THURSDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL Bengals @ Ravens | 16.11.2023

well, bless him.

JOE BURROW For Bodyarmor Sports Drink

dear lord, joseph you are too fine😩

I……

It ain’t even that serious between me and my man 💍 🚮

my. GOD

srsly somebody help me

CHRIS EVANS Good Morning America, New York April 17, 2023

Kiss and Cell

Super excited for you all to read this collaboration between me and my friend @alitheamateur ! I've never done a writing collab before so this was a great challenge that allowed me to explore a new format. She is a fantastic author and all of you need to give her a follow.

I'd love to create a series of these writer collaborations in our fandom this off-season, so shoot me a message if you'd like to schedule one!

You couldn’t be too bitter. It seemed all your fortune had fallen on Joe this weekend, leaving you with it's ugly stepbrother-misfortune. He’d notched an away game win under his belt while you’d spent the last 36 hours retching up what seemed to be the air you breathed. Missing him on the field, live and in the flesh, made you feel almost as sick as this lethal virus festering in your belly. 

“Find the positives,” Joe would always say. From securing some fresh out-of season grapefruit at the farmers market when they were out of your usual favorite strawberries, to losing out to a colleague on the latest marketing bid, Joe was the epitome of sunny optimism.

You’d just about lost all sense of the positive as you climbed into the stale sheets of your California king, the ache of your illness weighing down your body. You had mustered together the energy to take a lukewarm shower and rid your skin of the bathroom floor grime after spending most waking, and even sleeping moments, toilet-side.

The scent of Joe’s musky shampoo on his pillow beneath your head eased the spin of the room & the nausea residing deep in your stomach, and you’d begun to feel the draw of sleep when your phone chirped. 

You read the text from Joe with a lackadaisical smile.   

You could clearly picture the cheeky grin likely plastered on his face; his sinewy fingers pushing the damp hair out of his eyes as he read your reply. 

A winking face replaced his use of punctuation and you rolled your eyes at his shamelessness.

He usually called you when he’d gotten settled in on the ride back to the hotel on the rare occasions you weren't in attendance of a game, so you sat up a bit in bed to prepare for the inevitable call. 

The bubbles of a reply played peek-a-boo on your screen over & over while you waited for the phone to ring. 

Confusion & dread swelled in your now-heavy chest for a moment, but you knew him better than to assume the worst. 

? You answered, your brow furrowed. 

Joseph, Joseph, Joseph. The memory of that white string bikini would never fade for him, you thought to yourself. Suddenly, you found that positive he was always preaching about as your mind transported to last month.  

You recalled the exact moment he was referring to, and soon the nausea in your stomach was replaced with a fervent heat. The two of you had spent three days lazing on the white sand of a secluded Key West beach, alone. Joe had spent this particular afternoon with his head on your chest; his salty strains of sweat mixing with yours. 

Rolling over to greet you behind his shielded eyes, he flashed a mischievous grin & untied the halter of you swim top. You’d mounted a brief protest but the delirium of smoldering temps & the sensation of his soft lips on your ribs easily won out. He had subsequently inched his way atop you, the sand from his broad chest sticking to your goose-bumped skin.

Liar. 

You felt a fever falling upon you. One completely unrelated to the nasty illness you’d been battling, and unfortunately the remedy was unavailable to you at the moment. 

Joe’s eyes twinkled at his screen as he pictured you shifting in the bed, and he wished desperately that you were by his side instead of languishing in Cincinnati.

You felt a tickling at the meeting of your thighs and you swore under your breath at the hundreds of miles that currently separated you and Joe. Without any physical touch from his—or your own hands— for that matter, and yet wouldn’t take much more for you to lose it instantly. The filthy mouth on this one, you mused. 

Envisioning the gaping reverence you knew Joe was displaying at your boldness got you worked up and you grinned slyly. You’d always been the more reserved partner and the bashfulness you normally displayed whenever a conversation over text got bawdy had disappeared.

In that instant, you wanted nothing more to test that theory. Now that you thought about it, there wasn’t a thing that could withstand the lethal, hot touch of that man. 

Mashing your lips together,  you typed out the message that would send Joe over the edge in an instant.

The same polka dots of a reply appeared and disappeared for a few minutes while you awaited a response. When one didn’t come, you were concerned that you’d managed to cross some invisible line in your relationship that you didn’t know existed.

You let out a giggle of relief and shifted again under the comforter, your tingling now morphed into throbbing between your legs.

Not 10 seconds had passed before you were bestowed a photo of one of your favorite parts of Joe; fully erect, slightly red, and glossy at the tip.

Shaking your head, you felt your face flush as you tossed back the covers and tried to smooth out the bird’s next that your hair had become. You snapped a suggestive photo with the strap of your nightgown teetering dangerously off your shoulder before frowning at the image. Too tame. Sighing loudly, you peeled off the sweaty garment and took another, this time pressing send immediately. 

You shifted your gaze to the drawer that housed your vibrator and grabbed it; typing out a request of Joe in the process.

Smiling to yourself, you leaned back and closed your eyes as you brought the toy to your aching clit. There was no stopping the animalistic moans that followed; your orgasm soon ripping through your body after the tête-à-tête with Joe. Stars showered your eyelids while your chest heaved, and you must have dozed off for a few minutes when you were woken up by the buzz of your phone. 

Yawning loudly, you curled up against Joe’s pillow and inhaled the scent once more, letting the soothing eucalyptus fill your senses as you drifted off to sleep, finally relaxed enough to recharge properly after days of restlessness. 

Don’t asked me how. Or why. It just, did 🤣

So, here we are! Thankful for the opportunity to crank out a little something with @balanceingrace & the wonder that is her writers magic!

well, crap. here we go again.

Well then... 🥵

*********

@virgosapphire79 ​ @inkinterrupted ​ @inkededucatednnerdy ​ @famousclamdonkeyland ​ @cool-taya ​ @bonjourmyloves ​ @hows-my-hair ​ @twistedrunes ​ @missmeworld ​ @angmaarie ​ @iamkatehardy ​ @haroldpain ​ @sciapod ​ @samwilsons-pillowpecs ​ @alitheamateur ​ @iseasilyamused ​ @captstefanbrandt ​ @sparklemichele ​ @magellan-88 ​ @oddsnendsfanfics ​ @banes-tshirt ​ @omgkatinka ​@khanbike

Alright, Hardy. Enough is enough.

Pictures are rolling out! 💦💦💦

Esquire-October 2021

Photographs courtesy of Greg Williams

*********

@virgosapphire79 ​ @inkinterrupted ​ @inkededucatednnerdy ​ @famousclamdonkeyland ​ @cool-taya ​ @bonjourmyloves ​ @hows-my-hair ​ @twistedrunes ​ @missmeworld ​ @angmaarie ​ @iamkatehardy ​ @haroldpain ​ @sciapod ​ @samwilsons-pillowpecs ​ @alitheamateur ​ @iseasilyamused ​ @captstefanbrandt ​ @sparklemichele ​ @magellan-88 ​ @oddsnendsfanfics ​ @banes-tshirt ​ @omgkatinka ​

HELP. ME.

Harley & Heat Lightening

A Tommy Conlon/Reader Imagine

This is just my own little guilty fantasy….

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Mentions of night terrors. I mean, I just feel like Tommy Conlon in general is a warning.

Word Count: 2,149

(Photo from Google)

The beaming white glow of a notification on the chipped screen of your phone face-up on the nightstand seeped through your closed eyelids. The chime notified of you the facts you already knew regarding a warning for heat-lightening throughout this blazing summer night. You praised the heavens for the air conditioning blaring from the vent in the corner of the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend, who was seemingly missing concluding from the cool sheets on his side of the queen bed. 2:53 in the morning by the looks of the alarm clock, which meant Tommy was probably up with a nightmare again, and was roaming the house somewhere, most likely clutching a sleep aid in the form of a whiskey bottle. He had those relentless demons under control for the most part. But, you always kept a single bottle of his favorite brand tucked away for emergencies. You didn’t understand what he went through, and you certainly couldn’t cure him. So, you’d love him amply, and if he needed a swig to knock back a terrorizing flashback here and there, so be it.

You squirmed and rooted amongst the tangling wad of sheets, fluffing and flopping your pillow to seek a comfortable position in the empty bed, but it was useless. You’d worked yourself into a restless, irritable tizzy, so you decided to mosey downstairs to investigate Tommy’s state. The ribbed, white tank top belonging to the man in question fit your frame loosely, and the lightweight cotton kept you cool on nights like this. And of course, he never complained about your skimpy preference in sleep attire. You tied your hair into a floppy muddle at the top of your head so the ensuing sweat on the nape of you neck could drink in some breeze, as your bare-feet padded down the four stairs leading into the tiled kitchen. 

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