Mind Is Stuck On Challengers Sauna Scene ..... Art's Thighs Are So Fucking Sexy, So Thick And Sweaty

You thought you were just sharing some Fernando hcs but it was actually a "Spell That Makes You Summon Nandofuckers"

Also facesitting + any of your fave classic F1 drivers <3

RIGHT. THERES SO MANY. ilu all but DAMN!! fhsdfksdg i struggled to narrow down my Faves, and the lengths do vary. but i loved this req so thank u!!

facesitting hcs ahoy! not telling u the drivers in advance. its a surprise 😇

jacques villeneuve

brat. loves when you sit on his face, but never fucking admits it. you mostly sit on it to shut him up.

not precise, but so enthusiastic it doesn't matter

wet, obscene noises - his chin is drenched with you and he's pulling you down on his face like he can't get enough (he can't).

pussydrunk. wants to stay there forever. moans while he eats you out.

could probably cum in his pants doing it, and probably has done so.

make him do it with his nerd glasses still on and watch them get all fogged up

elio de angelis

firstly: elio 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

we love him because you think, oh, he is nice and gentle and probably pretty submissive (:

but no. he's an aries. and italian. and also the 1981 black flag meltdown. and him trying to strangle ayrton senna when they were teammates. Yeah.

therefore, when you ask to sit on his face, warmth flushing high on your cheeks, you're also expecting him to be shyer about it

you aren't expecting his arms to wrap around your thighs, immediately pulling you down from your apprehensive hovering just over his mouth

you gasp his name in shock, a high-pitched squeak of "elio--!!" and you feel him laugh against your pussy

damon hill

dilf! dilf! dilf! dilf!

i am not immune to hilleneuve and would firstly like to float the idea of damon telling you to sit on jacques' face and bossing you both around a bit 👁 that is all on the hillneuve front. thank u.

otherwise, he's the one who suggests it

softly encouraging - doesn't pull you down like elio, but nudges and guides you with his hands on your hips

snarky (affectionate) comments about how he races an F1 car, you won't hurt him by doing this

slow and intimate, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips as you sigh out his name

tells you how well you did and how proud he is after you come on his face 🥰

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟭𝟬: 𝘆𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗼𝗱𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗮𝗯-𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝗳𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. ab-riding. pierre gasly is his own warning. no penetrative sex. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: yuki tsunoda x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best friend • saweetie ft. doja cat

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: this is actually the dirtiest fic, in theory yk. yuki has my heart, and i'm single handedly going to fill tumblr with my posts about him, thank you, good night.

do you want to be added to my general taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

you can’t stand his smug ass smirk. he knows damn well how you feel about his thirst traps. sure, alphatauri milks any chance of plastering yuki across their social media page to fail at distracting fans from the fact that their the slowest car on the grid, and that they can’t build a car that doesn’t fall apart like legos. but, yuki, posting practically-naked (he’s only shirtless, so really you’re mildly exaggerating) pictures on his main instagram page?? he’s not george-fucking-russell, so, why the hell would he do that?

there’s only two answers to this question, and they’re both correct. one, pierre gasly—the french bastard. you can’t leave them together unsupervised. and two, to make you mad. 9which you very much are, so, yuki achieved what he wanted. he’s especially thrilled, when you shove him down onto your bed, and straddle his lap, angrily tugging his shirt off. yuki grins up at you, satisfied at where a simple shirtless picture lead him to. he should listen to pierre more often, his ex-teammate might have good ideas, however rare they are. once his shirt is off, you freeze, breathing heavily as you drink in the sight of his torso. you lean forward and start sucking marks into his pecs, biting into the meat of his chest, and tracing the definition of his abs with your tongue. yuki’s moans rumble in his chest, and he lets his eyes flutter shut and basks under the thorough claim you’re leaving on his body. at least you’re kind enough to avoid placing any marks high enough to where they could be seen from the neck of a shirt—alphatauri will just have to post pre-filmed videos they have in the vault while your hickeys fade, they’ll survive.

you erratically jerk away again, and strip your bottoms off, shoving your underwear down and tossing them behind you. you tug your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, and you drag the cups of your bra underneath your chest, causing them to spill over the top obscenely. roughly grabbing at your boyfriend’s hands, you direct them to grasp at your boobs, and command, “keep your abs flexed.” yuki makes a noise of confusion, but you don’t elaborate any further. you lower yourself to sit on his abdomen, and grind across him slowly, testing the waters. your head falls forward from the zing of pleasure that races up your spine, and you quickly start rabbiting your hips across the dips and ridges of his muscles. 

yuki is rendered speechless at your motions. he was expecting you to ride his dick, not his abs. he’s not going to complain about this, though. you’re rubbing yourself off on his torso—your moans are bitten off and rough, and your grinds are deep and forceful to make sure your clit catches on every sharp edge of his abdomen. it’s the dirtiest thing yuki’s ever seen you do, usually he’s the one being unhinged. he squeezes at your chest rhythmically, dropping his hands to your chest eventually to watch how your breasts bounce at every shift you make—he sighs contentedly, this is heaven. 

he brings one hand to reach around you and palm himself over his shorts, but is denied the chance to do so. you hiss at him meanly, and pull his hand back to your waist, eyes flashing at him in warning. yuki falters under the commanding glint of your gaze, maybe he pushed you too far this time. he adjusts his grip on your body and takes some of the load off you, and guides your hips against his body for you—he could feel your thighs begin to tremble in exhaustion and based on how deadest you’ve become on getting yourself off on his abs, he doesn’t want to feel any additional wrath when your release slips from your grasp. 

a squeal of relief rattles through your chest at how yuki does the hard work for you. he moves your body exactly how you crave, and you find it incredibly difficult to remember why you were mad in the first place. instead of your thighs shaking in tiredness—you’re thankfully not used to being the one putting all the work in, your boyfriend’s stamina is appreciated—they begin to quiver as you get closer to cumming. your own hand comes to tug at your nipples, looking for any last flare of pleasure to push you over the edge. the wetness you’ve spread across his abs has started to lessen the friction you feel against your cunt. yuki sees the frustration furrowing your brow, and shifts his right hand down over your navel so his thumb can rub at your clit. you gasp, throwing your head back at white-hot burst of contentment behind your eyes, and all it takes is a few more furious passes of yuki’s fingers on your cunt, as the coil snaps inside your core, and waves of bliss crash over you.

yuki slips his hand away, and guides you to ride out the aftershocks on his abs. he moans at the sight of pure satisfaction on your face, and how you’ve soaked his torso, reminding him what belongs to you, with no room for vagueness. you eventually slow your roll, and fall to the side off yuki. the two of you pant as you stare at the ceiling, allowing the rapid beats of your hearts to slow.

you tilt your head to face him, and smile dopily at the sight of yuki staring at his navel. you’ve drenched him with your release, and it glistens beautifully on his tanned skin. if you were truly unhinged, you’d take a picture with your hand rubbing your wetness across his skin, and post it for everyone to see. the contrasting shades of your skin under the light of golden hour would look perfect. it would probably cost your boyfriend’s career, so maybe that’s not an equal exchange. 

hummingly faintly, you stumble off 9ithe bed, legs still shaking as you walk towards the bathroom. “you can get yourself off. you’re not fucking me for a week—“ yuki makes an alarmed noise, sputtering in disbelief, struggling to find his words, “oh, don’t get mouthy with me. i could make it so you never fuck me again—i just gave you enough material to last you for that long.” you slam the bathroom door shut, and yuki’s mouth hangs open in shock. fuck, pierre. he’s never listening to his suggestions ever again.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime

© httpsserene 2023

idk man, that vid of seb doing pushups in the am plank video makes my mouth water and pussy clench

jenson button masterlist

all blurbs are listed from oldest to newest - oldest being on the top and newest on the bottom. // it’ll be updated as I post!

header via pinterest

Keep reading

New Year’s Day

Greg House x Reader

A/N: you know when people say something is a shot of dopamine? yeah, this is the opposite.

TW: house going through withdrawals, you taking care of him. you can figure out what that entails. fluffy ending, if you can call it that. hurt/comfort for all my fellow enthusiasts.

“Don’t read the last page.”

You’d been on a date when he called. Stupidly, foolishly. As if you didn’t know it’d never work. As if you didn’t know he’d haunt you the whole time, a nagging voice in the back of your mind reminding you the man you sat across from would never be him. Mocking you, ridiculing you as you make polite conversation in a nice dress.

You really shouldn’t be into that. Despite that truth, you don’t dwell on the fact, there’s more important things to focus on right now. Like his weak, gravelly voice sounding from the other end of the phone as you stand outside the restaurant.

“I need you.” He sounds desperate. You’d be satisfied at the sound under any other circumstance, the tone so rarely heard from him. Instead it just makes your heart clench in your chest, your face fall in a look of heartbreak you wouldn’t have thought you could muster.

“I’ll be there soon.” The words fall out of your mouth as quickly as the twitch of a muscle, the thought going into them imperceivable to even yourself. Of course you’ll show, it’s House, after all. The second his voice hit your ears you didn’t have a fighting chance of saying no. He needs you, there’s no denying him.

You rush back into the restaurant, scrambling to pull a twenty from your wallet and sliding it onto the table, giving a haphazard explanation for your sudden departure.

“No, it’s not you.”

“No, you didn’t upset me.”

Fuck’s sake, this is annoying. His voice is pathetically hopeful as he calls after you. “Call me?” He asks, his eyebrows knitted upwards, his eyes glittering with something like awe. You pin it as lust.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Your lie was about as convincing as a kid elbow deep in the cookie jar, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You were never gonna do it anyway, even before House called.

You walk out of the restaurant, weaving between waiters and bidding apologies you don’t really mean to the people you bump into. Your heart is hammering in your chest harder than it should be, you know what’s going on, even if the absolute agony in his voice scared you.

He’d been particularly on edge all day, an iron grip on his leg that’s only there when the pain is especially bad. Add an ever present sheen of sweat and the painfully obvious dark bags under his eyes, it wasn’t too hard to figure out from there.

He was withdrawing. Why he decided to up and quit you don’t know, but you suppose it doesn’t really matter now. He’s trying, that’s good enough for you. Good enough to keep holding onto the ridiculous hope he can actually change.

You white knuckle it the whole drive to his apartment, praying you don’t pass by a cop as you push down on the accelerator harder and harder, zipping through side streets far faster than you should. It’s stupid, you know. It’d be better to show up a few minutes later than the next morning with a new addition to your criminal record, but you can’t help trying to get to him as fast as you can.

As you reach his apartment building you come to a skidding stop, cursing as you lurch forward in your seat, immediately knowing you’ll have a neck ache within the hour. You get out of your car quickly, a string of expletives falling from your lips as the heels you’re wearing nearly make you trip on the curb.

You rush up the stairs to his building, knocking on the door and rocking on your feet nervously as you wait for him to answer. What if he’s unconscious? He could’ve passed out from the pain, hit his head. Or maybe he overdosed, or what if he-

“Fuck…” You whisper sharply as he opens the door, looking like hell. His clothes are clinging to his body with sweat, his hair damp and the circles under his eyes prominent as ever. He looks…haggard. Weak, as he leans against the doorframe, veins running up his arm that your eyes would be glued to in any other situation.

He rolls his eyes, stepping aside and holding onto his thigh tightly as he grunts in pain at the slight movement. “Thanks.” He mutters sarcastically, his voice gravelly.

You walk in with a guilty grimace on your face. You really hadn’t meant it like that, but…well, he looks awful. You turn to him, your eyebrows knitting up in a look of concern as he stands in front of you, his chest heaving with tortured pants as he blinks rapidly, keeping the tears forming in his eyes at bay the best he can.

“What can I do?” You ask quietly, trying not to worsen the migraine that’s probably wracking his head right about now. He just sighs through his nose, rubbing his temple and limping back to his couch.

“Nothing.” He answers, and it’s true. You can’t fix it. You can’t make the pain better. The only thing that would is drugs. So, you just opt for following him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder that he quickly shrugs off, stubborn as ever despite the misery he’s in. Once he’s seated you walk into his kitchen, slipping off your heels on the way and grabbing a rag, running it under some water and ringing it out before returning to the couch, sitting down beside him as softly as you can.

As you swipe the rag over his forehead he leans his head back against the couch, his breathing shaky as he inhales through his nose. His jaw is clenched tight, a vein popping from his forehead as he keeps his eyes tightly screwed shut.

The silence in the room is stifling, but you’re not sure what to fill it with. Telling him he’ll be okay will just tick him off, and there’s no chance you’ll say some dumb shit like “just breathe.”

You can’t really do anything. All you can do is wait. Wait for him to need something, something he’s willing to put his pride down and ask for.

Suddenly he inhales sharply, a gasp more than anything as his whole body stiffens, his hand flying down to clamp over yours, squeezing it hard enough to hurt.

You don’t say a word.

“I know, I know.” You say softly, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles as he stares at the ceiling, breathing rapidly, heavily. His grip eventually eases up, the pain subsiding the tiniest bit. You expected him to pull way immediately, but he stays put, lolling his head to look at you, his eyes bloodshot.

“You were on a date.” He says tiredly, and you roll your eyes at the observation. He’s still House, even in this state. Always picking things apart, dissecting, watching, gleaning every bit of knowledge he can use to his advantage.

Again, you really shouldn’t be into that.

You laugh a little, shaking your head. “He was boring anyway.” For a moment you consider telling him more, trying to distract him, but he’s too smart for that. A story about a relatively uneventful night won’t be stimulating enough to distract him from the pain, not nearly.

For a second you consider the option that would be.

You quickly discard the thought. Not the time. Not the night.

He just nods, but you can swear for a moment you see the slightest smirk on his face. Like he’s pleased you didn’t have any interest. Relieved, almost.

Again, you discard the thought.

It’s not quite so easy this time.

Quickly his face morphs back into an expression of agony, his brows knit together, his breaths now coming out in shallow gasps. “What do you need?” You ask softly, stroking his hand.

“Bath.” The word comes out strained and you nod. You’ve heard of physical therapy patients using hot water for pain relief, so as you slowly enter the bathroom—House trailing behind you—you turn the water as high as it can get without burning him.

You turn around, and a silent question lingers in the air. It’s not like you can just leave him…but with your history? The constant flirting, the line that’s nearly been crossed far too many times for professionalism to remain. The gray area that’s grown far too wide.

“Come here.” You say softly, and for once in his life he doesn’t argue an order, just shuffles towards you and watches as your fingers slide up his shirt, his breath hitching in his throat as you pull it over his head.

The strangest part is, it’s not sexual in the slightest. Intimate, sure. Wildly so. But not sexual, not heated or lazy or rushed. He’s never been handled with gentleness like this. Movements this slow, touches this soft.

You’d certainly had a different image in mind for the first time you took his clothes off. Teeth gnashing, lips colliding messily, layers shed sloppily, hands roving freely. Still, there’s time for that. This isn’t it.

You unbuckle his belt, pulling it out of the loops slowly, the clanking of the metal the only noise beside his breathing in the otherwise silent room. A strained whimper leaves his lips as he has to lift his leg, followed swiftly by an apology from yours.

You avert your eyes as he sheds his boxers, focusing anywhere except, well…there. He leans on you as you walk towards the tub, helping him lower himself down into the water, a groan falling from his mouth as the warmth hit his leg. For a moment you think how’d he’d sound under a different circumstance, just how similar it’d be.

God, you’re awful. He called you over here to help him, not use his suffering to fuel your fantasies.

Then again, knowing him he probably wouldn’t mind. Quite the opposite, actually.

You snap out of it as his head hits the wall with a thud, a sigh escaping him as he feels a hint of relief for the first time in hours.

Without thinking you reach out, brushing away the hair that’s started to stick to his forehead from the sweat, letting your hand slide down the side of his face to rest at his cheek for a moment. A part of you thought he’d push you away, and not for a second did you think he’d do what he did. Lean in, slightly, the action impossibly minuscule. If you hadn’t been so tuned into his every move you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

You let your thumb slide back and forth over his cheekbone, testing the waters. He’s never once been like this. Been vulnerable in the slightest.

“Why’d you call me?” Your voice comes out all exhale as you finally ask the question that’s been dancing in the back of your mind all night. Not exactly his motives, those you can guess. He didn’t trust himself not to give in, not to just take the pills. Like always, he needed someone to temper him, keep him in check.

Just…why you? There’s always Wilson. Hell, even Cuddy. Sure, the two of you flirt, obnoxiously. Some might even call you friends. You’re not sure what to label it, you just didn’t think he trusted you this much. For him, showing a shred of weakness, of humanity. He might as well have handed you a blade to his neck.

He gives you a look that you can read like a book. A perfect mix of condescension and annoyance. “Hookers are getting expensive. I was hoping you’d put out.” He answers sarcastically, earning a smirk and an eye roll from you. As much as you pretend to be annoyed, you’re relieved to hear him acting like himself for a moment. Not so overwhelmed by the pain he can’t even think of a snarky remark, let alone get the words out.

“I’m outside your price range.” You respond, easing back into your regular dynamic. He smiles lazily for a moment before grimacing again, slumping further into the water, rubbing the palm of his hand firmly against his leg. You look down for a moment before quickly remembering there’s no bubbles in the tub. Just water, very clear water. You flush, looking back to his face with widened eyes, earning a cocky snort from him.

“Like you’d make me pay.” He grumbles out, his voice even lower than usual. You laugh slightly, shaking your head as you let your hand drop to his shoulder, your thumb rubbing gentle circles in the skin there.

You hesitate before continuing, not sure if he’ll ever give you a real answer. “Seriously, why?”

He sighs, and suddenly you can’t place the look in his eyes. Can’t read what he’s thinking. It’s new, it’s…soft. “You know why.” He answers simply, honestly. And the truth is, you do. Sure, you doubt it. You wonder if he’s ever actually cared.

Then again, this is House. If he just wanted sex, he would’ve gotten it elsewhere a while ago. There has to be another factor, another reason he’s still here. Still waiting.

With the way he’s looking at you, you’re starting to get a feeling you know what it is.

You hesitate, feeling a little bolder, a little more confident in your assumption as you ask, “Are you gonna say it?” Your voice is quieter than normal when you speak, a hint to the uncertainty that’s still there.

He pauses, his eyes raking over you, studying you, searching for any clue that you’re toying with him. Any tiny hint to trigger his walls to come up.

He’ll find none.

Eventually he talks, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion, the same thing working overtime to loosen his tongue, make him more human than he’s dared to be in the a long time. “Not tonight.”

You suppose it’s the best you can hope to get out of him, and so you just smile, soaking in the honesty you’re sure will be gone by morning. Your hand slides down to his that’s sitting on the edge of the tub, holding it gently.

“I’ll wait.” You say softly, watching as he smirks slightly, his eyes fully shutting, his breathing starting to even out. “Sap.” He mutters under his breath, earning a tired, amused huff from you.

And yet he can’t help but enjoy believing you.

“But I stay.”

A/N: my niche is writing the most depressing shit on the face of the earth and then sprinkling in a tiny bit of fluff and taylor swift lyrics to make it cute.

Mick Schumacher's hands appreciation post?

Mick Schumacher's hands appreciation post.

save a horse…

ride this cowboy

do you have that pic of mark and jenson clasping hands but seb’s hand is just… in the middle??? bc i’ve been wracking tumblr trying to find it but i can’t!!!

Anon, I am so honored that you came and asked me 🙏 So I instinctively thought of Singapore 2011 because I remembered Seb standing btwn them, and I really hope this is what you're looking for BECAUSE I'VE NEVER SEEN THIS PIC BEFORE OHMYGODDDDD

I'm staring at this.....the size difference..........I appreciate you asking me this bcs I never even realized that this happened when I was watching this post-race

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

Control! Your! Self! - James Wilson

Summary: House knows you (a frathouse’s sweetheart and his favourite patient) have been hooking up with Wilson, despite Wilson’s constant denying. But, he just knows a way to make his friend crack—your sororities fundraiser.

Includes: Readers Nickname is Aelia, (Reader is 28ish), FratSweetheart!Reader, FWB, Nearly Getting Caught, Workplace Sex, Car Wash, Wilson Gets Flustered, Hilson (If You Squint), House Sorts of Gets Off Watching Wilson Get Off? Wilson Pops a Boner!

The bi-weekly checkups (that were scheduled to end months ago) with House since your knee surgery, always ended up with you in James Wilson’s office, the blinds pulled tightly shut and a hefty armchair pressed up against the door.

Wilson’s warm and veiny hands caressed the smooth crescent of your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips whilst his bucked into yours painfully (but pleasurably) slow as you sat on his desk.

Your connected lips stifled each of your desperate moans, having to keep quiet as Wilson’s doctors and interns walked past his office, unbeware of the Head of Oncology’s absence.

Gosh was it hard.

Ankles crossed around his waist, you’re gripping the hair at the back of Wilson’s neck, fingers coiling around the chocolate waves. You tug every so often, eliciting a hearty guttural groan from the man above you, setting your skin on fire.

Forcing his cock all the way inside of you, tightening your hold around his body, Wilson lets out a deep whine, letting his head drop to rest between your bare collarbones.

“You’ve got to give me some sort of warning… what if House were to walk by and hear that?” Wilson hisses, his index finger tracing below your belly button, it tickled.

“You’re always bringing up House, I’d rather you didn’t with your dick inside me.” You giggled, pecking his lips and shuffling your body closer to the desks edge.

Pressing down on your abdomen, Wilson can feel himself in your stomach, rearranging your insides. His balls tighten, knowing you can take all of him inside your heavenly tight pussy.

“He’s ever-consuming…” he whined as you bite a sensitive spot on his neck, lapping your tongue over it to soothe the bruise, “… just like your pussy, my god.”

Ogling down at where your hips lay flush, Wilson feels tears tickling at his waterline, the sight of your walls inviting his length in never gets old.

The desk begins to rattle, Wilson’s impending orgasm creeping up at him at the sight of you under him.

Your fingers rub at your clit in circles, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and your gorgeous eyes curtained through closed lids—you felt like you were ascending.

Like ecstasy was coursing through your veins, your supplier being Wilson’s raw and passionate thrusts.

“Fuck, James. I’m so close…” trembled past your parted lips, heavy breathes brushing against his bushy eyebrows that are pulled together in deep concentration.

Looking into your eyes, Wilson nods his head frantically, “Good girl, come undone for me.” He ordered and you did.

Your orgasm came in red hot, causing you to shudder and clench around Wilson—who was so close too.

He groaned like he was in psychical pain as you rolled your hips onto his, to be honest he was in pain, he needed the sweet relief of coming soon.

Lifting your hips up as pure bliss came over you like a thick blanket, sweat beads painting your hairline, your toes clenched and your spine tingled as you finally came down from your high.

“Such a gorgeous girl, I’m so lucky.” Wilson said, cradling your face in his large palms, thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek.

“Fucking me so good I might just make you mine.” your fucked our mind spoke for you, gazing at the doctor under hooded lids.

“Yeah?” Your pussy seemed to tighten again (somehow) and Wilson’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he mumbled incoherent nonsense.

“Mhmm, take you back to the frat house, show you off to the boys.” Wilson whimpered as pre-cum drizzled inside of you. “They’ll be so jealous, they all want me but I’m devoted to you, only.

“Imagine House’s face when he walks in on us in your apartment, looking so innocent sat on your lap watching ‘Tivo’, not realising you’re balls deep in me.”

Your dirtiest fantasies tip Wilson over the age, he cums staring into your eyes. His eyes gloss over with pure pleasure, his lazy eye (that you absolutely adore) turns in slightly when he moans.

As his hips jerk, balls pressing against your ass trying to shove his cock as deep as possible, you smile at each other through the haze of your orgasms.

Pulling out, a mix of both of your fluids seep out onto the desk, “Look at that, got me cumming so hard, baby.” You purred.

“And a lot, I think you might need to get checked out.” He tutted, spreading your folds, ogling at your soppy pussy.

If you had been any less sensitive, his mouth would’ve been lapping at your wetness immediately; that was too cruel though, he’d barely touched you and you were already twitching,

“Really, that much? You know any good gyno’s?”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Wilson nodded, “I’d say I’m pretty seasoned in that area, you could always come to me. You might need daily check-up, sweetie.”

Laughing, you slapped his hands away from your core, “But I thought you were an oncologist?”

“Who says a man can’t do both?” Grinning, he softly kissed your neck up to your jawline.

Scooping the mixture with your finger, you commanded Wilson to open up. Sticking your finger down his throat, Wilson suckles on your flesh before pulling off with a pop!

“You’re good, too good. Where’d you study?” You tease, leaning on your forearms against some of Wilson’s papers whilst he cleaned your wetness up with a tower (that he’d brought from home, knowing you had an appointment with House that day).

“I’m a Doctor, Aelia, I know all about anatomy.” He shrugged with a toothy grin, chucking the towel into an empty drawer.

Pulling his boxers over his hips and buttoning his slacks up (biting his tongue when the fabric brushed harshly against his worn out cock), he sat back in his leather chair, patting his thighs.

Eagerly dropping yourself into his lap after shuffling your tight shorts back on, you pressed a tender kiss to his Adam’s apple and then his cheek.

“I’m also a married man, twice divorced. I know how to please a woman.”

“You sure do, Peepaw.” Gasping, Wilson tickled your sides, ripping an almighty giggle from your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain Head of Diagnostics, hobbled by. After trying to escape from Cuddy who was adamant on forcing clinic hours on the doctor.

He also was going to steal Wilson’s lunch, ergo why he stopped right outside.

House’s ears perked up at the sound of sweet giggles. Sure, Wilson had a nice laugh, but it was never that high-pitched.

And then, when he tried to burst in but was blocked by a heavy force pushing against the door, he knew something was up.

Eyes wide, you watched in shock as the handle to Wilson’s office rattled furiously. Facing the oncologist, he squeezed your hips and lifted you up onto your feet.

Passing you your little handbag and sweater you arrived in, he motioned towards the large windows adjacent to his desk.

Furrowing your eyebrows you shook your head rapidly, there was no way you were jumping out of that into the bushes below—you had dignity!

Tilting his head tentatively, Wilson clasped his hands together in a begging motion. “One minute House, the doorknobs going to fall off if you shake it any harder!”

“Another knobs going to be removed if you don’t let me in here, now!” House shouted, banging his fists on the wooden door.

Sighing deeply, running a shaky hand through his hair, Wilson rushed over to you and directed you towards the open window. He hushed you as you began to retaliate.

“Please just do it, I’ll stop by later and make it up to you.” Wilson promised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the back of his finger along your cheek.

“You fucking better James Wilson. I’ll tell one of the frat boys to let you in.” Straddling the window ledge, Wilson gave you a pitied look and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Leaving him with a linger peck on the lips, you slid out of his office and landed on the soft grass—thank God he was situated on the bottom floor.

Otherwise you’d have no more legs for him to make weak.

Slicking his frizzy hair down, Wilson pushed the chair away from the door, allowing House to barge in like it was his own office.

He didn’t say a word as he leant on his cane, narrow his eyes, scanning the room for anything suspicious. He stopped when he reached the open window, the blinds fluttered in the Summer breeze, almost too much.

“Somethings fishy here…” House decides, plopping into Wilson’s chair and rifling through a draw pulling out a plastic container—his lunch.

Hiding his chuckle behind a cough, Wilson picked up the messy files that he was reading before you had strutted in. Legs for miles on full display, nipples perked that pierced through the hoodie—safe to say, he had gotten a little distracted.

“I’m not entirely sure Aelia would be too pleased with that statement…” he mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”, “Nothing.”

“No, I mean what is that?” House’s nose scrunches up, not in disgust, but in confusion.

Jutting his bottom lip out, too confused, Wilson turns and is greeted to a discarded blue lace bra, hanging off a picture frame. Oh.

That must’ve been hanging there since your entrance. Flung off and forgotten about in the midst of a passionate make out session, before Wilson received a soul sucking blowjob that left his teeth chattering.

Heart dropping to his stomach, Wilson reaches out to snatch at the bra, shoving it down his trousers, “There are the sneaky things.”

“Have you started wearing ladies lingerie, Wilson? Was part of the special dessert you were making for us tonight?”

Running a stress hand over his face, Wilson had to think fast, “No, those are my wife’s. Well they were until they went missing. Don’t know how they’ve ended up… there…”

“Can’t of been your wife’s, wayyy too big to be hers.” Wilson glares at House, whose face scrunched up in a devious beam.

Dropping the smile immediately, House began to poke at a cupboard with his cane.

“Aelia, I know you’re in there, come out. You’re busted.”

Scratching his head awkwardly, Wilson stuck his bottom lip up and shrugged, “She’s not in there, I haven’t seen her since her last checkup.”

Huffing, House shook his head and rolled his eyes sassily—like a deranged teenage girl—tutting at his best friend’s serious expression as he opened the cupboard door.

“I can assure you. Why would she be in my cupboard anyway?”

“Because, my dear friend… I have eyes and ears. You’re hooking up with my patient!” chewing on his lip, Wilson placed his hands on his hips and whispered.

“You’re right…”

Eyes widening, lips curling upwards ever so slightly, House’s voice dropped an octave, “You are?”

“No.” Wilson deadpanned, shuffling through his files and placing them neatly on his desk, grabbing a pen to sign off some patients further-going treatment.

“That’s it.” House banged his stick on the carpeted floor (for dramatic effect), Wilson raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to weasel it out of you.”

Pulling a rumpled flyer out of his blazer pocket, slamming it down in front of Wilson on the desk. Grumbling (because he now actually had work to do), Wilson unenthusiastically pickled the paper up, pinching the corners with his thumb and index finger.

“Sorority Fundraiser?” Wilson questioned, flicking the leaflet over, he was greeted with a group photo of a nearby sorority.

His eyes immediately gravitated to you, you were so much prettier than the others, a large cheesy smile gracing your features, sticking your tongue out cheekily, long hair cascading down your back as you leant your head against a friend’s.

The throbbing in his trousers he was so familiar with that day returned too, scoping your outfit; a bralette with tiny denim shorts.

“No… House, please.” Wilson pleaded, folding the leaflet over and shoving it into a drawer (the one with the sticky towel hidden in) for later use. “How’d you even get this, because I know Aelia wouldn’t invite you to this.”

“‘Course not, that’s like inviting your uncle to your strip show. I nabbed it off the Aussie Ken-doll, Aelia had slipped it to him before her check-up.”

Heat stirred in Wilson’s belly at the revelation, he was fired up with jealousy; why would you invite Chase and not him?

He must’ve been speaking his thoughts aloud as House tsked. “Maybe she needs someone less pre-historic?”

Chomping into (what was Wilson’s lunch) the bell-pepper with spicy rice and cherry tomatoes, House crunched onto a tomato, purposefully sending seeds flying all over Wilson’s clean shirt

Pulling into the car-park outside the sorority house, a crowd of girls circled House’s beaten down Dodge Dynasty.

Their tits squished together and pushed up through their tight bra’s, skin partially covered in soapy bubbles that overflowed from nearby buckets.

Hair tied back with multi-coloured scrunchies, lips pouty as they seductively rinsed sponges off over their collarbones—it was like a scene straight out of a 80’s porno.

Wilson had never seen his best friend’s grin so wide as a college student knocked on the window, House’s fingers trembled, placing a crisp 20 dollar bill in the girl’s palm.

“Girls look! It’s that hot doctor.” A close friend of yours, Estella; a bubbly girl whose wild curls matched her personality; shrieked from across the parking lot.

Pointing a manicured finger in Wilson’s direction, House swivelled to face the oncologist incredulously, who was slowly sinking further into the passenger seat, hands pressed firmly over his eyes.

“My, my would you look at that! You’re like a ol’ regular around here, you perv.” House nudged Wilson’s side.

Resting his forearm on the windowsill, House whispered something to one of your sorority sisters, handing them another 20 bucks before they hurried off towards another car.

“W-what did you do? 40 bucks, House that’s insane!” Wilson babbled, loosening his tie from around his neck that seemed to be suffocating him.

Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, House leaned back in his seat, slowly raising his sunglasses over his eyes.

“Paid a little extra for a select cleaner, and what’s the harm? It’s for the greater good of society.”

“I’m not sure practically prostituting these sorority girls for your sick entertainment is for the ‘greater good’, House.” Wilson scoffed.

“Hah, don’t lie. You’ll love it!”

That’s when you come skipping over, sporting a string bikini, tied loosely in bows at your hip, and… god does Wilson hate when House is right.

“Woah…” House voices Wilson’s thoughts, eyes trained on you as wiggle your hips in excitement at Tina (who was now wafting herself with the 2 20 dollar bills), beaming at the hot doctor’s special request.

Winking at your friends, they all wiggle their eyebrows towards each other, going back to cleaning the other cars to keep the other men waiting patiently with their tongues hanging out entertained.

Wrapping your finger against Wilson’s window, chewing on your bottom lip to hide your knowing smile, he smiled back weakly.

“Well morning, James.” You giggle after House rolled the window down, leaning into the car and purposefully pushing your tits together into the doctors face.

He can House stifle a snort beside him, “Ah! Aelia, fancy see you here.”

“Likewise, doctor and… other doctor.” You wave at House who waves back, body shuddering with laughter at Wilson, who was not-so discreetly averting his gaze from your breasts to your face every micro-second.

“We’re just in great need of a thorough wash, nice and soapy.” House drawls.

Quirking an eyebrow at Wilson, his face is steaming hot and you can tell he’s mortified. He’s sweating through his t-shirt and sporting a growing bulge in his trousers, something you’re now all so familiar with.

“I see, anything for my favourite doctors.”

As you move with purpose over to a discarded bucket of water and soap, Wilson slams the window switch and groans at House’s laughter.

“I get this is a whole thing to stitch me up, but this is plain humiliating, House!” He seethes, chest rising and falling dramatically as he catches a glimpse of you.

Leaning over to pick a sponge up, giving him a perfect outline of your sodden bikini bottoms, he lets out a shaky breathe.

“See, this is what happens when you don’t tell your old man things.” House shrugs, “I could get used to this you know.”

He adds, leaning against his hands, leaning into the drivers seat, watching his favourite client begin to scrub at the bonnet of his car.

Wilson grits his teeth in frustration, but his jaw falls slack when you make eye contact. When you tilt your head tentatively at him, flicking your braids sending them cascading over your shoulder, careful not to graze them with the soapy water, Wilson knows he’s a goner.

Pulling his right leg to his chest, he tries to hide his impossibly hard erection from his best friend, who stares at him like he’s insane.

“What are you doing?” House questions, fussing with Wilson’s knee to push it back down but he’s met with a whole body’s worth of force.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Wilson responds, squinting as he tries to find your blurry figure through the windshield, now covered in soapy water that you’d thrown onto the car.

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what?” Wilson sighs deeply, carefully palming himself through his trousers, praying House can’t see his desperate actions.

“That’s you two are… hooking up, having sexual intercourse, riding the flagpole? Fucking, shagging, doing the devil’s tango, indulging in a bit of hanky panky—“

“God, alright! Jesus House.” Wilson covers his ears with his hands, face scrunching up in disgust at his friend’s words, “We’re hooking up.”

Placing his foot back down on the mat, exposing his covered erection, House whistled lowly and scoffs. “My goodness, you hiding one of my canes down there?”

Groaning, tugging at the roots of his hair, Wilson pleads, “Not now, what am I supposed to do?”

“I say just rub one out here, no one will notice. It’ll match in with the soap Aelias using anyway.” House shrugs, the outside world would never know considering the car was covered in a thick layer of bubbles.

“Anyways, I’d dig it.”

I wrote the entire end of this in one go and Tumblr didn’t save it, so it’s extremely rushed I apologise 😭