Tbh I Want Miguel To Spit In My Mouth While Having Me In A Breeding Press😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

LANI PLS THIS WAS SO GOOD, IM AN ABSOLUTE PUDDLE RN

A Seasoned Fighter

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Older!Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: Just because the First Order dismantled, doesn’t mean the Resistance has stopped fighting for the freedom of the galaxy. You’re newly recruited and stationed at a base that’s run by the legend himself, General Poe Dameron. Based on this artwork + my shitty edits.

Warning: age gap, Poe's kinda a dick, smut - rough sex, p in v, choking, oral (m receiving), this Poe is suuuuuuper ooc.

A/N: I'M WRITING FOR POE AGAIN! YAY! Also, I might write more if people want. because i do have more ideas for this version of Poe...

Tagging: @darthdameron @abelslittlebunny

You've been with the Resistance for a short time. A little under five years. Despite the end of the First Order, that didn't mean that there weren't still people who wanted to take over the galaxy. The Resistance still remained in tact taking care of those who tried to take the First Order's place, as well as keeping the overall galaxy safe.

In the time you've been with the Resistance, you heard about the legends such as Rey Skywalker, General Finn, and General Poe Dameron. Rey and Finn were off on the other side of the galaxy, training new and upcoming Jedis. General Poe Dameron? Well, he stuck with the Resistance.

You grew up hearing stories about him. He had saved your parents, Resistance fighters as well, and if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be here. You thought that when you'd meet him, he'd be just as witty and charming like your parents described.

Unfortunately, he was the opposite.

Keep reading

18+. Minors DNI.

Jaskier in this season? Phew. That lake scene when he took his shirt off and was wearing necklaces? PHEW

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Your eyes opened to look up at jaskier, brows furrowed and jaw slack as the immense pleasure engulfed your body. The sound of his gold necklaces hitting his bare chest mingled with the slap his balls against your ass. Jaskier and you were trying to have a night together in front of the fire but, it had been so long since you two were together. And his new look was ravishing. It was eating you alive to not get your hands on him.

His hands moved their way down your skin. Gripping your hips before smoothing their up back up to take your wrists in his palms. He pinned your hands above your head, the feeling of the fur rug joining your heightened senses. “Gods- your cunt” that foul mouth of his. “So tight. Squeezing my cock so tight” he growled and bared his teeth in a pleasureful grin. “Look at me” you look up at him immediately, moaning his name loosely

The light from the fire was bouncing off his gold necklaces, catching your gaze. “You’re distracted. M’ cock is making you so dumb tha’ you can’t even listen to me” he growled with a chuckle. “Stupid slut you are” he snapped. You moaned at the feeling of him suddenly so deep inside you.

Deep and big and full

You could die right here and you wouldn’t complain. Your legs wrapped tighter around his slim hips, wanting to keep him deeper. “Gorgeous” he purred, leaning down to capture your raw lips in a searing kiss.

“Sweetheart, please. Please cum for me. Wanna see you.” His voice was gruff, laced with lust.

SHELBY!!! PLS IM GOING SO INSANELY FERAL OVER THIS

Lavender Haze smut 8 and 71 with Bob! Congratulations btw! ❤️

i touch myself - bob floyd

pairing: bob floyd x fiancée!reader

summary: being away from bob is hard, even if it is just for a couple of weeks.

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only. smut. afab reader. phone sex. dirty talk. masturbation. a little dash of subby bob.

prompts: “i can’t sleep without you here.” “y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that are you?”

When Bob had to travel home for what was supposed to be a few days, you thought you could handle it. Those few days turned into nearly two weeks and you missed him terribly. You wanted to go with him, you really did, but you couldn’t afford to miss work and you were still house training your new puppy.

You spoke to Bob every night. He would call and listen to you vent about work, humming every now and then. He would complain about his aunt Ruth, how she still pinched his cheeks even though he was nearly 30. You smiled lightly, thinking about how it doesn’t bother Bob at all when you do the same.

It was a few nights before Bob was due home. You were nearly itching to be in his embrace. Your phone started ringing as you were rubbing lotion up and down your legs after your shower, signaling that you had an incoming FaceTime. Bob’s photo and name lit up your screen and you couldn’t hide the grin that erupted on your face.

“There’s my pretty wife,” Bob exclaimed, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink.

“Not your wife yet, Bobby,” you uttered matter-of-factly but your heart fluttered at the sentiment.

“Gonna be my wife soon, though.”

His hair was a little disheveled and his eyes were hooded, a telltale sign he’s been drinking. You knew he had been out with some childhood friends that night and you knew how Bob handled his alcohol. A couple shots of tequila and he was a goner. You set the phone up on the bathroom counter to finish your nighttime routine.

Bob rambled on about his time at home, mentioned several times how much he missed you and Apollo. His glasses were slightly askew and you knew he was laying in his childhood bedroom. The Star Wars posters were a dead giveaway. You loved listening to Bob talk. His slight accent was stronger since he had been home and you couldn’t stop the heat that coursed through your veins.

You braced your elbows on the counter and Bob stuttered, stopping mid-sentence. He had a perfect view of your breasts from your robe dipping and your lips quirked up in a grin at the way his eyes widened.

“You okay, baby?” You asked, knowing the answer.

“Y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that, are you?”

God, he was adorable. You shook your head and stood up straight, playing with the silk tie of the robe. He moved up in his bed, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses. You loved the effect you had on him.

“I miss you so much, Bobby,” you whispered, pressing your back against the bathroom wall and letting your fingertips graze down the column of your neck. “Do you miss me?”

“More than you know,” his voice was pinched, a roughness to it.

Oh, you were going to have so much fun with him.

Your fingertips made their way down your chest, brushing them over your hardened nipples through the soft material. The sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut and a whimper to slip from your throat. You could hear Bob’s labored breathing through the phone and when you opened your eyes, his gaze pinning you in your spot. You weren’t sure if it was residual heat from the shower or the way he was looking at you, but you felt dizzy.

“You know what I’m thinking about right now? I’m thinking about how good your hands feel. God, baby… Just wish you were here.”

The shoulder of the robe fell, exposing your right breast and you heard Bob inhale deeply. Bob loved every part of you but he always paid special attention to your chest. He loved getting his hands on them and you knew this was sweet torture for him.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Bob. I’m gonna touch myself while you watch. And that’s all you can do is watch. I don’t want you to come until you’re home and inside me. Is that alright?”

You weren’t dominant or demanding often. It wasn’t something you were used to but sometimes… sometimes the feeling just overtook you. Especially when Bob sounded so pretty when he whimpered and whined.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

Hastily untying the belt and letting the scrap of fabric fall to the bathroom tile, you stood bare in front of your fiancé. The blacks of his pupils swallowed the cerulean blue entirely. His thin bottom lip was tucked tight beneath his teeth. You would never go a day feeling like you weren’t beautiful when Bob always looked at you like he was now.

You moved your hands to your breasts again, pinching the stuff peaks of your nipples until your back was bowing away from the wall. You wanted to close your eyes but Bob’s gaze kept you locked in on him. He had taken his glasses off at this point, and had moved higher against the headboard. He was enjoying the show.

You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as you continued your ministrations on your chest. You ached to touch your wet heat but you wanted to drag this out, wanted Bob nearly begging to see you.

“I love when you play with my tits, baby boy. You just love getting your mouth on them, don’t you?” You asked, smirking at the sound of his punched out moan. He was gripping the headboard railing to keep his hands off himself.

“Love it so much, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know you do, baby. M’so wet for you, Bob. Should I touch myself? Show you how turned on I am?”

He whimpered loudly, chewing on his bottom lip harder and nodding eagerly.

Your fingers slowly slid down your sternum, tickling your lower stomach, before settling between your thighs. The first touch to your wet cunt made you jolt, a low moan escaping you without warning. Your index finger traced lazy circles around your clit, collecting the wetness and displaying them to Bob. His chest was heaving, mouth agape. His tongue slipped out, licking his lips and whispering your name.

“You want a taste so bad. I can tell, baby boy. Can’t wait until you’re home so I can ride your face. You always look so pretty between my thighs.”

You were clenching around nothing, your body begging you to fill your hole. The angle was awkward but when you worked two fingers inside, you melted against the wall. You thrust them in and out, curling them to brush over that spot that made you weak in the knees. You stayed silent for a while, letting out moans every now and then. Your eyes never left Bob’s. He looked like he was in near tears from how turned on he was.

His intense gaze and breathy whines led you to reach down with your other hand to rub your bundle of nerves once more. You were close and Bob knew that.

“Sweetheart, please. Please cum for me. Wanna see you.” His voice was gruff, laced with lust.

“Bobby, baby. Oh- oh god!”

Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of ecstasy. It took everything in you to stay upright, your legs turning to jelly as you came down from your high. As you opened your eyes again, you felt chills run down your spine at the look in Bob’s cobalt eyes.

You cleaned yourself up in silence, slipping the robe back on and moving to the bed to get settled for the night.

“I really do miss you. I can’t sleep without you here.”

“I know, my love. It’s just a few more days though. And then you’ll be begging to get rid of me again,” Bob said, smiling sweetly at you.

“Never. I’m never gonna let you go. Love you, Bobby.”

“Love you forever, my sweetheart.”

taglist 🤍: @nobody7102 @endofdays56 @bradleybeachbabe @daughterofthereaper02 @basiccortez @auroralightsthesky @buckys-estrella @hangmanbrainrot @marvelousmermaid @withahappyrefrain @wildbornsiren @queenbbarnes @floyd-luvr @top-gun-rooster @topgun-imagines @mrstabbymcwolfy @lt-bradshaw @therebeccaw @wkndwlff @luxuryberzatto @a-reader-and-a-writer @t-nd-rfoot @odegaardsreds @mxgyver

no bc you don’t understand how obsessed I am with this fic, I love you forever for writing this💓

The text post about “ your fav is fucking his fist rn thinking of you” please lord let it be for Steve ( I’m. Late I know)

a/n: heheh it is :) 1.5k words of male masturbation ayyye. also, if you have not already, go check out @heavenbarnes’ ficlet, which haunts me everyday. please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

slow hands*

Steve jerks off— a lot.

Even before the serum, when he was just any other violently hormonal, grass-fed, free-range human boy, instinct couldn’t be denied. Even after a long period of reflection during his catechism days, he wasn’t able to make heads or tales out of why any creator might give two shits about whether or not Steve fucks his hand.

Now as a whopping 200-pound slab of grade-A, laboratory-engineered, serum-enhanced super-soldier, if he doesn’t pump one out every twenty-four hours, it’s hard to focus on much else. All of that unbridled testosterone crawls right up behind his eyes and his brain fizzles at the edges, agitated like an animal in a cage.

(So, although it’s mostly pleasure, it’s also necessity.)

He knows that it’s best before bed because early mornings or while showering requires working within the constraints of a ticking clock; if he’s got a packed schedule and needs a quick rub, fine, but not his favorite.

He knows that he likes certain activities, and if he’s looking at porn, specific categories and maybe a few performers will fit a niche—but sometimes he’ll spiral into a hundred other videos and he’s stayed up one (or five) too many nights doing that.

More than anything, Steve knows nothing beats his imagination, and he knows the best lies you can tell are ones with a bit of truth attached to them.

So, he plays a little game.

He thinks about you.  

Cheeky you, who’s always teasing him about taking life too seriously. So prim and proper, Steve, you purr, always Mr. Punctual. Aren’t you tired of being nice? Loosen up—go dancing, meet a girl, have a one-night stand; fuck with the lights on for once.

Hm. Sure he’d like to, but all he’s got is about forty-five minutes before bed because he’s frankly too busy (see: stubborn, see: not interested in just any girl) for anything else.

For forty-five minutes, Steve takes a moment of truth and runs warp speed into the burning sunset with it.

The time you put your hand in his hair to fix a flyaway before a press conference—what if you gripped it hard, instead? Your candy pink lip gloss on Friday evening—what if it smudged off on his jaw, his collar, his eager cock? How you looked lifting out of the pool with rivulets of water dribbling into the hollow of your throat—what if he pressed his cheek to it, drank from it?

(The expression that might cross your face when you realize Steve would very much like to fuck you with the lights on.)

When you kissed him on that mission in Thailand, sliding into his lap to hide the both of you in a corner nook of a restaurant. The taste of sweetened coffee passed from your mouth to his, and he couldn’t help but dart his tongue out. You playfully scolded him about taking advantage of a dangerous situation (it wasn’t that dangerous), and despite all your usual attitude, it was surprisingly cute how you couldn’t make eye contact afterwards, making him want to kiss you again just to figure you out.

Last night—when you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes like a sliver of moonlit coin and if he blinked at the wrong time, he might have missed it. Your breathy laugh, your little giggle, how you raggedly pant while you spar, he thinks about those sounds mingled with his name. Your weight, a perfect amount of pressure crawling on top of him, mapping out the expanse of his chest.

He’d be happy just to watch, finally able to see you in glimpses not bordering voyeuristic like when you zip up in the hangar or concerned when you peel off Kevlar layers smudged with gunpowder. No, you’d be relaxed and tangible, full and felt—breasts, waist, belly, the sides of your hips as you straddle him, pulling his hands toward your body and letting him touch you.

Steve sighs into the darkness of his room, sweats shucked off, lube-slick hand feeling for his already aching cock. What’s he going to think about tonight? The small of your back when you lean over the pool table? The long, graceful shape of your fingers exploring his torso? Your face dazed, tipsy-tinged after a few drinks and sweet on his shoulder?

(He would like more of that. He could make you look like that if you ever asked.)

His hips move in careful circles, testing his grip, nudging at the tunnel of his fist like how your pussy would resist the first thrust until he wedges his way past it, slipping the head of his cock into your warmth. You’d be so, so warm. So soft and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve mutters, eyes squeezed shut.  

He fucks into his fist, the sound of slick gushing out like wet slaps, like the hot clutch of noise your tight hole would make as he’d stretch it out—as he’d stretch you out.

He’s panting harder. You‘d look breathtaking on all fours, head turned around to see him rutting inside, jaw slack in disbelief that your body could keep taking him like this, like you could break any moment.  

The pretty, pretty whimpers at the harsh punctuation of every thrust. They’d tear loose from your throat and you wouldn’t be able to bite them down anymore. You could unravel because of him—shattering because he’ll have gotten past your defenses, gotten so deep you could do nothing but arch back for more, needing him further, needing him to know you how nobody else knows you.

Steve’s mind races through each position— every arrangement of your arms and legs in ways you’d give into because he would make the burn delicious, blurring discomfort into pleasure, and how you wouldn’t care if it might hurt because desire would be the drive— him behind the wheel taking you closer to that cliff’s edge.

He’s peeling off into the horizon now, moaning, bucking carelessly, blinded by the bright sun, by the white threatening to explode behind his eyes.

“Uhhhnn—” he looks down at his throbbing cock, swollen with friction and fiction, his other hand rolling the tender skin of his sac between his fingers. He squeezes a hair trigger tighter, in pulses, mimicking how you’d feel close to coming, begging for his release to fill you. Your hands gripping his hair for purchase, hard and frenzied, the scrape of your nails on his scalp. And finally, the abandoned, purely physical response of your body during orgasm, the undeniable wrecked wail of his name.

He’d be rough and gentle all at once, he’d make you taste yourself, clean up the mess you’ve made on him, and then he’d kiss it out of your mouth when he fucks you again. You’d be sore already, and sore the next day. He’d want to leave you aching, shuddering, babbling and delirious for more, for only him.

You’d cry, Steve, oh—my god—oh my god—feels so good, Steve. Fuck me harder, please. However you want—whatever you want, I promise.

You’d suck on his fingers, bite down when it became too much, too good. You’d shake, and shake, and shake and Steve— he falls.

Spun out, headfirst, off the steepest bluff of his inventions and crashes into open waves beneath. Your moaning mouth, your soaked cunt, your entire being an unprimed canvas waiting for his splatter.

And it’d be perfect.  

He comes in ropes, gasping into the reverberating echo of his own breath, hips still moving, back still arched, wet slick dripping down into his fist where he keeps going, using it as another coat of lube. Maybe you’d squirt. Maybe you’d put your face in your hands, embarrassed, or maybe you’d lose all control and he’ll have to hold you up.  

The second wave comes fast and better than the first.

The third, easy, only tinged with a prickle of rawness that makes his toes curl.  

Steve’s chest is sweat-slick and heaving, heat rising off his body as he evens out, throat murmuring the syllables of your name in yearning. He nudges hair off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, and then he checks his clock.

Back to reality, forty-five minutes on the dot tells him he’s still punctual, as you say.

He cleans up, stretching his back as he ambles to the restroom before returning to bed, satisfied. And when Steve tucks himself in for another peaceful night’s sleep, he wonders what you do in the privacy of darkness and if your ritual is anything like his own.

Do you shuck off your lounge clothes? Do you fuck yourself beneath layers of covers with your fingers? A toy? Grab your tits and put those same fingers in your mouth? Do you think about someone—do you think about him? His dick is still half-hard, half-raring for another session because the fourth and fifth time, when it hurts even worse, feels like coming up for breath after a drowning-- feels beyond good.

He’ll think about you some more tomorrow.  

(He’ll think about making you come four or five times.)

just ordered my first vibrator🤩

i should be bent over on a balcony rn but ok

make me a... (hangman x reader)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!reader

synopsis: family planning with jake

warnings: 18+ only, explicit language, explicit sexual content (strictly pwp, p in v, maybe slight degradation? daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, spitting, so sorry for my sins) 

wc: < 500

let’s all give a ranch water toast to may (seasonsbloom) for getting 500 followers and being so phenomenal!

also I promise I'm working on this is me trying lol currently fighting off a cold and honestly that video of glen powell with his niece & nephew really derailed me we love a man who's good with kids

“Fuck, you like that, huh? You want to have my babies? You want me to make you a mommy?” Jake grunts out as his hips slam into yours. He’s using one hand to prop himself up over you, while he presses the other into your stomach and you know he can feel the bulge of his cock plunging inside you and you know it’s driving him crazier. You moan in response to his question, turning your head to the side and squeezing your eyes shut, still reeling from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm. 

The heavy feeling of his hand on your stomach disappears. Suddenly, Jake grasps your chin between his fingers, turning your head to make eye contact with him. “Answer me, sweetheart. You gonna make me a daddy?”

You open your mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. Jake’s eyes are locked in on your fucked out expression and he moans out your name again, forcing your chin up with his hand. His eyes dart towards your open mouth for a microsecond. You feel his thumb drag upwards to hook onto your bottom lip, holding your jaw open. With a grunt, he spits into your waiting mouth, still pumping his cock into you, and releases his hand from your chin, letting your jaw snap shut so you can obediently swallow. 

Jake’s moan is a heavenly sound. “Good girl, I’m so fucking close. Answer me, please. No, no, out loud,” he insists when you start nodding your head like it’s held up by springs, like he’s fucked out every bone in your body and you’re just a bunch of limbs connected by coils and held together by Jake, Jake who wants to put a baby in you, Jake who wants to have a future with you, Jake who’s currently splitting you in half and loving every second of making you lose your mind. 

 “Yes, I wanna make you a daddy, please,” you finally manage out, and you feel it shake Jake to his very core as he shudders, driving his hips one last time into your poor cunt so that they’re flush with yours and you feel the warmth of his release inside of you. He’s gasping into your ear, reaching another hand up to brush away your hair from your face. 

Jake’s whole body slowly relaxes as he comes down from his high, slowly starts lowering his chest until he’s just a couple centimeters away from resting his entire weight down on you, but at the last second he holds you tightly and rolls over so that you’re on top, his cock still buried inside of you. He snakes both hands around your back to pull you into his chest, peppering featherlight kisses across your forehead. 

“Think that one took?” he asks you with a smirk, pressing one more hard kiss to your sweaty forehead.

ME TOO BABE😩

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Keep reading

another miguel thought has entered my mind but I’m gonna finish my request first and then write this new one

this is a lil thot here but excuse you the breeding kink and baby fever go brrr.. anyways imagine mickey like finding out you want kids and then going FERAL. i just- that image in my head is one i am PROUD of creating

But it is an IMPORTANT thot. This awakened something, I think. A lil nsfwish so 18+, and there's a cut. (Reference to their conversation about what they'd name their kids from "swallow you like sunshine") ahoy, ahoy this became a whole thing --

--

so deep in love with you (baby love) [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!civilian!reader, aka “cielo”]

Word Count: 1.3k (always a nerd, never a blurb) of nerves, honey-sweetness, and the eternity of love’s promise

Warnings: hints of smut, fingering, breeding kink (obvi) and comeplay. mildest of mild hints of choking. 18+, please.

Why were you so nervous?

No, seriously, why were you nervous? You and Mickey had had this conversation before. There was no reason for you to be this anxious, sitting silently during the dinner he had made for you, twirling spaghetti around your fork endlessly.

If Mickey found your silence disquieting, he had the good grace not to say anything, eyeing you with those bourbon-honey swirled eyes of his that drove you absolutely crazy.

You could do this. This is Mickey you were talking to. Mickey, who had stood in front of the censor so the sliding door at the grocery store stayed open while you tried not to slip in a puddle on your way in. Mickey, who wraps his hands around you and puts them in the pouch pocket of your hoodie while you wait for movie tickets. Mickey, who brought you coffee in bed this morning. Mickey, who plays with Bob's kids, talks to them like they're adults, and excitedly talks too fast when he spills to you all the new facts he's learned about cuttlefish after spending an afternoon with them.

You could tell him this.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, putting down your fork that had a veritable hive of spaghetti twirled to the end of it by now. "M?" You ventured, waiting for his eyes to meet yours across the table before continuing.

"Yeah, Cielo?" He must sense your nerves. He put his fork down, too, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You cast your eyes down the smear of red sauce across your plate that looked vaguely like a bloated bear before, murmuring,

"Ithinkimreadytotry," you rushed.

Mickey cocked his head to the side, eyes swimming with questions, "Sorry?" He asked.

"I think," you exhaled, tilting your jaw to boldly (in your opinion) meet your husband's eye. "I think I'm ready? To start, you know, trying? Only if you are, I mean, I know you leave again soon, so we don't have a ton of time, and it doesn't have to be now, but I'm ready if you're ready and I just wanna have a baby with you, if that's cool--" you rambled, cutting yourself off when you saw Mickey's eyes widen, his hand reaching over the table to press his finger gently over your lips, rendering you silent.

"Baby," he chuckled. "A baby?"

You nodded, slumping back in your seat, deflated, at the toll your rant had taken on your body.

Mickey eyed you again, seemingly not eager to respond.

He nods, pushing his chair back and standing up, making his way around the table and over to you.

"So," he reaches for you, beckoning you up from your seat with the gentle tug of his warm arm around your waist. "Which one do we try for first, hm?" He asks as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, lips trailing the thrumming pulse along the column of your throat. "Vero or Valencia, boy or girl?"

Without giving you a chance to respond, Mickey hoists you over his shoulder, carrying you through the threshold to the living room, gently depositing you on the couch. You gasped at the feel of his fingers tugging at the waistband of your leggings, seemingly perpetually warm, something that emanates from him, tried and true.

And Mickey barely lets you get a word in edgewise, as you open your mouth to respond, he fuses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his fingers continue to tug your leggings down your legs.

Like a heatwave on a summer's day, Mickey had overwhelmed you, sunshine and molten gold, his hips now rolling into yours on the couch.

"W-wait," you pushed his shoulders, his lips separating from yours, flushed, kiss-bitten, and honeyed. "Now?!"

"You just gave this whole spiel about how we don't have a ton of time," Mickey reasoned, his fingers trailing to your waist as he rolled his hips into yours again, causing you to buck at the feel of him through his sweatpants. "Why not now?"

"M!" You swatted his bicep lightly with the back of your hand, "I haven't showered today. I'm wearing ratty old leggings, for god's sake. I look a mess!"

Mickey hmm'd, a purring little hum of dissent lodged in his throat, like a perpetually displeased jungle cat.

"Agree to disagree, amor," he eyed you as though you were the meal he had been enjoying moments ago.

"First of all," he presses a kiss to your throat, one hand coming up to follow it, fingers lightly wrapping their way around your neck as he feels the effect he has on you in the blood rushing through your veins, beneath his fingers, heated and heady. "You aren't wearing your leggings ... Anymore."

He presses a kiss to your lips, following the gentle gesture with an intentional scraping of teeth, a little bite to his bark.

"Second of all," his other hand at your waist now slips between you to feel the now-soaked lace at the very center of you, plucking it aside to allow him to stroke the seam of your cunt, his touch causing your lips to part in a gasp, your eyes to flutter closed. "You look hot as fuck. Always do."

With that, Mickey slips a finger inside of you, pleased at the feel of your heated walls around him as he plays you to an unheard rhythm, rolling his thumb over your clit. Eagerly swallowing your breathy little moans as he kisses you through his attentions.

"M'gonna fuck you, Cielo," he murmurs, the heat of his body leaving yours as he rocks back on the couch to shuck his sweatpants down. "Gonna give you a baby. Gonna make you come first, though..."

"I want that," you sigh, twining your fingers through the curls you know will be shorn once he leaves, eager to tug, eager to capitalize. Eager to make him yours. "Want everything with you."

...

Later in the night, Mickey takes in the serenity of your features bathed in the white-blue glow of the television as you two take in "The Empire Strikes Back" with unseeing eyes, exhausted and high off of each other. He had put on the movie and grabbed you a chocolate bar after round ... Three, was it?

And he didn't know if it would take right away, really. But he was hell-bent on trying, having fucked you into the couch until you'd forgotten your own name, pushing his release back into you when he had withdrawn, fingers gently sweeping along your opening to urge you through another orgasm, while keeping his spend inside of you.

Now, he's admiring you, the curve of your waist. Imagining the way your stomach will swell someday, the genesis of your collective devotion.

So, really, he doesn't know what compels him to tell you, but he says it anyway --

"You know," your eyes meet his at his words, lips curled in a sweet, sleepy smile, encouraging him to continue. "If you get pregnant this year, Javy owes Payback twenty bucks."

"Excuse me, what?!" You cock an eyebrow at him, seated on your elbows the better to take in what your husband had just said.

"Ehm, yeah," Mickey was sheepish now, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "They were teasing, you know how they are... And, well, I know that I've got it in me, so really, I don't know what they were trying to imply. Just giving me shit, I think."

You put your hand up to silence your husband, biting back a chuckle as you clarify,

"M, do you mean to tell me you wagered with your co-workers about how soon you could knock me up?"

And Mickey, expert at reading you though be was, was grasping to tell whether you were amused or upset. It's a fine line to walk, sometimes, truly...

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did..." He trailed off, glancing at you with apologetic doe eyes.

A laugh bubbled from your lips, a tipsy little thing, telling champagne bubbles as you laughed at your husband's ridiculous antics, tugging him toward you, and pressing your lips to his.

"Claro. C'mon then, daddy," you murmur, kissing him with each word. "We've gotta get Reuben that money."

--

tagging some fanboy girlies (so sorry): @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain @thegirlwhowritesfics  @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @moonlight-prose  @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid  @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemana @mxgyver  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood  @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn