited chatter of fans blending with the mechanical symphony of the pit lane. Yet, amidst all the noise and excitement, there lingered a silence in my heart—a void left by a father who walked away from our family when I was just a child.

Growing up, it was just my mom and me. She was my rock, cheering me on from karting races to junior championships. Despite her unending support, there was always a part of me that felt incomplete. I had a father, but I never really had a dad.

It was during my first official test as an F1 driver that I met Kimi Raikkonen. Known as the 'Iceman' for his cool demeanor on track, Kimi was a veteran of the sport, admired by many for his straightforward attitude and racing prowess. As I struggled with the complexities of handling my F1 car, Kimi noticed me.

"Remember, it's all about balance and knowing your limits," he advised one afternoon as he watched me analyze some telemetry data that looked more like a cryptic puzzle.

I nodded, feeling somewhat star-struck. "Thanks, Kimi. It's just a lot to take in all at once."

"You’ll get there. It takes time," he replied, his voice carrying a calming assurance.

After that initial moment of guidance at my first test session, Kimi’s role in my life began to deepen progressively. It wasn’t just about racing anymore; it was about finding a connection that spanned beyond the track.

Over the next few races, Kimi became a mentor and a friend. His advice was always practical, his presence reassuring. Somehow, he began to fill a gap I hadn't realized was so profound.

As the season progressed, Kimi taught me about resilience, about facing the media, and handling the pressures that came with the sport. His family occasionally visited the races, and I saw the loving father he was to his own children. It was in those moments I felt both a sense of warmth and a twinge of envy.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race in Monaco where I had spun out, Kimi found me sitting alone by the paddock, my head in my hands.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, sitting beside me.

"It's just... sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for this," I confessed. "I miss having someone to look up to. Someone who's there, you know?"

Kimi looked out into the distance before speaking. "I may not know all about your personal life, but on this track, you're never really alone. We’re a team. And if you ever need a bit of that... fatherly advice, I’m here."

His words were a salve to my bruised confidence.

A pivotal moment came mid-season during a particularly challenging weekend at the British Grand Prix. The weather was unpredictable, and so was my confidence in handling the car under such variable conditions. After a disheartening practice session, Kimi invited me to debrief over coffee, away from the bustling energy of the team garages.

As we sat down in the quiet of the motorhome, Kimi shared stories from his early days—mistakes he'd made and lessons he’d learned. "It's not just about fighting the car," he explained, "but cooperating with it, understanding it like a dance partner." His anecdotes were not only instructive but also peppered with his dry humor, making the lessons stick in a way that technical debriefs often didn't.

As the season progressed, our mentor-mentee relationship started to feel more like a friendship. Kimi invited me to join him and his family for dinner during a race weekend in Monaco. Sitting with his family, sharing laughs, and stories, I felt an inclusion that went beyond my expectations. His wife was warm and welcoming, treating me like a guest of honor, while his children eyed me with curiosity and shy smiles.

Our bond continued to strengthen as we faced various challenges together. During one stressful race in Singapore, where the heat and humidity tested every driver’s endurance, Kimi and I found ourselves fighting for podium positions. Post-race, exhausted yet exhilarated, we shared a long cooldown lap, discussing our individual races and the intense final laps.

“I saw you holding off Carlos behind you,” Kimi said, a note of respect in his voice. “You’re getting stronger every race.”

Hearing such words from Kimi wasn’t just a compliment; it was a form of validation from someone who had seen it all in the world of Formula 1.

Seasons changed, and my career in F1 began to flourish. With Kimi’s guidance, I improved not just my driving, but my understanding of the technical aspects of racing. His presence at critical moments of decision-making became something I relied on more than I had expected.

His mentoring had transcended the cockpit of a race car. Kimi had become a steadfast part of my life—a constant in a world marked by speed and change. Our bond, forged in the fast lanes, was built to last a lifetime, proving that sometimes, family finds you in the most unexpected places.

It was during a pre-race event that a journalist unexpectedly asked about my family. "I understand your father isn’t in the picture. How has that influenced you?"

I paused, looking over at Kimi who was signing autographs nearby, laughing with a young fan. Turning back to the journalist, I smiled.

"I grew up without a dad, that’s true. But I’ve found guidance, strength, and a bit of family right here in the paddock. Kimi’s been a great mentor and a father figure to me."

The racing season was nearing its end, and rumors about Kimi Raikkonen's retirement had been swirling in the paddock for weeks. However, nothing could have prepared me for the moment he confirmed it. We were in the team's motorhome when he gently broke the news to me personally.

"I think it's time for me to step back," Kimi said, his voice steady but his eyes revealing a hint of sadness. "Spend more time with my family, you know?"

I nodded mechanically, trying to process the information, but a storm of emotions was brewing inside me. As he continued to explain his decision, a sense of abandonment enveloped me, growing stronger and darker. It was as if history was repeating itself; just when I thought I had found a figure of stability and support, he was leaving.

"Kimi, you can’t leave," I blurted out, the words laced with a mix of desperation and anger. "You’re just like him—just like my father. You're walking away when I need you most!"

Kimi looked taken aback, his face softening. "Y/N, come here," he said, motioning for me to sit beside him. Hesitantly, I moved closer, trying to hold back tears that were threatening to spill.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I know this might feel like I’m abandoning you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I'm not leaving your life—I’m just leaving the grid."

The dam broke, and tears streamed down my face. "It just feels like everyone I depend on leaves eventually," I confessed, the pain of past and present mingling together.

Kimi wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a reassuring hug. "Y/N, I’m not your father. I won’t just disappear. I promised to be there for you, and I intend to keep that promise. You’re part of my family now, and that doesn’t end with retirement. You'll always have a place with us, at our table, in our home. Anytime."

His words, genuine and firm, slowly seeped into my heart, easing the ache with the warmth of his assurance. "You mean that?" I asked, looking up at him.

"I do," he confirmed with a nod. "And hey, I'll be around. I’ll come to races when I can. And you’ll always be able to call me, anytime you need—about racing, or about life. Anything.”

As Kimi’s retirement neared, our interactions became tinged with a sense of urgency, each moment feeling more significant. One late afternoon in Italy, Kimi and I took a walk around the track, discussing life beyond racing.

“What worries you about all this ending?” I asked, curious about his thoughts on leaving the world he’d known for so long.

“It’s a big change, sure,” he admitted. “But life’s about phases. You end one chapter and start another. And remember, leaving F1 doesn’t mean disappearing. We’re family now, Y/N. That doesn’t end with retirement.”

His words were comforting, especially as I grappled with my own fears of abandonment. Seeing how he approached his transition with a mix of realism and optimism helped me understand that endings were also beginnings.

As we continued walking, the setting sun cast long shadows on the track, and Kimi stopped to look out over the circuit. “Every turn on this track has a story,” he mused. “Just like every phase in life. Make sure you live them fully, no matter the challenge.”

The conversation lightened my heart and cemented a new kind of bond between us. Kimi’s retirement race came, As Kimi drove his final lap, the crowds cheers felt like a celebration of more than just his career. It was a tribute to the enduring nature of chosen family, to the unbreakable ties that we had formed.

I felt a surge of gratitude. I might have lost a father early in life, but in this world of high speeds and fierce competition, I had gained something invaluable—a family on the track and a father figure who taught me more than just how to drive.

As the fireworks painted the sky, I realized that family isn't always defined by blood, but by the bonds we create and the promises we keep. Kimi had shown me that no matter the distance, those bonds can withstand more than we sometimes believe possible.

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