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“C’mon, c’mon, come with me,” he said, reaching out, grabbing your hand from your side. “Wanna get outta here.”

“Okay, Stallone,” you muttered, obliging as he pulls you through the crowd. The second you were through the door, the cool spring air washed over you. It was the cusp of summer; a thin sliver of sunset still hanging on the horizon, the sky otherwise inky blue. It was still warm out, the heat from the day clinging to the pavement in shimmering blankets. Your chunky heels clicked on the sidewalk, your steps in time with Max’s. 

He gave your hand a squeeze and grumbled out a halfhearted protest of the nickname, looking down at his feet as you walked. Even in the dim night, you caught a glimpse of the pink that spread over his cheeks. “You make me sound so much cooler than I am.”

“Maybe you underestimate yourself,” you replied, flashing a grin. 

He smiled back, and you both came to a stop in front of his car. It was parked in an alley (“How’m I supposed to leave something this gorgeous in a place like this?” he’d whined while parking, lamenting ad infinitum until you’d flicked the back of his head and reminded him that the car was almost forty years old,) and a single streetlight from the junction a block down was the only source of light. 

Max scratched the back of his neck, leaning against his car, hip bumping the window. “Sooo…I’ll drive you home?” 

You had other ideas. Swiftly, you opened the passenger door and pushed him in. 

Breathless, he looked up at you through the curls over his forehead. “You wanna drive…?” he asked, but quickly shut up once you climbed in on top of him. “Oh.” 

You looped your arms around his neck, settling in his lap. Your short skirt rode up slightly, and all that was separating you from him was his dark-wash jeans and your Victoria’s Secret underwear. The thin barriers did little to conceal his arousal. 

There was something about his dick you envied. In a lot of ways, it communicated his desires for him. Of course, not always, and not exactly, but most of the time. It eliminated the need to voice his base wants. It was easy to deal with; straightforward. 

You palmed him, and his eyes fluttered before settling heavily on you. 

“You wanna?” he asked again, his hands landing on your hips, always bigger and heavier than was congruent with his demeanor. “Somebody could—” He swallowed hard. “See.”

You hummed, pressing down harder with the heel of your hand. “I want you, though.”

His expression was enough to tell you that the statement was enough. His fingers slipped up your skirt, skimming over your thighs. “Fuck, uh, m’kay,” he said, nodding. When you leaned forward, sucking a purplish mark onto his jaw, his head fell back against the headrest and his lips parted. He grew increasingly hard under your palm. 

“You want me too?” you goaded, rolling your hips. The space was tight, but the seat was pushed all the way back, so you had a little bit of room to move your heads. “You want me to touch you?”

He nodded jerkily, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. You knew his tells well enough to know that he was trying not to thrust up into your touch. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“Say it,” you murmured, kissing his jaw again. “What do you want?”

“Your hands,” he said tightly. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, then trailed downward, lingering on your lips and tits shamelessly. 

You hummed and wiggled two fingers past his waistband, your fingernails scratching through his pubes. “Where?”

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, chests shuddering. “On my dick.”

Grinning, you undid his fly and pulled his underwear out of the way, freeing his dick. Contrary to what everybody—apparently, and according to a few friends of yours—thought, Max Cooperman was fucking hung. His cock bobbed up, smearing against his t-shirt and making him grimace.

The look on his face utterly fucking transformed, though, when you wrapped your fingers around the shaft, squeezing slightly at the base before turning it into a deliberate, teasing stroke upward. 

“Like that?” you asked innocently, rolling your hips again. 

He shuddered forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder while you worked him. “You’re so fucking hot,” he muttered into your skin. “You’re so much fucking cooler than me.”

You bit back a laugh and let your lips drift to the top of his head. 

Your hand sped up, and so did Max’s breathing.

“M’gonna fuckin’—” he gasped out after a few minutes, his fingers digging into the cushion of your hips. “Ah, ah—”

And you eased off. 

Max looked up at you with utter betrayal in his eyes, lips pink and bitten, jaw loose. “What—fuck—why’d you stop?”

You shrugged and pulled back, grinning at him in the moonlight that shone through the windshield now that the sun had completely disappeared. “Dunno.” 

“I—” he spluttered, recovering the steadiness of his breathing. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tried to collect himself, his grip on your hip easing. 

Then you gave him another heard stroke and his fingers dug so deeply into your flesh you were sure the bruises would last a fucking millenia. 

“Oh, I—Jesus,” he gasped, hips bucking. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…please—”

You obliged, quickening the pace and making your strokes more deliberate. Beneath your fingers, his skin was hot and you could feel his pulse beneath the surface.

He cried out a little when he came, like he always did. The first time, you’d been worried it was painful, but the embarrassment on his face and the teeth marks on his forearm made it clear that it was just a…quirk. A really hot fucking quirk, admittedly. 

You both wiped up the mess with a strip of fabric left over from a terrible wardrobe malfunction the week prior, and Max took a minute to regulate his heartbeat before climbing out of the car and into the driver’s seat as you settled in the space he once was. 

In the new quiet of the car, you could hear his labored breathing particularly well.

You grinned and clapped a hand on his inner thigh. “C’mon, Stallone, make this beast purr.” 

He flushed, glanced over at you, and started the engine. “Great fucking sound,” he muttered, moving off.

Your smile widened impossibly and you squeezed his thigh again, a giggle escaping past your teeth. “Mm, I can think of some better ones.”

“Aw, fuck you!” he shrieked, head whipping around in half mock-indignation, half embarrassment.

You flicked his shoulder and fake-scolded, “eyes on the road, dude.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, but you caught him peering over at you periodically throughout the drive. And adjusting his pants.

tags: @z0mbie-unic0rn @star-rey-night @ethereallmonkey @kylesdove

there's a swag imbalance here for sure

not beta'd & i'm sleepy so i'm sorry about mistakes

the 1968 Ford Mustang Gt Fastback interior is really not conducive to car sex......heartbreaking, but we persist....

i'm so sorry reader didn't get her rocks off, i was more focused on making max whine and whimper, and i assume her interests were in line with mine, so unforch her panties remain unsoaked (for now)

He’s so sweet.. Still very caring for his pregnant wife even though sleep’s still clinging to him. Maybe he’d also be very generous to go on an ice cream hunt for his pregnant wife even at this ungodly hour.

“..Kit.” You whisper. His eyes opens slightly, lifting his head from his pillow. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?” He asks, his voice raspy as his gaze travels over you to make sure that nothing’s wrong. You turn your head to look at him in the eyes. “I’m craving ice cream.” He blinks at your response. “Right now..?” He asks. “The baby does.” You reply, convincing him that the baby has decided that ice cream at this time of the night is a necessity.

Light’s now on and you’re sitting on the bed, watching Kit putting on his work jacket over his pajamas. He’s getting ready for the late night ice cream hunt for his pregnant wife. You then slowly stood up, walking to him. “Kit, I can come with you.” You suggest as you suddenly feel bad for sending your husband out at this time of the night just for ice cream. Kit turns his head to look at you, he shakes his head with a small reassuring smile on his lips. He places a hand on the small of your back as he passes by you to grab his car keys on the nightstand. “Not happenin’, honey.” 

You frown at his response. “I feel bad..” It’s that pregnancy moodswing suddenly kicking in. “Why?” He asks. “Well, I’m sending you out at this time of the night because of a random craving.” You added as you continue to watch him move around. He just let out a chuckle at that. “That’s kinda how this works.” 

Your brows were still a bit furrowed but a small smile appears on your lips because of how understanding he is. Every day, in ways both big and small, he always makes you feel how lucky you are.

“Now get back under those covers, I’ll be back before you know it.” He makes his way to guide you to the bed, but you stop him. “Can I wait for you in the living room instead?” He nods with a smile as he starts to guide you to the living room. “Wherever my wife’s comfortable.”

He sat you down on the couch before rushing back to the bedroom. When he came back, he was carrying your blanket. Without a word, he drapes it gently over your shoulders. “Drive safely, honey.” you remind him. “Yes, ma’am.” He replies before giving your lips a quick peck. 

With that, he exited the house and made his way to his truck while lighting a cigarette. “Gotta fulfill my husband duties.” He speaks to himself, a fond smile on his lips as he starts the engine.

The drive to the nearest all-night diner was peaceful. Now he’s out of his truck, heading to the door of the diner with an ‘open’ neon sign attached to it. The bell above the door chimes when Kit walks in, informing the half asleep staff that someone had come in.

“What can I get ya, buddy?” The staff asks, rubbing his eyes. “Just some ice cream in a tub.” Kit spoke, taking out his wallet. “You drivin’ around this hour just for a tub of ice cream?” The staff chuckles, making his way to grab a tub of ice cream. Kit shakes his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Pregnant wife emergency, buddy.”

When he finally got the ice cream, he drove home with a small proud smile on his lips. He completed one of the most random missions he gotta do as a husband with a pregnant wife. He then finally arrives, he parks his truck and makes his way to the door of the house.

“I’m back, honey!” He announces as he throws his keys on the kitchen counter and makes his way to grab a spoon for you. 

"Kit?"

“Yeah, honey?” He asks as he starts to make his way to you.

“I want strawberries on them.”

Kit froze. Oof, looks like his mission is not finished yet. He then lets out an amused chuckle at that. He’s already tired but he’s committed.“Anythin’ else?” He asks, making his way back to the kitchen. “Maybe a drizzle of honey?” He felt like the baby’s gonna be that type of baby that has lots of requests once it leaves your womb. “Got it, chef.”

“This baby is making me a whole culinary project at 3am.” He mumbles to himself while slicing strawberries. However, this whole thing is amusing him rather than pissing him off.

After finishing your request, he makes his way to you, sitting beside you while carefully holding a bowl of scooped ice cream topped with strawberries and a light drizzle of honey. “Custom order for Mrs. Walker.” He takes a scoop and brings it close to your lips. Proof that he’s never too tired to take care of his wife.

You married the right man.

likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! 🫶

so signs certainly weren’t pointing in his direction. in fact, the bet was so unfavorable to him that you could barely believe he’d been the one to make it. 

“if you can make me cum before i beat a level, i’ll do the dishes all month,” he’d said some twenty minutes earlier, apropos of literally nothing, turning over his shoulder from where he sat at the foot of the bed.

now, though, he was singing a different tune. he had one hand fisted in your hair, one gripping the controller equally as tight. the game’s background music and soundtrack were interspersed by peter’s choked little grunts and gasps. “mm,” he grit out. “hah. this is—fuck—really easy, baby, you should—ah!”

you hummed around him, giving his ass a squeeze. his legs closed around your head, thighs pressing you even further down on his cock. your eyelashes caught in his pubic hair when they fluttered closed. you gagged intentionally and drew back, spitting the accumulated saliva onto his dick before resuming your task with exponential vigor. you didn’t want to wash the fucking dishes.

he shuddered and cleared his throat, muttering something about ‘sniping the fucking guy,’ even as his grip on your hair tightened and his hips jerked forward slightly, clearly resisting the urge to drop the controller and fuck into your mouth. he wasn’t slick. 

on your next pullback, you glanced up at him through your lashes. his face was flushed, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the screen in front of him. “easy?” you taunted, not giving any time to respond before diving back in. 

“yeah. shit, this is…fucking easy, m’ clearing them all out…” he said, voice shaking. his hips jittered again and you felt the muscles in his thighs contract. “are you even doing anyth—ohholyfuckbabe—”

you grin, laving your tongue up the length of him and then sucking hard. behind you, the controller clatters to the hardwood floor and another hand grips your hair. fuck yeah. winner.

his quips quickly dissolve into nonsensical gasps as he hooks his legs over your shoulders and begins face-fucking you in earnest. if not for his heavy thighs keeping you in place, you’d be multiple feet across the room, probably embedded in the screen now displaying red GAME OVER text. what can you say? peter’s got one hell of a thrust.

his cock fills your mouth, warm and a little salty; mostly just tasting like skin and peter. it’s heavy on your tongue, but you can breathe ever-so-slightly easier when he cums, spilling down your throat. dutifully, you swallow, mostly because you don’t feel like dealing with the mess that’d happen if you didn’t, then sit back on your knees and rest your head against his thigh. 

his grip on your hair eases and his posture goes lax as his breathing evens out. he glances down at you, hazy-eyed and pink-cheeked, looking a little sheepish. one of his hands pets your hair, the other moving to the back of his neck where he rubs nervously. “...best out of three?”

tags: @bohnerrific69 @mysticsandmagic05 @xrag-dollx @posiebb  @star-rey-night @ethereallmonkey

from an idea bestowed upon me by @zoebensonsitonmyface many moons ago. thank you hannah 💞 yippee

guysss do you like my title

spiritual sucessor to ready, set, go!

“What?” he asked, already smiling just because you were.

You turned the screen toward him. “Somebody online asked their boyfriend: ‘Boobs, ass, or thighs?’ and apparently it started a war in the comments.”

Colin immediately looked wary, as if he could tell he sealed his fate by asking the question. “Okay…”

You grinned slowly, leaning on his shoulder and looking up at him like a sly cat. “So… Colin Zabel.”

“Oh no.”

“Boobs, ass, or thighs?”

He stared at you like you’d just placed him under interrogation, nervous chuckle let out with his dimples as he looked down to shake his head. For a moment, he genuinely tried to dodge it. “I feel like there’s no right answer here.”

“There isn’t,” you said cheerfully. “It’s a matter of opinion.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, already blushing. “Can I plead the fifth?”

“Nope.”

You shifted so you could see him better, chin propped on your hand, thoroughly entertained now. Colin groaned quietly, head tipping back against the couch as his girlfriend indulged in his dilemma.

“This feels like a trap, babe,” he muttered.

“It’s not a trap,” you said. “I’m literally just asking your preference.”

You laughed and he looked at you for a second too long, fond despite himself and completely doomed. He knew you weren’t actually judging him, which almost made it harder. There was no escape hatch of irony or embarrassment to hide behind.

“Okay,” he said finally, sitting up a little straighter like he was preparing to testify in court. “Can I explain my answer first?”

Your eyes widened in delight. “Oh my god, yes.”

He pointed at you accusingly, already melting under your watchful gaze. “See? This is exactly why I’m nervous.”

“You’re adorable. Continue.”

Colin exhaled deeply, visibly gathering courage for what was objectively a harmless conversation but somehow felt monumental anyway. “I feel like… okay… uhm… personality matters, definitely.”

This makes you burst out laughing, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Colin!”

“No, I’m serious!” he insisted, flushed already. “I’m saying context matters. It’s not like I’m walking around categorizing women based on their body-”

“Detective,” you interrupted gently, holding his chin, “...answer the question.”

He looked at the ceiling briefly, then back at you with the expression of a man accepting his fate.

“…Boobs. Uhm, yours, specifically.”

The word came out quiet and respectful, somehow… like he was trying not to offend the concept of breasts, even taking the time to correct himself and defend that yours were the only pair he ever would revere. You stared at him for half a second before laughing so hard you nearly slid off the couch. This makes Colin immediately defensive.

“Why are you laughing?!”

“Because you said it like you were embarrassed of it!”

“I kind of feel like I am!”

Still laughing, you grabbed his arm and leaned against him again. He was red all the way up to his ears now, but smiling too, unable to help it when you looked this entertained.

“So… you’re a boobs guy.” you teased.

He groaned softly into his hand. “Please never say it like that again.”

“I will.”

Colin shook his head, but after a moment his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer almost unconsciously. His voice dropped quieter then, sincerity slipping back in despite the embarrassment.

“I just think they’re…” He paused, immediately regretting continuing when you catch his gaze drift down to your chest.

You looked up at him expectantly. “They’re what?”

He glanced at you, then away again with a shy smile. “Nice.” That only made you laugh harder.

But a few minutes later, when the teasing had died down and the room had settled soft and warm around you again, Colin leaned down to kiss you with lingering affection, and you noticed the faint, stubborn flush still coloring his cheeks the entire time.

“You know,” you said after the laughter finally settled, “that answer actually raises more questions.”

Colin immediately narrowed his eyes, not wanting to add to his embarrassment. “No.”

“Oh, absolutely yes.”

He was already smiling despite himself, slouched deeper into the couch while you turned toward him fully now, knees tucked under you. The wine had left him warm and loose enough to stay instead of retreating, even though he could already tell where this was going.

“You can’t just say ‘boobs’ in the shyest voice imaginable and then leave it there.”

“I think I can.”

“Nope.” You poked his side lightly. “Explain yourself.”

Colin covered part of his face with one hand, groaning softly. “Why are you interrogating me like this?”

“Because you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

You were smiling too brightly for him to have any real defense against it. He looked at you for a long moment, clearly debating whether he could survive refusing, then he sighed the sigh of a man accepting inevitable defeat.

“Okay, but you’re making this weird.”

“I haven’t even started making it weird.”

“That sentence alone made it weird.”

You laughed again, and Colin felt his chest tighten with affection so sudden it nearly distracted him from his own embarrassment. God, he liked you. Too much, probably.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’re just… comforting.”

You blinked, surprised into softness. “Comforting?”

“Yeah.” His voice got quieter, more thoughtful now that he was actually trying to articulate it. “Not in a creepy way, more emotionally.”

“I didn’t say creepy.”

“I know, but I needed to establish that for my own dignity.”

You grinned. “Go on, Detective.”

Colin huffed out a laugh and looked down at his hands before continuing. “I think it’s because they feel…” He paused again, searching. “Warm and safe, maybe.” He looked up at you cautiously, gauging your reaction. “Like if someone lets you be close to them like that, it’s because they trust you to be close to their heart.”

Your teasing expression softened almost immediately at the answer, just wanting to kiss his stupid again the more you listened to your man talk.

“And,” he added quickly, flustered by your sudden sincerity, “I mean, obviously they’re attractive too. I’m not pretending this is entirely philosophical.”

“Obviously.”

“But I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s not even really about looks half the time. It’s just intimate to be closer to them. It’s not my fault that your boobs are right in front of your heart.”

You stared at him for a second, visibly trying not to melt. “Oh my god,” you murmured. “That’s the most Colin answer you could’ve possibly given.”

His face flushed deeper. “Is that bad?”

“No,” you said immediately, moving closer until your leg draped over his. “It’s really sweet.”

He groaned quietly, dropping his head back against the couch. “I should’ve lied. I should’ve said thighs and moved on with my life.”

“But then I wouldn’t have learned you associate boobs with emotional vulnerability.”

“That is not what I said.”

“It kind of is.”

Colin laughed despite himself, shoulders shaking slightly as he looked over at you again. You were watching him with such obvious affection now that it made him bashful in a completely different way.

“You know what the worst part is?” he admitted.

“What?”

“I really thought I was going to sound suave somehow.”

You burst out laughing, leaning forward to kiss him before he could hide behind the embarrassment again. Colin kissed you back immediately, smiling into it, one hand settling warmly at your waist. When you pulled away, still grinning, you brushed your thumb against his cheek. 

“For the record?”

“Mm?” his eyes were half-lidded when he gazed at you.

“I think your answer was perfect.”