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#my fic
eve175 · 1 day
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Clingy bat
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Azriel x pregnant!reader
Summary: You really need to make your mate understand that you need some alone time...
Warning: Talk of pregnancy
Word count: 807
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You stroke your now slightly swollen womb as you walk between the tall rows of bookshelves of the Town House, the place you and Azriel now call home. Rhysand and Feyre gifted you this magnificent residence as a mating ceremony present, since the both of them were now spending most of their time at the River House since the birth of Nyx anyway. You halt and smile in contentment when you finally pick up the book you were looking for. You spin around, and almost suffer from a heart attack when you face your mate, who had most certainly been following you for… Mother knows how long.
“Az… you scared me.” You sigh as you regain your calm, placing a hand on your chest. He smiles and places both his large hands on your small baby bump. He stares into your eyes and smiles, apologetically. “Sorry… I thought you had heard me.” You chuckle slightly and slowly make your way out of your personal library, heading for the long velvet couch. It wasn’t surprising that you hadn’t heard your mate following you, he always accidentally managed to startle you, thanks to his skills as a spymaster. 
You lay your back against the armrest, comfortably settling down on the couch. Your mate finds his way between your legs, laying his cheek where their babe was growing up, his hands back on your stomach as if they were pulled by some kind of magnetic force. You start reading, trying to concentrate through your mate whispering sweet nothings to their unborn child. “Az… weren’t you… supposed to meet Cassian or something tonight?” You start off, trying to sound… polite and unbothered by his permanent presence since the beginning of your pregnancy.
It’s not that it bothered you, not really. In fact, you always enjoyed your mate’s presence, you always would but… since the past few months, you barely have been able to enjoy some alone time out of when you were in the bathroom. Even then, he would have to check up on you to make sure you weren’t struggling with morning sickness. You just… missed having some tranquility. You already had to spend every minute of your existence with a baby growing inside of you, at least until its birth, and with Az constantly glued to you… It sometimes felt overwhelming.
“I thought you didn’t feel like going?” “Well… I thought you could go without me, you know.” He lifts his head from your stomach and looks up at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “By myself?” He asks as if I was talking to him in a foreign language he couldn’t seem to decode. 
You smile gently, and stroke his cheek. “Yeah, by yourself. It would… maybe it would do you some good to have some boys time. It’s been a while, I’m sure Cassian would agree on that.” “Mh. Cass can always wait, my pregnant woman needs me… baby too.” He places a kiss on your stomach, and gets back to his previous position. 
You sigh and bite your lip. “Az… I meant that maybe it would do me some good to just… breathe a little… for more than five minutes in the bathroom..?” I talked gently, stroking his hair. His eyes shot back up to me in an unreadable expression… “Yeah?” “Yeah…” You answer him back, giving him a soft apologetic grin.
He pauses, thinking, then gets up from the couch. He bends over, placing a hand beside your face on the armrest before kissing your lips softly, a small grin plastered on his delicious lips. “Alright, then. I’ll be back in an hour or two. You’ll both stay all safe, warm, and cozy until I get back to cuddle you… right?” Azriel knew and understood that you needed some alone time. You always have needed time away from everyone from time to time, and he realized that his protective Illyrian instincts had probably made it hard for you to have it. 
You smile and give him another peck before he leans away. “Alright, we’ll both wait for you and stay really safe in the warmth of our home until you get back…” He chuckles slightly, before winnowing away to meet Cassian, who would have to understand that he would need to get back in not more than two hours at max. 
You sigh in relief, drowning in the love and passion of your book for the following hours. You were glad and extremely grateful to have a mate, a partner who listens, understands, and fulfills your every need. Even if he sometimes needed to compromise on his own desires. You giggle as you gently poke at the shadow that stayed, enveloping the top of your belly, and can’t help but think of how amazing your mate already was as a father to your child…   
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d0llfaac3 · 2 days
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The bone(r)yard
Pairing: (Kinda) soft!Rafe Cameron x f!pogue!reader
Summary: reader is a pogue who is at the boneyard after being dragged by her friends, so she sat somewhere quiet not expecting to see Rafe Cameron…
Warnings: 18+, basically porn without plot, fingering, public sex, unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it), almost getting caught, dirty talk, cunnilingus this is my first smut so pls be nice. Bad language and not proofread
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You can’t remember when you got to the most secluded part of the boneyard, your friends had been making out with some tourists that came to the island, you just wanted to get drunk..but the party was getting annoying, finding a small little spot, your back leaning against a tree branch, sighing, you sat down, thinking it was quiet to hear two people making out behind you, making you leave, going to the opposite side.
“Do you mind if I sit here?”
you asked simply to the man, Rafe Cameron, Sarah Cameron’s older brother, he was an asshole but damn he was hot.
“What?”
He says angrily, he always seemed to be angry..you wonder what he was frustrated over this time..maybe a girl told him to fuck off.
“Can I sit here?”
You spoke again, starting to get frustrated with his attitude he rolled his eyes in response.
“Okay? Fine? I don’t fucking care”
He huffs as you sat beside him, he was good looking and he knew it..
“What’s wrong with you?”
You ask quietly, just wanting to know what his problem was overall really..he huffs in response and looks away.
“It’s embarrassing”
“I doubt it”
“I have blue balls”
That did get a little giggle out of you, blue balls? Seriously? And that’s why he was acting so cranky? His face went pink due to the embarrassment, his eyes travelling towards your breasts in your bikini top.
“Sorry”
You say as you control your giggles, his face bright red from embarrassment, the tent in his shorts getting more prominent the more he stared at your cleavage, causing your face to turn pink as well.
“Could you help?”
God this man was cocky, almost making you come out of your shell a bit..you contemplated it..
“What do I get out of it?”
You said, you knew with kooks they where usually only in it for themselves, you were going to get something out of him if you done something for him.
“Sex?”
He says simply, you nodded. “Alright then”
You took a deep exhale as he unzipped his shorts, his grey boxers making the outline of his already hard cock, he was big..
You gently placed your hands on the base of his cock and started twisting your hands, making him whine a little bit.
“Oh that’s good” he says as he put his head against the tree, his eyes shutting, was he really that bad? You only just started touching him!
He reached over and with his right hand he squeezed your bikini clad boob, making you whine a little as well, his big hand on your boobs, he pulled your boobs out of the bikini top and groaned as he traced his fingers over your hardened nipples.
“God you’re sexy”
He says in between heavy breaths as your jerk him off, he was really enjoying this..
He soon spat ropes of cum along your hands and he got possessive.
“Take those fucking shorts off right now”
He says as you unbutton your shorts, now only in your bikini bottoms, making him groan as he saw your heat slipping through the bottoms..
He pushed the bikini bottoms to the side and smirked.
“All this for me? I really am lucky”
His hot fingers slipped into your wet heat, moving your folds so he could get a good look and smirking before burying his face into your cunt without warning, your head threw itself back as he ate you out like an expert.
He lapped up all your juices on his tongue and moaned against your clit, giving you more pleasure than expected, while he was eating you out he stuck two of his fingers into your cunt.
“Hmm good girl..”
He says as you whine and writhe under his mouth and fingers..
“I-I’m..”
You say breathlessly and he smirks.
“I know princess, I’m gonna put my cock in you okay?”
It’s like all air left your lungs when he said that..but you where so high off this feeling that you nodded fast.
His cock, that was already covered in his cum from a few minutes prior, now was hard again as it flopped against his lower abdomen, he teased your cunt with it before taking the plunge and stretching you out more than you hoped, he groaned and mumbled profanities as he fucked you.
“God princess, this pussy is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”
He says in between groans as he starts to. Find a steady pace as she grip onto his shoulders.
While he was fucking you he started grabbing your boobs again.
“Your tits are a piece of fucking art”
He groans as he fucks you faster, the unholy sound of skin slapping together in the quietest area of the boneyard was pretty funny really, a kook and a Pogue, fucking like their life depended on it..
You continue making your assault on his shoulder and shirt clad back as you whine under him and he finally shoots his hot load on your stomach, a cream pie situation as he leaned back and watched the cum dripping out of your pussy with deep breaths..
“Can I have your number?”
He said with a smirk
____
IM SORRY GUYS U TRIED ITS SO BAD LMAO
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messyhairdiaz · 1 day
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might as well have been a free fall
buddie - rated e - 5k words
Buck doesn’t remember a lot about the moment he was struck by lightning. But he does remember the moments just before, when the air became so charged he half thinks if he’d just looked down he would’ve seen the sparks on his skin.
He thinks he might remember it so clearly because it’s exactly how he’s felt for years, every time Eddie’s walked into a room.
It turns out that feeling doesn’t go away just because he has another man’s hands on him when Eddie walks into the bar.
-or-
Buck reaches a breaking point
read the rest on ao3
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The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]
Read on Ao3
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)
Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).
Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.
Words: 7,895
A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.
Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3
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Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.
Until now.
There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.
Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.
And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.
Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.
He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.
It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.
When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.
"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.
"What's that?"
"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."
You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.
"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."
"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.
He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"
"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.
"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.
"FBI, I investigate art theft."
"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.
"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.
"And what is it that you do?"
"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."
"Sounds complicated."
You shrug. "I'm smart enough."
"You look good, too."
You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"
"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.
"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."
Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.
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His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.
He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.
Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.
He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.
He clears his throat. "Good morning."
Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."
"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."
"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.
"I don't mind."
"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.
"Okay, well... I had a good time."
"I did too."
Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.
"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.
"Yeah?"
"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"
Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."
"Well?"
"What?"
"Did I do it well?"
"I think so."
You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"
"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."
"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.
"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.
"I'd like that."
You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.
Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.
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Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.
One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.
"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"
"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"
"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.
"Enjoy."
"You too, you going somewhere nice?"
"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."
There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.
"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."
"I don't want to bother you."
"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."
He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.
You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.
"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.
"Work doesn't break your heart."
"That, too."
"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.
"Not one for relationships," you shrug.
"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"
"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."
Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."
"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.
"Yeah?"
You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.
"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."
"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.
"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"
"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."
Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.
You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.
You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.
"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.
"That's a good start."
He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.
"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.
"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.
"Of course."
"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.
"Their loss."
He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.
"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."
"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.
"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.
"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"
"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."
"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.
"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.
"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.
"Need to fuck you."
He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.
"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.
"Can I be on top?"
He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.
"Oh, that feels good..."
"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.
"What?"
Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.
"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.
"You looked like you had something to say."
"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."
His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."
You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.
"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.
"Mmmfuckyes..."
You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.
"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"
"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.
"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."
"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"
"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.
"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:
"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."
"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.
"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.
You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.
"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."
He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.
"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."
You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."
The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.
"Faster, please, Marcus."
He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -
The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.
"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.
Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."
"I didn't know I could do that with a man."
"You haven't before?"
You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.
"I'm honored. Was it good?"
"Yeah. How about you?"
"So fucking good."
You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.
"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.
"Yeah?"
"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"
"I don't."
He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.
"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.
"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."
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Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.
Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.
It is, in short, the perfect set-up.
Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.
You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?
He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.
You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.
When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.
You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.
"Welcome home."
"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."
"My pleasure."
The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.
In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.
"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."
Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."
"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."
"Does your family support your choices?"
You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."
"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"
"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."
"Wow."
"Exactly."
The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.
"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.
"No problem."
"You have any plans for tonight?"
He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.
You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.
"You missed me that much?"
"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.
Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.
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Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.
"Lemme get that."
Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.
"Thanks."
You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.
"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.
"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"
"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."
"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"
"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."
"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."
"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you maybe... want to do something?"
"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"
"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"
You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."
His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."
He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.
That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.
Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.
You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.
You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.
Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/
You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:
Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.
You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.
It is what it is. Early night for me.
He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.
Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.
Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)
You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.
I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.
The reply comes almost immediately.
I'll be back before you know it.
Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.
You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.
You up?
You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.
It's two am.
Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.
"What's up?"
"Sorry to wake you."
"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.
"I'm outside."
"What?"
"I'm outside your door."
You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"
"Just open?"
Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.
"Hi."
"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.
"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.
"Did I... fuck this up now?"
You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.
"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."
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You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.
Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.
"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."
"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.
"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."
"That's just because you haven't unpacked."
He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."
"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."
“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.
“I had to try.”
You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.
“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”
His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.
“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”
You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.
“Your ex?”
“Yeah. Teresa.”
“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.
“I don’t want to burden you with that…”
“I want to know, Marcus.”
He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.
You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.
“What a cunt!”
Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.
“You know I’m right!”
“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.
“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”
He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”
You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.
“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”
He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.
“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”
“Yeah, she did.”
His stare is suddenly relentless.
“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”
You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”
He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.
“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”
“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”
You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”
He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.
“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”
“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.
“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.
“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”
“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.
The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.
“Fuck, you’re amazing.”
“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.
“Happy Christmas, baby.”
The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.
“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”
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vinelark · 24 hours
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a little wip snippet for the sunday scaries
Kon tries to look up. His head is too heavy; he manages to get Tim’s knees in his field of vision before he bows his neck again, panting for breath. “I’m sorry,” he gets out, fingers curling uselessly against the metal floor. “Tim, I’m so sorry. I’ll—someone will come save you, someone else will come, I’m sure they will. I’m sorry I can’t—”
“Superboy,” Tim says quietly. “Hey.”
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pitconfirm · 1 day
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Venus Flytrap
Fernando/Lance, Explicit, 7.9k+ (1/3)
Fernando has a long and lucrative history of pulling heists, but ever since his last mission went sideways, he’s been taking a break and staying out of trouble. However, the week before the Monaco Grand Prix, he’s recruited for another job: stealing the diamond on Lawrence Stroll’s yacht. His role is simple… seduce Lawrence’s son.
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new fic alert
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in another life
for Ella (@epylonia) 🫶🏼 thank you for reading through this, your help and your words of encouragement🤍
Lestappen, 12k, rated E
blurb: in another life Max is a prodigy lawyer and Charles a prodigy architect that designed the new office building of the law firm Max works at. They meet at the opening party and sparks fly.
or
Even in a different universe Max and Charles are exceptionally good at their respective jobs and also can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.
Have a snippet here:
“Hold the door please!” A male, foreign sounding voice yells and Max does as requested pushing his hand between the closing doors of the lift. They open again and in steps a man about his age, not even a little out of breath even though he must’ve run.
Max can’t help but stare, because he’s not sure he’s ever seen a more beautiful person, regardless of gender.
“Thank you,” the man answers and smiles.
Max swallows as he spots the dimples on the man’s cheeks which come out in full force now that he is smiling. His eyes flit over the man’s face and there’s nothing out of place there. From the gorgeous green of his eyes, over the straight slope of his nose and the three days worth of stubble surrounding pink lips. Godverdomme, he’s… stunning.
a/n: massive thank you to @formulafang1rl for the help with the collage as well as having to endure the very first version of this the fic ❤️
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charlescoded · 15 hours
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pairing: lestappen word count: 2.7k rated explicit. dune au. arranged marriage. loss of virginity. boy pussy. wall sex. breeding kink. praise kink
Charles remembers what his mother told him their last night together. The story of his birth. It felt like a warning, to not make the same choices, or, to not make the same mistakes. He’s not sure. He knows what Ferrari wants him to do, what he must do.
He must give Max Verstappen a daughter.
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arimakes · 2 days
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Late Bloomers
Chapter Four: Taking Root
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Steve moves Eddie’s hair out of the way, just to check, and feels a possessive thrill at the sight of his fading mark, still visible on Eddie’s skin. Eddie lets out a shaky breath but doesn’t say anything.
Steddie | Explicit | Modern AU @strangerthingsreversebigbang Co-Written by @mojowitchcraft & @arimakes Art by @arimakes
Read on AO3
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maxybabyy · 1 day
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i’m thinking about your max run club au again 😵‍💫 does daniel realize… the effect… max’s voice has on him? when do daniel and max meet in real life (if ever)?
😫 😫 i am always thinking about max run club ... but im sooo glad you're there with me! 🏃
in my mind they don't meet until after he and scotty break up. Daniel in a moderate sized LA apartment trying to figure out what to do with a bum knee and no race seat, when he goes to one of martijn's shows, and look who is there also :)
below the cut is the third part 😏 (part i, ii)
The first time he sees him, Daniel almost doesn’t notice.
He’s face-down on the sofa with his phone held loosely in his hand. He should probably be in bed, has an appointment with his physio in the morning, lunch with Blake after that. But Scotty’s in Canada for training camp, has been for the past two weeks, and Daniel hasn’t been sleeping well.
He had offered to come with him, with Scott. Made a joke about getting on the slopes too, “My knee’s been better, yeah? Reckon I could probably take you down for a run or two.” His knee still isn’t great but like, he could probably hang out in the hot tub, work on maybe, like a nice tan.
But Scotty had laughed, told him not to waste his time, “You don’t even like the snow, Ric. I’ll see you in a month, yeah?”
Daniel thinks maybe he’s allowed to feel like this, lonely and sad, scrolling through Instagram.
It’s worse then, when he sees the picture of Scotty. He’s shirtless and smiling, how Daniel likes him the best. There’s a sunburn on his nose, red and angry, and Daniel knows it must be painful. Can imagine almost how he must be complaining about it, refusing to put on aloe because he doesn’t like the sticky after-feel.  
It gets him a little hot, his hips pressing against the sofa almost unconsciously. He could probably like, get himself off. Come into his own hand and send him a picture, saying some shit like, thought of u ;).
But also, like. Daniel hasn’t heard from him in a few days, thinks maybe he’s not going to be the one to reach out this time.
He’s deep in his twitter feed, focus only half on the screen when he hears the voice.
He rewinds it and presses the phone to his ear, the volume turned loud as he listens, and there it is. Just a handful of lines in that sharp accent that Daniel recognises immediately with an odd sense of excitement.
He loops it over to hear it again, and Daniel feels it. The sudden burst of energy, conditioned almost by sound alone. He wants to put on his shoes and run, Max’s voice hoarse in his ears coaxing him to be faster, to be better. To make it good, make it last. And Daniel would, for him. For Max.
He grinds his dick into the sofa, reckons it would be half-hard if he reached down to touch it.
Daniel doesn’t do it, obviously. It would be too much, he knows. Getting hot and bothered by the sound of a voice, or like, not even that. Because it’s GP’s voice he can hear now, deep and British, and decidedly not Max’s. But even like this, Daniel feels out of control.
He loops it again before he even thinks about it.
Daniel doesn’t realise until he’s on his third listen that GP is talking about Max, “- and he can be himself with me, which I think is really important when you work together the way that Max and I do.”
There’s a shuffle in the background, and Daniel almost misses it, rewinds the video just a few seconds to watch as a guy pops in from the side to hug GP.
Daniel doesn’t have to think about it, knows already that it’s Max on the screen.
He can only see his backside but he’s already so fucking hot. The wide line of his shoulders, trim waist obvious from the cropped running top he’s wearing. His shorts are almost indecent too, sit barely below his ass to show off strong thighs.
Looking at him like this, Daniel cannot fucking breathe.           
Belatedly he noticed the link on the screen, a tag to their socials. It takes him to a YouTube page, Red Bull Running, and Daniel almost doesn’t – feels as the sour taste builds in his mouth.
It’s, like, objectively okay what he’s doing. He’s just a fan, that’s it. And like, Red Bull has probably hundreds of athletes, it’s barely even a connection.
Daniel doesn’t find it until he’s almost given up, hidden away at the bottom of the screen on a playlist called Max V. His cheeks feel flushed, his eyes heavy with maybe not sleep but something else, the illicit feeling making his fingers tingle.
He scrolls through it with his knee pulled to his chest, flicks through videos of Max on the treadmill, going over data with GP, crossing the line at the London marathon. He’s just as pretty as Daniel thought, wide smile and kind eyes as he laughs at his own silly joke.
He’s almost at the bottom, an absent yawn escaping his lips when he finds it. Yoga for Runners.
Foolishly, he clicks it, watches with a dry mouth as Max introduces himself. He sits squarely on the mat in a sunlit room. He isn’t wearing a shirt, back so straight it makes his pectorals look obscene. There’s a low-fi beat in the background, not too loud to drown out Max’s soft instructions guiding the viewer through a series of poses.
Daniel’s thumb hovers over the home button, ready to close out, to go to bed. And then Max bends over, ass to the camera in his tiny running shorts. It goes on forever. Max speaking softly, demonstrating with his hands the muscles he stretches, how to increase the pressure, where the strain should not be.
Max counts himself down, “You got, it. Four. Breathe deep for me, please,” lowers his knees and folds his chest almost to the floor, keeps his hips up high. “Here, you will feel the release of your rib cage. Obviously, like this it will give you a great stretch in the back also. Yes, just like this. You are of course doing so good.”  
Daniel bites into the meat of his palm, pants into his own sweaty hand. He balances his phone against a pillow and slides his hand down to his dick.
He digs out the bottle of lube that hasn’t been used in months, pours it into his hand, onto his dick. Pretends the slick sound of his hand is something else. It’s easy to do like this, Max’s voice steady in his ear, body moving with impressive control on screen.
“Sink in a little deeper for me, we are so close,” Max says, voice soft, hoarse. “Breathe into the sensation. It should of course feel good when we do this.”
Daniel should feel embarrassed, maybe, but he comes just as Max is winding down, spread out on his back, breathing heavy. “Max,” he sobs, breathless.
The video ends, replaced by a moment of silence. And then in an all too familiar voice, “Hello, everyone,” that makes Daniel’s stomach drop.
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never-billion · 20 hours
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fabbyf1 · 23 hours
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Use Your Hands (And My Spare Time)
“You want GP to sit in a chair and... what? Watch me fuck you?” 
“Yes,” Charles replied grumpily. 
“And you want him to talk me through it like I’m on a hot lap?” 
“Yes!” Charles said, a little less grumpy and more relieved.
"You want Gianpiero Lambiase to tell me how to fuck you,” Max clarified.
OR: The GP Fic™
Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen/Gianpiero Lambiase | 15k | Read on AO3
Part III of lestappen + guest series.
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evanbegins · 1 day
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💤 just lay back in my arms for one more night
word count: 2.7k
rating: T
Buck thinks of how much he loves a napping Eddie while scratching his tummy.
Buck loves napping with Eddie.
He’s the best napper in the world. If there was a competition for who could be the best at napping, Eddie would win it. If you told Buck early on in his friendship with Eddie that he could fall asleep anywhere, any time, he’d scoff and shake his head. Because Eddie is always alert and awake.
Being his boyfriend of over a year, however…
read on ao3
tags: @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @elvensorceress @theotherbuckley @tizniz @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @nmcggg @loserdiaz @queerdiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @knightlywonders @steadfastsaturnsrings @pirrusstuff @wildlife4life @gibuckaroo
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carlos-in-glasses · 2 days
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Thank you for the tag @heartstringsduet @sznofthesticks and @strandnreyes 🩷
It's early in the morning in BJ Fic, and TK Strand has woken up before Carlos 'Hates Sleeping In' Reyes...:
They fell asleep only four hours ago after an evening spent gazing at aurora borealis brought on by the solar storm. This was followed by a drive home and TK practically riding Carlos through the mattress before they passed out.
“I couldn’t stay in bed anymore.” TK hops on top of the squishy comforter and crawls over Carlos, his hands and knees walking either side of his body until he and Carlos are nose to nose. With a whispery giggle, he says, “I was too excited.”
“About what?” Carlos asks knowingly, breaking into a goofy grin. He’s not keen on his own smile. He’s glad TK can’t see him all toothy because proximity has made him go cross-eyed.
“I have a boyfriend,” TK kisses into Carlos’ grin and Carlos closes his lips around TK’s tongue. “And it’s you,” TK says as he pulls away.
Open tag and tagging:
@im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @safeaswrites @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @literateowl @my-little-tilly @paperstorm @reyesstrand @lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @orchidscript @welcometololaland @basilsunrise @herefortarlos @liminalmemories21 @chicgeekgirl89 @theghostofashton @rmd-writes @chaotictarlos @bonheur-cafe @lightningboltreader @goodways @vineofroses @louis-ii-reyes-strand @carlos-tk @honeybee-taskforce @kiwichaeng @fallout-mars @whatsintheboxmh @thisbuildinghasfeelings @three-drink-amy @sugdenlovesdingle @noxsoulmate @freneticfloetry @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @alrightbuckaroo - If you want to share/haven't already! With no pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜
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ddeongies · 3 days
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pretty please (ch 2)
established relationship, rough sex, power bottom shin ryujin, service top hwang yeji, "i want that twink obliterated" the fic | word count: 11.8k total 🔞
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Just as Ryujin starts feeling like she’s actually going to lose her mind, Yeji tears her underwear off. She gasps as they peel off of her wetness and watches through her lashes as Yeji glances up at her, dips her head back down. Her breath is hot against Ryujin’s core and sends a shiver all the way up her spine. Her hips twitch upwards involuntarily, but Yeji’s hands remain firm. She keeps her eyes on Ryujin as she drags the flat of her tongue up her cunt, slow. Ryujin’s head falls back onto the pillow, and the moan that tears out of her is high and rasps around the edges.  “Look at me,” Yeji commands, “or I won’t touch you.”
Keep reading
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none-of-your-bullshit · 12 hours
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Say that You Love Me - Interlude II
I Bet You Think About Me (Reprise)
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, canon typical violence, insecurities, death, inaccuracies for how the U.S. government works, a little angst
Note: Interludes are chapters that consist of mainly dialogues as a plot set-up and just regular shenanigans between the team.
Series Masterlist
"I heard we're taking down a conversion camp," you plopped down a chair next to JJ. "Can I blow the place up?”
From across the conference table, Spencer rolled his eyes in annoyance. You pretended not to notice.
"No? Set it on fire, then?" You continued. JJ pretended to consider it, going along with your joke despite what Spencer did. "There is this new composition of gasoline that makes fire burn green,” you whistled. “Real pretty.”
"Nobody is going to blow anything up," Hotch said, amused. You pretended to be hurt, sticking your tongue out and showing a thumb down. "We just need to make sure the charges stick."
"I'll stick those charges so far up their–"
"Maybe try to stick to professionality, how about that?" Spencer snarked, cutting you off.
You scoffed. "Maybe you should learn how to take a joke."
"Maybe you should learn to grow up."
Spencer was getting increasingly sour with you. While you had no actual fight with him, you did retaliate against his tantrums (your word) by pulling practical jokes. You switched his dust covers, switched his creamer with Asian thick coconut milk, dyed his vest a fun tie-dye, and so on. Hotch didn't say anything because they were harmless, much to Spencer's annoyance.
"Reid, L/N," Hotch interrupted, eyes glancing sternly over the two of you. You crossed your arms and leaned back in the chair, looking like a child who had just been scolded by their father. "Is this going to be a problem?" 
"Yes, if Reid doesn't get off my–"
"No, sir," he said, cutting you off, before burying his head back to his work. 
Blake shot you a look and a shake of her head. You rolled your eyes at her. Hotch caught that, though, his mouth pressed in a firm line at you. You raised your arm up in surrender, and with JJ’s hand on your knee, your mouth sewed shut.
**
The Replicator striked again. This time, it was JJ with her bouquet of flowers with the Zugzwang taunt written on the note. 
It was later in the day when Penelope entered the elevator. You had been saying good bye to Felicia and Neil, who finally served their last days in the Bureau. After Vienna, they were traumatized enough that early retirement and seeking compensated therapy was more attractive than staying in the FBI.
She was carrying a vase of lilies with a note attached to it. 
“You okay there, Pen?” You asked amusedly. 
“Isn’t it pretty?” She said excitedly. “Will dropped this off for JJ in the lobby! Do you think I can take a peek at the note?”
You furrowed your eyebrows. If JJ was working overtime, then why would Will drop by at that hour? Who was with Henry? “Wait, Will was here?”
“Well, no, but who else would give JJ flowers, right?”
When the elevator door opened, a hundred different poisoning scenarios played out in your mind. But if the security cleared it to go through, you were sure that no anthrax was hidden in the pollens or something. You ignored Blake and Strauss at the entrance to the bullpen, following Penelope who was making a beeline for JJ and Spencer. 
“Guess what just came to the reception desk for an Agent Jennifer Jareau!” Garcia said, setting the flower vase down on Spencer’s desk.
JJ studied the flowers in confusion. “From who?”
“Thank you, exactly what I said!” You exclaimed. 
“I don’t know, they must be from Will, or someone’s got some ‘splainin’ to do,” Garcia teased. “Open it! Open it!”
JJ reached for the note. You quipped, “Do all of us a favor and keep your face away from that envelope when you open it.”
Spencer looked at you, unimpressed. “An anthrax joke? Ha-ha.”
“Uh-uh, Will’s not really a flower bouquet type of guy,” JJ mused as the opened the envelope. She pulled out a single card, with a single word written on it. “Zugzwang.”
You schrunced your nose in confusion. “A chess term? You’ve been hanging out with nerds outside of this office?”
Penelope smacked your arm as Spencer frowned, taking the paper from JJ. “What? Let me see that.”
JJ was unfazed by your comment. Her face painted in worry. “It’s the same thing Diane Turner said to you– 
“Before she killed Maeve,” Spencer finished her sentence. 
You made a silent ‘Oh!’ with your mouth. Penelope looked even more confused. “But Diane’s dead, so who sent it?”
“No idea.”
“Wait, didn’t you say that the voice on the other end of the payphone was computer-generated?” JJ started. 
You tried not to laugh, really, you actually tried. Your face stayed in a deadpan stare at the three of them. Honestly, you fully acknowledge the seriousness of the situation, but they were saying that a pivotal moment in the Maeve case was caused by an unrelated mastermind trying to taunt the team? Maybe Spencer was right: you should've been there.
You coughed, “So it could be anybody on that other end?”
“That means, maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Maeve,” Garcia added. 
“Whoever it was, they knew you would be at that phone booth, which means they were stalking you,” JJ said. 
The pieces finally clicked then, and momentarily, Spencer caught your eyes as realization dawned on both of you.
“Or us,” you both said in unison. Spencer added, “What if this is the Replicator?”
With that, you pulled out your phone and ran up to Hotch’s office.
You walked into the conference room with Hotch, cursing yourself for being so distracted that you couldn't figure out who was coming after your team. The air was heavy and tense, everyone was filled with anticipation. You sat down next to Rossi, across from Spencer, as Strauss entered the room.
Penelope and Hotch caught everyone up and the team speculated. Since you weren't on the Maeve case (and truthfully only skimmed the report, it was too long), you didn't know that taunt existed. Dead end after dead end you were trying to find this stalker, this felt like a break. Before this meeting, you and Hotch had come to an agreement that the safety of the team and their families would be the first and main concern. 
"I'm posting security details in each of our homes," Hotch informed the team.
"It's a mix of security from the Bureau and a private company I trusted," you added. 
"Why? Because your judgment is better than the Bureau's?" Spencer snapped back. A look from Hotch had him closing his mouth in an instant.
"Because there were indicators of this being an inside job," you said, eyes narrowed.
"That's a big accusation," Blake said.
"Alex is right," Strauss chimed, arms crossed across her chest. "That's a big accusation and who exactly approved the funding for it?"
"I posted some of the people I trust in counter-surveillance. They found nothing," you said. "That means he's very good. Nobody is that good unless it's someone who's had training in intelligence. And If anyone doesn't consent to being protected by honorably discharged ex-Navy SEALs, let me know because they're all working for me."
Nobody said a word, not even Strauss who was just watching you. She became hesitant with you, ever since Derek put him in that rehab place and you had hinted to her at the Bureau’s Christmas party that you knew about her little stint. 
Sometimes, in this job, you had to ask yourself: WWAPSKD? Or, What Would A Psychopathic Serial Killer Do? And you usually could answer them by learning about their MO and victimology. 
This time, though, it felt like it wasn’t enough.
So you asked yourself: WWADMKD? What Would A Deranged Mastermind/Killer Do? Not this, for sure. 
The Jane Doe in Philadelphia, the flowers sent from a florist from the same city? Those were too good to be a coincidence but felt too neat for a pattern. 
You leaned against one of the cruisers, waiting for Rossi and Hotch at Fairmont Park. While the others were looking at the victims and fighting uncooperative detectives, you were scouting the yoga studio where the first victim was abducted and talking to the second victim’s children. 
“Fair warning, guys,” you told the boys as you led them to the victim. You jerked your head to the black-and-white picture of your Unit Chief on the victim’s body. “Hotch gets the next turn.”
Revenge was a classic motive, and the plan, as a whole, felt like taunts and threats. But these victims did not feel angry, at least not angry enough to plan a revenge so intricate it spanned months and state lines. 
Bidwell was the perfect guy. He had a motive, a trigger, the MO down to the T, and even fits parts of the profile with evidence just conveniently found at his place. You were the one who blocked his path when he was running away from his house. But there was no sense of satisfaction or relief when Rossi told you they put him inside the interrogation room. The dread you were feeling didn’t go away. 
"You were saying, about this being an inside job?" Spencer said you searched Bidwell's house.
"He doesn't fit the profile," you said. "He might've killed those nurses, but he's not the one threatening us."
"He has a motive." 
"Literally, Doctor Reid, I can taunt and threaten this team with a motive as thin as I wanted to or it'll be fun," you snarked. "He doesn't fit the profile, you know that. If he’s a narcissist, why would he run? Why not take his crowning moment?"
Spencer rolled his eyes, going to the front yard as nothing else could be retrieved from the house. "Why can't you just admit that you're wrong?"
"Because I'm not!" you stomped away, passing him by. You knew you were acting like a child, but at that point, you were too frustrated with the case and Spencer to care. 
"So Bidwell confessed to the exsanguinations but he wants to see his lawyer before he admits to anything else," Hotch informed you as you reached the front of the house. You gave Spencer a pointed look, which he pointedly ignored.
"We found enough evidence to prove that he's The Replicator," Spencer said defensively.
"I had the same thought," Hotch admitted. "But the house doesn't fit the profile. It's too sloppy."
"He's a single male," Spencer argued, getting frustrated.
"The plan to get to us is detailed and organized. Nothing in this house said that."
You turned to Spencer, "You were saying?"
"What's your theory?" Hotch said, turning his attention to you, who looked like a child who just won a playground insult battle. You might as well.
You shrugged, arms crossed, "Maybe he's part of the plan all along. He asked for a lawyer, right? He’d ask for a phone call too and that’s who we should find."
Would it kill anyone to admit that you were right? At this point, you thought, you'd be giving eulogies consisting of one sentence: I told you so.
You didn't like the rabbit hole that thought brought you. 
The threats seemed more real now that you found the Replicator’s evil lair in Pittsburgh. A dead body and all those surveillance pictures were creeping you out, but the music playing really sealed the deal. This guy was a deranged mastermind/serial killer, alright. 
"How come there are fewer pictures of you than that of the rest of us?" JJ had asked at one point to process the scene.
"I know, it's a shame. I looked really hot in these pictures," you snickered. "You think he'd give me the negative when we catch him?"
JJ rolled her eyes at your joke, continuing to catalog the pictures. 
"Maybe you shouldn't joke about an unsub threatening to kill us," Spencer muttered in a low voice, but still loud enough for you to hear.
Before you could answer, Derek piped in. "How come you're not worried, anyway? He knows where you live, your pilates studio, your favorite cafe."
"Well, for one, I'm too unpredictable because I cannot hold a schedule to save my life," you paused at the unintended irony. "Two, he's not going to kill us. If he wants us dead, we'd be dead. Blow up the FBI building, ambush us when we get home, use a sniper, tons of ways, but we're still alive and breathing."
JJ snickered, "Well at least that's comforting."
"He didn't have time to dump the body, so we probably found this Batcave faster than he wanted us to," you pointed out. "He'll probably go dormant again, until he's sure the trail's cold and learn from his mistakes."
"Let's hope we get him before he does."
You did not get him before he went dormant. The team was holed up in the conference room, coming in early and leaving late. You were the only one making rounds outside, mostly to stretch your legs, and go on a coffee run. Anderson would come up to you with case files, and you’d try to go through them, replying to emails from PDs and local offices as much as you could. You were not making a dent.
"Are you going to sit there or are you going to help us?" Spencer asked, after getting his third cup of coffee of the day. You were sitting at your desk, sorting through the new cases that came in on your computer.
Penelope's algorithm did a great job in sorting them out, and you had an army of agents and special agents training to be profilers to give consults. There were times when they'd ask you to sit in interrogations or review their preliminary profile, all in all, you were drowning in paperwork that only you seemed to be doing. 
"I'm not just sitting here," you said, rolling your eyes. It was a particularly bad case involving the skeletal remains of a thirteen-year-old kidnapping victim handled by Major Crimes.
"The rest of the team is in there trying to keep each other safe and you're not doing anything."
"We didn't find any new leads two days ago and we won't find one now," you said, annoyed and tired. "It happens. Serial killers go dormant from time to time."
"This is not just a serial killer," he argued. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You were never there when we needed you the most."
"That's it," you said, slamming your hand against your desk as you stood up. "I am still a part of this team. It's not my fault that I was doing my job!”
“You had a choice!” Spencer said. “Every time, you had a choice. You always chose to leave.”
“But I always came back,” you defended. “And I'm here now.”
“And what good are you doing right now?” 
So he basically just called you useless. It felt like cold water over your face and you were angry.
“What good are you doing?” You threw back at him. “You're here berating me because you have done and found nothing, just to make yourself feel better.” You stepped closer to him, face coming closer. “This is getting pathetic. Think about it: do you really hate me for doing my job or do you hate yourself for not being able to save her and protect your team?”
With that, you walked away from the office. From Spencer, from the team, again.
"Oh, great! Walk away, it's the only thing you're good at!"
Didn't mean you appreciated being called out for it.
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